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americxn · 3 years

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“What happened? What the hell happened. Why do you make it so hard to love you?”

Kai Anderson x GN!Reader

This is definitely not good enough to enter, but I used the prompt from @tatesimper anniversary writing competition so I guess this is my entry? (fig, I’m so sorry for butchering such a good prompt lmao)

also, I realised when writing it that this could serve as a prologue to this fic:

https://americxn.tumblr.com/post/652835852669648896/paranoia

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: genocide/murder mention, swearing (this is based off episode 11 of season 7)

The night air was cool on your exposed face as you took the front steps to the door of Kai’s house, not bothering to knock as you pushed it open, the warmth and light from within spilling onto the smooth concrete of the front step and pooling around your feet; having been in a committed relationship with Kai from a year and a half now, this house was practically your own. Stepping past the front porch after abandoning your shoes and jacket, you entered the uncharacteristic quiet of the house, scanning the hallway for any signs of life, usually abundant within these walls in the form of Kai’s blue shirt-clad, blindly deferential followers.

“Okay. A little bad news to start,” your body instinctively angled towards the voice, distinctly Kai, that sounded through the empty hall from the back room. You set off down the hallway, his voice growing in volume as you approached, somewhat confused. He hadn’t notified you of a scheduled cult meeting that evening and yet his tone of voice was threaded with the assertive cadence that he utilised only when addressing his followers. “It turns out finding a thousand pregnant women to murder is super hard. No one will ever accuse me of lacking ambition.” He continued as you reached the threshold to the large room at the back of the house that served as a secondary living room; breath catching in your throat, you halted, your hand reaching for the wood of the doorframe to steady yourself as the meaning of his words settled into you. To murder? “So, Night of a Thousand Tates is off.” A ripple of groans and dejected sighs rose from the small sea of men at Kai’s words, quickly falling silent to allow him to continue. “But, Night of One Hundred Tates is on.” His words sent a wave of prickly dread spider walking down your spine; he hadn’t told you about any of this. Killing a thousand pregnant women? You wanted to stride into the room with a bright laugh to wave away his abhorrent words and demand for the real reason that he had called a meeting. But you knew. A terrible, truth filled part of you was all too aware that he was deadly serious A chorus of thrilled cheers drifted up from the small crowd in twisted elation with the newly revealed knowledge that their hands would still be stained with blood by the end of the night. Your breath became too loud in your ears, your mouth turning utterly dry as you examined your suddenly empty mind for a solution to Kai’s monstrous plan that you could use to convince him to call it off. But you came up short, taking a small step back into the safety of the dimly lit hall, your back coming to press against the wall beside the open doorway to ensure that nobody would be able to see you eavesdropping from within. This was too far. Kai had done many questionable, twisted things over the past year but this... this was too far. You were full of self hatred for the amount of things that you had stood aside for and let Kai go ahead with, but not this. You refused to take so much of an ounce of accountability for this. Pulling your phone from the confines of your back pocket, you drew in a shuddering, grounding breath, your thumb working on the keypad. The digit shook as it pressed onto the screen, your teeth catching between your lower lip as your gaze flicked from the brightness of the device’s screen to the open doorway at your side. The sequence of 911 you had typed glared up at you, bathing the underside of your jaw in artificial light as you craned your neck, leaning forwards slightly to peer into the room. Kai stood by the far wall, his men arranged in a neat group before him, all sitting straight backed to attention on their chairs. Just behind Kai, displayed on the low table pushed against the wall were two silicone models of a woman’s torso, ripe with the swell of a baby within; one was positioned to the side as a cross sectional diagram, the other facing straight on, the small model of a baby in the third trimester curled up within the artificial uterus. Your attention snapped back to Kai as he took a step forwards to address the group. “Look under your chairs, I’ve handed each of you a unique list of targets, all ready to pop.” Your stomach twisted in horrified disbelief as the men all shifted in unison, pleasure curling the corners of their lips upwards as they read the names of the people they were soon to mercilessly slaughter. You watched with teary eyes as an impressively built, stocky man who you didn’t know the name of slowly lifted his hand to the ceiling, Kai’s eyes immediately flicking to him in agitation. “You raise your hand one more fucking time and I will cut it off.” The powerfully built man visibly shrunk down into his chair at Kai’s hissed statement of reproval but timidly uttered his question of “how do we know they’re all pregnant?” Kai’s eyes flashed in impatient annoyance as he tore his eyes off the man, flicking them briefly up to the ceiling before deigning to answer. “Because Gutterball pulled the rosters of four ob-gyns, two Lamaze classes and a Momtra Yoga over on Main. Great job, Gutterball.” The blond man who went by Gutterball, sat on the front row of chairs close to Kai, beamed in self-gratified delight at Kai’s gracious recognition, lifting a fist into the air in triumph. Kai smiled proudly down at him before turning to address the group as a whole once more. Your eyes flicked down to the bright screen of your phone, the numbers displayed there beckoning. Your thumb twitched, a conflicted frown creasing your forehead as Kai continued on, pulling your attention back to him. “Manson’s family - I admire them, but they did get a little sloppy.” You watched on in nauseating alarm as Kai pulled a large blade from the black sheath at his hip with a flourish, the metal glinting in the light of the room. “Their message got lost in their mess. What we are doing requires more precision. It is imperative that both mother and child are impaled. Don’t fuck this up.” He scanned the gathering before him, gaze as sharp as the knife clutched in his grip before turning to the models behind him. “Aim for the belly button but stab in a downward motion. If you stab straight,” in one fluid motion, he had buried the curved tip of the blade in the portion of the fake uterus just above the baby’s head with a solid thunk, “you miss the baby - and our entire message is lost.” Withdrawing the knife, he turned back to address his cult, the weapon hanging loosely from his fingertips by his thigh. “Tomorrow night, when your blades tear open one hundred pregnant bellies, you will be releasing a power into the universe. Detonating a neutron bomb of truth, blood and amniotic fluid. You will be galvanising an army.” “With their sisters gutted, women everywhere will be forced to react. They can’t ignore an injustice this brutal. They’ll have to rise up, and in their collective rage, they will train it on Senator Jackson, on all incumbents, on any of the people in power who failed to keep us safe. As the most vulnerable are slaughtered, as the pregnant bodies pile up on Senator Jack-off’s watch, we will be surfing an electoral bloodbath straight to Capitol Hill. And then… the White House.” The collection of cult members all voiced their assent in a chorus of whoops and ovated cheers, a nauseating sense of unease dragging it’s claws up the length of your spine. You turned away with hot tears blurring your vision, not wanting to hear more, your phone a heavy weight in your hand and the decision it presented even heavier.

Sat on the edge of Kai’s large bed, your knee couldn’t cease it’s anxious bouncing, your lower lip chewed raw by your teeth. The door swung open suddenly, sending your heart leaping into your throat. Kai stepped into the room, the small smile stretching across his lips broadening as he beheld you perched on the mattress’ edge. “Hey, when did you get here?” He questioned, reaching to tug you to your feet and wrap his arms tightly around you in a warm embrace. “I only got here like five minutes ago.” Your lie was muffled into the thin shirt at his shoulder, his hands splayed flat on your upper back as he held you close to him. Withdrawing yourself from his grasp, you frantically scanned his face, heart sinking at the pleasure dimly glowing in the depths of his dark eyes, pleasure fuelled not by your sudden appearance, but in anticipation of the merciless slaughter that he would be carrying out in mere hours time. “What?” He asked curiously, his head tilting slightly in concern as his smile faded, caught in the grave despondency of the stare you had him pinned under. His tape-wrapped hands settled on his shoulders; shaking him off, you stepped away, your chest bubbling with emotion that was dangerously close to spilling over. Dropping your gaze to the floor, you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, forcing the tears that threatened to flow to stay at bay. Groaning through clenched teeth, colourful sparks flashing through your blocked vision from the force with which you pressed your hands into your eyes, you blindly felt Kai’s warmth as he stepped forwards to comfort you. Dropping your hands, you retreated another step, Kai stilling at the look of stangled confliction latching onto your features. “What happened?” Voice breaking, you brought a hand up to press against your forehead, icy panic unfurling in your gut amongst the turmoil of roiling distress flooding through your insides. Kai looked utterly lost, his eyes boring into yours as he searched for an answer to the question that he couldn’t understand. “What the fuck happened to you, Kai?” His heart splintered at the raw anguish in your choked, lamenting tone, automatically taking a step towards you, wanting nothing more than to smother the emotions swarming your features. “I used to be so, so happy with you.” His lips parted in disbelief as you continued. “I would’ve done anything for you.” You couldn’t help the tears that spilled over, your voice pushing past the quivering of your lower lip and growing in strength, your breaths turning sharp and rasping as they were sucked in between your passionate words. “Y/n…” He didn’t know what to say as he watched you struggle to keep a grasp on coherency. “I don’t know what happened to him. To the Kai that I fell in love with. But he’s gone now. He’s gone and I don’t know how to get him back.” Sorrow gave way to desolate fury as you plowed on, your jaw clenching as you stepped towards him to deliver a harsh shove to his hard shoulders. Kai fell utterly silent, stumbling back slightly under your touch, unnerved and unsure by the eruption of messily confessed words that spilled from you, seemingly out of nowhere. “Answer me.” You demanded gruffly, shoving at his solid frame once more. “I… y/n, I don’t know-” With a third shove, his eyes flashed in agitated warning, silently daring you to repeat the action a fourth time. You did, shoving at him with as much force as you could muster, breathing hard when he took ahold of your wrists, pulling you to him and pouring his branding stare onto you. “Stop.” Your face was flushed, plump tears cutting through your face and dripping from your chin as you plowed on. “What happened, Kai?” His nostrils flared, eyes wide in confusion as he battled to grasp onto your thoughts, to make coherence of the biting words falling from your lips. “What happened? What the hell happened. Why do you make it so hard to love you?” Your ragged breaths filled the sudden silence in the room, the roaring silence infiltrating Kai’s head drowning out all other sense as he stared down at you in cold disbelief, your eyes wild and face screwed with festering ardour, raw and demanding, your lashes damp with bitter tears. A symphony of surprised shouts echoed up the stairs from the ground floor of the house, Kai’s attention snapping to the door at his back and eyes flooding with sharp panic. He released his hold on you as the cries from below grew in volume, laced with alarm. A single gun shot rang out and it was your turn to take ahold of Kai, the tape wrapped tightly around his wrists warm under your fingers. His head whirled back to you, his eyes alight with uneasy confusion, his gaze frosting over. Bringing your face closer to his, you laid a single, lingering kiss to his lips, your own wet against him. “I’m sorry.” You said quietly, several heavy sets of footsteps sounding from behind the door as they thundered up the stairs. Kai’s eyes frantically searched yours as he pulled against your unrelenting grasp, his gaze briefly parting from yours to snap to the door as the sequence of footsteps and shouts grew louder. “But I can’t let you do this.” His throat bobbed, his eyes widening in terror as the reality of the situation settled over him. “I sentence you to rot.” Tugging at his wrists, you forced your face closer to his before muttering to him, your breath hot on his face and the recognition of your betrayal manifesting in the cold fire smoldering in his gaze: “Just like how my love for you has turned to rot.” His face contorted in rage as the bedroom door was forced open, the panel of wood swinging open and hitting the adjacent wall with a bang, several armed policemen flooding into the room. You loosened your grip on his wrists, stepping away as two of the men took ahold of Kai by the back of his shirt, twisting his arms behind his back. He shrieked in rage, straining to turn his head towards his assailants as they began to pull him from the room. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, you locked eyes with Kai’s as he turned back to you, cool rage simmering in his dark gaze, his lip curled into an enraged snarl. He pinned you with his stare, not even bothering to fight against the men holding him as he was pulled from the room, a savage promise glittering in his unrelenting stare. A promise of vengeance. Of suffering.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins @ananad1 @shlutnutt @mossybank @tatesimper (dm to be added or removed <3)

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interact-if · 3 years

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Day 2 of Pride Month interviews! You know them, you love them…. give it up for Ames!

Ames, author of Attollo and Metamorphosis

Pride Month Featured Authors

“…and it was a singular, terrible thought, which burrowed itself into your mind like an engorged maggot. This was not a man nor a monster. This was a concept, an ideology, a terrible myth, which had personified itself to stand before you now.You were, to put it simply, screwed.”

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend.

Too bad it’s never so simple.

Demo: Attollo, Metamorphosis (TBA)

Tags: cybernoir, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Attollo is a cyber-noir horror set in a walled city off the coast of the Atlantic that’s been a victim of a nuclear disaster. After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend. Too bad it’s never so simple. Attollo is a 17+ game that deals with heavy topics and a lot of moral questioning; from cults to corrupt government, it has no shortage of monsters in the dark—both metaphorical and literal.

Metamorphosis is a crime/horror story based in the world of crime scene cleanup, where there are three simple steps: Get the call, clean the scene, and don’t ask too many questions. These are the rules that you live by under the employment of Noctua’s Crime Scene Services, and you credit them for keeping you alive.

However, after a routine house call brings forth nightmares of memories that are not your own, you find yourself pulled deeper into Noctua—a city of both monster and man—in a bid to find out the truth behind the murder of Deirdre Callow, and better yet, how her memories came to be yours. Your job mandates that you don’t dig too deep—but could this finally be the exception?

Metamorphosis is 18+ and will have explicit content; follow the last moments of a stranger to find out not only who took her life, but how this connects to the underbelly that Noctua works so hard to hide.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

Lmaoo, oh man. I think it really all began last summer when I first found examples of interactive fiction. I don’t even remember how I came across it, it might’ve been that I saw it mentioned in a post or I saw it as a tag on Itch.io, but at some point, last summer I began to investigate it more. I think what really drew me in was the ability for the player to control the narrative; it was like playing an old RPG, but modernized, and the fact that I could see a story unfold that was influenced by my decisions was so fascinating to me. Not to mention that IF allows so much more character depth than regular novels, in my opinion.

I’m 99% sure my first exposure to interactive fiction was through the game Crème de la Crème (a fantastic game, by the way) and I just enjoyed it so much that I went haywire for the genre. Then Temple of the Endless Night came out (another fantastic game that I’m looking forward to!), and that was really the turning point for inspiring me to give it a go. Now, almost a year later, here I am working on my own two games!

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

My bisexuality doesn’t have much of a major influence on the game, but I do think it contributed to the way that I view and write relationships. I figured out my sexuality around high school (I kissed a girl in high school and found out I liked it just as much as when I kissed a boy) and since then I’ve been very involved in the LGBTQ+ community of both my hometown and uni town.

I think this involvement, like being able to hear about other people’s experiences and share my own, has made me feel a lot more comfortable writing some of the characters in the game. Although Attollo and Metamorphosis both don’t focus heavily on relationships (both have murder in them, which I feel is a bit more pressing), I do keep the option for any RO’s to be romanced by anyone, regardless of gender or preference, because that’s simply what I’ve become so attuned to. In terms of side characters relationships as well, I think my involvement and my own experiences have allowed me to write far more diverse relationships than I might have, and I think that this has also allowed a more fulfilling experience for players when reading through.

I also have incorporated some struggles that I’ve faced before because of my identity into the games. For example, I and a few others have faced issues with religion due to who we are, and I incorporate this into both games. Dreamwalker, Pariah, and Sysba from Attollo all have shadows of this experience in their character origins, and Ilali and Ariston from Metamorphosis has a major point involving identity and beliefs. Both games also have undertows of ostracization and division between groups, which is also something I’ve experienced in the past. Being able to grapple these moments and control them via a narrative has been eye opening for both myself and others involved, and I’m hoping it can be a learning experience for the readers as well.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

I think, now, the amount of progress in LGBTQ+ fiction is expanding at a wonderful rate. There are so many interactive fictions with options to select sexuality, select gender, select beliefs, etc. However, despite this expansion, there’s still a good deal of backlash against some aspects of LGBTQ+ fiction.

For example, as a bisexual woman who has dated men, I know there are some individuals who may not consider me a part of the LGBTQ+ because of this aspect. Not only is this incredibly disheartening, but it’s a viewpoint that I think should be educated against, and fiction is a fantastic pathway to do this. Another example I can think of is a friend of mine who identifies as asexual but is sex-neutral rather than sex-repulsed. Most people can’t believe her when she says this, and she often faces backlash for this declaration as well. This is another thing that I think that, with exposure through a medium such as fiction, can be worked on.

What I’m trying to say here is that I think LGBTQ+ fiction can be a brilliantly educational platform—if used right. Although it already teaches so much with what it has, I think having that representation of different subgroups of sexuality, of their experiences and beliefs, so people can become aware and knowledgeable of these options, is something I’d like to see more of.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

Oh man, I struggled to list off inspirations because I know I have some, but as soon as someone asks me who they are my brain just goes ‘brrrrrr’ LMAO.

In terms of the games that I write and the worlds that I build, I think David Lynch and Robert Chambers are probably the two that I somehow incorporate. Attollo and Metamorphosis both have a lot of surrealist horror, which are what these two really specialized in. Shirley Jackson is also another person who inspired me a lot when it came to the writing and creation of Attollo, especially the intrapersonal relationships between the characters.

In terms of life, this is something else I really struggle to answer. I don’t really have celebrity inspirations or anything like that, but I do get inspired by my close friends and sister a lot. Seeing them go through the struggles that they face and absolutely thrive really drives me to push through my own struggles. They’re the strongest, most brilliant group of people that I know, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate that I can be a part of their lives. Not only that, but we also all collectively encourage each other to push further and to chase our dreams (as cheesy as that is LMAO) and that’s something that I think is another stroke of good fortune. I struck gold when I met them, and they’re some of the biggest inspirations in my life.

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

For Attollo, I’d say ‘Home is where the heart is.’ For Metamorphosis, to quote John Berendt, ‘Always stick around for one more drink.’

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

What advice would I give to you all? Oh my, I’m not exactly a wise woman here, but I’ll do my best to give you something lmaooo. I think what I really want you to walk away with, from both my stories and this interview, is that if you’re passionate about something, then share it with the world. Don’t let anyone deter your passion.

I remember listening to this painter once who commented to his friend how he ‘really liked painting’, and his friend’s first response was ‘but are you good at it?’. He then compared this to the scenario of walking; would you say, ‘but are you good at it?’ to someone who said, ‘I really like walking’? No, because it simply wouldn’t make sense, and it doesn’t make sense to say that to anyone who’s doing something out of passion.

To put it simply—if you love something, then don’t let anyone take that passion from you. I began writing these stories because I’m passionate about Attollo and Metamorphosis; I love each character, each bit of lore, and I share it with you because I want you all to enjoy it as well. Am I the best writer? God, no. Does everyone like what I write? Definitely not. But will I let this stop me from writing, from enjoying what I’m doing? Never, and I want you to do the same.

