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it's been a good few days since we made our (re)acquaintance with our good professor dr. van helsing, which means im going to do what i promised to do literal months ago and present my historical faceclaim: dutch reformed church minister (dominee) cornelis eliza van koetsveld (1807-1893):
one of the most well-known ministers of his era, he started out as a simple village preacher and ended up as court minister - he even baptised queen wilhelmina of the netherlands (1880-1962). he was also, like many dutch reformed ministers in the 19th century, a fairly popular author. it was relatively common for dutch ministers to write fictionalised accounts of their experiences, especially in the countryside, about the people and their habits, the day-to-day occurences, their own efforts to teach and guide their flock correctly and the difficulties they encountered. such accounts usually included some kind of social commentary (van koetsveld's later work was inspired by dickens) and moral lessons for the readers as well. van koetsveld's most popular book can be found here, though it is of course in dutch.
so why van koetsveld? going off his looks alone, when i saw his picture for the first time, i was struck by how in almost every single one of his portraits, he looks kind and caring and yet - there is something mischievous about him, like he's in on some joke or a little piece of knowledge that you, the onlooker, have not yet been made aware of. he looks like a knowledgeable elderly man who also knows how to have little fun - which, to me? is van helsing to a t. and it's not just in his face: his written work exudes the authoritativeness of the 19th century preacher but is full of witty comments and sharp wisecracks that still make me chuckle when i read them.
there is also something else that endears him to me, and that makes me think he's a good fit for van helsing: van koetsveld founded the first dutch school for special education of what we now know to be neurodivergent children, the 'hague idiot school' (1855-1920). the name of his institute doesn't translate particularly well to modern times, but it is important to view this in context: the children who attended this school were generally thought to be feeble-minded and therefore incapable of development, but van koetsveld disagreed with that sentiment. now i don't think van koetsveld would've believed vampires to be anything else but a baseless countryside myth, but his views on neurodivergent children show a certain open-mindedness, to think differently from other people, that is a core trait of van helsing too. (somewhat in that vein, for anyone interested, when the time comes, ill make a post on his conduct towards renfield)
tl;dr, when looking at his pictures i can easily imagine him doing any of the things we see van helsing do in the books: teasing seward, maintaining his gentle but firm bedside manner around his patients, getting up to the various nighttime shenanigans from the next few weeks, and van koetsveld's real-life temperament, as far as can be established, seems to collide quite well with the character of van helsing.
#it doesn't look like cornelis was a ginger but well you can't have everything#i've linked his wiki page but unfortunately it's only available in dutch and german so give deepl a spin i guess#most of the information on that page i just ripped off and (re)wrote here tho#anyway! i wish i could've met this man irl i think i would have liked him#do i agree with everything he says. no ofc not he was a 19th c. minister. but he is definitely one of my obscure historical special guys#dracula#dracula daily#also trying to find the right english equivalent for terms in the dutch reformed church is terrible#half the time the english term is used in the anglican church but the same word directly translated to dutch is a catholic term#so i tried to avoid them here as much of them as possible
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Commission for @GlitterBomba!
Part 2 of this!! I don't feel it's as angsty as it should be, but for some reason, my creativity wanted it that way? It's been a long time since I've last written, and this was definitely a challenge... First part was produced way too long ago, so it was also challenging to connect with what I felt when I wrote it! But here it is, and I hope you like it, GlitterBomba. Thanks for trusting me!
My Ko-fi page~ Buy me a coffee if anyone wants part 3 ❤(っ^▿^)
It took you days to awaken from your deep sleep, days which became weeks, and weeks transformed into months. There was no hope for your life among the healers, but the tenacity and insistence of those elders who saved you forced them to continue providing methods and energy, herbs, talismans to keep you breathing.
Impossible to explain how that mortal blow did not steal your last breath, not when the perpetrator was the greatest tyrant in the current world, the monster everyone learned to fear and flee from. In the small place where you are kept hidden, rumor has it the treacherous one repented as soon as his hand affected your body, causing you not to succumb immediately.
It wasn’t until after he vanished, shrouded in lightning and hatred, when one of Ashura’s subordinates came upon the scene of your sad fate. A pool of blood acting as a bed over a pale body, devoid of any warmth and life. Everyone was quick to write you off for dead after such an event, and only when one of the village elders took your pulse did he find your incredible attempt to resist despite all odds.
Keeping you along with the new leader and his people would not be a good idea. Not when you barely escaped with your life from the beast. In case he came back and besieged his younger brother, it would be better if he didn’t find you there. That man proved to have an unquenchable thirst for revenge.
Tempting fate once is more than enough.
That led a group of elderly men, those who defended your slight pulse when everyone thought you were dead, to ask Ashura’s permission before disappearing and taking you to a safe place, making use of some of the village healers to ensure your health. 8 men of different ages vanish with you, swearing on their lives to do everything possible for you to open your eyes again.
Winters turned into warm seasons, and autumn leaves were waning. Two whole years quickly go by before your consciousness returns. The world is different. You understand through your guardians that life passed with you as a ghostly presence, a bedridden legend they fought all this time to preserve.
No one mentions what happened to you, though. No one names him.
To everyone’s surprise, you don’t really ask about the village; you don’t ask about your birthplace and your home. You don’t ask... about him.
Your healers discover you memory was damaged after exhaustive examinations beyond your comprehension. Theories why this happened are various in your little home; some argue the loss of blood hurt your brain, others believe the trauma of that betrayal forced you to block it all out, and there are those who think maybe you ignored the past on purpose.
Still, there is an unspoken rule forbidding the mention of what happened, of the village, of those two brothers. After experiencing hell, what would be the benefit of forcibly bringing you back to that horrible past? In this remote place, you have the chance to start from scratch, and your rescuers believe it is the least you deserve.
Little by little, you gradually learn everything all over again. Your own name, your age, information about those around you. You ask with animosity about everything you don’t understand, and the only thing there is reluctance to answer is when you want to know about who you were before... this.
Healers get the problem off their shoulders, rushing you to ask such questions to the older people. They shoo you out of their humble hut with nervousness and red faces, panic in their eyes.
Seniors sigh as they stare into nothingness, sadness and nostalgia, painting their countenances with something you cannot grasp. Some even drop a couple of tears to the rhythm of a depressing whisper, “oh poor child...”
The scene makes you feel so guilty you end up consoling them, assuring it’ s not a big deal and you don’t need to be told. That your life in this small place with them is all you need to be happy, past or no past.
Regardless, it is the scar monstrously painting your stomach which makes you uneasy. While tracing the edges of that sensitive skin with your fingertips, you feel its reason for existence is on the tip of your tongue. As if reminders of what happened to you are lingering there, buried in your head, but creeping closer to your memory every time you look at your navel.
What happened? What terrible thing could have left such an enormous mark on your skin, but not in your head?
It’s frustrating.
Eventually, curiosity to explore beyond your own narrow world peaks. It’s quite natural, considering four older men and four medicine buffs rarely make for an interesting group of company. Older men drink tea most of the day, when they’re not napping in the sun, of course. The rest read rigorously and debate among themselves about their newly gained knowledge.
Getting permission is a complicated task. They are terribly afraid of your departure, scared of your fate, frightened of what dangers you might encounter.
But how to keep you there forever, when you have seen the vivid movement the closest town has?
Perhaps it was your rescuers’ mistake for allowing you to go exploring within the boundaries they considered safe, yet you inevitably discovered such a place, so close and yet so far away, so full of people and... life. Persons of all ages walking from one side to the other, food you never saw before displayed in various stalls, children playing with each other, unaware of the surrounding universe. Everything looks completely natural, as if folks are used to this kind of lifestyle since long ago, and you wonder if you ever lived in a similar environment.
Just what hides in your past?
After insistence and great pleas against the overprotection imparted on you, they understand it is simply hopeless to make you give up your idea unless they expose all those shocking events, unless they explain from what kind of danger it is necessary for you to hide, from whom it is imperative you escape.
No one knew anymore about that demon after his disappearance the same day, and it is uncertain where he is. Whether he is hiding or far from your current home, it is unknown to anyone, and it would invoke bad luck if your guardians expected you to meet him face to face once you get away from them.
Preparation of weeks and many directions, you finally depart from your unnoticed hideout in the world, leaving behind anxious seniors and worried healers.
It was agreed you could explore for a couple of months, but your eventual return is a binding closure on the deal you reluctantly struck. Each new destination brings with it new discoveries, tastes, experiences. You always find charitable souls willing to help when you are short of food, water or shelter, people who offer to give directions when you get disoriented, people who share stories with you on lonely, nostalgic nights.
With each step you take in the outside world, less you understand what your guardians are afraid of. Everyone is well meaning, and no one seeks to take advantage of your innocence. It is incomprehensible why this was denied to you for so long, and every time you think of your precious little home, an emptiness grows in your heart.
Weeks slowly pass, and having experienced so much in such a short time, you find the need to recount it to those you consider your family. As initially agreed, it may be time to return, to prove the world is not as terrible as they feared.
A few miles from homeland, just as you feel you are walking the grounds of your family again, you stop at a stream to get a drink of water, determined not to slow down until you reach your destination. It is too much of a thrill to witness those 8 insane people bickering and arguing. You absentmindedly smile as you rinse your face.
In your distraction, you cannot hear footsteps approaching at your back. It’s not like you would have detected them if you were paying attention either, for the person stalking you is deliberately careful, calculating.
Turning, your face affects directly into a solid mass of muscle, sending you tumbling down the riverbank again. Any woman would have assumed the worst when connecting glances with a man who invades her personal space unannounced, but from your mouth comes a concerned “Are you okay?”
The man, who is watching you as if a ghost were sitting next to you in the water and you were unaware of it, bleeds. Profusely, indeed. Both of his hands are deeply cut, distinct wounds on his palms dripping thickly to the ground.
There is no answer to your question, and the man’s countenance is difficult to decipher. His eyes glow a red which fades too quickly to analyze, his complexion is completely pale and unhealthy, his hair points in all directions, forming a long brown tangle which you deduce has not been combed for some time. For moments, it is as if there are words trying to pierce his lips, but the stupor of the individual continues.
“Your hands... we really should take care of them, shouldn’t we? Aiya, let this humble one help you heal.”
There is no reaction as you stand up and take him by the arm, guiding him to a large rock away from the water and helping him to sit up. His gaze is still completely fixed on your face, searching for something you’ re oblivious to. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, agitated breaths accompanied by sounds resembling syllables.
“Look at this mess alone... sir, you should be cautious walking along the bed of these waters. They are treacherous, hm?”
Ripping off one of your sleeves, previously dampened when you fell into the water, you use the cloth to clean his wounds. There’s not much you can do here, out in the open and in these conditions, but judging by the man’s appearance, he was probably recently attacked. When you mention your little home a few miles away, the man doesn’t refuse or accept.
Still, when you head back to the road, you find the fellow following you from behind, head down and staring at the ground. In his hands he tightly clenches the cloth of your sleeve, and blood stains the fabric completely at this point. You talk about the healers in your place, and how they can help him get better, but no matter how much you try, the man never responds. You ponder whether, perhaps, the situation he experienced before he ran into you may have been intense, and you attribute his perturbation to that.
After walking without pause all afternoon, your silent companion always keeping your own pace, your destination appears in front of you. From afar, you can see the elders sitting on the engawa of their cottage, sharing tea and quietly waiting for dusk. All is silent, and your announcement of arrival is the only thing disturbing the atmosphere.
Your arms wave vigorously to catch the attention of those you regard as family, a splendorous smile planted on your face, walking at an increased speed to catch up with them. An extended curtsey bow is given before them, and only after raising your head you dare to give them all a group hug, false formality forgotten as much as your guest.
The man slowly approaches this scene and analyzes the faces of those present as the embrace takes place. Had you not been turning your back on him, you may have noticed the change in his countenance, coldness creeping over his features from one moment to the next. None of the elders noticed his noiseless presence, not even having sensed it to begin with, and it is not until one of them finishes smiling and opens his eyes to come face to face with their worst fear.
Suddenly the hug is interrupted when this old man lets out a shriek, trying to back away and losing his balance. You follow his line of sight while turning, and find that innocent-looking stranger again, disoriented. There are screams all around you. Seniors are horrified and collapse on the floor next to each other, completely surrendered to the gaze of the demon fixed on them.
“Don’t behave like that! It would appear it wasn’t you guys who taught me manners... I’m so sorry, sir, they’re not used to dealing with travelers, let alone wounded ones... if you’d be so kind as to follow me?”
Throwing a withering glance at the group of elders, you direct your guest to the house the healers occupy. True, your little family is not used to encountering men in the state this very one is in, but you never expected such an exaggeration. A bit of unkempt hair and blood, pale skin, and they’re all screaming on the floor?
The reaction of the healers is not much different, and after reprimanding them for behaving so shamefully, you get them to treat the man’s hands. Leaving them alone so as not to disturb the setting, you make your way to the third and final cottage, your own. Since the other houses occupy four people each, it would be problematic to ask them to accommodate your own guest, and you take your time assembling an extra bed, improvising with blankets.
Nighttime is delightfully quiet, and as the door opens without warning, you greet the individual with a smile. Elders have taken the trouble to bring food for both you and him, announcing neither they nor the healers were in the mood to share dinner together.