Explore your passions, embrace your passions, and let what makes you happy continue to do so

#if: events #Pride Month 2021 #pride month #queer authors #queer fiction #queer creators #interactive fiction

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thegrapeandthefig · 3 years

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Hello! How are you? I'm in love with your posts, and I learn a lot from them. Thanks for sharing your knowledge! But could you help me, please? Can you tell me how the Greeks asked for spiritual protection for the house? I know it was usually for Hekate, but I don't know how I could be asking. Thank you!

Thank you for the kind words, I'm glad you find my posts helpful.

Edit: This got very long, and I promise I do answer your question eventually, just please bear with me.

There were many ways one could protect their home, and as I said in my "spiritual protection" post (which I assume is the one you read before asking this question), a lot of different techniques revolved around the house's threshold. I'm going to avoid repeating too much what I already said in that post and add that a lot of it comes down to a set of religious habits that were protective in nature.

Let's start with the Noumenia and the action of cleaning/replenishing the khadiskos in honor of Zeus Ktesios (+ the libation to the Agathos Daimon on the 2nd). More than monthly praise to the divine Father, it is in essence a protective ritual meant to protect the pantry - your food. So here we have a first domestic ritual that very likely included a prayer and sacrifice.

In parallel, the beginning of the month marked the time where one would tend to the statues (hekataia for Hekate, herms for Hermes):

In fact, it seems likely that the immediate outside of a Greek house could well be cluttered with statues: as well as the pillar of Apollo Agyieus, we have evidence that it was common to find hekataia and herms, representative of Hekate and Hermes respectively:

ὥστερ Ἑκατεῖον πανταχοῦ πρὸ τῶν θυρῶν. they’d [personal law courts] be on doorsteps everywhere, like the shrines for Hekate. (Aristophanes, Ckouds 804)

ὁσοι Ἑρμαῖ ἦσαν λίθινοι ἐν τῇ πόλει τῇ Ἀθηναίων (εἰσὶ δὲ κατὰ τὸ ἐπιχώριον ἡ ἐργασία πολλοὶ καὶ ἐν ἰδίοις προθύροις καὶ ἐν ἱεροῖς) the stone statues of Hermes in the city of Athens – they are the pillars of square construction which according to local custom stand in great numbers both in the doorways of private houses and in sacred places (Thucydides 6.27.1)

Porphyry tells us that these hekataia and herms would be cleaned on a monthly basis (De abstinentia 2.16). There are no identifiable archaeological remains of any of these statues in situ, but Faraone points to evidence of ‘a shallow recess off the street in front of the housedoor… [which] seems ideally suited for statuettes, presumably fashioned from perishable materials.’

- Kerr M. D., Gods, Ghosts and Newlyweds: exploring the uses of the threshold in Greek and Roman superstition and folklore, 2018

So we have to imagine that the presence alone of the statues had their own protective/apotropaic properties but also the monthly tending of it. We could go as far as to imagine that the monthly cleaning was accompanied by a prayer and offering. It honestly doesn't seem like too much of a stretch.

We need to understand that, despite me titling this last post as "spiritual protection", there really isn't much of a distinction between the "physical" and the "spiritual". The statues at the door of the average Greek household protected as much from the spiritual (eg. the restless dead) than the mundane (thieves, mice, illness, etc.)

And this is only for domestic cult. Athens had a fair amount of festivals dedicated to purification, and therefore, protection. The most relevant one for your question is the one(s) that involve the eiresione, aka a branch of olive or laurel that is adorned with wool, dried fruits, nuts, sometimes little flasks of oil or honey. It’s part of at least the Pyanepsia, but some people associate it with both the Pyanepsia and the Thargelia, and I would even be tempted to add the Delphinia, all festivals to Apollo.

During the Pyanopsia, an eiresione would be carried by a young boy during the procession to the temple of Apollo, where it would be placed at the door. That being said, it seems that people made their own at home, and kept it close to their house door:

several passages of Aristophanes which show that any normal house in Athens might be expected to have one outside the front door all year round; […] The orator Lycurgus associates the origin of the custom with an ancient famine, and says ‘decorating a large olive branch with everything that the seasons produce at that time they dedicated it to Apollo in front of their doors, calling it eiresione, making first fruit offerings of all the products of the earth, because the suppliant branch placed with Apollo ended the famine in our land.’ –Robert Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens, 2005

So here we have an example of a protective device that doubles as a ritual tool and is intertwined in both personal and state-cult. Placed at the door for a whole year, it is then replaced at the next Pyanepsia where the ritual would be renewed. Again, we find something that is close to this type of formula (imo) "ritual involving an object"+"sacrifice"+"prayer" like with the monthly sacrifice to Zeus, but here, the eiresione seems to provide more long-term protection.

One could point out also the presence of other apotropaic devices, like phallic imagery. Pompeii stands out in this matter for the Roman example but the practice is present in Greece as well:

Phallic imagery in public monuments and in ordinary domestic and commercial plaques can be found at different times and places throughout the Greek world. A relief of a phallus was discovered on the island of Thera in the Dorian, Hellenistic colony (Figure 1). This engraved, rock-cut, large phallic plaque (1.4m) is placed in the doorway of a residence from the Oea on the island of Thera next to the Greek inscription τοισ φιλοισ (for my friends), an inscription that reflects the “benevolent inclusion of friends within the apotropaic protection.”2 When the phallus is accompanied by this type of inscription, [...], the strength of the apotropaic phallus is further reinforced, sometimes promising “retribution in the precise form taken by the evil to be warded off." - Claudia Moser, "Naked Power: The Phallus as an Apotropaic Symbol in the Images and Texts of Roman Italy.

But there were others that weren't necessarily linked to a deity, like some plants, such as when Dioscorides (Ist century AD) tells us this about the red squill: "It does also ward off evil when hung whole on front doors." (De Materia Medica; II, 171, 4)

While I wouldn't advise the red squill method (toxic plant), I hope you can see from my long answer that methods were varied. If anything, it shows the ancients were very much concerned about their protection -spiritual or not-.

I do not know your situation, so I can't tell you which of the options will work best for you. Personally, I have an eiresione at my door (+ a lot of phalli around the house due to the gods I worship) and more recently I added the tending of the khadikos to my routine. But you could choose to have a representation of Hekate, Hermes or Apollon at your door (even one that is aniconic, if you need discretion) and do a monthly ritual to the chosen deity, giving your thanks for the protection, pouring a libation, cleaning it. Choosing the right epithet during your prayer to communicate your request clearly (such as Thyraios or Hermes Strophaios -the latter being more against thieves) is a good idea.

I hope this helps, and that examples I gave can inspire you to figure out what it is you want to do.

#apotropaic

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route22ny · 3 years

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By Timothy Snyder

Published Jan. 9, 2021 - Updated Jan. 10, 2021, 10:12 a.m. ET

Even when he won, in 2016, he insisted that the election was fraudulent — that millions of false votes were cast for his opponent. In 2020, in the knowledge that he was trailing Joseph R. Biden in the polls, he spent months claiming that the presidential election would be rigged and signaling that he would not accept the results if they did not favor him. He wrongly claimed on Election Day that he had won and then steadily hardened his rhetoric: With time, his victory became a historic landslide and the various conspiracies that denied it ever more sophisticated and implausible.

People believed him, which is not at all surprising. It takes a tremendous amount of work to educate citizens to resist the powerful pull of believing what they already believe, or what others around them believe, or what would make sense of their own previous choices. Plato noted a particular risk for tyrants: that they would be surrounded in the end by yes-men and enablers. Aristotle worried that, in a democracy, a wealthy and talented demagogue could all too easily master the minds of the populace. Aware of these risks and others, the framers of the Constitution instituted a system of checks and balances. The point was not simply to ensure that no one branch of government dominated the others but also to anchor in institutions different points of view.

In this sense, the responsibility for Trump’s push to overturn an election must be shared by a very large number of Republican members of Congress. Rather than contradict Trump from the beginning, they allowed his electoral fiction to flourish. They had different reasons for doing so. One group of Republicans is concerned above all with gaming the system to maintain power, taking full advantage of constitutional obscurities, gerrymandering and dark money to win elections with a minority of motivated voters. They have no interest in the collapse of the peculiar form of representation that allows their minority party disproportionate control of government. The most important among them, Mitch McConnell, indulged Trump’s lie while making no comment on its consequences.

Yet other Republicans saw the situation differently: They might actually break the system and have power without democracy. The split between these two groups, the gamers and the breakers, became sharply visible on Dec. 30, when Senator Josh Hawley announced that he would support Trump’s challenge by questioning the validity of the electoral votes on Jan. 6. Ted Cruz then promised his own support, joined by about 10 other senators. More than a hundred Republican representatives took the same position. For many, this seemed like nothing more than a show: challenges to states’ electoral votes would force delays and floor votes but would not affect the outcome.

Yet for Congress to traduce its basic functions had a price. An elected institution that opposes elections is inviting its own overthrow. Members of Congress who sustained the president’s lie, despite the available and unambiguous evidence, betrayed their constitutional mission. Making his fictions the basis of congressional action gave them flesh. Now Trump could demand that senators and congressmen bow to his will. He could place personal responsibility upon Mike Pence, in charge of the formal proceedings, to pervert them. And on Jan. 6, he directed his followers to exert pressure on these elected representatives, which they proceeded to do: storming the Capitol building, searching for people to punish, ransacking the place.

Post-truth is pre-fascism, and Trump has been our post-truth president. When we give up on truth, we concede power to those with the wealth and charisma to create spectacle in its place. Without agreement about some basic facts, citizens cannot form the civil society that would allow them to defend themselves. If we lose the institutions that produce facts that are pertinent to us, then we tend to wallow in attractive abstractions and fictions. Truth defends itself particularly poorly when there is not very much of it around, and the era of Trump — like the era of Vladimir Putin in Russia — is one of the decline of local news. Social media is no substitute: It supercharges the mental habits by which we seek emotional stimulation and comfort, which means losing the distinction between what feels true and what actually is true.

Post-truth wears away the rule of law and invites a regime of myth. These last four years, scholars have discussed the legitimacy and value of invoking fascism in reference to Trumpian propaganda. One comfortable position has been to label any such effort as a direct comparison and then to treat such comparisons as taboo. More productively, the philosopher Jason Stanley has treated fascism as a phenomenon, as a series of patterns that can be observed not only in interwar Europe but beyond it.

Like historical fascist leaders, Trump has presented himself as the single source of truth. His use of the term “fake news” echoed the Nazi smear Lügenpresse (“lying press”); like the Nazis, he referred to reporters as “enemies of the people.” Like Adolf Hitler, he came to power at a moment when the conventional press had taken a beating; the financial crisis of 2008 did to American newspapers what the Great Depression did to German ones. The Nazis thought that they could use radio to replace the old pluralism of the newspaper; Trump tried to do the same with Twitter.

Thanks to technological capacity and personal talent, Donald Trump lied at a pace perhaps unmatched by any other leader in history. For the most part these were small lies, and their main effect was cumulative. To believe in all of them was to accept the authority of a single man, because to believe in all of them was to disbelieve everything else. Once such personal authority was established, the president could treat everyone else as the liars; he even had the power to turn someone from a trusted adviser into a dishonest scoundrel with a single tweet. Yet so long as he was unable to enforce some truly big lie, some fantasy that created an alternative reality where people could live and die, his pre-fascism fell short of the thing itself.

Some of his lies were, admittedly, medium-size: that he was a successful businessman; that Russia did not support him in 2016; that Barack Obama was born in Kenya. Such medium-size lies were the standard fare of aspiring authoritarians in the 21st century. In Poland the right-wing party built a martyrdom cult around assigning blame to political rivals for an airplane crash that killed the nation’s president. Hungary’s Viktor Orban blames a vanishingly small number of Muslim refugees for his country’s problems. But such claims were not quite big lies; they stretched but did not rend what Hannah Arendt called “the fabric of factuality.”

One historical big lie discussed by Arendt is Joseph Stalin’s explanation of starvation in Soviet Ukraine in 1932-33. The state had collectivized agriculture, then applied a series of punitive measures to Ukraine that ensured millions would die. Yet the official line was that the starving were provocateurs, agents of Western powers who hated socialism so much they were killing themselves. A still grander fiction, in Arendt’s account, is Hitlerian anti-Semitism: the claims that Jews ran the world, Jews were responsible for ideas that poisoned German minds, Jews stabbed Germany in the back during the First World War. Intriguingly, Arendt thought big lies work only in lonely minds; their coherence substitutes for experience and companionship.

In November 2020, reaching millions of lonely minds through social media, Trump told a lie that was dangerously ambitious: that he had won an election that in fact he had lost. This lie was big in every pertinent respect: not as big as “Jews run the world,” but big enough. The significance of the matter at hand was great: the right to rule the most powerful country in the world and the efficacy and trustworthiness of its succession procedures. The level of mendacity was profound. The claim was not only wrong, but it was also made in bad faith, amid unreliable sources. It challenged not just evidence but logic: Just how could (and why would) an election have been rigged against a Republican president but not against Republican senators and representatives? Trump had to speak, absurdly, of a “Rigged (for President) Election.”

Trump’s electoral fiction floats free of verifiable reality. It is defended not so much by facts as by claims that someone else has made some claims. The sensibility is that something must be wrong because I feel it to be wrong, and I know others feel the same way. When political leaders such as Ted Cruz or Jim Jordan spoke like this, what they meant was: You believe my lies, which compels me to repeat them. Social media provides an infinity of apparent evidence for any conviction, especially one seemingly held by a president.

It’s not just that electoral fraud by African-Americans against Donald Trump never happened. It is that it is the very opposite of what happened, in 2020 and in every American election. As always, Black people waited longer than others to vote and were more likely to have their votes challenged. They were more likely to be suffering or dying from Covid-19, and less likely to be able to take time away from work. The historical protection of their right to vote has been removed by the Supreme Court’s 2013 ruling in Shelby County v. Holder, and states have rushed to pass measures of a kind that historically reduce voting by the poor and communities of color.

The claim that Trump was denied a win by fraud is a big lie not just because it mauls logic, misdescribes the present and demands belief in a conspiracy. It is a big lie, fundamentally, because it reverses the moral field of American politics and the basic structure of American history.

When Senator Ted Cruz announced his intention to challenge the Electoral College vote, he invoked the Compromise of 1877, which resolved the presidential election of 1876. Commentators pointed out that this was no relevant precedent, since back then there really were serious voter irregularities and there really was a stalemate in Congress. For African-Americans, however, the seemingly gratuitous reference led somewhere else. The Compromise of 1877 — in which Rutherford B. Hayes would have the presidency, provided that he withdrew federal power from the South — was the very arrangement whereby African-Americans were driven from voting booths for the better part of a century. It was effectively the end of Reconstruction, the beginning of segregation, legal discrimination and Jim Crow. It is the original sin of American history in the post-slavery era, our closest brush with fascism so far.

If the reference seemed distant when Ted Cruz and 10 senatorial colleagues released their statement on Jan. 2, it was brought very close four days later, when Confederate flags were paraded through the Capitol.

Some things have changed since 1877, of course. Back then, it was the Republicans, or many of them, who supported racial equality; it was the Democrats, the party of the South, who wanted apartheid. It was the Democrats, back then, who called African-Americans’ votes fraudulent, and the Republicans who wanted them counted. This is now reversed. In the past half century, since the Civil Rights Act, Republicans have become a predominantly white party interested — as Trump openly declared — in keeping the number of voters, and particularly the number of Black voters, as low as possible. Yet the common thread remains. Watching white supremacists among the people storming the Capitol, it was easy to yield to the feeling that something pure had been violated. It might be better to see the episode as part of a long American argument about who deserves representation.

In the four decades since the election of Ronald Reagan, Republicans have overcome the tension between the gamers and the breakers by governing in opposition to government, or by calling elections a revolution (the Tea Party), or by claiming to oppose elites. The breakers, in this arrangement, provide cover for the gamers, putting forth an ideology that distracts from the basic reality that government under Republicans is not made smaller but simply diverted to serve a handful of interests.

At first, Trump seemed like a threat to this balance. His lack of experience in politics and his open racism made him a very uncomfortable figure for the party; his habit of continually telling lies was initially found by prominent Republicans to be uncouth. Yet after he won the presidency, his particular skills as a breaker seemed to create a tremendous opportunity for the gamers. Led by the gamer in chief, McConnell, they secured hundreds of federal judges and tax cuts for the rich.

Trump was unlike other breakers in that he seemed to have no ideology. His objection to institutions was that they might constrain him personally. He intended to break the system to serve himself — and this is partly why he has failed. Trump is a charismatic politician and inspires devotion not only among voters but among a surprising number of lawmakers, but he has no vision that is greater than himself or what his admirers project upon him. In this respect his pre-fascism fell short of fascism: His vision never went further than a mirror. He arrived at a truly big lie not from any view of the world but from the reality that he might lose something.

Yet Trump never prepared a decisive blow. He lacked the support of the military, some of whose leaders he had alienated. (No true fascist would have made the mistake he did there, which was to openly love foreign dictators; supporters convinced that the enemy was at home might not mind, but those sworn to protect from enemies abroad did.) Trump’s secret police force, the men carrying out snatch operations in Portland, was violent but also small and ludicrous. Social media proved to be a blunt weapon: Trump could announce his intentions on Twitter, and white supremacists could plan their invasion of the Capitol on Facebook or Gab. But the president, for all his lawsuits and entreaties and threats to public officials, could not engineer a situation that ended with the right people doing the wrong thing. Trump could make some voters believe that he had won the 2020 election, but he was unable to bring institutions along with his big lie. And he could bring his supporters to Washington and send them on a rampage in the Capitol, but none appeared to have any very clear idea of how this was to work or what their presence would accomplish. It is hard to think of a comparable insurrectionary moment, when a building of great significance was seized, that involved so much milling around.

The lie outlasts the liar. The idea that Germany lost the First World War in 1918 because of a Jewish “stab in the back” was 15 years old when Hitler came to power. How will Trump’s myth of victimhood function in American life 15 years from now? And to whose benefit?

On Jan. 7, Trump called for a peaceful transition of power, implicitly conceding that his putsch had failed. Even then, though, he repeated and even amplified his electoral fiction: It was now a sacred cause for which people had sacrificed. Trump’s imagined stab in the back will live on chiefly thanks to its endorsement by members of Congress. In November and December 2020, Republicans repeated it, giving it a life it would not otherwise have had. In retrospect, it now seems as though the last shaky compromise between the gamers and the breakers was the idea that Trump should have every chance to prove that wrong had been done to him. That position implicitly endorsed the big lie for Trump supporters who were inclined to believe it. It failed to restrain Trump, whose big lie only grew bigger.

Trump is, for now, the martyr in chief, the high priest of the big lie. He is the leader of the breakers, at least in the minds of his supporters. By now, the gamers do not want Trump around. Discredited in his last weeks, he is useless; shorn of the obligations of the presidency, he will become embarrassing again, much as he was in 2015. Unable to provide cover for their gamesmanship, he will be irrelevant to their daily purposes. But the breakers have an even stronger reason to see Trump disappear: It is impossible to inherit from someone who is still around. Seizing Trump’s big lie might appear to be a gesture of support. In fact it expresses a wish for his political death. Transforming the myth from one about Trump to one about the nation will be easier when he is out of the way.

The big lie requires commitment. When Republican gamers do not exhibit enough of that, Republican breakers call them “RINOs”: Republicans in name only. This term once suggested a lack of ideological commitment. It now means an unwillingness to throw away an election. The gamers, in response, close ranks around the Constitution and speak of principles and traditions. The breakers must all know (with the possible exception of the Alabama senator Tommy Tuberville) that they are participating in a sham, but they will have an audience of tens of millions who do not.

Trump’s coup attempt of 2020-21, like other failed coup attempts, is a warning for those who care about the rule of law and a lesson for those who do not. His pre-fascism revealed a possibility for American politics. For a coup to work in 2024, the breakers will require something that Trump never quite had: an angry minority, organized for nationwide violence, ready to add intimidation to an election. Four years of amplifying a big lie just might get them this. To claim that the other side stole an election is to promise to steal one yourself. It is also to claim that the other side deserves to be punished.

Informed observers inside and outside government agree that right-wing white supremacism is the greatest terrorist threat to the United States. Gun sales in 2020 hit an astonishing high. History shows that political violence follows when prominent leaders of major political parties openly embrace paranoia.

Our big lie is typically American, wrapped in our odd electoral system, depending upon our particular traditions of racism. Yet our big lie is also structurally fascist, with its extreme mendacity, its conspiratorial thinking, its reversal of perpetrators and victims and its implication that the world is divided into us and them. To keep it going for four years courts terrorism and assassination.

To be sure, this moment is also a chance. It is possible that a divided Republican Party might better serve American democracy; that the gamers, separated from the breakers, might start to think of policy as a way to win elections. It is very likely that the Biden-Harris administration will have an easier first few months than expected; perhaps obstructionism will give way, at least among a few Republicans and for a short time, to a moment of self-questioning. Politicians who want Trumpism to end have a simple way forward: Tell the truth about the election.

America will not survive the big lie just because a liar is separated from power. It will need a thoughtful repluralization of media and a commitment to facts as a public good. The racism structured into every aspect of the coup attempt is a call to heed our own history. Serious attention to the past helps us to see risks but also suggests future possibility. We cannot be a democratic republic if we tell lies about race, big or small. Democracy is not about minimizing the vote nor ignoring it, neither a matter of gaming nor of breaking a system, but of accepting the equality of others, heeding their voices and counting their votes.

Timothy Snyder is the Levin professor of history at Yale University and the author of histories of political atrocity including “Bloodlands” and “Black Earth,” as well as the book “On Tyranny,” on America’s turn toward authoritarianism. His most recent book is “Our Malady,” a memoir of his own near-fatal illness reflecting on the relationship between health and freedom.

***

Essay copied & pasted here in its entirety for the benefit of those stuck behind the paywall. Follow the link for the accompanying photos and captions.

#trump coup #american abyss #timothy snyder #fascism in america

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maribatlife · 4 years

Text

The Unexpected Joys of Motherhood

I’m apparently only able to write a slowburn Brucinette fic...

Summary:

Sometimes a family is a Mom, a son, and a box of tiny gods and that's okay.

Timeline:

Damian was conceived when Bruce was 18 (Marinette 15 [age dif. 2.5 yrs])

Hawkmoth was defeated when Mari was 17 (Bruce 20) [Damian 3

Marinette travels the world and ends up in Pakistan near the League of Assassins- 18 (Bruce 21) [Damian 3 1/2]

AO3

It has been 3 months since she defeated Hawkmoth and took back the Butterfly, Peacock, and Cat Miraculous. 2 months 3 weeks and 6 days since Fu passed the title of Guardian of the Miracle Box onto her. 2 months since Marinette saw her parents. She was currently in the mountains of Pakistan trying to decide where to go next. After all, what were you supposed to do when you find out your idol and the villain terrorizing your hometown for years were the same person? And that's not even including the surprise that her kitty was also her crush and he thought puns were a good pickup line. 'Yeah,' Marinette thought. 'The Agrestes' are not all there, I should have known.'

She was wandering around a tiny Pakistani village, completely off the grid and trying to figure out her next move. When she reached her lodgings for the night Tikki and Plagg flew out of the Miracle Box.

"Marinette, we have a problem."

"What is it Tikki?"

"You know how the Cat and Ladybug should always be active at the same time, to balance out the energies, well that's not always possible…"

"What my sugar cube is trying to say is that the last time she was active without me she accidentally created healing pools," Plagg paused for effect.

"Well that's not too bad…"

"That drive you insane if you use them." He finished. "Oh, and there's one somewhere near here."

"The good news," Tikki shot a glare at Plagg, "is that Plagg can destroy them. So we just need to find it."

And that is how Marinette found herself scaling the side of a mountain in the middle of the night. She was just about to pull herself over the last ledge when a pair of ninjas came out of nowhere. She flattened herself against the wall. What the hell is going on here? "Kaalki," she hissed. "Go scout ahead for any more surprises." As she zipped away, she turned to Tikki and Plagg. "Any ideas about what's going on?"

Just then Kaalki returned. "So, good news the pool isn't far, bad news there is a cult protecting the location."

"That's fine," Plagg started. "I can destroy it alone."

"No," Marinette and Tikki whispered emphatically.

"Did you forget about the dinosaurs?" Marinette continued.

"But the past is the past, it won't happen again."

"Fine, remember the Eiffel Tower? No, I've got a plan to get us in there." She pulled out a small miraculous container to reveal Trixx's necklace. "Hey, Trixx, you ready for this?" At Trixx's nod, she said "Plagg, Trixx, Merge.'

In an instant gone was her practical, durable pants and canvas coat. Instead she wore a dark suit reminiscent of the Ladybug suit mottled with a dark rusty red, 2 dark ears poked out from her hair and on her back was her staff. Sparing a quick check to make sure Tikki and Kaalki were secure she extended the staff, launching herself into the mouth of the cave above.

"Okay, let's get this over with," she whispered. She darted down the hall until she reached a fork in the cave. "Which way Kaalki?"

Before she could answer, Tikki hissed, "Someone's coming, hide!"

Marinette pressed herself against the wall and called out "Mirage," picturing interrupted sandstone walls. Down the hall another ninja dragged a little boy down towards a previously unnoticed door. When the door was opened, Marinette caught a quick glimpse of various weapons before it was slammed shut and locked after the boy. Task accomplished; the ninja left.

"Okay, new plan. Kaalki, watch over him. If things get even weirder get him out. If not, we'll meet you back here after destroying the pool." Kaalki nodded before phasing through the door. "You ready Tikki?"

"It's this way," and Tikki zipped off down a hallway, Marinette quickly following after her. After following Tikki through the winding halls they eventually reached the pool and with a whispered "Cataclysm," the pool was destroyed. "Plagg, Trixx Separate. Plagg Claws off." She landed lightly next to the now empty pit. "Okay Tikki, ready?" At Tikki's nod she transformed and swung down the halls to the exit.

It was fine that the Guardian wanted to deal with the pool first, and Kaalki even understood having her watch over the boy. But she really wished The Guardian would return post-haste. The observant little child had spotted her almost as soon as she flew through the door and has been trying to capture her since then. Honestly, she would be fine if this little demon child stopped throwing things at her. It was as a dagger almost hit her, that Kaalki had enough and phased through the floor, leaving just her eyes above to keep watch on the devil child. Never mind that the knife wouldn't harm her, it was just plain rude and Kaalki would not abide by poor manners no matter what the Guardian asked her. Kaalki did not have to wait long before she felt the Guardian approach and she flew to the outside of the door.

“Kaalki, anything to worry about?”

“Just how rude this child is.” Plagg started to cackle, damn cat. “He threw a dagger at me.”

“If that’s it?” She waited for Kaalki’s nod and put on the glasses. “Then, Tikki, Kaalki, Merge.” After the light dispersed, she opened the door and immediately had to dodge the dagger that was thrown at the opening door. Plagg instantly started to cackle as he flew over to the boy.

“Oh ho ho,” Plagg cackled. ”I like this one, the amount of destruction in his soul. He’s coming with us, right?”

“Plagg, he has a choice. I’m not just going to kidnap him.”

“But,”

“It is his choice, Plagg.”

Plagg flew over to where the child waited. “Kid, I'm Plagg, the god of destruction, you are now my kitten.”

“Plagg, no coercion.”

“Uggh,” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I'm Plagg, the god of destruction, I only care about my sugar cube, my kittens, and my cheese and I will end anyone who tries to mess with those. Do you want to come with me and leave this pit, or stay here for however long?”

“Grandfather requires me to be here. To learn how to lead the league and earn the knowledge about my father’s identity.

“Boring!” Plagg flew back towards Marinette before turning around. “Your grandfather use the glowing green pit?”

“The Lazarus Pit? Yes, but how do you know…”

“Well, it’s kinda gone now so there’s that.”

The kid gave him a long, searching look. “It is impossible for anyone to destroy the Pit.”

“Kid, God of Destruction, I do what I want.” Marinette coughed behind him and arched an eyebrow. “Within reason.”

“And you are?” the kid addressed Marinette for the first time.

“I’m Lady-“ Shit, she hadn’t thought of a new name yet. “-Luck. Holder of the Miraculous of Creation.” Suddenly Marinette heard footsteps hurrying towards them. She leapt into the room, closing the door after her. “Times up, I need that decision now.”

“I will join you but I do not see how you’ll escape Grandfather’s guards.”

She smirked, “Like this. Voyage!” A portal opened. “Come on kid, time to go.”

He hesitated but went through the portal and it closed behind them.

They reentered the world, in a nondescript apartment building in Spain. “Tikki, Kaalki, Separate. Tikki Spots Off. Hi, I’m Marinette and you are?”

“I am Ibn al Xu’ffasch.”

“Ibn al –, I’m going to butcher that.”

He looked down. “When we were alone, Mother would call me Damian.”

Time passed as it must and before Mari knew it, Dami had been travelling with her for a year. They had been following where there where imbalances in the world. Lady Luck and occasionally partnering with Trixx as Zorra, making appearances where necessary. Lady Luck would stop a disaster, or Zorra would somehow get her paws on damning information. Mari was always careful when she went out. Dami would hold Plagg and Kaalki when she left and protect the miracle box.

She had met a few confused and concerned “heroes”. Aquaman was particularly funny because apparently his ancestor had met Tikki and, unfortunately for Atlantis, Plagg. He was understandably concerned with the idea that Plagg was now out of the box again, but he acknowledged that it was the Guardian’s choice.

It was while she was visiting Achu, and Prince Ali that she first noticed Damian’s new tendency to get in between her and anyone else. Ali had invited them to a ball. While Marinette was talking to the Foreign Minister, Damian kept inching between the two of them. He then proceeded to do that with every conversation she had, even with Prince Ali and his parents.

The Queen chuckled. “I remember when Ali was at that age.”

“What age?” Marinette asked before she could stop herself. Damian was currently holding onto her skirt as tight as he could and she was trying to ignore how the fabric was definitely going to be wrinkled once he let go.

“The age where they are incredibly protective of their mothers. Ali was constantly ‘defending my honor’ from anyone and everyone. It’s adorable.”

“So this is typical,” Marinette questioned.

“Oh, yes. He’ll grow out of it in a few months, it’s just that right now you’re his world.”

It was later that evening, while she was contemplating what the Queen had told her, that her phone rang with a familiar tune.

“Marinette, my rockin’ niece, I’ve got another tour and I can’t do it without my favorite designer.”

“Jagged, I can’t go back to Paris. It’s all too fresh. Plus, no fashion house would work with me, I’m tainted by association.”

“But that’s the beauty of it, I’m working out of Gotham. Why don’t you come here, see the city, handle the tour designs and make a decision from there? Plus, didn’t you adopt that kid? I want to meet my new rocking nephew.”

Marinette sighed, she knew that one way or another she would end up designing for Jagged again. And she missed it, she missed being that creative constantly. There were so many ideas swimming around in her head from all of her travels.

The next day, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Damian Al Ghul-Cheng boarded a flight to New York City. Flying over the ocean, the familiar feeling of rightness that came with going where the Miraculous were needed next got stronger and stronger.

#brucinette #maribat #The Unexpected Joys of Motherhood #My writing

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feste-the-jester · 3 years

Text

Do you know what’s fun?

Picking the blog of someone you don’t like, and seeing how far you can twist things to make it fit the BITE model -criteria to identify a cult. GREAT fun. All you need is a bit of creativity and a total disregard for accuracy. Don’t believe me? Let’s have a try and see how we do! The Bite model can be found here, with many thanks to the Fool for bringing it to my attention.

I. Behavior control:

6. Manipulation and deprivation of sleep.

The Fool lives in Australia and most of his readers are in a different time zone. This means that every time he starts publishing numerous posts about the latest drama, his followers are likely to get absorbed in it, depriving themselves of sleep and becoming more susceptible to his interpretation of things.

9. Major time spent with group indoctrination and rituals and/or self indoctrination including the Internet.

Each time the Fool decides on a new “sin”/aberrant behavior that the “enemy” is guilty of, he will publish many posts repeating the same assertion. Frequent repetition of the core message is a well known indoctrination technique. Many of the Fool’s followers are likely spending an inordinate amount of time on his blog, judging by the speed and frequency that “likes” from the same people appear.

10. Permission required for major decisions.

The Fool often receives and publishes asks, asking him for permission to create a blog similar to his, asking if it’s ok to follow or interact with Simon Alkenmayer, whether they or their friends are safe etc.

11. Thoughts, feelings, and activities (of self and others) reported to superiors.

Readers inform the Fool of what is happening on Simon and Kristina’s blog, report (often mistakenly, rarely, if ever, corrected) what Simon has said or done, both on tumblr and on other social media, such as Twitter. They also contact the Fool to report on their own thoughts and reactions to Simon.

12. Rewards and punishments used to modify behaviors, both positive and negative.

Readers who agree with the Fool and mirror his opinions are rewarded with sympathy (for their negative experience) and by having their intellect and critical thinking skills praised. Anyone who disagrees is deemed to be naive, immature, indoctrinated by Simon, incapable of logic etc. Indeed, the whole continued existence of the Fool’s blog is arguably a form of punishment for Simon “threatening him” with legal action back when the blog was first created. This communicates to members what kind of retribution they may expect if they cross the leader’s boundaries.

13. Discourage individualism, encourage group-think.

Any reports confirming the Fool’s assertions about Simon are immediately welcomed, believed, and adopted into the canon. Dissenting voices are “sent by Simon”, “haven’t read or understood the Fool’s arguments” or have been “manipulated.” The Fool does not acknowledge that it is possible for an intelligent, reasonable and objective adult to read his arguments and disagree with him.

14. Impose rigid rules and regulations.

Such as not answering asks that are not formatted to his liking, and he “can’t be bothered to read”.

16. Threaten harm to family and friends.

The Fool will publicly assert that he has never threatened anyone. However he has gone out of his way to connect Kristina to Simon, who is portrayed as “the enemy”. Several people, including this Jester, have been warned by friends to be careful of attracting the Fool’s and followers’ ire.

18. Instill dependency and obedience.

Readers expect the Fool to tell them which of Simon’s behaviors are problematic. Anyone who disagrees is likely to be accused of the same. (“If you think this isn’t racist, then you are also racist” etc.)

II. Information control:

1. Deception:

a. Deliberately withhold information.

Such as selective quoting, neglecting to withdraw statements that have been proven wrong, and not acknowledging any outside posts that don’t fit with the narrative.

b. Distort information to make it more acceptable.

Such as selective quoting, ignoring context and applying his own interpretation to things said by the “outsiders”.

c. Systematically lie to the cult members.

For example repeating that Kristina accused him of physically setting a fire on her drive.

2. Minimize or discourage access to non-cult sources of information, including:

a. Internet, TV, radio, books, articles, newspapers, magazines, other media.

Frequent repetition of how “unreadable” Simon’s books are, or how “long and ranting” his posts are can be seen as discouraging his followers from accessing them and forming their own opinion.

b. Critical information.

Any posts sharing positive experiences involving Simon are either ignored or discounted.

d. Keep members busy so they don’t have time to think and investigate.

Every time one of the Fool’s theories on Simon’s misdeeds is disproven, the Fool quickly moves on to a new accusation, keeping his followers from going back and reconsidering his previous posts.

4. Encourage spying on other members

b. Report deviant thoughts, feelings and actions to leadership.

The Fool often receives and publishes third party reports on Simon’s posts and behavior, inside and outside of tumblr. These are not fact-checked, but are welcomed and encouraged.

c. Ensure that individual behavior is monitored by group.

The Fool often receives and publishes third party reports on Simon’s posts and behavior, inside and outside of tumblr. These are not fact-checked, but are welcomed and encouraged.

5. Extensive use of cult-generated information and propaganda, including:

b. Misquoting statements or using them out of context from non-cult sources.

The Fool will often misquote Simon, and those misquotes will go on to be repeated with frequency by him and his followers.

III. Thought control:

1. Require members to internalize the group’s doctrine as truth.

a. Adopting the group's ‘map of reality’ as reality

If you don’t believe the Fool to be right, you are illogical, brainwashed or “reaching.” Frequent use of phrases such as “Obviously,” “We all know” etc reinforces this.

Everyone the Fool interacts with must acknowledge that what he is doing is critique, despite all evidence to the contrary.

b. Instill black and white thinking

Simon is “a bad person.” Everything he does must be seen and interpreted through this lense, which is reinforced frequently. The Fool often writes or publishes that Simon is “a bad person,” “a garbage person”, “an asshole” and similar descriptors.

c. Decide between good vs. evil

The Fool gets to determine what is good and what is evil. Simon is evil, and must be called out at every opportunity. The Fool and his followers are good, so any slurs, lies or offensive statements they make are excused and covered up.

d. Organize people into us vs. them (insiders vs. outsiders)

The Fool’s followers are intelligent, “have brains” and would never endanger anyone. The Fool trusts them to handle things appropriately. Simon’s followers are simple, impressionable, a mob. The Fool does not trust them to report their own experience, and their judgement is compromised by definition.

2. Change person’s name and identity.

The Fool calls Simon “Si”, “Krimon” and “Kristina”. Anonymous visitors to his ask box are encouraged to choose a “code name” to protect them from the evil Simon.

3. Use of loaded language and clichés which constrict knowledge, stop critical thoughts and reduce complexities into platitudinous buzz words.

Using loaded terms such as “misappropriation”, “grooming” to describe Simon’s actions and descriptions such as “critique” for his own writing help the Fool elicit the reaction he wants from his followers.

6. Memories are manipulated and false memories are created.

For example an influx of Anonymous asks that somehow suddenly realised years later that Simon behaved badly towards them, even if they didn’t think that way back then.