The man’s hands are bandaged, his palms completely covered, and his thumbs trapped in the wrappings. He looks uncomfortable, and it shows in his inability to do anything on his own. His chopsticks are impossible to hold as he kneels on the floor and tries to eat, and after many urgings from you, he nods silently and almost imperceptibly, allowing you to help him.
“You see... you’re here, eating my food, under my roof, safe and comfortable... and I still don’t know your name...”
Teasing is imminent in your voice, hoping to relax him, if only a little. As he takes another bite and chews, his eyes are fixed on the table, like trying to hide from your presence.
After analyzing the end of your day alongside this presence, you assessed this man must be terribly shy, perhaps someone properly introverted. Still, observing his features, you get a strange familiarity, a feeling making you let your guard down and relax in front of him. A secret knocking at the door of your mind, demanding to burst in front of you but being invisible at the same time.
“... Uchiha...”
Without expecting an answer anymore, after several minutes, his voice surprises you. It sounds like that of someone who rarely uses it, raspy and rusty, as if it had been forgotten long ago, and not even the man himself remembers its ringing.
“Um?”
“Lord Uchiha...”
His name, you realize. Formal, a title.
Lord Uchiha continues in the same position, just like his words had been an illusion. It is impossible to keep giving him food, his attitude surly and refusing, and you wonder if he plans to spend the entire night in the same position if you allow him to.
Demandingly, you get him up and offer him your bed for the night.
He tries to take the spot you set up on the floor, and displays physical strength far beyond what you thought he had. There are firm muscles hiding under his stained white tunic, and they flex slightly every time he tries to change the course you both walk. He is probably holding back, you realize, for the way his forearm tenses. The stubbornness of this individual… as if he were someone unaccustomed to taking orders, leading rather than listening. Either way, he ends up tucked inside your room, buried under sheets and quilts so he doesn’t get cold.
You find your own resting place after closing the door and leaving your guest. There is not much room inside your small home, and yet, the greatest comforts are offered to those who really need them.
That night, a fearsome nightmare assaults your dreams. A pitch-black claw pierces your stomach from both sides, long nails tearing through skin and tissue like cloth. Blood pools at your feet, solidifying and making escape impossible. You feel your lips move in a choked scream, and a single word escapes your throat along with another red waterfall.
“... Indra...”
#Indra#otsutsuki indra#indra otsutsuki#otsutsuki clan#naruto#Naruto Shippuden#indra x reader#indra otsutsuki x reader
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“Supposed to Be”
Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!
I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!
(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)
Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.
The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.
He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.
The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”
Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.
“Hood,” The teen greeted.
“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.
“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.
Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.
Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.
Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.
“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.
“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.
Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.
“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.
Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.
“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.
“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.
Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.
Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.
“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.
“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.
Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”
“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.
“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.
Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!
Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.
The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”
Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?
Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.
Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.
“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.
Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.
Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.
Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.
Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.
“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.
“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”
The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.
This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.
Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.
He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.
Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.
Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.
Jason already had his gun drawn.
“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.
“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’
“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.
“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.
Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.
Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.
“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”
“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-
Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-
Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.
“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.
As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.
Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.
Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”
Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.
Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.
“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.
Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.
Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.
The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”
And the canister...
Burst.
The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.
Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.
Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.
He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.
Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!
Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!
A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.
He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.
Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.
Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?
The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.
Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.
“Bingo.”
Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.
There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.
He’d done it!
The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.
Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.
That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.
“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.
The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.
Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.
Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.
“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.
Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.
Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.
Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.
“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.
Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.
Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”
“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.
Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.
“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”
“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”
“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”
Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.
“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.
He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.
Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.
“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”
“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.
Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”
Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.
“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.
Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.
“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.
When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.
Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.
Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.
Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.
He quickly scooted across the floor to him.
“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”
Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.
“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.
Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.
“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.
Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.
Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.
Why did Jason do that?
“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.
“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.
“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”
Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.
Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.
“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”
They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.
“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”
Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.
“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.
Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”
Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.
“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”
“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.
“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.
“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.
“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.
“Too bad, I decided I am.”
“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”
“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”
“Shut up!”
“I speak only truth.”
The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.
#batman#robin#jason todd#redhood#red hood#Tim Drake#red robin#batfam big bang 2021#Just for Fun#idk how tumblr works
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Accidents Happen - On Demons And Angels
Summary: Roman believes that the accident wasn’t entirely Remus’ fault, and begins his investigation into Janus’ part in it. Part 1 of ?
Content: disaster humans, brief discussions of injuries, brief fire mention, brief bugs mention; Remus is implied to be cruel but isn’t, really
Words: 3,845
{Part 2}
‘In every set of twins, there is an angel and a demon.’
At least, that was what it had said in a book Roman had read once. He couldn’t even remember what it was called, let alone what the context for such a condemning statement had been, but those words had stuck with him from the moment his eyes had found them on the page. Maybe it was because he had been reading it around the time that Remus had started acting out properly, and because the only thing he could come up with to explain it was that Remus was just naturally bad. They had the same parents, after all, the same upbringing, the same neighbours and peers - they should have turned out the same. It had made plenty of sense to his twelve-year-old self: he was the angel, and Remus was the demon.
Now, however? He was pretty sure that it was the other way around.
Or maybe it wasn’t true at all. Because whilst an angel didn’t get their twin kicked out of the house or blamed for the dog going missing, he was fairly certain that an angel wouldn’t end up in prison, either.
Maybe they were both demons, only he was better at hiding it. Everybody else certainly took him to be an angel, after all: when they compared Roman: a straight A student, head of the theatre club, volunteering twice a week, heading to a prestigious university to study classics in the fall; to Remus, who hadn’t scored well in an exam since he was eight, who was always in dirty, ripped clothes and smelled of bonfires and booze, who had once pushed a kid down two flights of stairs (Patton had been fine in the end, but still…), what were they supposed to think?
“At least one of your boys will amount to something,” somebody had said once. “At least Roman’s going somewhere,” they had said. And then, “isn’t your son talented!” and “you must be so proud of your boy,” as though Remus didn’t exist at all anymore. And Roman had let it happen, because he had loved the praise, because he had loved being the golden boy, the one that could do nothing wrong. He loved being the example, being allowed to stay home alone a whole two years before Remus even though they were the same age, being allowed to go to see his friends at any hour of the day or night as long as he texted to say when he would be home. Next to Remus, who had once procured a dead snake and wrapped it up as a Mother’s Day gift, he could do no wrong.
And so when things went slightly wrong, it didn’t matter if he blamed Remus. They were still friends - they were twins, of course they were friends - and Remus never seemed to care. When Roman had spilled candle wax all over the floor when they were thirteen and their parents had asked what had happened, the words had just slipped out: “Remus was playing with the candles earlier.” Six hours later, they had all been woken by the smell of smoke to find that Remus had set the living room curtains on fire, and two hours after that, Roman had slipped into his brother’s bedroom and thanked him for covering for him.
“That’s what I’m here for, Ro-Ro,” he had said, grinning at the glo-stars tacked to the ceiling in the shape of a monstrous grin. “We’ve gotta stick together, you ‘n me. I’ve got your back.”
Remus never asked anything from him.
He didn’t ask for a return favour when they were fourteen and Roman had failed an exam, stole Remus’ clothes while his twin was in gym, re-sat the paper as Remus but wrote his own name on the top, and then blamed the original failed paper on his brother trying to fuck with him.
He didn’t make Roman own up when he had taken their father’s car out to a party when they were sixteen, gotten slightly tipsy, and managed to throw up all over the seats and leave a massive scratch all down one side, ruining the paintwork. His parents were already inclined to blame their problem child, and all Roman had to say was, “I thought I heard the car while I was studying last night.” Remus not only took the punishment for him, but went as far as to key their mother’s car the next night.
When they were seventeen, they had gotten a puppy. It was supposedly for everyone, a family pet, but everybody knew that it was really a reward for Roman landing the lead role in the theatre club’s production of ‘Bugsy Malone’. Two months later, the twins had been home alone (their parents had gone out together, and Remus wasn’t allowed to be alone in the house anymore and hadn’t been since The Microwave Incident, so Roman had to stay in with him) and Roman had left the back door open when he went outside. The dog - Filo, after the pastry - had charged out after him, been spooked by something, and dashed through the fence. Roman had followed her into the woods, fallen into a creek, and had to hobble home on a twisted ankle. He was a good actor; it didn’t take much to call up some tears, and explain how he had been trying to catch Filo after Remus had let her out by mistake. Remus never asked for Roman’s help with the hours and hours he had searched through that forest, every day after school for months, until he finally came home to get a spade and returned with Filo’s collar some time later.
There were other things, too, things that had actually been Remus, things that Roman had had nothing to do with. Most of the things were like that, really. And when Roman made mistakes, he usually owned up to them - he wasn’t a bad person. It was only the few times that he had ducked out of the way and allowed Remus to take the punishment for him.
He wouldn’t have done it if he’d have known how it was going to end. Sure, Remus was a disaster, Remus was strange and already on first-name basis with a few of the police officers around their town, Remus was awkward in conversation and quite frankly an embarrassment to be related to, but he was still his brother, and he did still love him. So if he had known that his parents would kick Remus out for it, Roman never would have claimed that he had never seen the ziploc bag of weed, or that Remus must have hidden it in his room. And by the time he heard the yelling, by the time he tried to take it back, it was too late. His parents saw his desperate pleas that it was his as generosity, as self-sacrifice, as trying to stick up for his brother, and had calmly explained that it wasn’t just this, that this was just the latest in the longest line of things, and that it was sweet of him to try to look out for his twin.
So yeah, maybe Roman wasn’t the valiant prince he had always thought he was.
He had given Remus the keys to his car, a gorgeous red thing his parents had bought him for his eighteenth. Remus couldn’t drive, of course (after the Scratch’n’Vom Incident, they had stopped his lessons, and he didn’t the funds to pay for them himself) (Remus hadn’t had pocket money since they were ten), but he could sleep in the thing for as long as he wanted, and Roman said would let him into the house to use the shower and stuff when their parents were out. He had parked the car around the corner, out of view of their house, because their parents had explicitly banned him from helping him, and brought Remus some extra blankets. It was the least he could do.
But Remus, of course, couldn’t let it go. Ask anybody: he had to top Roman’s latest disaster with an even more spectacular one of his own, and Roman was awoken at around four in the morning by a uniformed officer informing his parents that there had been an accident, and that they would have the opportunity to appoint a lawyer for Remus before questioning started the following morning, and would they like to come down to the station to see him now? (They hadn’t wanted to do either of those things).
How foul-mouthed, crude, angry Remus had persuaded the golden-eyed, silver-tongued captain of the debate team to get into the car with him after midnight was anyone’s guess. Roman hadn’t even thought that Remus knew Janus, let alone was on midnight-joyride terms with him. Janus’ parents insisted that Remus must have kidnapped their son. Janus stayed quiet, although that wasn’t surprising given the fresh burn scars down his once-flawless face and neck and the smoke damage to his throat; instead of speaking, he submitted a written statement to the effect that he had gotten a lift from Remus, who had been drunk - although he hadn't known it - and that Remus had gotten distracted and driven them off the road. He didn't want to press charges; his parents forced him to. Remus made no move to confirm or deny this. His lawyer, one provided by the state, had pleaded guilty.
Remus got eight months.
Roman should have been pleased. Not that his brother was in prison, but that it hadn't been worse. Janus could have died, landing Remus in even more trouble. Remus could have died.
Instead, he was furious. None of it made sense. (Well, it did, a little, but not as much as everybody seemed to think it did!) Why would Janus have been out that late? It had been a school night, there was no reason for him to be… Well, anywhere other than at home. Had it been anybody else, this would be a stupid argument to make, but this was Janus Sinclaire, practically the most perfect student to exist. Why would he accept a lift from Remus, of all people? Most people Roman knew seemed to agree that it was safer to be on the streets alone than in a car with Remus.
Even if he took Janus' story as true (which he didn't), there were other things that didn't make sense. There hadn't been any alcohol in the car - Roman wasn't stupid, he didn't keep booze in his car - and Remus didn't have his wallet on him when he left, so how could Remus have been drunk? And the most important problem of all: if Remus had been planning on doing something big to make a spectacle of himself again, he wouldn't have been driving around town picking up other students like a freebie taxi service. He would have driven directly to the lake and sunk the car, or gone to the edge of town and torched the thing. Roman was pretty sure that nobody else would make this distinction, but he knew his twin (kinda).
In short? Not only had Roman gotten his brother kicked out of the house, but now Remus was serving time on a statement with more holes than a sieve.
It would be unsporting to disbelieve the victim in a case like this. It would be about as far from angelic as he could get, Roman reflected, tapping a pen against the bulleted list in the notebook in front of him. But that was okay. He had already proven that he wasn't an angel.
Remus:
Not a good driver - nobody would trust him to take them home
Promised he wouldn't go anywhere - are Remus promises worth much? Unsure.
Tends to immediate chaos & destruction - why driving?
No alcohol in car + no wallet for Remus
What was Janus doing at 2am?
Does Janus trust Remus enough to take a lift at 2am? Fuck no
Janus lies - known fact
Remus doesn’t hurt other people - Patton, me, random scraps
Remus doesn’t plan on hurting other people - luring Janus into my car would take planning
Janus lies. That was the point he kept coming back to, no matter how many times he told himself that he could only put it down once, that Janus had no reason to lie here, that only a monster would start trying to push a horribly scarred guy about what must have been a traumatic experience.
But Remus deserved better than this, didn’t he?
No matter how much of an asshole he could be, no matter what kind of freaky things he did for fun, just for once Remus deserved somebody to stick up for him. Besides, Roman owed him - big time - and maybe he should finally start paying in his debts. It was the princely thing to do, after all. And the ends justified the means, so if he had to do some slightly dodgy things to discover the truth, that wasn’t a problem.
Maybe it was just time to accept that he had more than just a little of the demon twin in himself.
It was another week before Janus returned to school - just in time for the end of year finals, although it was common knowledge that he had been given a pass not to sit them. He sat them anyway. Roman was certain that he only sat them to maintain his reputation, because there was no way the faculty was going to give him anything less than a perfect grade even if he didn’t.
Despite his scars and the new hoarse quality to his voice, Janus didn’t seem to act as though anything was different. Roman was actively watching him now, waiting for an opportunity to get close to him, for a crack in his golden façade that would allow him to break him open and pry at his secrets until he discovered exactly what had happened the night Remus had been kicked out; surely this lack of reaction was suspicious? Janus still arrived at exactly the same time every morning, dropped off by his parents in a ridiculously shiny silver car; he still went to every class and hosted debate team rehearsals in his lunch breaks; he still went straight home after school, again in that gorgeous silver machine, and sat in his room for hours, reading or studying. (Roman had found a tree across the street, one leafy enough that he could sit in it with a pair of binoculars for hours without being seen). (Yes, this was not princely behaviour).
Roman had gotten his information about what was ‘normal’ for Janus to do from Virgil Spince, who always seemed to know people’s routines. He had explained his curiosity away by saying that he wanted to apologise for his brother’s behaviour - something Virgil thoroughly approved of, given how badly his best friend had been hurt in the past - but was too anxious about it to just approach him. If there was something he understood, Virgil had said, it was anxiety. He had handed over Janus’ timetable without much more of a fuss, and Roman hadn’t asked how he knew what Janus did at home.
Roman had pushed down the guilt that rose in his chest with each lie he told, taken the scrawled list of times and places (Virgil had surprisingly cute handwriting, who knew?) and left.
It was another week before he found the courage to actually approach Janus. It wasn't as though there was an obvious change in his routine - other than the Thursday therapy trip, which Roman couldn't really see as suspicious - so it wasn't as though Roman could just accost him in the middle of something illegal. That made talking to him much harder, because it meant that he was going to have to be nice. Nice, to somebody that had gotten his brother locked up. The jumpsuit really didn't suit Remus.
Fortunately, Roman was a very good actor.
He did it at lunchtime, reasoning that that was the least suspicious time to talk to another 'victim' of his brother the natural disaster. Sliding into the seat across from where Janus was poking at a flask of what had to be maggots (or maybe it really was only noodles and Roman was still thinking about that film he had watched last night), he pulled his own lunchbox from his bag and set it down decisively, then just stared at it.
His nervousness was, for the most part, an act. Although his head was tilted toward the box of rice balls in front of him, Roman’s eyes were on Janus - and he was sure that something had flickered across his face when he had sat down. What it was, he couldn’t say, but it had definitely been… Something. Guilt? Did Janus feel guilty? Roman hoped so. If he didn’t yet, then he would make sure that he did eventually.
After a brief count of thirty-nine (thrice thirteen. Thrice, because three times was traditionally lucky; thirteen because it was Remus’ lucky number), Roman Wang raised his head and stared directly into the pale, now-quizzical eyes before him. The left eye (Roman’s left, he wasn’t sure why the distinction was important but it was) was just the same as ever; the right was rimmed with angry, swollen skin, and looked painful to open. He buried the stab of guilt for what he was about to do, reminded himself that Remus was his priority, and allowed his tongue to dart briefly over his upper lip before speaking. “I’m… Sorry about what happened. For Remus. I’m sorry for what Remus did to you, Janus. I never thought he’d do anything like that…”
There was silence as Janus regarded him, then the sound of a fork scraping against the metal of his flask as he raised another twist of maggots to his lips. Maybe they’d eat him from the inside out. Wow - these thoughts were a lot more befitting of Remus than of him. Maybe admitting one might be part demon unlocked a whole new category of twisted imaginings right from day one. Or day sixteen, as the case may be. Finally, Roman watched the bob of Janus’ throat as he swallowed, winced, and then spoke in that same husky, hoarse voice that would be more at home in a horror film than in a canteen. (No, that wasn’t fair. Not a princely thought at all. Since when had Roman made fun of people for injuries they couldn’t help?) (Since now, apparently). “You didn’t?”
“What?”
“Didn’t think Remus would do something like this.”
“What? Of course not!” Janus just stared at him, and Roman made a valiant effort to lower his voice so that his next words would be more civil. “He’s not - I didn’t think he would be this… Cruel. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
“Interesting.” Somehow, Janus managed to draw the word out, to turn it into a condescending drawl even with his new chainsaw-murderer voice. “Even after what he did to Patton Grace? What happened to Logan Ahmed?”
Roman gaped at the other man. What had happened to Logan? He couldn’t remember. Either way, Janus had a point: Remus did have a track record for hurting people. He had even written that down in his notebook earlier that week. Shaking his head briefly, Roman pulled the chopsticks from the lid of his lunchbox and started picking at his rice. “Sorry. I guess I’m just… Shocked. I was just trying to… You know. Apologise. Ask if you were okay. If you needed to borrow any notes from the weeks you missed. That stuff.”
He was fairly certain that somebody else would already have given Janus notes, but it sounded good to offer; after another moment of silence, Janus shrugged. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Apology accepted. I’ll take the notes, too. You take AP Spanish, right?”
“There are eight of us in that class, Janus. You know I take AP Spanish. We’ve mostly just been doing conversational skills - Señor Puentes said a large part of our final would be verbal.” Roman allowed himself a little drama there, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, and Janus actually gave him a very faint smile. “You need my notes for that? I can help you revise, if you like.”
This time, Janus’ smile was wider, but thinner, too. “Coming from anybody else, that would sound as though you were just trying to get free tutoring.” He screwed the lid back onto his flask and bent to return it to his satchel (most people would get the crap kicked out of them by some netheranderal for carrying a satchel to school. Janus not only got away with it, but managed to make it look good, too). He straightened up with a water bottle and a blister pack of what Roman assumed were painkillers and swallowed two of them before washing them down with something that was probably the blood of some innocent goats. Or raspberry juice. One of the two.
Then Janus looked up to see what Roman hoped was a confused expression and not a hateful one, and rolled his eyes. “Yes, we can study together. Friday, half four. My place - I’ll give you my address.”
Roman had to restrain himself from saying something stupid, like “Don’t worry, I know where you live.” That wouldn’t sound dodgy at all. Instead, he thanked Janus as he scribbled an address on a scrap of notepaper and pushed it across the table with a scarred hand.
Janus got up to leave a few seconds later, making some comment about checking books out of the library, and Roman ate the rest of his lunch in silence, Janus’ address burning a hole in his pocket. That had been… Easy. Reassuringly so. It shouldn’t take long to squeeze the truth out of that snake if he just accepted what Roman had said so easily.
Of course, maybe Janus really didn’t have anything to hide. If he had taken Roman’s words for granted so easily, what was to say that he hadn’t done the exact same thing for Remus? If that was the case, then Roman would be manipulating just another victim, collateral of the swathes of destruction that Remus left in his wake. The guilt that rose in his stomach at this thought felt a lot like nausea, and he pushed the lid back onto his barely-touched lunch.
There was no point thinking like this. He had started on this path, and he would get to the bottom of this mystery no matter how ill it made him feel.
Besides, if he found out the truth and was able to bring it to light, to see that Janus got what he deserved for landing his brother in prison, maybe things would go back to normal. Remus could be the grubby, disturbing, mostly harmless demon, and he could go back to his happy, perfect life as the angel twin.
Even avenging angels had to get their hands dirty sometimes, right?
#roman sanders#remus sanders#janus sanders#creativitwins#AccidentsHappenAU#fanfiction#remus is a semi-voluntary scape-goat#but roman does want to fix things
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Why White Hat SEO Wins Over Black Hat SEO Every Time
I do not care about the ethical or un-ethical implications that seem to travel the web nowadays about what is right or what is inaccurate as a long way as net advertising and marketing. The web is the internet. We are fortunate to have it. In a unfastened subculture, we will continually have the seedy, much less-perfect factors that glide our manner. Such is freedom. SANWELLS
When it involves horrific conduct on the internet, overwhelmingly it's miles spam that annoys most of us. We actually don't sense like deleting undesirable messages from our in packing containers on a day by day basis. We also are worn-out handling (or is it coping with us?) our spam filters. Spam filters are an amazing try, however they too waste our time when we have to dig through the junk mail folder to discover Aunt Millie's invitation to Easter.
To me the only matters that are "horrific behavior" at the net are as follows:
1. Email unsolicited mail.
2. Comment unsolicited mail on someone's blog.
3. Cloaked or stealth pages that re-direct to a porn web site or a financial rip-off web page.
What do these have in not unusual? They all have an effect on a man or women. We ought to take time to delete spam in our inbox, junk mail off our blogs, and with any luck, no longer have our 14 year antique daughters directed to a few porn site when they concept they were getting the modern day need to-have for AOL's on the spot messenger.
If I should appoint a black hat approach that might net me $one hundred,000 a month selling profitable and sincere products, I'd do all of it day long and smile all the manner to the financial institution. Unfortunately, except a few people (tremendously speakme), black hat strategies tend to work for some time, then seem to be ineffective once Google and the other serps catch on and neuter it is strategies.
Remember keyword stuffing in the meta tags back a few years in the past? That labored for some time. Common feel should have instructed us that if you can stuff one hundred key phrases on your page, so can the fellow across town. You both have the "same" or comparable web page consistent with Google.
If key-word stuffing labored today I might do it. I do not care what a purist may additionally say. It's my page and if Google wants to pick it up and rank it, so be it. No one has a proper to inform me a way to design and populate my internet pages. But like maximum strategies used to trick the serps, they come to be being detected and weeded out of the machine. I'm not pronouncing cloaked pages do not work - they do. It is completely feasible to idiot the spider bots. However, Google is aware of this and observe suspect pages with a real live human. Game over to your domain.
My point is I have not followed a self-richeous philosophy approximately what's right or incorrect for the Web. That's for every people to figure out. I assume black hat techniques subsequently help white hat strategies. As Google and the others get wise to new tricks and methods used to idiot their spiders, it in the long run makes white hat methods all of the more relevant and long lasting for people who hire them.
What is White Hat?
Links. And extra hyperlinks. I know a number of you key-word density men (and gals) may also shiver at that notion, but my web page with just a smiley face on it'll out rank your "tweaked" web page if I even have sufficient inbound links.
I become lucky to talk with Leslie Rohde of OptiLink Software some weeks ago. After answering a few of my SEO questions and elaborating on a few of his personal, he provided the equal conclusion: he could get a web page to rank with enough hyperlinks just as long because it has a "title" on it!
Here are a few information to remember.
The World Wide Web became conceived and built on - surprise - linking. Doh!
When Google's founders wrote their white paper on Search, they believed then and nevertheless do nowadays that in the end hyperlinks, pointing to a selected net web page, are the quality way to determine that pages' relevancy and significance to the net at huge.
We need to take a clue.
Here are common White Hat strategies to get ranked in the principal serps.
1. Determine what keyword(s) your web page wishes to rank for. This is completed with keyword studies with a application like Ad Words Analyzer through Jeff Alderson or Overture's key-word device. Find out what key phrases are being searched the most each month in Google and Yahoo, then try to optimize for them (or the less aggressive phrases if it makes experience).
2. Get 100's of links with the anchor textual content as the clickable link. For example, if I need to charge better for the time period "golfing match", I would ask other websites to link to my page with the term "Golf Tournament". It may additionally appear too easy but this is the SEO panorama nowadays.
3. Once a hyperlinks campaign is in location and is actively developing, web masters remember that on-web page factors which include the name, H1 tags, internal linking with keywords as or a part of the linking text, and proper content material with natural occurrences of the keyword(s) will help the page turn out to be more applicable to Google.
Four. A "hyperlink to us" page. This is a tremendous time saver for the internet grasp and need to be employed on any net site that desires to develop its linking base mechanically.
5. Repeat the above frequently.
There are many thoughts about a way to get ranked and stay ranked in Google, Yahoo, and MSN. Some are right on; some are manner off or simply undeniable false. If you're starting from scratch and embarking on a search engine optimization campaign in your internet web site, "Google" the subsequent humans and observe their lead:
Michael Campbell
Brad Fallon
Leslie Rohde
Brad Callon
Jeff Alderson
John Reese
If you're to hire an search engine optimization consultant, ensure that his or her philosophy includes a lively linking marketing campaign in your net website. I know it doesn't sound horny as "unique pages" or editing all of your pages to "entice" serps, or that they may put up to 500 directories, and so on. All that stuff is ideal so long as they may be no longer doing any aspect the engines like google frown on. However, that in itself is not sufficient to get your page on the primary web page of Google and stay there. Enough links will.
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found.