8. Rejection of rational analysis, critical thinking, constructive criticism.

The Fool has blocked people for disagreeing with him. He frequently shuts down polite questions and uses sarcasm to avoid answering. Despite not affording Simon the same luxury, the Fool expects his readers to “take his word about what he meant” with a post, even if the messenger is politely explaining how it came across.

9. Forbid critical questions about leader, doctrine, or policy allowed.

For example saying that he will “not publish any asks defending antisemitism. Even if that’s not what you think you are doing.” In effect, if you disagree with the Fool’s interpretation of Simon’s behavior as antisemitic, then you are defending antisemitism. No dissent allowed.

10. Labeling alternative belief systems as illegitimate, evil, or not useful.

No one possibly believes Simon is an actual monster, and if they do, they are unable of critical thought.

11. Instill new “map of reality”.

Commenting on someone’s art, mocking them, calling them names, is “literary critique”. Attempts to answer to accusations are “rants”. Asking someone if the possibility of legal consequences bothers them is “threatening” and “becoming irrationally angry”. And so on...

IV. Emotional control:

1. Manipulate and narrow the range of feelings – some emotions and/or needs are deemed as evil, wrong or selfish.

Simon’s feelings are not even real, according to the Fool. Simon could not possibly be affected by the Fool’s actions. He is not real and has no feelings. Instead, he is only capable of “ranting”, “manipulating” and “doing things for attention”. Any concerns brought to the Fool about how his actions are affecting Simon, are answered with “You need to remember he’s not a real person”.

3. Make the person feel that problems are always their own fault, never the leader’s or the group’s fault.

If Simon or his readers are upset, it’s their fault for looking at the blog. If anyone’s reputation is damaged as a result of claims the Fool makes about them, it’s on them. The Fool is free to make any comments he sees fit, with no consequences.

4. Promote feelings of guilt or unworthiness, such as

b. You are not living up to your potential

Being part of Simon’s group means you are allowing yourself to be manipulated and brainwashed. You can not reach your full potential unless you renounce Simon.

c. Your family is deficient

Your “found family” of gentle readers is deficient.

d. Your past is suspect

Your past experiences are not proof of anything. Bad things may have been happening in Simon’s space, and you may have been part of them.

e. Your affiliations are unwise

You are choosing to affiliate yourself with someone bad. And you are unable to tell he is lying to you.

f. Your thoughts, feelings, actions are irrelevant or selfish

If you share your thoughts, feelings or actions to defend Simon, it doesn’t prove anything, and by defending him you are harming others.

5. Instill fear, such as fear of:

b. The outside world

c. Enemies

The Fool makes sure to repeat often enough that readers might be targeted by Simon and his followers. He curates that expectation and then reinforces it by publishing Anons who agree.

8. Phobia indoctrination: inculcating irrational fears about leaving the group or questioning the leader’s authority.

Not so much fears of leaving the Fool’s group, as much as cultivating fears of leaving/going against Simon’s group. The Fool’s group is presented as a safe haven.

d. Never a legitimate reason to leave; those who leave are weak, undisciplined, unspiritual, worldly, brainwashed by family or counselor, or seduced by money, sex, or rock and roll.

Those who don’t embrace the Fool’s blog and choose to remain with Simon are weak-minded, brainwashed, unable to reason, or bad by association. There can be no legitimate reason to like Simon.

e. Threats of harm to ex-member and family.

No explicit threats are made, but seeing the treatment of Kristina Meister is implicitly threatening.

See? Of course all this is just an exercise -a thought experiment. But it’s about as well-argued as the Fool’s original analysis. (Which is to say, neither deserves to be taken seriously.)

#simon alkenmayer #simon alkenmayer is dead #feste the jester #cw cult #Feste BITEs back

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fermented-writers-block · 4 years

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Just recently, I stumbled across @owls-house‘s post on MSN’s article about some of the first look details of The Owl House while looking through some of the older posts about upcoming news on the show before it came out, and this particular section caught my eye in light of everything we currently know about the Boiling Isles and the cast of the show:

The Owl House:

The Owl House is a living structure that Eda has charmed so that she could live there and be safe from outside forces. Quaint and cottage-like on the outside, with a storefront facade, the inside of the Owl House is full of secret rooms, with a labyrinth for a basement. Hooty, the door knocker, serves as the home’s defense system.

Given how the Owl House is supposed to be Eda’s safe haven and how she hasn’t really shown that much of an interest in puzzle solving and mysteries, the two bolded details immediately stood out to me.

I mean, from what we’ve seen of her, Eda has never really struck me as someone who’d construct or even want to deal with a labyrinth in the first place - particularly one that’s completely unnecessary if its supposed to be a basement to simply just store things in - and I very much doubt Eda would install a whole bunch of secret rooms into her house that presumably go unused when she likes to collect things so often, let alone go through all the trouble of making entire rooms dedicated to being secret when we’ve seen her be content with the amount of rooms she already uses.

And that’s without asking where and what the heck these secret rooms are supposed to be about specifically, as while they are secret and thus understandably not generally supposed to be easily found, they would have to be VERY small rooms to fit inside with the relative dimensions of all the rooms we’ve seen so far compared to the size of the exterior, and that’s without asking about what purpose they would even serve.

As for the apparent labyrinth, such a word tends to evoke the image of some incredibly huge and complex maze-like structure with single overall path and no dead ends - although it’s often been used interchangeably used with ‘maze,’ which is basically a labyrinth with dead ends, so who knows what it actually looks like here - and yet there is no sign of any kind of tunnel when an animated Hooty stood up in Hooty’s Moving Hassle let alone hardly any implied space for the kind of grand, sprawling structure the word ‘labyrinth’ evokes.

Now, I’ve brought this up in my last theory about the Owl House as a structure, but as a brief summary, I deduced that it is not a place that Eda had constructed completely all on her own, but rather an amalgamation of a bunch of parts of different buildings that had gotten attached to one center section: aka the middle part of the house with white brickwork - or the Owl Temple as I’ve dubbed it before.

And after looking through the flooring and walls of the rooms we’ve seen so far of the Owl House, I’ve concluded that the labyrinth at the very least is located or accessible from either underneath the carpet in the living room:

Or somewhere inside the parapet/battlement thing that serves as the floor of Eda’s balcony:

Obviously, considering the likely size of both of these rooms in relation to the dimensions of the house, they must be hidden away by magic, whether it be through magical pocket dimensions or the like, but this just raises the questions of why these rooms exist in the first place.

For me, I can see only two possible explanations for both questions, both of which I’ve outlined extensively down below:

TLDR: Either the original people who used the Owl Temple a long time ago had build those rooms into it, or they are a potentially significant part of Hooty’s biology as the house itself

Option 1: They were built by the original inhabitants of the Owl Temple

Like I’ve discussed before, I suspect that - from the owl mural and the way the curtains are arranged - the living room used to be used as an altar or ritual room for some kind of owl spirit/deity, so following off that kind of conclusion, it’s possible that the rest of the temple was designed in a similar fashion related to the Owl Deity.

Perhaps these secret rooms are only unlockable through puzzles and riddles to play into how owls are usually portrayed as wise old creatures, hiding away ‘treasures’ not of gold and wealth, but rather of information and books. Maybe these secret rooms could have been like places of study where one could peruse ancient tomes or collect knowledge without being disturbed, or they could simply be full on ordinary rooms that people lived and slept in but with doors that can only be unlocked in a particular way ala the Ravenclaw dorms in Harry Potter.

As for the labyrinth, it could have been meant as a way to test one’s mind and observation skills/as part of one’s initiation, requiring an attentive eye to detail or such to figure out the one single route in and out of it. Maybe it holds some kind of great secret of knowledge or an important ancient artifact that only those who can figure out the path can find/use.

Of course, there IS the small chance it functioned more like a quirky cult with the labyrinth posing as part of kind of bizarre ritual or being used for sacrificial duty, but I very much doubt that this would even get past the censors let alone even got implemented with how un-cult-like the glimpses of the base design of the Owl Temple has been so far.

That said, given how I’ve speculated that something happened that led to the Owl Temple being abandoned, falling into disrepair and obscurity long before Eda first discovered it, she likely has next to absolutely no idea about the existence of at least most of these rooms, so it would be interesting to see exactly how the cast will eventually and inevitably find and explore these hidden rooms and labyrinth, especially with the chance at discovering long-forgotten knowledge or even uncovering dark secrets and old truths that have been suppressed and forgetten by the present day.

However, though I think this explanation and ramifications thereof would be interesting to explore in its own right, I can’t help but think that the second, more likely explanation would easily expand upon and add quite the intrigue to a particular character I’ve had my eye on for a good while:

OPTION 2: They are a part of Hooty and are only increasing in size and number as he grows

We all know that Hooty IS the house itself as demonstrated by his manipulation of various parts of the structure and from statements by Eda, but whereas the prior explanation was based on the idea that the old inhabitants had created the secret rooms and labyrinth themselves before Hooty came into the equation, here I’d like to propose that the rooms are a side result of Hooty slowly regenerating back into a full sized Owl Temple.

With the kind of importance and likely amount of people that would be present or living in such a place, it seems rather likely that what we see of the Owl Temple in the Owl House is but a small-ish remnant of the entire thing, especially with the doorframe in Eda’s room that most likely connected to another section or large area that she either couldn’t salvage in an intact-enough state or didn’t care about to bring with her.

However, though Eda’s additions seems to have been integrated relatively neatly with what she found of the Owl Temple for Hooty to probably be able to affect them, they are likely nowhere near enough to make up for the rest of the missing Temple.

As such, Hooty could potentially and unknowingly be growing new rooms to make up for the rest of the Temple - kind of like a yolk becoming a baby chick inside of its shell, forming organs and bones and etc until it’s big and strong enough to emerge.

Though here, instead of breaking apart the foundations and outside of the Owl House entirely, perhaps this transformation would be more like the structure suddenly expanding outwards and quickly stretching everything about itself similar a video about plant growth on fast forward, up until the outer dimensions match the ever increasing inner dimensions.

With this kind of analogy, it’d make sense why Eda wouldn’t know about these rooms and why Hooty wouldn’t bring them up, as to the former, they literally weren’t there when she salvaged what she could of the Temple, and for the latter, they’re just such a natural part of his body that he simply doesn’t notice.

Now, why I think that this would add an interesting layer of mystique to Hooty’s character is because of the important question of - if and when he finds out about these rooms - whether Hooty would be able to consciously control their structure and arrangement however he wants.

After all, if the answer is YES, then we might get to begin to see the full capacity of both Hooty’s power and his patience if he gets ticked off and decides to turn the inside of the house into this:

It would not only be an amazing opportunity for some glorious mind screwy animation with the transformation of a location we’ve all become accustomed to into something straight out of M C Escher’s nightmares, but would also give an opportunity to build Hooty’s character MUCH further beyond the complete butt monkey he’s been portrayed as.

Outside of Eda calling him a “state of the art defense system” in the first episode, he has barely gotten any respect and has never been treated seriously compared to even King. And even when he seems to have temporarily died in The Intruder given the crossed-out eyes and the lights going out in the house when they’re apparently directly controlled by him, Luz and King didn’t really stay that concerned for long. Heck, King was more annoyed at hearing Hooty’s voice again rather than being happy that he was still alive.

After enduring all of that, it’s a wonder that Hooty hasn’t snapped any sooner, so how he’d react when he finally can get people to listen to him without them being able to just simply ignore him or leave would open up the gates to his inner psyche and how he really feels about everyone and the way they treat him.

Exactly how he’d manipulate the interior dimensions would be extremely telling of what kind of character he truly is at heart, what with the sheer kind of power trip from being in complete control over such a space vs how he would be calmed down from it, AND it’d mark a major and permanent shift in how everyone treats the being they live in on a daily basis due to how much mutual trust and respect both Hooty and his inhabitants would likely have to rebuild in each other to be able to go about their day and keep their relationships intact.

That, and it’d be a REALLY interesting glimpse into the full eldritch nature of a house with many more rooms on the inside than the outside suggests, one that actually has a mind and consciousness to drive it and thus one that you don’t really want to piss off if you can. Just think of all the fun horror/mind screw that could be done with such an episode about this.

Of course, this does bring into question exactly what is the deal with the labyrinth, but running off the seemingly one-time joke from the first episode where - instead of simply opening the door like he’s done in every other episode - Hooty lets everyone in by opening his mouth and even burping, the entire living room could easily be equated as Hooty’s stomach.

I’ve discussed this with @sepublic a bit, but because of how he can stretch vertically instead of just his neck as shown above, as well as the likely placement of the labyrinth underneath the living room, I suspect that the labyrinth might be doubling as Hooty’s intestines given the way real intestines fold and twist around while also having one single route through them like a labyrinth does.

That, and that Hooty may have gained Eda’s trust as a good enough defense system for her to rely on by being able to do this to whoever tries to attack the house from time to time:

I would not be surprised if Luz or Eda or whoever checks out the labyrinth later in the series might find the remains of some of Eda’s old enemies down there.

That said, considering how much bigger the original Owl Temple might possibly be than the Owl House, Hooty would likely require quite a LOT of material/energy to build back those rooms and other parts of the Temple. And given how he doesn’t exactly seem to passively be feeding off ambient magic or something alongside the comparison to intestines, well...

It just makes one wonder just what state those remains are in, let alone how recognizable they even still are in the first place.

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house theory #owl house theory #hooty #speculation #long post #amnesiac owl deity hooty theory

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

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Timothy Snyder [don't miss a word]

When Donald Trump stood before his followers on Jan. 6 and urged them to march on the United States Capitol, he was doing what he had always done. He never took electoral democracy seriously nor accepted the legitimacy of its American version. Even when he won, in 2016, he insisted that the election was fraudulent — that millions of false votes were cast for his opponent. In 2020, in the knowledge that he was trailing Joseph R. Biden in the polls, he spent months claiming that the presidential election would be rigged and signaling that he would not accept the results if they did not favor him. He wrongly claimed on Election Day that he had won and then steadily hardened his rhetoric: With time, his victory became a historic landslide and the various conspiracies that denied it ever more sophisticated and implausible.

Of course this did make a kind of sense: If the election really had been stolen, as senators and congressmen were themselves suggesting, then how could Congress be allowed to move forward? For some Republicans, the invasion of the Capitol must have been a shock, or even a lesson. For the breakers, however, it may have been a taste of the future. Afterward, eight senators and more than 100 representatives voted for the lie that had forced them to flee their chambers.Post-truth is pre-fascism, and Trump has been our post-truth president. When we give up on truth, we concede power to those with the wealth and charisma to create spectacle in its place. Without agreement about some basic facts, citizens cannot form the civil society that would allow them to defend themselves. If we lose the institutions that produce facts that are pertinent to us, then we tend to wallow in attractive abstractions and fictions.

Truth defends itself particularly poorly when there is not very much of it around, and the era of Trump — like the era of Vladimir Putin in Russia — is one of the decline of local news. Social media is no substitute: It supercharges the mental habits by which we seek emotional stimulation and comfort, which means losing the distinction between what feels true and what actually is true.Post-truth wears away the rule of law and invites a regime of myth. These last four years, scholars have discussed the legitimacy and value of invoking fascism in reference to Trumpian propaganda. One comfortable position has been to label any such effort as a direct comparison and then to treat such comparisons as taboo. More productively, the philosopher Jason Stanley has treated fascism as a phenomenon, as a series of patterns that can be observed not only in interwar Europe but beyond it.

My own view is that greater knowledge of the past, fascist or otherwise, allows us to notice and conceptualize elements of the present that we might otherwise disregard and to think more broadly about future possibilities. It was clear to me in October that Trump’s behavior presaged a coup, and I said so in print; this is not because the present repeats the past, but because the past enlightens the present.Like historical fascist leaders, Trump has presented himself as the single source of truth. His use of the term “fake news” echoed the Nazi smear Lügenpresse (“lying press”); like the Nazis, he referred to reporters as “enemies of the people.” Like Adolf Hitler, he came to power at a moment when the conventional press had taken a beating; the financial crisis of 2008 did to American newspapers what the Great Depression did to German ones. The Nazis thought that they could use radio to replace the old pluralism of the newspaper; Trump tried to do the same with Twitter.

This lie was big in every pertinent respect: not as big as “Jews run the world,” but big enough. The significance of the matter at hand was great: the right to rule the most powerful country in the world and the efficacy and trustworthiness of its succession procedures. The level of mendacity was profound. The claim was not only wrong, but it was also made in bad faith, amid unreliable sources. It challenged not just evidence but logic: Just how could (and why would) an election have been rigged against a Republican president but not against Republican senators and representatives? Trump had to speak, absurdly, of a “Rigged (for President) Election.”

The force of a big lie resides in its demand that many other things must be believed or disbelieved. To make sense of a world in which the 2020 presidential election was stolen requires distrust not only of reporters and of experts but also of local, state and federal government institutions, from poll workers to elected officials, Homeland Security and all the way to the Supreme Court. It brings with it, of necessity, a conspiracy theory: Imagine all the people who must have been in on such a plot and all the people who would have had to work on the cover-up.Trump’s electoral fiction floats free of verifiable reality. It is defended not so much by facts as by claims that someone else has made some claims. The sensibility is that something must be wrong because I feel it to be wrong, and I know others feel the same way. When political leaders such as Ted Cruz or Jim Jordan spoke like this, what they meant was: You believe my lies, which compels me to repeat them. Social media provides an infinity of apparent evidence for any conviction, especially one seemingly held by a president.

On the surface, a conspiracy theory makes its victim look strong: It sees Trump as resisting the Democrats, the Republicans, the Deep State, the pedophiles, the Satanists. More profoundly, however, it inverts the position of the strong and the weak. Trump’s focus on alleged “irregularities” and “contested states” comes down to cities where Black people live and vote. At bottom, the fantasy of fraud is that of a crime committed by Black people against white people.It’s not just that electoral fraud by African-Americans against Donald Trump never happened. It is that it is the very opposite of what happened, in 2020 and in every American election. As always, Black people waited longer than others to vote and were more likely to have their votes challenged. They were more likely to be suffering or dying from Covid-19, and less likely to be able to take time away from work. The historical protection of their right to vote has been removed by the Supreme Court’s 2013 ruling in Shelby County v. Holder, and states have rushed to pass measures of a kind that historically reduce voting by the poor and communities of color.

The Democrats, today, have become a coalition, one that does better than Republicans with female and nonwhite voters and collects votes from both labor unions and the college-educated. Yet it’s not quite right to contrast this coalition with a monolithic Republican Party. Right now, the Republican Party is a coalition of two types of people: those who would game the system (most of the politicians, some of the voters) and those who dream of breaking it (a few of the politicians, many of the voters). In January 2021, this was visible as the difference between those Republicans who defended the present system on the grounds that it favored them and those who tried to upend it.In the four decades since the election of Ronald Reagan, Republicans have overcome the tension between the gamers and the breakers by governing in opposition to government, or by calling elections a revolution (the Tea Party), or by claiming to oppose elites. The breakers, in this arrangement, provide cover for the gamers, putting forth an ideology that distracts from the basic reality that government under Republicans is not made smaller but simply diverted to serve a handful of interests.