(Ambition: Nemesis spoilers through 120 ahead)
A blink. A blast of frigid air rushes through, cutting through their coat and making them stumble on their own feet. The wind picks up again and Casey braces against it, trying to turn away in a different direction. Their breath is coming out in ragged gasps that seem to freeze in mid-air, and finally they open their eyes to the glittering expanse of the zee. They're stunned by the sight of it's black waves, the way the false-stars shimmered on it's surface... Casey brings their freezing hands up to their face and sees their trembling fingers are stark white. They glance around as they cup their hands together in front of their mouth, trying to huff warm air onto them, but stop moving as they look up.
There is a gap in the cavern roof. Above, the stars remained exactly in place. Not one speck moved along the ceiling.
The wind rushes through once more and Casey whips back around, looking up to see an impossibly large gate standing before them. Winged statues flocked either side, every inch coated in a thick layer of ice. Around them, on giant crags surrounding the gate and the island, a faint orange glow could be seen projecting up toward the sky. Sand crunched underfoot as they started backing away from the gate toward the dock.
Wherever this was, it certainly was not London. A nervous, bitter metallic taste was at the back of their throat, coupled with a prickling feeling of pain over their tongue. By they time they make their way on board the ship (dazed crew members only now starting to take notice of their presence), the temperature on the island is unbearable.
"Can someone stoke the fires on this bloody thing?!" Casey shouts, their voice cracking. Their tongue felt wrong in their mouth, almost swollen, and their face flinches in pain as they speak. Casey hurries across the deck as they reach the other side of the ship out to Zee, and a crew member--his face completely unfamiliar--follows after.
"We need to leave." He says. "We can't stay North for long."
"Who is the captain?" Casey asks.
"You, now."
The wind cuts through the silence again, sending the man shivering into the cramped quarters inside. Casey remains standing on the deck for a minute longer, their teeth chattering as they tried to trace their steps back. How could they have gone North?
The prickling pain on their tongue is sharper by the moment. At their side, another unrecognizable crewman is gathering whoever is left for departure.
"Ready when you are," He says.
"Get us out of here," Casey says, and then turns away from him. "Excuse me a moment..."
The ship's quarters are labyrinthine in nature. Tallulah, parked safe back in London, was nothing like this old unfamiliar steamer. It takes several frustrated minutes of wandering through regrettably narrow passages before they find a lavatory. Before anyone can say anything else to them, Casey pries open the door and slams it shut behind them. It's warmer in there, but not by much. Their breath is still visible as they cross the distance between the door and the plain, grimy mirror bolted to the wall. Their hands shake as they wipe it off with their sleeve.
Dark circles under their eyes. Hair uncombed, naturally, from the atrocious wind. Gently, Casey prods their lips with the tips of their fingers and finally opens their mouth to inspect their tongue.
There, inked into the center of their tongue, is a menacing symbol. Claw-like spires fanned out from the center-most point, the ink looking just a day or two fresh. Casey tests the swelling on their tongue with their finger and winces, and tears start to well up in their eyes. The ship begins to move and Casey braces their hands against the basin, trying to keep their breathing as steady as possible. They had just been in London a moment ago, right?
Amongst the ledgers and lists of supplies was a travel log in their own writing, indicating a date farther in the future then they'd expect: a month passed in the span of a wink. A month. The Lady in Lilac was nowhere to be seen, not in any bunk or otherwise. She had disappeared as quickly as the time had passed.
--
The constable across from them has bright eyes and a flush on his face, possibly from the excitement of such a case dropping into his lap. When he looks up, he seems impossibly young and well-rested. By contrast, with Casey's numb, exhausted stare back, they start to distantly think they must look old to him. He seems nervous to begin, his hands occupied with re-ordering the notes on the case before he collects his confidence. He sits up straighter and removes his hat. Casey waits, pulling their blanket (kindly handed to them by the secretary at the front) tighter over their shoulders.
"I'm going to ask you some questions relating to what happened to you." He says. Casey nods, looking down at the table. They entwine their fingers together, ball their hands up in fists, and finally drop them into their lap out of view. The constable waits a moment before before continuing.
"Before your disappearance you had written on the subject of love. It got quite a lot of attention."
"Yes," Casey whispers.
"Can you tell me what you remember after that?"
They close their eyes. The memory of opening their door jumps so quickly to the next one a month later it's as if someone has ripped entire chapters out of a book's binding. "I had a, ehm.." They stop and cover their mouth, trying to shield it from what they're saying. "I had a visitor at the door."
"Did you know who it was?"
"Not personally." They reply. "But I was waiting for her."
"How so?"
Casey shakes their head. "I can't tell you who she is."
The constable shifts in his seat. "Can I call you Banning?"
"Please don't," They said flatly. "If you must, just use my first name."
"Casey," He begins. "If you have information about who she is, including her name, it's important to the case."
"I can't tell you because I don't know her actual name," Their hand drops from their face and for the first time in this conversation their expression is pained. "I don't think anybody knows her name, but we know of her."
"Who?" The constable asks.
"Lilac."
He leans back in the chair, giving a questioning glance to his partner standing guard over the conversation. The second constable, a much older and gruffer fellow, motioned for him to continue. Casey held their head in their hands and didn't move, barely even stirring as the younger officer began his questions again.
"She came to your door, and then?"
Casey shrugs. "The next thing I remember is being the coldest I've ever been, and we were not in London." They pause. "The crew said we had gone North. I don't--" Their gaze shocks up, frightened. "I don't--I don't do that, I'm not one of them, I don't have any interest in trying to find any name, it's not like that--"
"Calm down," The constable urges gently. "Slowly. Specifically, what we were able to learn is that you found yourself at the Avid Horizon. Think very carefully now," He says. "Is there anybody you know or may have known that would have wanted to take you there?"
"No."
"Do you know anybody who has gone there before?"
"To my knowledge, no."
The constable taps his pencil against the table, glancing again up at his partner for answers. He reshuffles the notes and continues, practically reading straight from the paper. His expression is grim as he begins.
"During the investigation, we took a look at your own case file from previous incidents. What we found was a previous missing persons report filed for you years ago. At the time, the officer had already gained information from the Surface..." The officer starts flipping through his pages, and Casey slowly looks up.
"Is that so." They reply.
"Nothing came of it then, but it seems the individual in question re-filed it in London upon his arrival. I believe you're acquainted with Jane Greene--she didn't take up the case but her name is mentioned very briefly. It's a short summary: You had disappeared into the night once before and found much later here. A month ago, you disappeared again into the night--"
"I didn't leave."
"You've explained that you don't remember anything from the last month. How could you be certain that it wasn't a choice?"
"I wouldn't have left my life, i--" Their voice raises. "I wouldn't have agreed to having my tongue marked, or to go North, I--I don't know why but this time I must have been taken--"
"We are investigating any leads for who may have been involved in your absence," The officer explains. "But I am afraid also we must explore the possibility of a stressful fugue state in which you left of your own accord. We're trying to rule out it all out."
"Would I have inked up my own tongue in such a state?" Casey snaps angrily. "Sailed myself North for no reason other than to turn back around? It wasn't even my own ship."
He starts to speak, but Casey leans forward. "Listen," They say, their voice harsh. "I don't know what happened. I don't... know who I was with, I don't know who has seen me, who has touched me, I don't know who has been in my mouth. I don't know anything that happened, I can't--" Their voice stops abruptly as they try to retain their composure. "I can't give you any more, this is all I have, I can't do this, please let me go home."
Nobody says anything for a few minutes while the moment passes, Casey leaning over the table to hide their face in their hands. When they speak again, their voice is wet.
"On the Surface I left of my own volition." They say. "In the middle of the night, because I had to leave that vile bastard I had been living with." They spat. "This time, I didn't... I couldn't have planned this. I wrote about love to meet Lilac, and nothing more. I want nothing from the North. My memory skips from standing at my front door to the Avid Horizon."
There is a pause in the conversation as the older constable checks his pocket watch, then looks over to the younger one at the table with a nod. He exits the room, and the younger constable sets aside his work with a sigh.
"The Surface incident was a unique case, then." He says. "For this new one, we are investigating it as a kidnapping... anything at all that you may remember, just think. It can help us cast a wide net in finding who else was involved." He picks up his pencil. "The man who had filed the missing persons report down here was a Vincent Abrams. With the anger in your voice just now even recalling him, it says a lot. Would he have any reason to be involved in this?"
Casey is quiet for a long moment before answering. "No," They finally reply. "He has kept his distance for a long time."
"Very well," The constable says, taking a few more notes.
--
Not long into the evening, just a few minutes past 8, a constable's hansom pulls up outside the Banning residence. The constable that emerges tips his hand to the driver to wait and heads up to the front door, giving it a few swift knocks and stepping back. As he waits, he brushes a few fingers over his moustache to straighten it out and holds his head up. His eyes show a bit of a joyous gleam, though the rest of his expression is as set as stone.
It hasn't been a good month for Roland. His hair is greying at the temples, he hasn't been as attentive to appearances and details. Work had been paused and diverted towards any possible leads, with the occasional indiscreet question leading to shakier standing with the Masters. He hasn't given up hope yet, but a knock at the door at a late hour either means the best... or the worst. Roland's initial response upon seeing a constable is not positive. His shoulders slump until he sees the look in the constable's eyes, and he stops. "Wha--er. Good evening, Constable. I'm afraid to ask what you've come to tell me."
The constable removes his hand and stands up straighter. "Mr. Banning," He says. "Good evening. I'm sorry to interrupt you at this hour, but we are requesting your presence down at the station. It's good news--" He puts the hat back on. "Your spouse has been located alive."
Silence. Blinking slowly, a sense of relief visibly settling over him, the distress and fear sliding off, before he stands up straight again, and nods with determination. Without a word, without a coat, or a glance behind him, he's closed the door and started walking, not waiting for the constable to catch up.
"Hold on, hold on!" The constable speedwalks to try to catch up with him, walking along at his side. "We have a hansom ready here." He motions to the vehicle, with the driver giving Roland a little wave.
"We'll get you there faster than your own feet," The driver says.
Roland nods to the driver and opens the door to the hansom, climbing inside. "Then we're getting there before we waste any more time."
Little more is said on the ride to the station. The constable who had come to collect Roland resumes looking over his notes, occasionally glancing up to study Roland's face. No doubt Roland would have been questioned at the time of Casey's disappearance, but to Officer Moore all he could see was an exhausted, grief-weary husband.
The hansom takes them past the side-streets south, heading toward Wolfstack Docks. Soon the smell of the zee air was noticeable, and in the distance the sound of the waves as they came over the shore. As they come to a stop, the constable looks up to Roland. "They're probably still being questioned," He warns. "Mx. Banning was brought in in one piece thankfully, but it's all part of the process..."
"Mm." Without more than that, Roland exits the hansom and looks for directions for where they're being questioned, barely noticing the smells and sounds that would put him on edge.
The secretary at the front desk thinks nothing of giving him directions to the interviewing room, but Officer Moore seems to think otherwise. "This is still a very active investigation, Mr. Banning," He says, quick on his heels behind him as they traverse through the office. He catches up just as they get to the door and he puts his arm out to stop Roland, just for a moment.
"Let me go tell the other officers in there that you're here," He says. "You're likely to be shot at if you try to barge in."
"Then they'll patch me up and know better than to do it," He replies icily. For a moment it seems like he's about to make Moore move out of the way, but finally sighs and lets go of the doorknob. "Fine. I'm not waiting any longer than you telling them I'm here."
Officer Moore nods and slips inside the interview room. A few moments go by with some muffled words from behind the door, and then it swings open. He steps aside to let Roland in, where he would be able to see a 2nd constable sitting across a table from Casey. A blanket is wrapped over their shoulders and a steaming cup of tea is on the table in front of them. They look up slowly, barely registering at first that anyone new has come into the room, but recognition quickly lights up their face.
Roland holds back the urge to swoop in and hug them tight, instead walking to them and standing next to Casey's chair, offering his hand.
Casey stands up abruptly, the blanket falling into their chair as they fling their arms around Roland, pulling him into a full embrace. The constable at the table, takes this moment to re-straighten out the notes before him, pretending to not hear the muffled sniffles as he waits. It's a few long moments before Casey pulls away to look at Roland's face, gently putting their hand up to the side of his head.
"Your hair," They say quietly. Something about the way they spoke seems strange, like there is something in their mouth.
Roland hugs them close, adding to the noises that the constables are very Britishly pretending aren't happening. He kisses the top of their head, the familiar smell of their hair, the feel of their arms around him, all of it leading to him feeling like his jaw, shoulders, and face can relax for the first time since he came home to an open door and a missing spouse. When they break the silence, he laughs. "Your voice," he says. He looks at them, not wanting to let go. "I have... close to a million questions about how, just the same as anyone else here. But you're back. You're here."
The constable at the table gently clears his throat and stands up. "The how is simple," He says, looking to Casey who nods for him to continue. "Earlier this evening, they had come off a ship and zailors had recognized them from the missing posters." He scratches his head before continuing. "The where can't be answered now. We might have gotten as much answers as we can this evening... if you're able to return in a couple days for more questioning while we try to wrap up our side of things, maybe you'll remember more."
Roland nods. "I appreciate it. We'll write you when things are a tad less of a whirlwind. With that understood, would it trouble you to take us back home? We've all had a long month, and I think time together is important." He looks Troubled by the snippets of information, but doesn't press, just stays next to Casey, holding them close.
"We'll make sure you get back home safe," Officer Moore chimes back in, holding his arm out to guide them through the door first. Casey grasps Roland's hand in theirs, their fingers clammy and trembling. Their appearance is near haggard from zee-travel, with dark circles under their eyes and tension in their brow from some unseen pain. "Thank you," They say quietly. "If I do remember more, you'll know." They continue, their voice deliberately slower.
Roland holds them close, only now remembering (and regretting) that he didn't bring a coat. "For now, let's get you home and by something warm. There's a very grateful bunch of animals who are willing to help you."
"Mmmhm," Casey mumbles, walking with Roland back out to the hansom. Officer Moore walks with them to see them out, giving the instruction to head back to the Spires to the driver before stopping by the hansom door.
"You're always welcome to send a bat if anything comes up," He says. "To here, or any other stations closer. This is an ongoing investigation so any further assistance from either one of you is welcome. Especially about..." He motions to his mouth and Casey frowns. His hand drops down and he gives Roland a brief, nervous glance. "In any case..." He holds out his hand and Casey, who shakes it before climbing into the hansom.
The ride home is a quiet, peaceful one. Casey's hand clasped around Roland's and did not let go for the duration, only relaxing once they were all safe in front of their home. They shuddered upon exiting the vehicle, as if to shake off the last feelings of cold and horror from their interview. Once inside the house, Casey doesn't move to sit just yet--instead going straight to the fireplace and piling wood inside. Roland, though visibly more relaxed, still watches with a face of concern.
"I need to show you something but you are not going to like it," Casey finally says as they strike a match. Their speaking voice is still slow. "I want to say though that I think I will be fine, just... currently, not as well."
"What is it?" Roland asks.
Casey motions up to their face. "Someone has gifted me a new tattoo." They finally said, and opens their mouth wide for Roland to see. Roland blanches when he sees the symbol on their tongue, his voice an angry whisper.
"Who did this?"
"I don't know," Casey says. "Lilac is the most obvious suspect to me, but I don't know what it means or why--" Their voice stops in their throat abruptly, their hand going up to cover their eyes. Roland steps closer and pulls them into another hug, his arms cradling them as they trembled.
"Right now, I can help you focus on just getting some rest," He says, his voice soft. "We can address the uncertainty later. What's important right now is this: you're back home, and you're not alone."
#fallen london#words words words#rp log#((the end part with roland is a roleplay done with zack))#ambition: nemesis spoilers#((this is much longer than i realized oops))#((SERIOUS SPOILERS PLS do not read if you don't like spoilers))
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Kingdom of Ash Tour Sydney
Oh my gosh, I’m sorry this took so long. My notes were much more extensive than I thought and then just a lot of poor time management. Anyway, here it is.
A few choice bits of information/quotes:
“Being a dork pays off you guys. Who knew?”
Says Melbourne like a local
Loves our coffee. Says she’s moving here because of it.
Advice to aspiring writers: find someone to share your work with. Giving and getting feedback teaches you so much. Gives you a form of community.
Got into writing because it’s what she loves and it makes her come alive like nothing else does.
Music plays a Huge part in her creative process
Daily writing schedule. Plays with Taran then about 930/10 she starts. Gets admin stuff done first 9-8 job.
Nothing compares to sitting down and writing a scene she’s wanted to write for years and years. Describes it as time stopping and the closest thing to magic, at least for her.
Had a question about her creative circle for bouncing ideas around and talking about her stories. Sarah didn’t talk to her family about her stories at all when she was younger. Doesn’t like her parents reading her books. She referred back to writing ACOTAR and she asked the audience “do you know what it’s like to write an on the page sex scene knowing my father was going to read this?” Said it took her about three glasses of wine to deal with it.
About her dad reading said scenes: He said “I just skip those scenes.” Sarah’s reply “I’ll do you one better. I’ll just rip those pages out.” Then she talked how it was much worse when ACOMAF came out the next year.
Josh has become her creative sounding board over the last few years. He reads the early drafts of Crescent City and lets Sarah ramble to him for hours. She thinks it’s really cute they get to do that.
He thinks he’s every love interest in all her books. At events people ask if he’s what Rhys was modelled from. Josh will say yes. Sarah was very adamantly said it was a no.
Fellow writers help her from looking like a complete idiot. In particular Lynette Noni. Calls her a secret Disney Princess. Has become her can’t live without critique partner.
She said don’t listen to the people who say writing is a dumb dream. But said it’s a long long road to getting published but not impossible. “Don’t ever listen to the haters man.”
Her parents were always incredibly supportive. Her mum would leave snacks outside her door so she wouldn’t disturb her while she wrote
When her parents told her that she needed a job to support herself Sarah didn’t want to listen. But she said they were ultimately right because there are no guarantees in publishing. One of her favourite moments is when she became a New York Times best seller and she got to call and tell her parents. The first thing her mum said was she regretted telling Sarah to be realistic about the expectations of yourself. But Sarah was adamant they were right.
She thanked us and got quite emotional. Thanked us for supporting her books, she was walking around Sydney harbour and thought to herself how lucky I am to do this for a living.
Someone from the audience screamed “I love you” she said “I love you too, I love you all so much” (insert my hysterical tears). She couldn’t express how much she appreciates everything we all have done for her and her family, the fact we have allowed her to live out her dreams. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this being the loveliest group of people I’ve ever had the honour to meet”. SHE LOVES US.
Crescent city
Doesn’t think her parents can read a single page of crescent city. Joking, it’s every other page. Started as excess creative energy, a real passion project.
Describes it as taking the ToG/ACOTAR worlds and jumping ahead over 3000 years to where they have modern technologies and comforts. Magical creatures living together in complex hierarchies. Feels different because of the modern setting but has familiar aspects, e.g. snarky sassy heroines and brooding sexy muscled men. Says there are so many. So many.
Josh: “why are there so many attractive men in this book?” Sarah “because it’s a fantasy. FAN-TA-SY.”
No real defined plot yet.
Knew it was the story she wanted to tell because of an experience on a plane. Sarah was listening to a piece of music and saw a scene play out and she burst into tears. She didn’t know the characters or how they got there. The scene will be in the first book and is like THE MAJOR BIG SCENE. Kept thinking of that moment of creation and how much it overwhelmed her and that was the deciding factor that that was the next story she needed to tell.
World of Throne of Glass
World of Throne of Glass. Started off as an encyclopaedia. It will be a chronicle that exists in world and Sarah describes it like going into the library of Orynth and pulling it off the shelf. The premise of the book is that Aelin has hired this cranky old scholar to travel around all the kingdoms/continents and includes the travel logs, transcripts from interviews with the characters, insight into how they felt, letters between characters. The book itself is like the the Terrasen courts private copy so it has letters between characters. Glimpses into the future.
BUT THIS MEANS IT WILL COME OUT LATER
ALSO SAID THERE ARE POCKETS OF HISTORY SHE REALLY WANTS TO FILL IN AND THERE’S ALSO LOTS OF STORIES THAT MAYBE ONE DAY SHE MIGHT WANT TO TELL SHE JUST NEEDS TIME TO THINK ABOUT IT. SORRY I’M JUST REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS.
Throne of Glass/ACOTAR
The idea of Throne of Glass came to her when she was 15/16 years old. Gripped her like no other story had. Throne of glass has a special place in her heart because it’s what started her on this journey.
Sarah was changing Kingdom of Ash right up the very last minute.
Mystery questions from the lobby:
What would happen if all your villains met?
The thought of Maeve and Amarantha gave her chills to think about. Would they rip each other to shreds or form and unholy alliance? Undecided.
Did you cry during the writing of the final book? If so which moments?
Number one scene. The Thirteen.
Gave lots of details about when Manon first appeared, a piece of music from the Fright Night remake was playing and she saw the cottage scene play out. She saw Manon disembowel the farmers and how her teeth and claws came out and just thought “I love you”.
Loved witches since she was little because she realised witches were often women with power when women weren’t allowed to have power.
Sarah went to the mat for Manon. She hadn’t sold the rest of the books, only up to Heir of Fire. Writing about Manon gave Sarah her courage and came into her life when she needed her attitude. She said “Over my dead effing body” when editor said to cut Manon.
Sarah listened to a song from the original star wars and that was when she saw the sacrifice of the Thirteen. She needed to have Manon start where she did in Heir of Fire so when we all got to the scene in Kingdom of Ash is would really hit us strongly as it had hit Sarah for the first time. Sarah was sobbing at her desk when she saw them making their final run. She saw then Manon screaming and begging them to to stop because she realised she had a heart and loved them.
Sarah said she needed to lie down afterwards, she considered a happy ending for a moment, but then she thought about how the ladies never get to make the big heroic sacrifice and she really wanted the Thirteen to make the badass sacrifice and she wanted to make that moment when their exploding with light and not darkness absolutely destroyed Sarah.
Happier scene is the last goodbye between the main three, sobbing so hard. Really ugly crying not Frodo crying nicely at the end of The Return of the King, but bodily fluids spraying everywhere. So many tears.
Sarah would also get super amped up. Example: When Elide saves Lorcan she got so amped up she literally straddled her chair like she was riding a horse. (She re-enacted it on stage too). Then it was just more ladies were doing their badass thing like:
as Aelin flies down on the bird and explodes and destroys the wave and then Rowan is like that steam is going to boil every one like lobsters, got to get rid of that.
When Aelin makes her run and Lorcan sees her and he’s crying, you know if Lorcan’s crying some intense shit is going down
Then when Aelin is trying to get the mask off. That hit Sarah hit her so hard, didn’t expect it. Felt physically ill writing it. It was one of the few times Aelin was unhinged and in a panic. Seeing Aelin in a panic out Sarah in a panic.
Aelin has been like a person to Sarah and has carried Sarah through a lot of hard stuff. Sarah has said to herself “my name is Sarah J Maas and I will not be afraid”
Would say “What would Aelin do?” to give herself that swagger. Any time Aelin is in pain Sarah was in pain and would be like “My baby my baby! Let me help you”.
Such a joy to write. Aelin was telling her and showing Sarah where to go.
ABOUT THE ENDING OF KINGDOM OF ASH: Travelling in Costa Rico to a rainforest exists at cloud level. (Side note from Sarah: Vote for the environment! Do it for the golden toad). One of the most beautiful places she has ever been. Sitting in the backseat listening to music from John Carter of Mars. Sun broke through the clouds and lit up the mountains and Sarah heard the last line of Kingdom of Ash about the kingsflame blooming and she knew what the last line was and that’s what she wanted to get to. She starting crying (surprise surprise) didn’t want to tell her travelling companions so she lied and said she was crying because the view was so beautiful. Writing with Aelin at the helm guaranteed her nothing. Aelin did it though, she stuck to Sarah’s plans and Sarah got the ending she wanted.
Call out from the audience about Gavriel. Uproar from the audience. “Why did you do that!?” “Why would I do that? Because I’m a horrible person.” Any time a hot guy full of muscles dies it’s a sad day. Poor Aedion. “It would have been so hot! Not in a weird way! The two of them hanging out, the lion and the wolf and oh my heart... you mean I have no heart, that’s what you’re thinking.” Evil cackle.
Who of all your characters do you see sitting in a rocking chair and knitting and telling their grandchildren the wildest stories in their old age?
Throne of Glass. Dorian. Don’t know why.
ACOTAR world would 1000% be Cassian. Nessian book will come out after Crescent City. She started it just for fun, hadn’t planned to write last ACOWAR. Sarah was out to lunch with her editor and got a little drunk and pitched her other books, but then forgot. Agent called a few weeks later telling her the editor wants to buy these books.
She literally doesn’t have the time to get all the stories she wants out of her. Wishes she had Hermione’s time turner.
So that’s it. Again, sorry it took me so long. Sarah was so lovely and I still can’t believe I got to see her in person. There’s a lot I took away from her talk for myself, mainly just how adamant she was about being yourself is the way to go. We’re better off when we’re true to ourselves and love the tings we love without feeling bad for it.
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Response to olywitchcrew / the witchofthenorthtrilogy post re: LGBT concerns and Gardnerian Craft
27 April 2019
This is in response to a long post on this subject currently found at @thewitchofthenorthtrilogy I understand that she has had a serious problem with complaints being lodged about this. For the record, I have had nothing to do with that. I am always for open discussion of ideas.
I want to thank GG Irkalla for taking these issues seriously enough to give us a thoughtful commentary on Gardner, Gardnerian Wicca, and the LGBTQ+ community. I hope to address many of her statements, explain why they are based in misunderstandings of the Gerald Gardner, the Gardnerian Book of Shadows, and the Gardnerian Tradition as a whole, and reassure those possibly interested in Gardnerian Wicca that there is plenty of room for many possible interpretations of this living Pagan Tradition. Many of the problems with the way Irkalla presented her information are not unique to her, but are widely shared by those attempting to investigate traditions possessing “secret knowledge”. ��I hope to address these problems of interpretation along the way.
I am a Gardnerian priest with a coven and, after more than 30 years, more initiates than I can count. I am also a white, cisgender, heterosexual male and I recognize that certain blinders come along with that and that I undoubtedly benefit from privilege as a result. I hope that any such blinders and privilege have not gone unexamined. That being said, my initiates include those who self-identify as Straight, Gay, Lesbian, Bi, and too fluid to fit in those categories. All of us have found Gardnerian Wicca to be our most comfortable home in the broader context of Neopagan Witchcraft.