But the president, for all his lawsuits and entreaties and threats to public officials, could not engineer a situation that ended with the right people doing the wrong thing. Trump could make some voters believe that he had won the 2020 election, but he was unable to bring institutions along with his big lie. And he could bring his supporters to Washington and send them on a rampage in the Capitol, but none appeared to have any very clear idea of how this was to work or what their presence would accomplish. It is hard to think of a comparable insurrectionary moment, when a building of great significance was seized, that involved so much milling around.

The breakers and the gamers then saw a different world ahead, where the big lie was either a treasure to be had or a danger to be avoided. The breakers had no choice but to rush to be first to claim to believe in it. Because the breakers Josh Hawley and Ted Cruz must compete to claim the brimstone and bile, the gamers were forced to reveal their own hand, and the division within the Republican coalition became visible on Jan. 6. The invasion of the Capitol only reinforced this division. To be sure, a few senators withdrew their objections, but Cruz and Hawley moved forward anyway, along with six other senators. More than 100 representatives doubled down on the big lie. Some, like Matt Gaetz, even added their own flourishes, such as the claim that the mob was led not by Trump’s supporters but by his opponents.Trump is, for now, the martyr in chief, the high priest of the big lie. He is the leader of the breakers, at least in the minds of his supporters. By now, the gamers do not want Trump around. Discredited in his last weeks, he is useless; shorn of the obligations of the presidency, he will become embarrassing again, much as he was in 2015. Unable to provide cover for their gamesmanship, he will be irrelevant to their daily purposes. But the breakers have an even stronger reason to see Trump disappear: It is impossible to inherit from someone who is still around. Seizing Trump’s big lie might appear to be a gesture of support. In fact it expresses a wish for his political death. Transforming the myth from one about Trump to one about the nation will be easier when he is out of the way.

As Cruz and Hawley may learn, to tell the big lie is to be owned by it. Just because you have sold your soul does not mean that you have driven a hard bargain. Hawley shies from no level of hypocrisy; the son of a banker, educated at Stanford University and Yale Law School, he denounces elites. Insofar as Cruz was thought to have a principle, it was that of states’ rights, which Trump’s calls to action brazenly violated. A joint statement Cruz issued about the senators’ challenge to the vote nicely captured the post-truth aspect of the whole: It never alleged that there was fraud, only that there were allegations of fraud. Allegations of allegations, allegations all the way down.The big lie requires commitment. When Republican gamers do not exhibit enough of that, Republican breakers call them “RINOs”: Republicans in name only. This term once suggested a lack of ideological commitment. It now means an unwillingness to throw away an election. The gamers, in response, close ranks around the Constitution and speak of principles and traditions. The breakers must all know (with the possible exception of the Alabama senator Tommy Tuberville) that they are participating in a sham, but they will have an audience of tens of millions who do not.

If Trump remains present in American political life, he will surely repeat his big lie incessantly. Hawley and Cruz and the other breakers share responsibility for where this leads. Cruz and Hawley seem to be running for president. Yet what does it mean to be a candidate for office and denounce voting? If you claim that the other side has cheated, and your supporters believe you, they will expect you to cheat yourself. By defending Trump’s big lie on Jan. 6, they set a precedent: A Republican presidential candidate who loses an election should be appointed anyway by Congress. Republicans in the future, at least breaker candidates for president, will presumably have a Plan A, to win and win, and a Plan B, to lose and win. No fraud is necessary; only allegations that there are allegations of fraud. Truth is to be replaced by spectacle, facts by faith.Trump’s coup attempt of 2020-21, like other failed coup attempts, is a warning for those who care about the rule of law and a lesson for those who do not. His pre-fascism revealed a possibility for American politics. For a coup to work in 2024, the breakers will require something that Trump never quite had: an angry minority, organized for nationwide violence, ready to add intimidation to an election. Four years of amplifying a big lie just might get them this. To claim that the other side stole an election is to promise to steal one yourself. It is also to claim that the other side deserves to be punished.Informed observers inside and outside government agree that right-wing white supremacism is the greatest terrorist threat to the United States.

Gun sales in 2020 hit an astonishing high. History shows that political violence follows when prominent leaders of major political parties openly embrace paranoia.Our big lie is typically American, wrapped in our odd electoral system, depending upon our particular traditions of racism. Yet our big lie is also structurally fascist, with its extreme mendacity, its conspiratorial thinking, its reversal of perpetrators and victims and its implication that the world is divided into us and them. To keep it going for four years courts terrorism and assassination.

When that violence comes, the breakers will have to react. If they embrace it, they become the fascist faction. The Republican Party will be divided, at least for a time. One can of course imagine a dismal reunification: A breaker candidate loses a narrow presidential election in November 2024 and cries fraud, the Republicans win both houses of Congress and rioters in the street, educated by four years of the big lie, demand what they see as justice. Would the gamers stand on principle if those were the circumstances of Jan. 6, 2025?To be sure, this moment is also a chance. It is possible that a divided Republican Party might better serve American democracy; that the gamers, separated from the breakers, might start to think of policy as a way to win elections. It is very likely that the Biden-Harris administration will have an easier first few months than expected; perhaps obstructionism will give way, at least among a few Republicans and for a short time, to a moment of self-questioning.

Politicians who want Trumpism to end have a simple way forward: Tell the truth about the election.America will not survive the big lie just because a liar is separated from power. It will need a thoughtful repluralization of media and a commitment to facts as a public good. The racism structured into every aspect of the coup attempt is a call to heed our own history. Serious attention to the past helps us to see risks but also suggests future possibility. We cannot be a democratic republic if we tell lies about race, big or small.Democracy is not about minimizing the vote nor ignoring it, neither a matter of gaming nor of breaking a system, but of accepting the equality of others, heeding their voices and counting their votes.

#trump #donald j #political #NYTimes #insurrection #January 6 2020 #corrupt GOP #Criminal GOP #analysis #sedition

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magnaflourious-nerdity · 4 years

Text

But Through Darkened Glasses

(You Need Chaos in Your Soul)

" And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you."

There was a prompt on some Halloween themed fandom challenge for October. Monday's was 'Black Cat' and for whatever reason. This is what happened. Bc im just going with that kind of thing lately I guess, I decided to spit it out here. I didn't beta this thoroughly enough I guarantee bc im lazy and also the fandom is like 20 people big, and generally full of forgiving, lovely, content starved ppl. The last point I am extrapolating from my own experiences of being in the fandom, haha.

_____

It's weird, he thinks, twining in and out of the fence post he's been following for the past few minutes, trying to get his bearings now that he's been saddled with twice his accustomed amount of limbs. It's weird that I'm not more freaked out about this. He pauses, grooms himself briefly and crosses the street under the lamp light. The bulb blows out halfway across. He doesn't even jump this time. Maybe it's a bonus of having nine lives, you don't worry so much about one or two practice runs. His ears twitch minutely as the wind shifts and brings a low, buzzing, sound sighing through the fronds of the willow at the edge of his yard. They're even more sensitive now that he's a cat- the ears that is -twitching at the slightest whisper of a sound in the night.

He doesn't even bother to slow his pace as he hops the fence and passes through his own back yard, simply fixing jade eyes on the window he knows to be Becky's, turning them away again with the knowledge that there's no way she'd be at home tonight. Not on a night where she's basically been given free reign to go full-tilt feral social-climber on every party in town. There's no gaining entrance into his lair in his current state (nor is he particularly keen to meet Rasputin face to face right now either) and his parents are out of the question. Can't guarantee his dad won't be too drunk this late on a Halloween to tie a bottle rocket to his newly acquired tail. Don't really care to see him if he's sober either. Or just in general

Instead, His attention remains fixed on the sound he'd heard in the distance before, as he cuts across lawns and ducks down the well trod neighborhood backalleys, avoiding any heards of desperate, last-minute, trick-or-treaters or gaggles of drunken party-goers he catches wind of.

He's at the point of shrugging off the weird sounds he's been hearing as the result of some sort of particularly lumbering rodent in the underbrush, turning his attention instead to the little flashes of lamp light glinting off of abandoned candy wrappers. Batting at one every now and then non-committaly. It wasn't as exciting as one might think, being a cat. Kind of a snooze even, as far as curses went.

Well, at least it had the wherewithal and the courtesy as a curse to take aesthetics into account.

He was definitely the kind of cat his father would have chased off the lawn with a bb gun, if it had showed up at their door looking for food. He examines the pitch-colored shroud of his newly acquired fur as best as he can, glad- in a removed sort of way -that at least he was a proper Halloween cat. Scruffy and mysterious, not one of those opulently fluffy, pearl-colored, fancy-feast models.

There was dignity in being a black cat on Halloween. There was style! There was pinache!

A whisper, a low hum beyond his perception.

There were secrets. There was power. All of it his for the taking now that the opportunity had been unwittingly granted.

He'd read a legend once- in one of his massive, dusty, volumes on the lore of shapeshifters, dating back to antiquity -that on Halloween, black cats were at the most transient state of their existances. They could- if they could find the right chinks in reality's armour, where the space between things overlapped and folded in on itself like challah -use the threads surrounding and connecting the worlds to perform any number of impossibilities. Assume other forms, be anywhere at once, sew prosperity or discord at a whim.

It was said that those creatures most in-tune with with the pathways could even travel between them all. All of the worlds bookended against and, at certain times like tonight, overlapping their own. Those most-adept cats could slip in and out of dimensions as easily as a shadow slips under doorway.

I mean, I guess now is as good a time as any to test that hypothesis, Merton mused, slit-pupils zeroing in on the slightest movement down the street from Tommy's house, which was naturally where his slinky, purposeful, wandering had taken him. There were no other thoughts to it really. After all. He and Tommy were each other's lifeboats, lashed together to weather whatever bullshit came their way, side-by-side.

At least where finding ourselves on the wrong side of dark magic is concerned. He amended to himself. There was no one else here so he wasn't sure why he even bothered really.

He hesitated silently under a street lamp. The crackling sound of the light flickering above him sounded grating to his sensitive ears. He could understand Tommy's super-hearing-based woes a lot better now at least. With his gaze shifting uneasily between the safety of Tommy's house- the safety of his company, and of his unconditional presence, and of his unwavering dedication to Merton's protection despite the workload that it was turning out to be- and back to the subtle, but suddenly noticeable undulations of the shadows at the farthest edge of the neighbor's hedgerows. An opportunity had manifested itself.

Almost neigh-imperceptably, something shifts in the air, pervading every cranny of the now darkened street.

A moment of choice for Merton. The unexplored possibilities mount in his head, weighed against the cons of breaching the utterly unknowable. He is bewitched, rooted to the spot. Eve on the precipice of the apple, by virtue of both temptation and fear.

He'd gone to more extreme means, on less intel, for far more ridiculous pursuits. This was just a short walk to the end of the street. But he hesitates nonetheless, his own mind overriding the detatched curiosity that grew into him- into his bones -the longer he was attached to this form. He feels the pull of the interstitial static of the spaces between space, it hums and pulses gently along to the music of the spheres. Soft, inviting, unknowable.

He thinks of slipping between the phases of reality. Could he regain his body on his own that way? Could he pick a better one? He pads gently forward, going only a few, cautious steps, questioning himself all the while and trying to brace his senses against the hypnotic call of whatever the netherspace was wordlessly offering to him. He is waiting to see when the time will be right. If it will be at all. What will come of it.

I can fix this on my own for once, right now. He tells himself . I can learn so much. About everything. I can fix so much if I can just...

The pull of the place between is Urgent. Heady. Disorienting, he finds. It beckons him more insistently with each passing moment, and every sound made in the darkness is a soft, sighing, call to action. To adventure. To satisfy all of his human spawned, feline fueled, curiosities alike.

But another sound, this one from inside Tommy's house- still nearly right next to him -severs the tie. It's Tommy's laugh, loud and sharp and as intimately familiar to him as a siren song of his own.

Tommy. His tail lifts up into the air of its own accord as he starts to correct course towards the tree in Tommy's back yard, one which frequent exposure to the Dawkin's household tells him leads to the- usually wide open -2nd floor window landing of his best friend's bedroom.

The whispering from behind him grows more urgent as he turns away from it. Easier to discern from the normal night-music of Pleasantville. It grows in pitch, insistent, like a vulture pecking at the stripped down bones of its roadside carrion.

Despite his growing unease, Merton still feels the gravity of the thin places of the world eying him up, clawing at him. He realizes, with detached horror, that if the last few minutes are anything to go by, in this form, he isn't even sure if he can resist it at all. Much less how long his moment of self possession can last.

Merton, as a cat, finds himself to be mostly a loose collection of animal instincts and a haphazard jigsaw of the the bits of the world that don't seem to want to fit right with himself; all of this sewed up into a body thats more suggestive of physical form than equitable to one. He doesn't know how to even begin to navigate the puzzle of resisting the undertow of the universe as it digs its fingers solidly into the newest and most vulnerable parts of his shared but singular conciousness. The shadows in the hedgerows, the ripples of what's underneath the idea of them, begin to pulsate. They flail. Or it flails, because he can't tell the collective from the distinct anymore, can only watch with awe as the patch of space and time it is currently occupying shimmers, and cracks, and grows, and reaches. Merton swears he can hear it SCREAMING in the back of his head. At the place where his thoughts dissolve into notions less definable by words, and transform instead into a swirling mass of impulses conducted by the now-shrill trans-dimensional, thrumming of the universe's insistent, staticky back beat.

He sees something solidifying in the ectoplasm of that open sore in the flesh of the world. Something besides the thrashing, churning, cult of tendrils reaching out from the places they can squeeze through in the cracks. The sight makes every single one of his hairs stand on end. Which is something, given he has a significant deal more of them now than he usually would. But there is no mistaking what he is seeing being melded together in the eye of that widening miasma. A hand claws its way past the meshing, roiling tentacles of that dark expanse. Pulling itself forward into the physical, out of the theoretical. A set of shoulders struggles past, dragging the other arm in to being along side it, pale and wan. There is a pause, one last still moment before, with repulsion thrumming through every part of him, he focuses on the well of dark magics still spewing forth parts of the creature. He sees the top of a head breech through the dimensional weak spot. The head turns in Merton's direction at his displeased hisses of fright. Merton locks up in immediate, gut-wrenching, horror when the creature gazes back at him, wearing his own face.

‐-----

I'll probably never continue this or even do anything at all w it,, but it was fun! In case you were wondering about the subtext between tommy and merton, yes. gay. Also whats dialague don't know her

#gothicwolf #halloween prompt #writing challenge #tommy dawkins #merton dingle

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adapembroke · 3 years

Text

Reading Tarot Like The Hierophant

For many years, I hated the Hierophant.

Whenever it came up in a reading, I sighed, dutifully tried to understand why it was bothering me, and shoved it back in the box as soon as possible. Most of the time I gained nothing from these interactions, even though I knew the Hierophant wasn’t silent. I just didn’t believe the Hierophant could possibly have anything useful to say to me.

The Hierophant is the archetype of traditional, usually religious, authorities. Nuns and priests and popes, temples and tabernacles, synods, dojos, and twelve steps groups . The original name of this card was The Pope, appropriate for a deck designed in Christian Europe,

I am not a person who works easily with the Hierophant. The anti-authoritarian stereotypes of Aquarius moons resonate strongly for me. I don’t do anything unless I know why I’m doing it and agree with the premise behind the action. Settings under the influence of the Hierophant are ritualistic. Their ability to function relies on everyone moving in lock-step. If you have questions, you follow the ritual and ask questions later. If you disagree with the answers to your questions, you leave.

Michelle Tea says in Modern Tarot:

“Conforming rightly has a bad reputation in contemporary culture; it’s used to keep bright spirits down, we think, and to preserve a dying status quo. Likewise, the concept of ‘tradition’ has been hijacked by people seeking to codify their dangerous opposition to a changing world.”

Conformity isn’t my happy place. I was convinced that for the happiness of everyone concerned, it would be best if I remained an outsider in the sphere of the Hierophant, but I was not a happy outsider. Not all of my experiences of the Hierophant were bitter. Without the Hierophant, something was missing in my life.

Beauty and Power of Ritual

There were a few years during college and just after when I had a wonderful relationship with the Hierophant. For most of that time, I belonged to a Christian church that was deeply ritualistic. When you walked into the sanctuary, you had to bow to the altar before taking your seat. You had to bow whenever someone said “Jesus,” and you had to make occult gestures with your hands during the reading of the Gospel.

I grew up in a church that was much less formal, and this new way of doing worship was strange to me, like walking into a dance I didn’t know the steps to. I stumbled through the ritual like a newborn calf, but despite my clumsy gestures, I felt transported. It wasn’t just influence of the thick cloud of frankincense. (Though, frankincense is a mind-altering substance.) I wasn’t any kind of magician then, but I could feel that what they were doing had magical power, power I now recognize as the power of the Hierophant.

The Hierophant’s power comes from tradition, the way that the repetition of meaningful words and gestures builds meaning over time. On the first day I walked into that church, they had been doing the same rituals in that space in the same way for hundred and fifty years. It felt like the rituals and incense had infused the walls. The rituals themselves had been altered little in fifteen hundred years. When the priest said the magic words of the Eucharist, I felt a sense of belonging, as if all of the congregations over time and space that had heard those words together were there with us, lending their power to the working. All of that accumulated power was palpable. I left the service each Sunday feeling like my batteries had been recharged.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take me long to see through the glamor and start asking questions, and when the answers I got to my questions didn’t satisfy me, I discovered that the Hierophant’s hold on that place was too rigid to hold me, and I left.

A few years after I left Christianity, I started studying the Tarot. The Hierophant felt like a tease, a reminder of something beautiful that I was incapable of participating in. It was easier to focus on the Hierophant’s bad side.

Leader of the Mindless Herd

Like all archetypes, the Hierophant has a shadow: Mobs of people coming together to chant slogans of hate, authoritarian leaders whipping people into a frenzy to support a controlling agenda, suicide cults filled with mindless automatons.

The same coordinated practice that builds power over time and that left me feeling empowered can be used just as easily to create power for evil.

Neuroscientists are just beginning to uncover the overwhelming power of habit. The human brain has to do an extraordinary amount of work in order to carry out simple functions. It is constantly trying to offload work as much as possible. It does this by using rituals, habits, and assumptions like a computer that relies on automated processes to do its job.

Group rituals, the natural habitat of the Hierophant, are simply habits that have been adopted by a people who have been trained to act as one. A person who has attended a liturgical Christian church for decades can perform the gestures of the Mass without thinking.

Once habits are set, they are extremely difficult to break. I built the habit of crossing myself every time I heard a siren, and it took me years of constant reminder not to do it to break myself of the habit after I left Christianity.

It is annoying to have to break a habit that no longer suits you, but habit itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Using hateful words can be a habit, but so is brushing your teeth. Habit becomes a problem when it helps you hurt yourself or others without thinking.