One of the problems in responding to Irkalla’s commentary is that Gardnerian Wicca is an initiatory Mystery tradition, with secret / oathbound material that cannot be shared with non-initiates. This is not unusual among the initiatory Pagan traditions, from classical antiquity to today’s Feri, NROOGD, Reclaiming (Yes, there is – or was – as secret Reclaiming initiation.), and Alexandrian traditions, and more.
Unless you are initiates, there is no way that you could have “immersed yourself” in the “Gardnerian Book of Shadows”; only in one of the many rip-off copies out there. The many inaccuracies in the “quotes” – as well as texts that aren’t in the BoS at all – make it clear that she did not have access to an actual Gardnerian BoS. Irkalla – and everyone else – can rest assured that any Book of Shadows texts they find online or in published books purporting to be the “Gardnerian Book of Shadows” are unlikely to be genuine or accurate, but – as stated above – I am hampered by what I can and cannot quote from an accurate or “real” Book of Shadows in response. For this reason, I won’t get into a point-by-point refutation of the “quotes” from the “Gardnerian Book of Shadows” brought up by Irkalla. However, I do want to make three general observations about her use of such texts.
Irkalla tries to tar the Gardnerian Tradition with a problem that is a problem for almost all modern Paganism – Wicca, Neopagan, Reconstructionist, Polytheist, and Traditional. Show me a tradition with inherited texts that does not have to deal with sexism, gender essentialism, heterosexism, and more in those texts. The older the texts, the worse the problem. This was one of the reasons that we called this movement “Neopaganism” to begin with – because we recognized the need for reinterpretation, not just revival.
Irkalla focuses on the texts in isolation while being completely unaware of the decades of textual analysis, exegesis, discussion, and reinterpretation of those texts that has gone on within the Gardnerian Tradition, as well as examination of how earlier versions of the Gardnerian texts changed over time before becoming the current Book of Shadows. We have been around for over a century (with roots possibly much older than that) and have members in almost every English-speaking country on Earth. Consequently, the internal discussion of the issues you brought up (and more, obviously) has been going on around the world and for a very long time; you’re just not privy to it. But not being privy to the internal discussion of another Tradition is no reason to assume that it doesn’t exist, especially to the extent of publicly attacking that Tradition based on such an assumption. Why not ask politely, and we could have a reasonable discussion of these issues.
Irkalla is getting erroneous material without context or commentary and assuming that it defines a tradition. All Gardnerians agree that there are texts in the Book of Shadows that we wish weren’t there, but would be loathe to change the text, since it is an historical document; consequently this is addressed through the addition of footnotes or commentaries. Passing on the BoS as it was received, with only additions being permitted, is a magical way of maintaining a link with our past – with those who have gone before – even while recognizing that some of that past should not be repeated. In this way, the BoS is an ever-growing compilation of our history. It is not scripture or binding Law. It is accumulated wisdom, and some of that “wisdom” is out of date and wasn’t that wise to begin with. The Book of Shadows is kept and maintained by the Tradition even as the Tradition grows and adapts to changing times. We aren’t going to tear out pages, no matter how offensive; rather we are going to incorporate new learning and new wisdom that addresses, explains, revises, and sometimes refutes what went before. It’s important to point out here that many texts are passed along as part of our history, while ignored in practice. For example, if we followed the Craft Law to the letter, the secrecy laws would be so strict that almost none of us would even know that the others exist! Times change and our understanding changes, but the texts – as historical documents – do not. This is one of the serious problems with relying on published, rip-off Books… you get (altered) historical texts without the notes or commentary, so you have no idea how the actual texts are being understood and applied in the Tradition by living practitioners.
Regarding the man and the Tradition, Irkalla’s remarks suffer from conflating two things – Gerald Gardner and what came to be called the Gardnerian tradition. Gardner was indeed a creature of his time and social setting and did indeed express ideas to those around him that we would now call homophobic. However, no one in the Gardnerian tradition considers Gardner to be a prophet or any kind of religious authority. None of us look to him for spiritual insight. (This has been abundantly clear during community Book of Shadows discussion groups.) He was a recorder of a tradition he inherited and passed on. The fact that he expressed views that we would find odious is separate from the fact that he was in the right place and time, and with the amateur academic inclination, to make sure that certain religious material survived rather than died out. Most of us know many people with admirable personal qualities who are simply wrong on other issues; many of us sit down at table with them every Thanksgiving.
Ronald Hutton, widely considered the leading academic authority on Craft, agrees that there was an earlier group that Gardner joined. That being the case, we should then ask what “Gardnerian” textual material Gardner might have written and what he merely passed on. I am solidly in the camp that believes – based on a long and detailed study of the source documents – that Gardner wrote virtually none of it and accurately passed on virtually all of it from an earlier source. (Fortunately, Gardner is not our only source for “Gardnerian” Craft. Material was passed down by people from the same coven Gardner joined in an independent line of transmission. This provides independent corroboration for material that predates Gardner.) So it is important to separate Gardner and the texts. You cannot interpret the texts based on what you believe about Gardner; nor can you attribute beliefs to Gardner based on what you thinks you find in the texts. Gardner’s authorship of the BoS texts is a claim that has not been proven; you cannot proceed on the assumption that it has.
Irkalla may be surprised that I agree that homophobia & queerphobia are widespread in the Gardnerian tradition, however I think that the presence of such views is not essential to the tradition and that there are many of us fighting these views by going back to the texts and the early history of the Tradition. There is what is called a “revitalization movement” underway in Gardnerian Wicca, and like all such movements it is a progressive one that hearkens back to the roots of a Tradition to address the ubiquitous problems of creeping conservatism and centralization of authority that afflict so many religious groups over time.
Irkalla wrote…
<< In particular we talked about the heterosexual focus and gender polarity of god/goddess (which is actually Duotheistic, not polytheistic, ) and how that can be alienating. >>
I have no doubt that these can be alienating and I sympathize with those who may have been put off, but it’s important to understand that these concepts are not essential to the Tradition. Yes, the Tradition has a Goddess & a God, but contrary to popular belief, these are not the New Agey “all Goddesses are THE Goddess” kind of archetypes. They are not somehow inclusive of everybody else’s deities. The Goddess & God of the Gardnerian tradition have names and discrete identities, just as the Goddesses and Gods of the Polytheist groups do. Gardner wrote about the Witches of his acquaintance…
“To them the concept of an All-Powerful God, one who could simply say, "Let there be peace. Let there be no sickness or misery", and all wars, sickness and misery would cease, and who for his own reasons will not say that word, and keeps men in fear and misery and want, is not fit to receive worship. They quite realise that there must be some great "Prime Mover", some Supreme Deity; but they think that if It gives them no means of knowing It, it is because It does not want to be known; also, possibly, at our present stage of evolution we are incapable of understanding It. So It has appointed what might be called various Under-Gods, who manifest as the tribal gods of different peoples; as the Elohim of the Jews, for instance, who made them in Their own image ("Elohim" being a plural noun), "male and female made They them"; Isis, Osiris and Horus of the Egyptians; the "portmanteau-word" of certain initiates, "Maben", which is MA, AB, BEN, or "Mother, Father and Son"; and the Horned God and the Goddess of the witches. They can see no reason why each people should not worship their national gods, or why anyone should strive to prevent them from doing so.” (The Meaning of Witchcraft, pp 26-27)
So, yes, the Wicca do believe in an underlying metaphysical non-theistic unity – just as most polytheistic cultures around the world and throughout time do and have also done – but also in individual deities at the level of our traditional practice and interaction. Recognizing the existence of the One in no way diminishes the depth or quality of my encounters with a particular Goddess or God. A monistic view of the Divine also allows us to comfortably engage in relationships with other Goddesses & Gods, but that should not be misunderstood as thinking that the Goddess & God of Gardnerian Wicca are somehow seen as summaries of all the other deities. The famous dictum of Dion Fortune – “All gods are one God and all goddesses are one Goddess, and there is one Initiator” – keeps getting projected onto Wicca, but Fortune was not a Gardnerian and these are not our views.
Also, and contrary to popular opinion, there is nothing in the Gardnerian corpus that says that the Goddess & God are a heterosexual couple! Yes, they have sex at least once in a particular informing myth, but once does not a relationship (or an orientation) make. The histories of these deities and the stories told about them include encounters of a significant variety. So, yes, if you want to find an example of a heterosexual encounter, you can, but if you want to find more than that, you can find that, too.
The problems come in when folks who are themselves focused on a magical polarity that they can only understand in terms of gender polarity then project this limited view onto the Gods. The sad fact is that for much of the modern history of Gardnerian Craft it has been practiced by conventional, heterosexual couples who could all too easily project their own sexuality onto their Goddess & God. As times change and a younger, more progressive element enters the tradition, interpretations inevitably change with them. There have been LGBTQ+ initiates comfortably practicing in the Gardnerian Tradition for decades, at least so they assert to me.
<< Some will claim that modern wiccans venerating a homophobic priest, living by his rules, and defending him dogmatically doesnt have any effect on how they treat LGBTQ+ people. that would be the most obvious possible case of a logical fallacy. >>
I don’t know any Gardnerians who “venerate” Gardner; we just acknowledge that we wouldn’t be here without what he did. (One could easily argue that none of modern Craft would be here – in its current form – without what he did.) Gratitude for a particular set of actions is not blanket approval of the man or all of his life. Gardner is not Muhammed (PBUH) and we do not look to his life for any sort of Hadith on how to live ours.
We don’t “live by his rules”. First, the “rules” aren’t his. Second, the “rules” (if Irkalla mean the Craft Laws) are an historical document situated (truly or not) in a time when Witches were an underground, persecuted secret society, and so many of them are not that useful today. They are ignored or re-interpreted all the time. Third, the “rules” address coven administration and group practice, not our lives.
Since I don’t “venerate a homophobic priest” or “live by his rules or “defend him dogmatically”, I think it’s fair to say that he does not “have any effect on how [I] treat LGBTQ+ people”. However, I am open to being shown otherwise.
(BTW, if you treasure your "Book of Shadows" or celebrate 8 Sabbats, then you should acknowledge the influence of the Gardnerians in your practice. I doubt that most of us – Gardnerian or not – are going to stop keeping a BoS or celebrating the Sabbats just because of their connection with a homophobic historical figure. If it makes you feel better, Gardner’s coven came up with the cycle of 8 Sabbats - instead of 4 - against his suggestions.)
Throughout Irkalla’s observations she conflates three things: what Gardner inherited, what Gardner believed, and what Gardnerians believe. She apparently read an inaccurate rip-off the Gardnerian BoS as if it were a Bible of sacred text, and in so doing demonstrated that she does not understand any of it.
<< In conclusion… If you see issues with Gardner, but you think the core of Gardnerian Wicca is basically good, and you want to build a tradition out of that which is LGBTQ+ inclusive, I can respect that. If you are a Gardnerian witch and see how he was a problematic figure, but due to investing your whole life in GW you feel you need to change it from the inside rather then leaving it entirely, I can respect that. >>
I’m glad, because that’s where I’m at, although my desire to be part of the change that has already been going on for many decades is not just because I’ve “invested my whole life”, rather I’ve invested my whole life because I find so much of value in the Gardnerian tradition to work with. And from what others tell me, I am not alone in this.
<< But…this man was homophobic. There is no way that that homophobia and heavy focus on male/female polarity and heteronormativity did not in some form bias the rituals and affect the way they were put together. >>
Since as far as I can tell, Gardner created or composed almost none of the Book of Shadows, it’s more of a question of the extent to which a homophobic, heteronormative approach informed virtually all of the magical / esoteric traditions of the past several centuries. This is something with which all of us in those esoteric traditions over a hundred years old have to grapple. Fortunately, we are seeing the self-critical eye being turned inward in almost all of these traditions. The Gardnerian tradition is having a tough time because 1) the internet has made inaccurate versions of homophobic texts from the Gardnerian Book of Shadows widely available without the decades of intra-traditional commentary and re-examination that brings these texts into the 21st century (or abandons them), and 2) as an oathbound Mystery tradition, we can’t just make all of that material available to everyone to clear things up.
<< If you insist on believing, in spite of the evidence, that Gardnerian Wicca is flawless and perfect and that the man made no mistakes, you are not an LGBTQ+ ally. >>
Anyone who would believe such a thing would not only not be an LGBTQ+ ally, such a person would be a deluded, insane moron. No tradition is flawless. No tradition is perfect. No person is without mistakes. And make no mistake, among Gardnerians, Gardner is just a man, nothing more.
<< Admittedly they [Spare & Crowley] were problematic figures too, but I don’t worship anyone as a hero, I look at what is good and what is bad and I do my best to salvage the past to build something healthy today. >>
Hear, hear! I completely agree. Unless Irkalla demands a double standard for herself and for Gardnerians then she has succinctly answered all of her own criticisms that have any validity to them.
<< What Wiccans hold on to so desperately is the idea of a whole, intact, complete witch tradition, but the reality is that there is no such thing. Its all ripped up bits and scraps and a collage of what is left, and accepting that is the only logical starting point, in my perspective. >>
Gardnerian Wiccans, as a tradition, do not hold onto any such thing. We are well aware that there have been gaps in transmission, requiring reconstruction, but those gaps are far fewer and far smaller than many suppose. And we are aware that any tradition of any age requires reinterpretation to move successfully into the 21st century. What Irkalla appears not to be aware of – because she has no access to it – is that such reinterpretation is already going on. She should give people the benefit of the doubt, ask questions, and learn more before launching a broadside at a Tradition. As with most Neopagan traditions, we do not proselytize, but if your true goal is to learn more, there are folks available who can answer your questions. Learning begins with dialogue. We always want to live in peace with all our siblings and colleagues in the Craft. Peace begins with speaking truthfully about others, to the best of our ability. I look forward to continued, informed conversations.