Hitler famously used the power of ritual in his rallies and parades to call the power of a nation to the service of hate. He created systems, habits, and gestures that made killing so easy for the bureaucrats in his service, the trials of his henchmen raised the question of whether they could have been accused of thinking about what they were doing at all.

The Hierophant, like habit, doesn’t take a side. Its power is present whenever groups of people use the magic of ritual to raise power. The Hierophant is there when people march for justice and when they rally for hate. The Hierophant is there when a community dances for joy and when they mourn at a funeral. The Hierophant uses the power of habit and group pressure to create addictions and break them.

Guardian of Initiation

The Tarot Pope became the Hierophant under the influence of Waite and Crowley who revised the Tarot in the 20th century. Historically, the Hierophant was the high priest of the Eleusinian Mysteries, a highly secretive cult in ancient Greece that celebrated the mystery of death and rebirth. In order to get in on the secrets of the Eleusinian mysteries, you needed to be initiated, and initiates were so good at keeping the secrets of the order very little is known about it today.

The Hierophant’s new emphasis on initiation was well in line with the archetype’s natural love of structure and conformity. Rachel Pollack says in 78 Degrees of Wisdom that when you work in an initiatory tradition, you are “entering a doctrine, with a set of beliefs which [you] must learn and accept before [you] can gain entrance.”

Initiatory traditions get a bad rap for their secretiveness. They must have something to hide, critics say, if they can’t share everything. But initiatory traditions at their best do not require initiates to assent to the doctrines of the order without knowing them. Instead, initiates are required to go through a discernment period where they think about the principles of the order and whether or not they can conform to them. Once they accept the doctrines of the order, then they are allowed access to the secret rituals and powers that would allow the initiate to use this knowledge.

This process of learning, processing, acceptance, and initiation helps to ensure that initiates do not adopt powerful new habits blindly. The Hierophant is at its most dangerous when masses of people assent to principles without thinking. The draw of belonging is powerful, and the need to require thoughtfulness and consent is one of the reasons for levels of initiation in traditions such as Wicca, the Masons, and Druid orders. At each stage, the initiate learns a little more, and the order and the initiate need to both give their consent before the initiate is allowed to go to the next level.

It was the initiatory side of the Hierophant that finally lead me to make peace with the archetype. I realized that you don’t need to be a mindless automaton to work with the archetype. I had been born into Christianity. I was initiated into the religion under the threat of hellfire before I was old enough to understand its beliefs and doctrines. But I am an adult now with strong beliefs and principles. When I meet the Hierophant in the robes of the initiator, I do it with love and trust and my eyes wide open.

Reading Tarot Like The Hierophant

In the context of a Tarot reading, the Hierophant is present in the rituals you build into your practice. If you always shuffle your cards and lay them out a certain way, you are participating in the Hierophant. The Hierophant helps you to discover the habits and gestures and techniques that make your readings better, and the Hierophant uses the power of habit to help you do those things consistently.

The Hierophant also influences your Tarot practice when you study within the context of magical orders or sit at the feet of mentors who work within a tradition, even if it is a tradition they’ve created themselves.

Because traditions gain power from unconscious habits of thought, it is important to become conscious of the beliefs and traditions that influence your readings.

It is healthy, too, to periodically set aside some time to consider your lineage. Where did your ideas about the meanings of the cards come from? Who are your Tarot teachers? Who were their teachers? How much do you know about the traditions they belong to? How much do you know about your own traditions? What assumptions about how the world works inform your practice? What do you believe about fate and free-will? The afterlife and past lives? Good, evil, and the nature of suffering?

Lastly, if you read for others, it is important to be open with your clients about your traditions and beliefs, as well. Whenever we read for others, we may be acting as initiators, even if we don’t realize it. Your clients have the right to consent before being initiated into your mysteries, just as you have that right when you present yourself to the Hierophant.

#witchblr #tarot

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nadziejastar · 5 years

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There used to be a huge amount of irony in Saix and Xion's relationship. He hated her for being a puppet, but he was the true puppet all along.

Being Inseparable—A Double-Edged Sword

“Sora or Xion—it matters not. But we need one of them under our control. Bear that in mind.”

Saïx nodded, and a serene smile came to Xemnas’s face.

If that smile meant anything, it was beyond him.

Yep. I do think Isa was Xehanort’s favorite lab rat and that he had all sorts of techniques performed on him to create an obedient slave. Now if that description doesn’t sound like Saïx, I don’t know what does. There’s a reason Axel’s weapons are shaped like the chakras. They both had blockages and could not heal them until the other was healed.

Axel finally stopped sulking with his arms crossed and looked up. “Which means, if the time doesn’t come, things can stay as they are.”

Saïx glared at him. “Lord Xemnas has spoken. Obey or face your end.”

After Saïx’s warning on his behalf, Xemnas vanished from the room. The others followed suit.

The third eye controls the ability to think for yourself and your spirituality. When it is blocked, you feel like you have no purpose. There was a lot more wrong with Saïx than just lacking a heart (which is bad enough). He had mind control techniques used on him. I love Nomura’s illustrations of Saïx because they do such a great job showing the idea behind his character. He can’t think for himself. He’s cold and incapable of being tuned into emotional matters.

“But—!” Saïx jumped to his feet again. At that, Xemnas’s smile disappeared.

“Silence,” he growled, returning his attention to Axel. “Where are Naminé and the boy?”

“The haunted mansion in Twilight Town.” Axel stuck the last of the ice cream pop in his mouth.

Xemnas narrowed his eyes. “Oh…?”

“I’ll go.” Saïx started walking as if he couldn’t wait to leave the scene.

In this illustration he’s totally dominated by Xemnas. He’s had his mental faculties forcefully shut down. He’s literally not capable of higher-level thought processes like the others are. Saïx lives in total fear of Xemnas and he cannot think for himself. He also is another Xehanort and doesn’t even realize it.

“You are to discover the identity of the outsider,” he told her. “Those are direct orders from Lord Xemnas. Failure is the same as insubordination. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Wha…?”

Xion had no idea that Xemnas had chosen her for this mission. To the best of her knowledge, Saïx was the one in charge of assigning tasks.

“I assume I’ve made myself clear. Keep looking.” With that, Saïx turned his back on her and left.

The causes of blockage with the Crown chakra involve spiritual abuse—-things like being forced to have blind obedience, and having no right to think for oneself. Like growing up in a cult. Ignoring this aspect of Saïx destroyed everything that made him such an interesting character. I’ll never forgive KH3 for ruining him so badly. Ugh.

Some kind of pressure was gathering between his eyebrows. He walked down the hallway, and when he arrived at the lobby, no one was there.

“Axel…?” He murmured his friend’s name without thinking, then touched his mouth at the outburst.

They had told him that Axel might have been terminated. He remembered that part.

And being terminated meant there was nothing left, nothing at all, according to Xigbar.

The whole idea behind Saïx is that these chakras are blocked. Both of these are governed by the pineal gland. Since he has the Recusant’s Sigil on his forehead, I’d say his pineal gland is dead. And I think I know how it happened. Grief and personal pain is the major cause of blockage of the third eye chakra. This actually happened to Roxas when he was afraid that Axel was terminated. He passed out in Agrabah and felt pressure between his eyebrows.

Riku gently cradled Xion in her sleep.

His head hurt, and his brows tightened in pain. Why did it hurt so badly…?

He’d first noticed that faint headache a little while ago after recalling what Zexion said to him. Now it was getting much worse—from bearable to excruciating. He had nearly blacked out for a moment, struggling with the worst headache of his life. What was going on?

It also happened to Xion when she remembered what Zexion said to Riku. And he also felt a headache at that moment.

Roxas hadn’t expected to sleep very well, and he was right. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The center of his head felt heavy, like something pressing from the space between his eye brows all the way back.

But yesterday… Yesterday I saw Xion.

Why was she avoiding me? Why was she running away from me?

This is 100% without a doubt referencing the pineal gland. It is right between the eyebrows, in the back of the head. Roxas had issues with it when he was worried about his friends, and had trouble sleeping. This part of the brain controls the waking and sleeping cycle.

Roxas looked up, surprised to be receiving orders. But of course, it was Saïx.

And he didn’t seem any different from usual.

“Is it true about Castle Oblivion…?” he asked, not looking his superior in the face. Saïx’s response was icy.

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“What about Axel?” he pressed. Hearing that name, Saïx narrowed his eyes faintly, not even enough for Roxas to notice. He wasn’t attuned to such subtle changes.

“Who knows,” Saïx finally said. “Perhaps he is among the lost.”

I would suspect that Isa was so traumatized and afraid that his third eye basically went into total shut-down. I think Isa was traumatized so severely by having Lea threatened.

And yet, Axel couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his response. “Well, nice to know where I stand.”

He said it with a grin, but the hint of a frown tugged at the scar between Saïx’s brows. Apparently, the joke wasn’t very funny. “You made it back in one piece, didn’t you?”

Were you worried I wouldn’t? Axel almost said, but he didn’t want to deal with putting him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage seemed to linger closest to the surface of Saïx’s memories.

He was so worried and grief-stricken, his pineal gland went haywire and he had a total mental collapse. He went to the Realm of Sleep and he was marked with the “X” on his forehead. Essentially, Saïx was brain damaged and severely mentally compromised after this happened. He’s an even better tool for Xemnas because of this, and it’s why he rose to be his right-hand man. Being reminded of this is very unpleasant for Saïx, even though the memories are Isa’s.

Saïx: Something at Castle Oblivion changed you. Does the past mean nothing to you now?

Roxas: Are you worried about her, Axel?

Axel: Of course I am.

Roxas: Doesn’t seem like you.

I think it’s why he was so disappointed at Axel for not being as focused on their goal as he is. Of course, that’s because Axel is suffering from damage to his third eye as well. He’s been traumatized severely, and I think watching Saïx exist in his miserable, emotionless, and robotic condition is a constant source of trauma.

“He worries too much. Thinks he has to help Sora do everything…” Axel grimaced in irritation.

“But, Axel, aren’t you the one worrying about Riku and Sora?” Naminé giggled softly.

“Me, worry? You think I need to be worried about those two?” He stretched backward and rocked the chair back and forth, like a restless child.

Axel has severe anxiety regarding the people he cares about. He was so worried about Riku and Sora he rocked back and forth like a child.

“You’re not wrong…but don’t let your guard down,” Axel told them, bringing up the rear.

“Quit being such a worrywart, Axel.”

“Maybe I could if you two would quit giving me so much to worry about,” he retorted.

Xion and Roxas exchanged a look and laughed.

He constantly worried about Roxas and Xion, too.

“Genie sounded really worried about his friend–some guy named Al. But, I guess you can’t always jump in and do everything for your friends–even if you want to. And then he said that you have to respect your friend’s wishes.” Xion bit her ice cream, swinging her feet. Axel leaned his head to one side.

“Your friend’s wishes, huh…” It feels like I have heard that before, a long time ago, when I was human.

And I think he was worried about Isa, even when he told him not to.

“Well, I think you can be inseparable, even if you’re apart,” said Axel.

Roxas and Xion shared a look. “…Even if you’re apart,” Roxas murmured.

They trailed off, and this time Axel finished his ice cream. So he started talking again. “It’s like, if you feel really close to each other. Like best friends.”

The weapon shaped like the Third Eye chakra is called “Double Edge”. If you say that something is a double-edged sword, you mean that it has negative effects as well as positive effects. I think this is referring to Lea and Isa being inseparable. Lea felt really close to Isa, even when they were apart. It meant they were always felt connected as friends. But…there’s a down side. When the experiments were happening, I think he worried incessantly about Isa. If Isa dissociated due to his extreme worry and fear over losing Lea, this damaged his pineal gland. So, it only is natural that Lea also has issues with this chakra as well. He feels the same pain Isa does, due to constantly worrying. They are inseparable.

“Sheesh. Would it kill them to give me a day off? I’m exhausted,” Axel whined. “I need my beauty sleep.”

There’s a recurring theme about Axel’s inability to sleep and his constant fatigue. It’s mentioned CONSTANTLY in the novels.

Every time he tried to wake up, all Axel could think was how badly he wanted to go back to sleep—although he was getting enough rest.

He just wished he could have a day to himself and do nothing but sleep. It was probably some remnant of his human memories.

Besides, this world was always dark, even in the morning. The deep indigo sky and its heart-shaped moon outside the window might as well be a night sky.

Axel rolled over. He still had a few more minutes. But then he began to think about yesterday.

Even when he gets enough rest, he’s still tired. And he says that this desire to do noting but sleep is a remnant of his human memories.

Axel finished the report, hardly getting any sleep in the process, and figured he might as well get back to the Grey Area.

To be honest with himself, he had been sweating bullets the entire time. It wasn’t simply writing things down. He had to decide what to include and what to leave out, where he could get away with fudging the truth—it made for a grueling project.

The lobby was still empty. With an enormous yawn, Axel collapsed on the sofa. Even Nobodies needed sleep. He crossed his arms and let his eyes close. Just a little catnap…

“That is not a bed.” A sudden rebuke cut through the peace and quiet, and Axel startled awake.

“What…? Oh. Saïx.”

He can’t sleep because he’s always got something troubling him. And he startles easily.

“You just do what you want,” said Axel.

“What I want…? I don’t know what I want to do.”

Axel let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. Sleep. And then maybe have a catnap and a snooze after that.”

“But you do that anyway,” said Roxas, still confused.

“Hey, I’d nap six times a day if they’d let me.”

How could anyone sleep that much? Roxas thought. I’d just have dreams that wear me out even more.

“Speaking of, I’d better get to it. Enjoy the break.”

Roxas can’t understand why he wants to sleep so much.

As he turned to go, Roxas grabbed his sleeve. “Wait, Axel…”

“Hey, c’mon, let me get some sleep.” Axel yawned, stretching his arms to emphasize his point.

That was when Xion happened to turn the corner, stopping in her tracks to stare at them. “Uh, what are you two doing?”

“Did you see that paper?” said Roxas.

“Yeah.”

“What are you gonna do, Xion?”

Axel yawned again through Roxas’s question. “If anyone cares, I was just getting back to bed.”

“Wh—? Oh. Okay.” Roxas nodded uncertainly as Axel sauntered off without another word. How can he be that sleepy…?

He finds it very unusual how sleepy Axel is all the time, and the novel makes a point of emphasizing this.

“Does going to sleep count?”

“What?! Axel, you wasted your whole day?”

“Hey, I needed the rest! I work hard on the job, unlike some people.”

“It’s not our fault you get tired so quick,” Xion shot back, and the three of them cracked up together.

He gets tired very easily.

“Doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything. Everybody’s got secrets.” The smirk hadn’t left Axel’s face, but his voice was low and solemn. “Got it memorized?”

“Secrets…?” Roxas repeated to himself. Do I have any of those?

Xion’s gaze dropped, as if her thoughts were wandering, too.

“Geez, you two. I’m kidding!”

The day he chose to sleep all day was their vacation. It’s the same day Axel brought up his “dark secrets”. He smiled, but his voice was low and solemn. His dark secrets are connected to his memories, and are the reason he doesn’t sleep well.

There was no one here yet. Guess I’m actually early…He was only up at this hour because he’d never gone to sleep, working through the night on his report of the mission in Castle Oblivion. But pulling an all-nighter to finish a report did not gain him a reprieve from missions. He twisted to look up at Kingdom Hearts shining outside the window.

“You’re here early,” said Saïx.

Axel waited a second before rolling over to face him. “So are you.”

“No, I’m not. You’re just usually late.” Saïx took up his usual post.

Saïx tells him he’s always late. Just like Roxas did on the clock tower.

Axel had barely gotten any sleep when he headed in early to the Grey Area. He might as well do his negotiating with Saïx about today’s mission without anyone else to overhear.

He’s torn between Saïx and Roxas and Xion. It’s why he sleeps so poorly.

Axel barely slept a wink thanks to all the thoughts turning in his head. He scowled at the throbbing pain in his temples. These sleep deprivation headaches were awful. Rather than going back to sleep and getting a lecture, he went to the Grey Area before anyone else and claimed the sofa to keep thinking.

Dealing with Saïx not only causes him so much worry he can’t sleep, he gets migraines, too.

Axel walked the hallways, trying to sort out his thoughts.

Another sleepless night. He shook his head slowly to dispel the grogginess, but it persisted as he combed through yesterday’s events.

The Organization wanted to have either Roxas or Xion eliminated. But what could he do about it? That was what Axel had to figure out.

He wanted to find a way to save both of them, to respect both of their feelings. He’d spent most of the night poring over the possibilities, but of course he hadn’t found the answer.

He pulls a lot of all-nighters because of his constant worrying over his friends. If this insomnia goes back to his human days, he probably worried over Isa constantly.

“Ugh, I’ve got enough on my plate.” He groaned, imagining Saïx’s face if he reported all this.

Those days as a trio had been so wonderful. Why did this have to happen?

The memory of his heart twinged. Had the breakdown of a friendship always been this painful? It was hard to tell when he didn’t have a heart anymore.

“Don’t wanna get up…”

But he dragged himself out of bed, taking a huge stretch and cricking his neck. He had to get to the Grey Area early if he wanted to talk to Saïx.

Most likely, today would be another bad day.

I think his inability to sleep was connected to his memories of the experiments, which were directly connected to his worrying over Isa and the pain of his friendship breaking down after Isa changed. He doesn’t want to get out of bed when he remembers how that felt. He tells himself he can’t tell if it was always this painful to lose a friendship, because he has no heart. He does that a lot. But I don’t think it’s that simple.

That means, the nobodies gathered as Organisation members once held strong hearts.

Really? Axel wondered to himself.Did that self in my memories really have a strong heart?Don’t really know.And then, nobodies without hearts wish for only one thing. A heart. If I was asked if I wanted a heart, I guess I’d answer that I did. But, do I really want a heart? Can a heart really fill this hollowness I’ve carried since I fell into existence as a nobody?

The chakras are deficient if they spin slowly. Its why Axel’s Ultimate Gear is called “Rapid Spinner”. His Crown chakra was definitely blocked along with his Third Eye chakra. It’s why he was so indecisive about his true purpose, lacking in joy, and had such limiting beliefs about everything. His problem with this chakra also related to Saïx and his memories of the past.

Shards of emotion, fragments of memory. So alike…but they’re completely different things.

Even if we can hold on to a few fragments of memory, we can’t have the smallest shard of emotion.

Nostalgia… And memory.

We are the ones who lost their hearts—the ones who are no one. Nobodies.

Not light nor darkness—we live in the twilight.

Axel stopped outside the crystal ball room and took a deep breath.

Why are we here? What are we doing?

No—why am I here?

Still asking himself that question, he opened the door.

He asks himself why he’s here when he starts reminiscing about the past. And he is confident he cannot feel any emotions.

The set of his shoulders told him plainly what the answer would be.

Axel realized how great the rift was between how he remembered their past and what he saw now.

Why am I even here? I don’t know anymore. What am I trying to do?

He feels so lost all the time.