Blessed Be,
Judd051
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This is a snippet of a fic I wrote that I doubt I’ll ever finish so I’ll post it ... i hope you enjoy! I miss this show :0
Fingers ran delicately over the green crystal ball, its swirling contents currently unreadable. The ball had a mysterious tendency to go eerily silent before it broke out into bad comedic lines. Hildegard Gloom pressed her palm against the cool rounded glass, blowing a hair out of her eyes and sighing. Weirdly quiet moments like this one were so torturous to her, she so wished Grim would come home soon with the potion ingredients she had sent him to go fetch for her.
The silence provoked long trains of thought, which usually lead to memories of past failed plans. Which, of course, lead the young witch to grind her teeth and scratch her nails against the green glass ball. Hard. She pressed hard enough to make a loud scraping sound, after which she groaned and threw her head back onto the dark colored couch, forcing a pillow over her face.
“Hey, hey, what’s with the property damage? You’re hurtin’ the merchandise!”
The crystal was awake.
“That bumblin’ husband a yours do something big and stupid again?”
“No.” Hildy replied, her voice muffled by cushion. What couldn’t be muffled, however, was her clear tone of disgust. “I was… thinking. Icky.”
“About how you’re not Queen of Jollywood, by the slime that’s just dripping from your words, there.”
“Don’t you rub it in,” Hildegard let out another whine of protest and frustration, the pent up anger from so many losses suddenly gathering together at once into a single sound. “I try over and over, but those stupid Jollywoodians just can’t be taken over! Most of all, those seven… argh!!!” She dug her nails into the pillow now, nearly ripping the thing to shreds.
“You’re soundin’ like a bad book, Hildy. A really cliché one.”
“Thank you, all knowing crystal ball. You’re very helpful.”
“Haha, hey, listen. If you wanna be Queen so bad… I’m going to let you in on what may or may not be a good idea.”
Hildy sat up, attentive, but the expression crossing her brow was skeptical. He hadn’t guaranteed success with this one. She eyed the ball’s smirking face, as it looked around the house with a bit of trepidation. Was this actually serious?
“I’ve had this in my back pocket—figuratively—for a while now. If you wanna be Queen, why not call an experienced evil Queen and ask her? I happen to see… a future for a nearby kingdom… having an especially evil woman ruling it. Ruthless lady. Pretty foxy, though, if I do say myself. Whew!”
The witch gaped at the orb for a moment, the new information processing slowly. She knew her crystal ball knew a lot, but it usually kept from telling her future events. Maybe it felt bad for her, since it had watched her horrid attempts of taking over the kingdom.
“That’s a brilliant idea!!!” She suddenly hopped up, her leg nudging the table which jostled the ball a bit.
“Whoa, whoa, careful!”
“I’ve got to find a spell to call someone back from the future.” With a steadfast determination, Hildy threw open her spellbook, ignoring the dust that flew off the giant tomb. Certain pages were never turned to, and were all stuck together. She had to peel apart two pages to reach the spell, excitedly reading it until she saw the ingredients for the cauldron that needed to be used over the incantation. Luckily enough, those were the ingredients that Grimwold was out getting, but it meant she had to wait. Hildy was impatient to get what she wanted, that was a clear trait about her. She spent the next several minutes pacing back and forth across the living room until her ears caught the faint footsteps of Peaches coming up the drive.
The witch burst out her front door into the swamp air, and scurried over to the carriage where her husband was happily holding the reigns.
“Grimmy! Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. I need those ingredients you bought for a very important spell. You did get all of them, didn’t you, darling?” She gave him her best little puppy dog pout, clasping her elegant hands together under her chin. Thankfully, he nodded his head.
“Yup, all things on the list accounted for Hildy-Wildy!” He had on a proud smirk. Pretty charming, the witch silently admitted to herself, before breaking out into a huge grin and squealing loud enough for the whole kingdom to hear as she climbed up into the slowly moving carriage and grabbed the grocery bags.
“Oh, Grimwold, my dearest dark delight, you’re going to see me take over Jollywood soon enough, just you wait!”
--
She eagerly poured the last bit into the pot, rubbing her hands together, cackling darkly. Hildy wasn’t sure why she was so convinced this was going to work, but it was a special bit of advice from her crystal ball, so she couldn’t help but be just ever so excited about it.
Taking a long, deep breath, Hildy held her hands over the boiling cauldron and took a look at the spell, thinking of a good way to modify it to her liking, so that she would get the person she so desired. Grim sat on the couch on the other side of the room, watching carefully. He was not permitted to move an inch during this whole thing.
Hildy let out a long sigh, and immediately re-inhaled all of the air. Here went everything.
“Calling, calling, from times past, a future Queen is what I ask, bring her here, bring her quick, so I may have my greatest wish!”
It was a near rhyme. But it would work. Near rhymes worked.
A flash and a spark emitted from the cauldron, and a light, starting form around eye level for Hildy, slowly took the shape of a slim woman clothed in royal robes. The silhouette certainly looked like a Queen, and the witch let out a squeak of anticipation.
Which turned into a gasp. Her face melted into confusion at the equally confused woman standing before her.
She was a Queen alright, her crown told that much. But she was oh so young, and oh so fair. Her skin was pale, but not a sickly pale like Hildy’s own. Her hair was perfectly dark. She was quite beautiful for Jollywood standards. But she was certainly not evil.
“I… where am I?” Her voice sickeningly coated in sugar hurt Hildy’s ears. She cringed, and looked at the woman in disgust.
“You are not what I was looking for.” The woman was gathering herself, examining her surroundings.
“Oh, are you a witch? Have I been called here for a reason? Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be settled at the castle—“
“I wanted an evil Queen, not some prissy princess like Delightful!” Hildegard stomped her foot, her voice rising steadily in pitch with each word.
“Delight—“ She stopped in the middle of her word when she saw the fire in the eyes of the purple haired witch. This was not a wise road to go down. “I will… depart. If you do not require me.” She backed away to the door, while Hildy fumed endlessly.
“I’m going to try that AGAIN.” She said through clenched teeth, holding her shaking hands above the pot.
“Calling, calling, from times past, a future EVIL Queen is what I ask, bring her here, bring her quick, so I may have my greatest wish!”
The spark was giant, this time, Hildy was pushed backwards as the shimmering silhouette made of a dark essence formed in front of her. Now THAT was more like it!
The second woman was gorgeous. The first thing to notice was her crown, atop a hood she had tightly over her head, hiding any notion of hair color. A long black cloak with a large white collar was securely fastened to her dress, and a large ruby necklace encircled her neck.
She was clearly an evil Queen. An evil green mist surrounded her. A sense of greed and hatred was just FILLING the air.
Hildy’s eyes grew wider, and a tear of joy slid down her face.
“I have… so much to learn.”
--
The evil Queen was from a less distant future than the first one called backwards in time, and this one was making her way carefully through the swamp until she exited the forest, coming upon the quaint kingdom of Jollywood.
“Jollywood. I have heard of the place." She whispered to herself. “I know not much of the family who hails here, however. I wonder…”
She stepped down the hill and walked cautiously through the town of small people. The quaint clothes and lack of height gave her warm memories, memories of stumbling upon a tiny house deep in the woods…
They were whispering to each other as she walked by. She was on her way to the castle, but taking in the surrounding sights was always a nice way to pass the time. The kingdom had a large amount of hanging buckets taking people to and fro, a famous gadget she had heard about so many times, that had been present in Jollywood for so many years. She wondered, then, why they seemed a bit polished, a bit newer than expected.
With a few more glances around, seeing a large clock tower and a strange looking cottage on the hill on the edge of town, she made her way across the castle’s bridge.
--
--
“Well, you’re not getting home to the future any time soon, miss.” Starchbottom crossed his arms, but he looked apologetic all the same.
“Oh, Starchbottom don’t say that! We just need a little help on this one—“
“No, no your majesty she can just stay here in the castle—“
“No! I’m going to have the 7D build her a lovely house. I’ll have to ring the Bing Bong Bell!”
The future Queen perked up her brows. “The seven… what?”
A rope, descended quickly from the ceiling, and Delightful gave it a gentle tug, and a ringing from the sky could be heard throughout the kingdom.
“You… may want to move, miss.” Starchbottom directed her away from the tubes.
One could hear a rumbling from beneath the floor. Seven holes opened, and through them jumped the previously mentioned 7D, all of them standing straight and saluting, minus one, who was flat on the floor. Still saluting, though.
Her mouth dropped open, her eyes sparkling in recognition. “Oh my, it simply can’t--!”
“Your majesty, the 7D reporting for—who’s this?” She heard Doc’s voice waft into her ears, through her astonishment.
Someone was hiding behind her. She quickly recognized Bashful’s little embarrassed laugh as he ran away from her the moment she noticed him.
“7D, my task for you today is of the highest importance. Please build Miss White a house!”
#the 7d#fanfiction#drabble#writing#its like a semi finished narrative with a gap in the middle#disney
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Oath by the Blood- Chapter 8
Further into deception
No one likes going to the doctor. Even if it’s something simple like a check up or when your doctor happens to look exactly like you. No one likes it. And Jackie was no different. If he could have avoided his check up with Henrik he would have, and he definitely did try a few times, but the doctor himself was hard to slip past which is why he was currently sitting in a medical gown waiting for the physician to re enter instead of at the bar to meet up with Danny.
Jackie thought that if he made separate plans, he could use that as an excuse to avoid their appointment, but somehow Schneep had managed to twist his words enough to agree to stay for the night. Jackie’s still not sure what happened, but nevertheless, now he was here.
The hero had been fidgeting with the front of his clothes for what felt like an eternity. What was taking Henrik so long? It wasn’t like he had a ton of record to look over. Again, they were practically the same person! He’d had Jackie fill our a form that just asked how he’d been doing physically within the past two week, but it wasn’t like it was that long.
Just when he’d started to think that maybe he could sneak out, the door to Henrik’s office that connected to the med center opened. Henrik was reading over some papers on a clipboard and glanced up with a cheeky smile. “Glad to see you’re still here,” He commented, crossing over towards a separate table in the cubical.
The doctor sat at the chair and spun around to face Jackie, his leg propped up on his knee while holding the clipboard and a pen. “Now, I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me through this examination. Doctor’s orders, got it?” Jackie felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck and straightened up his back, nodding slowly to the physician. Henrik smiled and looked back down in his lap. “Good.”
“Now then, first thing, I just want to ask you a few questions. I read over your paperwork but I wanted to know if there were any personal concerns you had about your physical health,” Henrik explained. “I’ll be going over what I think my be concerning but if you have anything,”
“I feel perfectly fine,” The hero suddenly interrupted in a demandingly insistent tone. He crossed his arms and looked towards the door to the rest of the cabin: his exit. He didn’t say anything besides that.
Schneep narrowed his gaze on the hero. “Are you sure?” He begun flipping through the papers, skimming over till he found the information he was looking for. “How about I ask some questions you already answered. Just to make sure you were honest.”
The hero could hear the scrapping of Henrik’s pen against the paper, then it stopped. “On average how much sleep have you been getting in the past week?”
“Three, maybe four hours a night,” The hero almost immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes blown wide.
“Interesting,” Henrik mentioned, scribbling something on Jackie’s form. “Because here you stated you’ve been getting 7 to 8 hours,” He side eyed the hero, still angled facing down. “Seems like there’s a bit of a difference.”
Jackie hesitantly pulled his hand away. “What did you do?”
“What about nutrition,” He casually asked, ignoring the other’s question. “Have you been eating properly?”
“Only really when everyone else is,” Again he shut his mouth with both hands. The hero sat there, face gone pale now, expression quickly turning sour on Henrik. “What is happening.”
“Any unexplainable or unwanted thoughts?” Henrik looked up at his patient with a suspicious look.
Jackie gritted his teeth, nails digging into his thighs. “Henrik,” He uttered. “Please, what are you doing,” The hero felt a strain on his muscles, like all his limbs were tied to a rope that was being pulled away in every other direction.
Henrik’s eyes softened and the strenuous feeling began to fade. Jackie was left panting like a dog slouched forward against his knees, while in the meantime Henrik was writing something on his board, keeping it hidden away from the hero.
Eventually, Jackie’s breathing evened out, he looked at the doctor with a grizzled expression. When he finally looked up from his papers, Henrik seemed to be pulling himself back into reality. “You need to be honest with me Jackie,” He insisted. “Trust me, it will make it easier for the both of us.”
Jackie suddenly felt incredibly weary of the doctor. He looked around the center, as if he was here for his own trial instead of a medical checkup.
“Now then,” Henrik brought back his normal tone again. “Let’s get back to it shall we.”
---
“Bend over and touch your toes,” The doctor watched as Jackie obediently followed another of his instructions. The whole time, Jackie remained completely silent and simply listened to Henrik tell him what to do and how to move next.
Finally, Jackie was back to sitting one the edge of the bed while Henrik took simple vitals. Checking his ears, measuring his reflexes, but when he took the hero’s temperature, he paused. Henrik looked down at the thermometer confused. He turned to the small sanitary station and deposited the device before pulling out a new one from the cabinet, retaking his temp.