But those connections were no more than memories of the past—Axel had never cared about anyone since becoming a Nobody. What was happening? Why was Roxas so important to him? Why was Sora?

He hadn’t cared about anyone since becoming a Nobody.

“Fear’s an emotion. It doesn’t exist for us.”

He truly couldn’t feel anything until he met Sora and Roxas.

“It’s because I don’t have a heart,” Axel went on. “I don’t want to disappear, but I’m not upset or sad about it.”

Naminé tried to say something and failed.

Nobodies aren’t supposed to exist. Nobodies don’t have hearts, so they can’t feel anything. No… We couldn’t feel anything. Until we met Sora. And Roxas, his Nobody. Why can’t the rest of them see that?

Watching Isa suffer was the main reason he was so emotionally dead inside. He couldn’t feel anything for so many years. Because is friend was so fucked up. If Isa hadn’t been so messed up, he would have been able to nurture a new heart right away, like he did with Roxas and Xion.

After watching them go, Axel stretched and turned to Saïx, expecting to see a scowl. But the expression had left Saïx’s face, leaving him as dispassionate as usual.

Of course, he had been faking it in the first place. Nobodies had no hearts; they only imitated what emotions they remembered. The very proof of their emptiness showed how desperately they each longed for a heart. Axel probably did the same thing himself without noticing, and yet, for some reason, when Saïx did it—or actually, any of the others—it seemed so out of place.

Maybe because it makes me realize how much effort we put into acting like we’re still human, Axel thought. It’s pointless.

Whenever Saïx acts emotionally dead, it makes Axel feel emotionally dead, too. He denies all of his feelings. He does it in the novels all the time. I think he’s being honest. He really has a hard time feeling emotions. He cannot differentiate between emotional numbness caused by trauma, and the lack of a heart as a Nobody. When he grows a heart, his depersonalization is still there because he’s been traumatized so badly. But he doesn’t realize this. He thinks he has no heart and is a bad person.

Roxas slumped over. “Why does he hate her so much…?”

Axel was a bit taken aback. Out of habit, Nobodies might say they liked or hated things, but none of them really had those emotions—not the way Roxas meant.

“What d’you mean by that?” Axel laughed. “You just can’t stop talking like a real person, can you?”

Then Roxas turned to him. “What did I say?” He seemed uncertain, his gaze wandering, and he hung his head again. “I don’t know how real people talk…,” he mumbled.

Roxas must feel like he doesn’t know anything, Axel thought. Well, I don’t have the best handle on things myself, but I’m slightly less clueless.

When the subject of Saïx’s lack of emotional capacity came up, he goes into a dissociated state and his feelings truly are numbed out.

Lea handed over some munny and took the two cones from Scrooge, one of which he gave to Isa.

“It’s cold…,” Isa muttered as he took a bite.

“What’re you talking about? It’s ice cream; of course it’s cold. Got it memorized?”

“Salty, too.”

“But sweet!”As Lea went on, Isa smiled just a bit. It’s rare to see Isa smile. But, well, friendship means eating ice cream together, talking about stupid things, and laughing like this.

It’s why he was so addicted to ice cream. I think it was significant that Isa smiled while complaining it was salty and Lea thinking to himself that Isa smiling was rare. He associated sea-salt ice cream with friendship and Isa being happy and smiling.

He’d never deluded himself that tracking down Riku would be easy, and neither had Saïx. It was just that if he went back and reported that he couldn’t find anything, he would have to deal with those attempts at “personality”—the sneers, the snide remarks, the only trappings of human emotion that Saïx ever showed. Not that Saïx was even capable of annoyance or disappointment, of course, what with the lack of a heart and all.

Heading up the slope to the station, Axel bit into the ice cream bar. “This stuff is so salty,” he murmured to himself, as he often did.

Something he never does anymore. He thinks it’s too salty, but eats it anyways. It helps him deal with Saïx’s lack of emotional capacity.

“Yo.”

Axel moved shakily up to Naminé, a hand pressed to his chest, and with a glance up at Riku, bit one of the ice creams she was still holding.

“Now that’s salty…,” he said in a small voice, and sank heavily into the chair. His breath was coming jaggedly.

Naminé rushed over, dropping one of the ice creams in her hand onto the floor.

More ice cream, and more dissociation from his feelings. He eats the ice cream after Saïx tried to kill him. He comments how salty it is here, too.

“Oh. Right… You really can taste the sea salt in this, huh?” Axel turned away, his shoulders shaking.

If he had no heart, then what were these feelings welling up in his chest supposed to be?

Sorrow and…happiness?

Axel didn’t have a handle on it. But maybe not understanding these things was part of having a heart.

I understand why he was so confused and thought he had no heart, despite the fact that he had emotions and was often aware that he did.

His only good friend—his best friend—Axel had arrived with two sea-salt ice cream pops.

During the scene where Axel says goodbye to Roxas, it mentions how he was his only good friend. If he’s thinking that Roxas was his only friend, he was obviously thinking about Isa in this moment, too. Roxas was not his only friend, lol.

Axel’s eyes crinkled as he remembered his own best friend—the only friend he’d ever had, in fact.

“If your best friend goes away, you’re sad, and if you get to be with them, you’re happy,” Naminé added. “Isn’t that how it is, Axel?”

“…That’s about the size of it.” Axel nodded and sat down on the remaining empty sofa, staring at the sea-salt ice cream he held.

“So you are capable of sincerity,” said Riku.

Axel only shrugged at the jab and finished his ice cream pop.

He did it here, too. He responded sadly and stared at the ice cream in his hand. Axel couldn’t get over his issues until Isa did. They were inseparable.

#leaisa #isalea

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bum-callout · 5 years

Text

the full regan tea!

i know this is long as HELL so there will be a tl;dr at the end for those who dont have the time to read it or just dont want to.

disclaimer 1: screenshots will be added to this as theyre located. a lot of this persons accounts/messages have been deleted, so some are hard to find, unfortunately.

disclaimer 2: no witch-hunting of this individual is encouraged. this is merely a warning to people who interact with them and something to document and fully address their lies over the past three or so years.

a little context:

this callout regards an individual who will be referred to as “regan” and they/them for the duration of this post to avoid confusion. a list of their known aliases is located here.

they currently go by alayne, and are most active on quotev, where their most recent urls are @jonestxwn (which is super disrespectful already lol) and @yearzer0. their old tumblr is @colacans, but if they have a new one, im unaware of it.

all victims names have been changed to preserve their privacy. here is a list of people mentioned:

gail: gail refers to the main victim of regans manipulation and their partner of several years. they started dating some time in 2015 or 2016. the broken heart emoji in some screenshots refers to gail. gails alters are also changed to “gail” for privacys sake.

jake: jake is another victim of regans, albeit a more minor one. jake met regan in 2015 and started dating them. jake is also often lied about as regan. the game controller emoji in some screenshots refers to jake.

skylar: ex-qpp/partner of regans. last testimonial is from them.

taylor: an ex friend of regans who theyd had various and sundry drama with over the 3 years of bs.

jay: an ex of regans that they parted on rough terms with.

any other censored names: people who i was sure would only be mentioned once.

gail and jake:

this is, without a doubt, the most important part of the callout, and unfortunately the part with the least viable screenshots, due to deletion of accounts/messages. gail has since deleted most of her messages from regan, but the ones that ive found/been given screenshots of are here (with gails explicit permission).

gail:

regan was incredibly shitty to gail during their 2-3 year relationship. i would go so far as to say regan was abusive. as will be seen in the actuallydivine section, regan blames a great deal of things on gail, and has never permanently taken the blame for anything in their rocky relationship; it has always, according to regan, been something wrong with gail.

here are some examples of regan exhibiting abusive behaviour (tormenting gail because its “funny”), admitting to their own shitty behaviour, and mentioning cheating on her. its interesting to note they were also dating jake at this time, but they cared about him so little they didnt even mention the effect cheating might have on him.

i find it interesting that regan admits to being shitty towards gail as far back as 2016, but has gone back to claiming they did nothing and that gail is the one at fault. perhaps it is a bit far to claim that regan is a pathological liar, but with their behaviour, i would not be entirely surprised.

another thing to mention regarding gail is that regan claimed gail pushed them into the habit of regan calling gail “daddy,” and then saying they were ace and it made them uncomfortable in the first place, when nothing could be farther from the truth. regan has publicly in front of their followers, almost 100% of whom were minors, talked about their R*PE KINK, and often called gail daddy unprompted on the feed and elsewhere. before anyone comes for me, im not claiming that they couldnt be asexual, but i am doubtful because of the fact theyve claimed that once or twice before and decided they werent, AND because of the fact they only used it to pin the blame on gail for this.

this doesnt even touch on the amount of times they threatened to kill themself.

jake:

regan and jakes relationship went as such: they met in 2015, when jake was 13 and regan was 16, and started dating. hopefully you can understand what is wrong with that, as a relationship with that age gap is ILLEGAL in every u.s. state. there was sexual conduct involved, making regan (arguably) a child predator. there is also a statement that regan dated another 13 year old when they were 17, but that is as yet unproven and the 13 year old in question is not contactable to confirm this. to the best of my knowledge, both of their current partners are also minors, despite the fact they are 19 as of october 2018.

regan was also extremely shitty to jake during this time, constantly “bullying” him (their own words) in a way that they found funny, but was clearly extremely upsetting to jake. they also pushed him aside for at least half of their relationship, as they were poly and their other partners (mostly gail) were more their focus.

above is a conversation between jake and regan. regan came to him and asked him “what [they] ever did to [him]” and after respondingg and explaining why exactly he had beef with them, he discovered that them saying they wanted “no drama” was absolutely bs, as they had been posting a psa trying to get he and gail deleted for no reason that same day. afterwards, regan messaged jake asking for a truce, which jake refused, as he was furious with them and felt that they were not in a position to ask for a truce when they were doing things like this just hours before.

misc:

this is mostly just them talking shit, but some of the stuff they say is clearly lies if you consider evidence. they constantly paint themself as the victim when they are a 19 year old abuser who takes advantage of people regularly.

(this last screenshot refers to jake changing his username to a pun based on the phrase “lies and slander”; its unclear whether regan sent this pretending to be someone else, or had someone they know send it.)

i think its also interesting to note that this screenshot and later ones where regan is friends with jake are taken merely a month apart, and then, two months later, theyre back on their bs. something about that seems super fake to me.

actuallydivine:

regardless of your opinion on actuallydivine, if you look at the lies section, you can see regan blaming gail for all their actuallydivine stuff and saying it was all a lie. yeah. bs.

mental illness:

i know this is a bit of a controversial subject, but a lot of stuff regan said/did concerning mental illness (ESPECIALLY involving their system/alters) was really shitty imo.

this is a good example of something shitty they did alter-wise. this was something they claimed OVER AND OVER AGAIN, saying shitty things they did were always their evil headmates, and constantly killing off and creating new headmates (that were mostly actually just them under a new name) as an excuse for their behaviour and a way to reset for being a shitty person.

heres them listing their mental illnesses. now, if you look in the lies section, regan says they faked their headmates (aka their osdd), so thats more proof theyre a liar. they also at one point bashed self-diagnosis, and yet they admit to self-diagnosing here. Hmm. something else to note is that in the first image, they seem to be claiming that their therapist diagnosed them, when diagnoses are made by psychiatrists, but that could be a simple oversight on their part.

lies:

self-explanatory, but this section is mostly regan saying or implying theyve changed and are now a better person.

as you can see in the above screenshots, all taken at different times in the last two years, theyve done this thing over and over and OVER where they claim theyve changed, theyre better, something has changed their view, and that is simply not the case, and never has been.

this last one is from this month (october 2018). sound familiar?

these arent so much blatant lies as it is implying theyre any different now. also, funny to acknowledge that 2015 them was a piece of shit, when they really dont act any different now.

some other ridiculous things they lied about:

their height, at least three separate times.

their zodiac sign.

killers:

regan is very much a ‘true crime’ kind of person, and i do, in some aspects, mean the fetishize-y kind. theyre borderline obsessed with serial killers, and have expressed sexual attraction for ted bundy. however, thats not the only true crime-related bullshit theyve pulled.

yeah. regans factkin with JIM JONES. and they made one of their urls “jonestxwn” like.. how disrespectful can you be? if they were a columbiner, i would not be surprised. for those who are not aware, jim jones is the cult leader who caused the jonestown massacre, which resulted in the death of 900+ people through mass suicide. its where the phrase “drinking the koolaid” comes from, as the poison was mixed with a koolaid-like product.

miscellaneous:

you thought regan could not be any more of a freak? you were wrong baybee!

even without context this is a gross thing to do. however, context makes this worse: the individual in question, while they were NOT a good person, was around jakes age, if not younger, meaning that they were at least 3 years younger than regan at the time, and were most likely probably 13-14, judging by the time period when regan was interacting with them, so regan was 3-4 years older than this individual when they manipulated and fake dated them.

just gross. its of note that regan turned 18 in 2017, so they were an adult or close to being an adult when they said this.

hmm. kind of fetishize-y, but not the worst thing ive seen from regan.

GROSS? stay away from children.

honestly this ones just funny all things considered.

this isnt the only time theyve referred to themself as a fujoshi, and some of those times were when they identified as female. yikes!

yet another one thats just funny. they are genuinely a narcissist, and regularly refer to themself as some kind of genius (not to mention their god complex, which THEY THEMSELF refer to as such).

another one like that mentioning their headmates and the fact they are, and i quote, “the smartest person alive.” come bless us mortals with your 300 iq, o god regan.

OK MR KING OF EVIL LMFAO.

they were also into ddlg but i have no screenshots of that, as after a certain period, they prefaced a lot of their posts with stuff like “hehe im not into ddlg but i sure love calling my partner daddy!” despite having said, and i quote, “ddlg is my main kink,” at one point.

another point against them, which i have proof for but didnt feel was relevant enough to this: they love tearzah, and claimed to have been in a relationship with them. although tearzah (and melanie martinez... AND reinagoth) are people who they are a massive hypocrite about, as they acknowledged they were shitty and refused to support them, and then, mere months later, decided “nevermind, dont care, i love them xoxo.”

testimonials:

this is fairly self-explanatory; its testimonials by anonymous people who interacted with regan in the past detailing what they know of them.

to add some extra context to the one directly above, this individual is younger than jake by a year.

more of these will be added as i receive more.

conclusion:

i apologize for getting kind of unprofessional at the end, but this is a subject im emotionally involved in. again, i DONT advocate witch-hunting of this individual. theyre a shitty person but harassing them will do nothing constructive.

spreading this would be appreciated, though, as this person is genuinely a danger to those around them and has continued to lie about gail and jake up until extremely recently, if they are not still doing so.

tl;dr:

regan is an abusive person who takes advantage of minors, blames the people they abuse, and constantly lies about everything they can, among a plethora of other shitty-but-less-unforgivable things.

#regan

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teamwindsorroyals · 5 years

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I am personally annoyed as hell with the people saying shes faking the pregnancy. I don’t care for Markle but she is pregnant no doubt. I do think she was padding early on though.

Another note, I don’t like some of the articles that have been put out against her as some have had racial undertones but others have been legit criticisms that Kate has also gotten and people still label that as racist which it isn’t. I even had one person accuse me of jealousy and racism when I said that Meghans spending was bad optics. Apparently saying something is “bad optics” means your jealous and racist. I understand royals want to look like “royalty” but there’s simply no reason to spend 500k on clothes in less than a year on clothes.

I think it’s sad to see her fans have this misconception about royalty and think royals have to spend thousands on top designer brands just to look ‘royal’ when that’s simply not the case. It’s like they think the royal family is the live version of all the disney films where they need to be in jewels all the time or something. It’s like they don’t realize that’s there’s good brands, good quality clothes that don’t cost thousands and you can still look like a royal. It’s not just the clothes, it’s also the way the royal carries themselves and takes care of themselves. Showing up to an engagement with a messy bun and ill-fitted clothes isn’t a good look. People think it’s “chic” but this is royalty not hollywood or high school. They also say that her spending is justified with the amount of engagements shes doing but that is also NOT justified. This is where Meghan needs to take a page out of Kate’s book and realize that there are certain events that do not require a 5k outfit. The other excuse is “building royal wardrobe” like really? No other royal has had the need to spend 500k in one year on clothes & they do more engagements than she does.

My other note, I don’t think the marriage will last. I never thought it would last since the statement was put out. Harry always seemed like the type who would be the one to divorce atleast twice. Hes not stable like his brother & unfortunately never has been. I definitely see divorce rumors by next year.

I don’t consider myself one of those crazy tinhatters but I didn’t need anyone to tell me this marriage was doomed from the beginning. They both rushed into things and had too many misconceptions about married life. There’s too many other red flags as well. It’s a shame.

I’ve stood up for Meghan regarding some of the racial undertoned articles but in regards to the sexist & classist articles, her fans should be looking in the mirror with how they treat Kate & the Middletons before bitching about the “sexist & classist” articles against Meghan. The shit they’ve called Kate & the Middletons is disgusting especially when they turn around and bitch about a “sexist” article against Markle, like really? Kate has been bashed for over a decade, so Meghan fans need to grow the fuck up and realize that all royal wives get hammered by the press.

Cont.

I’m not saying all crap articles against Meghan are warranted but her fans are absolutely atrocious.

They’ve called Kate & Carole sluts, hags, crinkly bitches etc all over twitter and then five minutes later will tweet an article thats “sexist” against Meghan and will go into pure rage. Clearly these fans haven’t seen the crap Kate has been put through and those who say that they have, yet still complain on articles about Meghan, are the biggest liars.

Her fans refuse to accept any ounce of negativity towards Meghan and that right there is toxic and the definition of a cult! It’s unhealthy.

Her fans think she’s been treated unfairly yet she got an engagement with the Queen right off the bat, a more expensive wedding than the future King/Queen that the RF paid for no less, christmas with the RF as a fiance as well as other engagements as a fiance that nobody else got, she got quite a few patronages from the Queen within 6 months of marrying. Shes gotten so much that others haven’t, her fans have no room to complain. She’s spending more than any other royal and her fans say shes being treated unfairly? PU-LEASE!!

ok I’ve done my rant for the day.

************

Hi, Anon, Thanks for your submission 😊 I’m just going to edit in my reply.

*********

OK, I resorted to going on my desktop as my phone was driving me crazy. Probably better as I’m a fast typist.

I started my Tumblr five years ago. When Cressida and Prince Harry broke up, I chose to not rebrand my Tumblr. I’m happy with the various themes I tend to share. Of course if there is anything about Cressida that I want to share, I do. I thought she was (and she is) a class act and her family are fascinating. They’re this fascinating, blended (as in half siblings) family who are related by marriage to the equally fascinating Bransons.

So five years ago and later, I did check Twitter more. But TBH I prefer Tumblr as people curate interesting content here. Some of it is recent and some of it is historical. And some of the Tumblr users in the Royal Fandom are extremely knowledgeable. I’ve learnt a lot! I also prefer the more visual format.

I do use Twitter just a touch and recently I had someone send a tweet my way with vitriol about CB? Why? What is CB to this person? I checked that person’s Twitter feed and it was a whole bunch of obsessive nonsense in support of one Royal and against everyone else. I think if you’re thinking about a celebrity or royal that much, you simply have too much time on your hands and you need a hobby. I don’t even bother engaging with such people. It’s an immediate call for blocking.

I was surprised the other day to read someone’s comment that they were too young to remember PW and the DofC’s wedding. Wow! That set me back a bit. Lately, people have been sharing videos showing what the DofC went through with the hoardes of paparazzi while she was dating for the better part of a decade. I think it’s important to know that about her. Chelsy also had these issues. And for two years Cressida had to struggle with it as well and still experiences the after effects of her dating PH years.

I think that you can compare the Middletons and MM. Both sides are self made in their own way. The Middletons are the British version of living the American Dream. MM made a meteoric leap from being a suitcase woman in a slinky dress to a supporting actress and aspirational lifestyle blogger/Instagrammer. From there she parlayed her way into circles in little ol Toronto that included every person in town who knows PH. Plus she was chummy with JT (Justin Trudeau). She certainly knows how to work her social connections. So if you don’t like the Middletons for their “rise” in society, then you can’t like MM, and vice versa.

I’m not sure why people choose to hurl such vitriol at the Middletons. And with such language. And I’ve seen the B word put under MM’s photo too along with a lot of critique about her looks. I always cringe when I hear the age 40 hurled at her as if it’s an insult. If these people are not someone’s cup of tea, fine. Then focus on something else.

As for MM, it was PH’s choice to want to get married after a relatively short courting period that was mostly done at a distance. I think that they should have waited longer. But they made the decision and now they need to make it work as they continue to get to know each other.

My rule of thumb is to never write anything about anyone - including Royals - that you wouldn’t say to their face.

Also, I think if you are fan and you want your favourite Royal to survive in the BRF over the long run, you should encourage harmony and getting along. On the side of the fandom and hopefully wishing for the same within the BRF. You should celebrate the positive and not encourage division.

Of course there is room for constructive critique. MM said she wasn’t really aware of the BRF before she got married. (TBH I don’t believe that.) But many fans have been following the BRF for years and even decades. Of course that is looking in from the outside. But they’ve seen all the drama unfold and know that while it’s not easy to marry into a large and affluent family, it’s even harder to marry into something like the BRF. As is the case with most large and wealthy families, individuals are in their own silos looking after their own concerns and interests. You have to tread carefully so as not to threaten anybody or step on their toes. So if MM is making repeated missteps and outsiders can see them, it’s fair to call out the problems.

Leaking to the press? Not a good idea. Being seen to be more demanding of staff members or spending more money than others? Also not a good idea. Of course these just might be spin jobs from other camps but we know how perception is 9/10s of reality as far as onlookers are concerned. I think it’s better to put your head low and keep a simple profile. They say a good leader will join a company and will spend six months walking the halls and getting to know the employees before making any major changes.

It’s also been my observation that whether you’re Prince Philip, Princess Diana, the Duchess of Cornwall or the Duchess of Cambridge, if you’ve married into the BRF you can’t take the spotlight away from your spouse. That’s just how it works. If you choose to not heed this advice, you will encounter push back.

The fashion part is an interesting one. I don’t like this notion of “oh there’s an event tomorrow. Let’s see what the young and senior female royal is wearing”. They aren’t clothes hangers. Their first priority is to visit a charity or represent a charity. Promoting a fashion brand (hopefully from the Commonwealth) is an extra perk. Many of the senior BRF wear expensive clothes - both casual and fancy. The Duchess of Cornwall is very well dressed and is a leading example of looking fabulous in her 70s. Even the casual clothes they wear can be expensive. EG boy are the Le Chameau rainboots that the DofC wears expensive. But then for the average person, most of those clothes are expensive. Even a L350 dress would seem too much. And if the Royals had to wear dresses under L100 for example, like most of us do, they would have to choose from over priced and poorly constructed dresses made out of thin fabric. (Such is the reality of fast fashion these days. The struggle is real when we hit the shops. I prefer thrift stores, as a result.)

I don’t think they have to wear clothes from Britain and the Commonwealth all the time but, if you think about it, there’s a vast array of options from Britain and the Commonwealth. There are some gorgeous clothes out there that could inject interest into Brand Britain and also designers from other countries. MM has worn some Canadian brands and that’s great. But it’s a good idea to switch it up and not look like she might be connected to Jessica Mulroney’s business interests. That perception is out there strongly and that needs to be axed. If JM is offering styling advice for free, you have to ask - what is the benefit for JM financially?

I’m a bit surprised by the amount of negative press circulating right now. Maybe that’s the reality of having so many more fast moving and soft news outlets like social media. I hope that it will get better after the Sussex baby is born. Maybe having the Sussexes move off into a little cottage in the woods of Windsor is a good idea after all.

Thanks for your submission. I hope I expanded on the main topics you raised.

#brf #prince phillip #princess margaret #duchess of sussex #duchess of cambridge #duke of cambridge #duchess of cornwall #british royal family #kate middleton #meghan markle #british fashion #prince harry #submission

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letterdrill08-blog · 5 years

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noonawriter · 3 years

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Delicious Rendezvous

Co-Written by @thesirenandtheking - Thank you so much for your astounding knowledge of SuperJunior. Thank you for being an amazing sounding board for all of the ideas. Thank you for all the brilliant contributions. Thank you for playing around with certain pieces and basically making this whole piece work as well as it does. You are so stinking smart!!! You’re an incredible writer yourself and I look forward to more collaborations with you!!!!

Quick Summary: The fates threw you into Heechul’s hedonistic world, but you’re not here for pleasure. You only came to him because no one else could help.

WORD COUNT: 2700 give or take

WARNINGS: cursing, drinking, the idea of a brothel (nothing seriously smutty at this point)

Delicious Rendezvous

When you’re as old as Heechul, you learn that age really does have its perks; money, fame, cult-like followers even. The vast amounts of knowledge was his favorite though. All the things he’d learned in his three hundred and fifty some-odd years on Earth have culminated in the establishment he currently sat in.

It wasn’t just some brothel. It was classy, dammit. It was prestigious. It had a large, custom-built bar. The food available was cooked by world-class chefs that waited on a list to be called in at Heechul’s will. The liquor was top-notch. It also catered to the supernatural world. All the employees were not quite fully human.

Fae? Of course. Just make sure your schedule is cleared for the next few days.

Sirens? Oh yes. The song is absolutely gorgeous; just don’t get lost in it.

Succubi? Only the most stunning. They look ethereal. Incubi? Prepare for the best sex you never knew you needed.

Vampire? Most definitely. Don’t forget to sign the release first. Especially, if you want the best orgasm of your life.

All kinds of creatures came to Heechul. They could safely make a living for themselves and be around their kind instead of being scrutinized, feared, shunned for what they truly are. After all, those who come to his establishment have some sort of idea of what they are getting themselves into.

No matter what they were, Heechul loved them all. His crew was small and unique. That variety was what drew the crowds each night, after all: some performed on the pole, some danced their hearts out or sang, others milled about and won the crowds over with their charms. Majority of them ended up in the back wing, personally entertaining those who’d paid handsomely for private shows with one or two of the performers.

All in all, he ran a tight ship, and his crew was the best out there. No contest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sat on a barstool, nursing the scotch he kept stashed for only himself. His sharp-toothed bartender, Shindong, stood behind the bar - rag in his hands, absentmindedly wiping down the glass and gazing at the exotic fish.

...No, not at the fish, for once. He was staring at the body that just collapsed two steps past the entrance with a raised eyebrow unsuited for the seriousness of the situation.

Heechul stares too. Calmly. “How do we keep getting into these situations?” Casually spoken as though it was an average day.

“Three hundred years of friendship and I still don’t know,” Shindong answered, shrugging his shoulders. His bartender’s detachment and other oddities aside, Heechul’s gut pinged hard. That complex, messy web he foresaw in shadows and whispers only a week or so ago. This was what had been coming, and now, it was here on his doorstep.

He almost didn’t want to get up to see better, to look closer, but- he couldn’t. His body hesitated; for the first time in over one hundred years. And that concerned him more than he cared to admit.

Hesitantly, he forced his legs forward. Fear hadn’t stopped him from doing a damn thing in centuries, so it wasn’t about to stop him now.

She wasn’t dead; he could sense that much.

Every step forward might as well have been through quicksand, the magic emanating from her unconscious body was so strong. He didn’t know if he’d ever felt one like this, yet it was strangely familiar.

His own power began to reach out; wispy tendrils wrapping around its essence as though reuniting with an old friend. An eternity later, he reached her, picking her up in his arms. For all the strength no longer held in by conscious will, she felt slight. Diminished, somehow.

That wouldn’t do. Still, he’d been so focused on retrieving her that he wasn’t sure what he’d find when he turned around in a room full of the hungry and desperate. If he needed to fight-

His kids had been trained well. The siren at the mic had amped up the attention drawing trap of his song. One hand wrapped tenderly around the mic, the other was held out in the direction of the chubby-cheeked pianist he’d recently hired on. At the bar, his pet demon had strolled over from the plush wall to lean back against the wood, the barest sliver of skin showing from the gap between his shirt and the gleaming buckle of his belt, his gluttonous aura at full blast. And Shindong… well, he couldn’t be said to be anyone’s, kid or otherwise. As soon as Heechul caught his eye, Shindong snapped towards an empty wall, turning the gesture into pointing his index finger as the unsettling sharp-toothed grin created a door where none had been before.

Maybe he only wanted to see what mayhem would come from this, but it was enough. If there was one thing Heechul knew, it was how to press any advantage he got, no matter what the fuck the source happened to be.

He spirited his mystery guest away into whatever haven the hallway between his back rooms could offer. Trusting that his bartender would take care of the convenient door once they crossed its threshold. Hopefully they were safe for the moment, at least. He wouldn’t trust anything else on a day like this. There’s premonition and then there’s prophecy. It was the latter that gave him reason to worry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing you noticed was the plushness of the couch you were laid upon. The second thing was the glaring set of eyes that cautiously examined your body. It wasn’t quite the undressing you were used to. It felt paternal and attentive. It felt welcomed, almost.

Forcing yourself into a seated position was better said than done. Head swimming, your sight grew dim at the action. Your eyes shut tight as your subconscious begged you to lay back down and wait, rolling into the back of your head at the thought of doing anything except sinking down into the softness. Begrudgingly, you listen to said gut and ease back down with a grunt. Your oh-so-grateful gut proceeds to roil with nausea on the way down. You gag momentarily, swallowing bile.

“She stirs,” you hear from a raspy voice across the room. You groan in acknowledgement. “Easy, darling. You might as well have been on the brink of death.” His words seem as though they are far away; so much that you would have to travel all day to find the owner of this voice. So very…

Despite the lure of giving into your fatigue, you manage to open your eyes, head pounding and body throbbing even though you know you aren’t physically injured. Tilting your head, you try to take in your surroundings. The smell of magic is ridiculously potent, a smothering and heavy fog filling the room.

“Need to breathe,” you force out. Your head spins again. The sound of a fan kicks on and immediately, you realize he’s bringing in air from the outside. Strange, though, almost like he knows who you are; better yet, what you are.

Maybe you really are safe here.

A stilted giggle sounds out and you’re taken off guard. Curiosity is eating at you. You struggle, but eventually manage to sit up completely. Then you take in the stranger in the corner of the room.

He’s seated in an overstuffed armchair, decadent emerald velvet with delicate golden embroidery. His eyes cause you to rub your own and then look again. Gold. Just like you were warned about. Vampires with witch-like abilities. This line had a certain power that manifested once they were turned. You weren’t sure what his was, but it felt familiar, secure, even. Its essence seemed to embrace you, envelop you, drawing you into those deep, bright gold pools.

His sharp features studied you for what seemed like hours when in reality, only a few minutes had passed. An amused look crossed his handsome features; his eyebrow cocking up into an arch. A smirk graced his face. Somehow, it only made him more alluring. Still, his scrutiny was starting to raise your hackles.

“I’m fine,” you offered. You hoped it would get him to back off for just a second while you got your bearings.

The stranger scoffed, “You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.” Your eyes rolled. It was a bad habit that you’d been warned to keep under control for years now. You remember one of your closest relatives telling you it would only lead to trouble one day. You’re starting to realize he was right when you felt the vampire’s hand firmly grasping your chin and guiding your gaze to look up into his face. His touch startled you; you hadn’t seen or heard him move. You felt, suddenly, that the center of this man’s attention was a very bad place to be.

“Somehow, you don’t need to open your mouth much to make my head hurt.” His eyes stare into yours, steely and unyielding. Just before he could continue, a dangerous but delicious-looking man appeared out of thin air. The expression on the new man’s face was distorted with panic and a bit of terror, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a fish. Almost a parody of seduction, except that his fear looked all too real. Your chin was released when you heard his panicked voice.

“They are here, Heechul. The Council.” His hand flew to his opposite arm - such a human gesture of nervousness, though he didn’t quite seem that. “We had no idea-!”

Heechul’s grip on you tightens for a split second but releases when he hears you whimper. He turns away from you, trying to figure out what he can do. He mutters, “We can’t have a crisis- My schedule is already full.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He couldn’t help but growl out of frustration. Any other time would have been fine. He turned from the young incubus to your frozen form. “Listen to me very carefully,” he began as he dropped to one knee to get onto your level. “Do not say a word and stay right behind me. Do you trust me?”

You blanch and stammer, “N-no.”

He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Smart woman.”

You nod at his words hesitantly. Your self-preservation mode kicked on as soon as the newcomer had entered a room that didn’t have a door. The vibes you were picking up were something you had yet to feel on this level and it left you mentally drained.

He gripped you tightly and pulled you to a standing position. “I know this is quite a bit to take in, but please, be patient with me. I promise you I will answer your questions as soon as I can.” He trails off as though he needs to think of his next words carefully. “I need to know that you won’t disobey me. No matter what you see or hear.” The look in his eyes spoke volumes. The inner turmoil emotion dampening your already-crumbling façade. “Know this. I will not allow anything to happen to you while you are in my care.” His small smile was meant to make you feel a tiny bit better - but instead, it filled you with dread.

Knowing he was already having this conversation with you after only knowing you for roughly two hours, he wasn’t sure how this council meeting was going to go. Impromptu meetings like this were never good; people usually died as a result. A deep sigh left him before he called out, “We’re ready, Shindong.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you crossed over the threshold of the magic door into an even more opulent setting. Rich mahogany panels swathed in deep green and black pieces of velvet surrounded the small crowd that was gathered before you. You kept your eyes trained to the ground, more specifically Heechul’s black Chelsea boots as he led you across the polished granite floor. Gasps and whispers filled the room. He could sense your anxiety flaring up so he grasped your hand tighter, almost reassuringly.

You chanced taking a glance around and saw him looking at the imposing group of older men standing in the middle of the crowd. Ostentatious is the only word that comes to mind. One of them sticks out to you. It makes you cringe, outwardly. You’d worked hard on hiding emotion but his abhorrent views on just about everyone in the room was too strong to ignore. A greasy smile settled on his face as he zeroed in on you. It was as though you had become prey. You certainly felt like it. You squeezed Heechul’s hand a bit more, all but pleading for reassurance. Heechul’s attention was elsewhere as he was in a heated debate with one of the other hoighty men.

The repulsive man slinked closer to you, walking around you in a circle, sizing you up. You closed your eyes, desperate to remember how to tune people out. This man’s thoughts were going to make you sick, physically. The things he wanted to do to you were unspeakable.

He reached out and plucked your hand from Heechul’s and snatched you away from your hiding spot. He cackled at the sight of your trembling form. Once his eyes locked onto yours, you screamed out.

“I’ll have you know I cannot and will not be bought, you asshole.” You yank your hand away from his, shaking it as though you can wipe his touch right off. The entire room went silent. You blanched, eyes wide. Soon, the murmurs grew all around, slowly but surely in a cresting wave of shock and salacious interest.

“I beg your pardon, but my offerings of pleasure lie this way,” Heechul stepped in to say with a partial bow, obsequiously leading with his arm over the steel in his voice. “Exquisite though this lady may be, she is not in my employ, but under my care this evening and for the foreseeable future. Please do be advised so that I may assist you in finding a suitable companion for your entertainment after we adjourn.”

But that asshole only laughed. Voice dripping with disdain, he asserted, “That means nothing. You’ve made no formal claim. Why, I could take any of your little playthings,” he sneered, not bothering to hide his contempt, “should I so choose. And yet, I only. Want. One.” He took a threatening step forward. “This one.”

The shudder that rippled through your body matched the disgusted look on your face. Still, you stood your ground before the impish looking elder. His eyes still roaming you freely, “The things--”

“Go to hell,” you spat, a reflexive stuttering step back stopped partway by you bumping into Heechul’s chest.

Smirking devilishly, he got in your face and breathed out, “Been there already. Want to accompany me this time? Lucifer himself would find you quite delectable.”

It took every bit of willpower Heechul had not to tear the Councilor limb from limb; instead, he invoked the only formal power he could think of. “She’s my apprentice.” His words were firmer than he expected them to be. Smoothly, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side tightly. The smile that settled on his face could be described as smug.

The man before him flinched as if struck. “How could that possibly be true? That-” He sputtered. “No one has invoked that in at least two hundred years. In the modern world!”

The grip on your body fell away, though its echo felt as though you were still connected. Fists clenched at his sides, Heechul told the repugnant Councilor through gritted teeth, “She shares the same class of magic. I have every right to be the one to train her. You. Cannot. Take her.”

Though the asshole glared at him with such hatred that it could’ve combusted Heechul, he only said, “Don’t think this is over,” before spinning on his heel to return to his temporary seat of power.

The bouncer on rotation hurries into the room, taking on three different forms along the way. “Sir, the Council-” He sees said Council already seated in their place of honor. “Oh.” Mi shifts back to his default form, all one hundred and eighty-six centimeters of it in a sharp suit, before he asks, “Would you like me to escort your guest to more comfortable quarters, sir?”

“Why, yes. Please show my apprentice to her rooms.”

Showing nary a hint of surprise, Mi bows low. “Right away, sir.”

As a careful yet firm touch supports your elbow, with only enough force to know you’re being led, the last thing you catch a glimpse of is Heechul scrubbing his hand over his face, hearing the outline of his muttered curse following you out the door.

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Author’s note- Should this story continue, there will be smuttiness in future chapters. It’s me after all! Myself and @thesirenandtheking may or may not have created an entire world around the idea of Heechul running a “brothel” that has a huge supernatural impact. Let me know if you want more!!!!!

#SuperJunior fic #SuperJunior #SuperJunior Heechul fic #Heechul Fic #SUJU fic #kpop fic #supernatural kpop #supernatural heechul #heechul #heechulxreader #supernatural fic #supernatural

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