“Was zur Hölle?” Henrik muttered to himself. He looked up at Jackie, placing the back of his hand against the hero’s forehead, the way a parent would when their child claimed to be sick. However Jackie didn’t feel like he was burning up, the way he would had he been running a fever. No, this was in fact the opposite. Henrik moved his hand to touch the hero’s arm, and Jackie instinctively flinched away, an action that Henrik notable noticed.
“You’re freezing cold,” He claimed. “Not just your skin, but your interior temp is far too low,” Jackie looked away and shrugged, not making any comment. Henrik set his clipboard aside, just enough for Jackie to get a glance and see it covered in red pen markings. The doctor stepped in front of him, feeling his arms and down to his hands. “Your whole body is cold. Wha- How long have you been this way?”
The hero just glanced away, shrugging. “Since I got back I guess,” Jackie hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, obviously. But ever since he returned, he was constantly cold. Going outside didn’t bother him, he would spend 20 minutes just standing in the shower with the hot water all the way up. His skin would be irritated and red when he left, but he still felt cold. Eventually he just got used to it, among other things. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Yes it is!” Henrik stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why I do these check up, because none of you ever fucking tell me when something is wrong,” His voice was strained and exasperated, clearly extremely irritated with the hero. He took in a few slow breaths and tried to calm down though.
“I’m going to have to run a few more examinations. And I’m going to speak with Eclipse and see what they know,” At the mention of the writer, Henrik heard Jackie let out a slight muffled, almost growl sound. He turned to his patient questionably. “Something wrong?”
Jackie seemed to try and bit his tongue, but couldn’t help bring up his concern. “I just don’t trust either of them really,” He crossed his arms remaining silent after that. He’d said enough.
Henrik let it go, just nodding as he looked back at his notes. ���Well, that’s all I have. I know this wasn’t the most pleasant thing for you, but I truly am just looking out for you Jackie,” He wrote down something on a separate paper and ripped it off, handing it to Jackie. “Record your temperature every day for the next seven day and come back in a week. I want to further discuss this with you,” Henrik took his papers and headed back into his office. “And it’ll just be talking. No tests for now. You can change and leave when you’re done.”
It was a few minutes before Henrik finally heard the door to his clinic close, indicating Jackie’s departure. He remained in his office though, reviewing what he wrote down. A the bottom of his page though in messy letters read “doesn’t trust Eclipse.” Henrik paused and thought about it.
Eclipse told him that they conducted a few tests before returning the hero to them; had they done something to make him distrust them? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Eclipse struggles to keep the other egos trust as it is, it wouldn’t make sense to do something that could harm that. So why did Jackie have such little trust in them? True they did make questionable actions in the past but that was a long time ago, and he wouldn’t remember that anyways.
Henrik pursed his lips in consideration. The facts didn’t add up. And back when he was interrogating him, Henrik did truly feel bad about using his powers, but why was he so vigilant on lying to him. He lied multiple times on his paper, he tried to lie again when he questioned him, and honestly, Henrik couldn’t help but shiver at how easily he seemed to bat his eyes to it. It was so easy for him to lie to someone who was his friend. Someone that was trying to help and be there. How much had he been lying already? How far did his falsehood go?
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Here’s Twitter’s position on Alex Jones (and hate-peddling anti-truthers) — hint: It’s a fudge
New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/heres-twitters-position-on-alex-jones-and-hate-peddling-anti-truthers-hint-its-a-fudge/
Here’s Twitter’s position on Alex Jones (and hate-peddling anti-truthers) — hint: It’s a fudge
The number of tech platforms taking action against Alex Jones, the far right InfoWars conspiracy theorist and hate speech preacher, has been rising in recent weeks — with bans or partial bans including from Google, Apple and Facebook.
However, as we noted earlier, Twitter is not among them. Although it has banned known hate peddlers before.
Jones continues to be allowed a presence on Twitter’s platform — and is using his verified Twitter account to scream about being censored all over the mainstream place, hyperventilating at one point in the past 16 hours that ‘censoring Alex Jones is censoring everyone’ — because, and I quote, “we’re all Alex Jones now”.
(Fact check: No, we’re not… And, Alex, if you’re reading this, we suggest you take heart from the ideas in this Onion article and find a spot in your local park.)
We asked Twitter why it has not banned Jones outright, given that its own rules service proscribe hate speech and hateful conduct…
Abuse: You may not engage in the targeted harassment of someone, or incite other people to do so. We consider abusive behavior an attempt to harass, intimidate, or silence someone else’s voice.
Hateful conduct: You may not promote violence against, threaten, or harass other people on the basis of race, ethnicity, national origin, sexual orientation, gender, gender identity, religious affiliation, age, disability, or serious disease. Read more about our hateful conduct policy.
Add to that, CEO Jack Dorsey has made it his high profile mission of late to (try to) improve conversational health on the platform. So it seems fair to wonder how Twitter continuing to enable a peddler of toxic lies and hate is going to achieve that?
While Twitter would not provide a statement about Jones’ continued presence on its platform, a spokesman told us that InfoWars and Jones’ personal account are not in violation of Twitter (or Periscope’s) ToS. At least not yet. Though he pointed out it could of course take action in the future — i.e. if it’s made aware of particular tweets that violate its rules.
Twitter’s position therefore appears to be that the content posted by InfoWars to other social media platforms is different to the content Jones posts to Twitter itself — ergo, its (hedgy & fudgy) argument essentially boils down to saying Jones is walking a fine enough line on Twitter itself to avoid a ban, because he hasn’t literally tweeted content that violates the letter of Twitter’s ToS.
(Though he has tweeted stuff like “the censorship of Infowars just vindicates everything we’ve been saying” — and given the hate-filled, violently untruthful things he has been saying all over the Internet, he’s essentially re-packaged all those lies into that single tweet, so… )
To spell out Twitter’s fudge: The fact of Jones being a known conspiracy theorist and widely visible hate preacher is not being factored into its ToS enforcement decisions. (Which does appear to contradict one of Twitter’s own policy shifts, announced last year, to take into account off-platform behavior, as others have pointed out.)
The company says it’s judging the man by his output on Twitter — which means it’s failing to take into account the wider context around Jones’ tweets, i.e. all the lies and hate he peddles elsewhere (and indeed all the insinuating nods and dog whistles he makes to his followers on Twitter) — and by doing so it is in fact enabling the continued spread of hate via the wink-wink-nod-nod back door.
Twitter’s spokesman did not want to engage in a lengthy back and forth conversation, healthy or otherwise, about Jones/InfoWars so it was not possible to get a response from the company on that point.
However it does argue, i.e. in defense of its fudged position, that keeping purveyors of false news on its platform allows for an open, real-time debate which in turn allows for their lies to be challenged and debunked by people who are in their right minds — so, basically, this is the ‘fight bad speech with more speech argument’ that’s so beloved of people already enjoying powerful privilege.
The problem with that argument (actually, there are many) is it does not factor in the human cost; the people suffering directly because toxic lies impact their lives. Nor the cost to truth itself; To belief in the veracity and authenticity of credible sources of information which are under sustained and vicious attack by anti-truthers like Jones; The corrosive impact on professional journalism from lies being packaged and peddled under the lying banner of self-styled ‘truth journalism’ that Jones misappropriates. Nor the cost to society from hate speech whose very purpose is to rip up the social fabric and take down civic values — and, in the case of Jones’ particular bilious flavor, to further bang the drum of abuse via the medium of toxic disinformation — to further amplify and spread his pollution, via the power of untruth — to whip up masses of non-critically thinking conspiracy-prone followers. I could go on. (I have here.)
The amplification effect of social media platforms — combined with cynical tricks used by hate peddlers to game algorithms, such as bots retweeting and liking content to make it seem more popular than it is — makes this stuff a major, major problem.
‘Bad speech’ on such powerful platforms can become not just something to roll your eyes at and laughingly dismiss, but a toxic force that bullies, beats down and drowns out other types of speech — perhaps most especially truthful speech, because falsehood flies (and online it’s got rocket fuel) — and so can have a very deleterious impact on conversational health.
Really, it needs to be handled in a very different way. Which means Twitter’s position on Jones, and hateful anti-truthers in general, looks both flawed and weak.
It’s also now looking increasingly isolated, as other tech platforms are taking action.
Twitter’s spokesman also implied the company is working on tuning its systems to actively surface high quality counter-narratives and rebuttals to toxic BS — such as in replies to known purveyors of fake news like InfoWars.
But while such work is to be applauded, working on a fix also means you don’t actually have a fix yet. Meanwhile the lies you’re not stopping are spreading on your platform — at horrible and high cost to people and society.
It’s hard to see this as a defensible position.
And while Twitter keeps sitting on its fence, Jones’ hate speech and toxic lies, broadcast to millions as a weapon of violent disinformation, have got his video show booted from YouTube (which, after first issuing a strike yesterday then terminated his page for “violating YouTube’s Community Guidelines”).
The platform had removed ads from his channel back in March — but had not then (as Jones falsely claimed at the time) banned it. That decision took another almost half year for YouTube to arrive at.
Also yesterday, almost all of Jones’ podcasts were pulled by Apple, with the company saying it does not tolerate hate speech. “We believe in representing a wide range of views, so long as people are respectful to those with differing opinions,” it added.
Earlier this month, music streaming service Spotify also removed some of Jones’ podcasts for violating its hate-speech policy.
Even Facebook removed a bunch of Jones’ videos late last month, for violating its community standards — albeit after some dithering, and what looked like a lot of internal confusion.
The social media behemoth also imposed a 30-day ban on Jones’ personal account for posting the videos, and served him a warning notice for the InfoWars Facebook Page he controls.
Facebook later clarified it had banned Jones’ personal profile because he had previously received a warning — whereas the InfoWars Page had not, hence the latter only getting a strike.
There have even been bans from some unlikely quarters: YouPorn just announced action against Jones for a ToS violation — nixing his ability to try to pass off anti-truth hate preaching as a porn alternative on its platform.
Pinterest, too, removed Jones’ ‘hate, lies & supplements’ page after Mashable made enquiries.
So, uh, other responses than Twitter’s (of doing nothing) are widely possible.
On Twitter, Jones also benefits from being able to distinguish his account from any would-be imitators or satirists, because he has a verified account — denoted on the platform by a blue check mark badge.
We asked Twitter why it hasn’t removed Jones’ blue badge — given that the company has, until relatively recently, been rethinking its verification program. And last year it actively removed blue badges from a number of white supremacists because it was worried it looked like it had been endorsing them. Yet Jones — who spins the gigantic lie of ‘white genocide’ — continues to keep his.
Twitter’s spokesman pointed us to this tweet last month from product lead, Kayvon Beykpour, who wrote that updating the program “isn’t a top priority for us right now”.
We’ve heard some questions recently about the status of Verification on Twitter, so wanted to address directly. Updating our verification program isn’t a top priority for us right now (election integrity is). Here’s some history & context, and how we plan to put it on our roadmap
— Kayvon Beykpour (@kayvz) July 17, 2018
Beykpour went on to explain that while Twitter had “paused” public verification last November (because “we wanted to address the issue that verifying the authenticity of an account was being conflated with endorsement”), it subsequently paused its own ‘pause for thought’ on having verified some very toxic individuals, with Beykpour writing in an email to staff in July:
Though the current state of Verification is definitely not ideal (opaque criteria and process, inconsistency in our procedures, external frustration from customers), I don’t believe we have the bandwidth to address this holistically (policy, process, product, and a plan around how & when these fit together) without coming at the cost of our other priorities and distracting the team.
At the same time Beykpour admits in the thread that Twitter has been ‘unpausing’ its pause on verification in some circumstances (“we still verify accounts ad hoc when we think it serves the public conversation & is in line with our policy”); but not, evidently, going so far as to unpause its pause on removing badges from hateful people who gain unjustified authenticity and authority from the perceived endorsement of Twitter verification — such as in ‘ad hoc’ situations where doing so might be terribly, terribly appropriate. Like, uh, this one.
Beykpour wrote that verification would be addressed by Twitter post-election. So it’s presumably sticking to its lack of having a policy at all right now, for now. (“I know this isn’t the most satisfying news, but I wanted to be transparent about our priorities,” he concluded.)
Twitter’s spokesman told us it doesn’t have anything further to share on verification at this point.
Jones’ toxic activity on social media has included spreading the horrendous lie that children who died in the Sandy Hook U.S. school shooting were ‘crisis actors’.
So, for now, a man who lies about the violent death of little children continues to be privileged with a badge on his not-at-all-banned Twitter account.
Two of the parents of a child who died at the school wrote an open letter to Facebook’s founder, Mark Zuckerberg, last month, describing how toxic lies about the school shooting spread via social media had metastasized into violent hate and threats directed at them.
“Our families are in danger as a direct result of the hundreds of thousands of people who see and believe the lies and hate speech, which you have decided should be protected,” wrote Lenny Pozner and Veronique De La Rosa, the parents of Noah, who died on 14 December, 2012, at the age of six.
“What makes the entire situation all the more horrific is that we have had to wage an almost inconceivable battle with Facebook to provide us with the most basic of protections to remove the most offensive and incendiary content.”
http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js
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The number of tech platforms taking action against Alex Jones, the far right InfoWars conspiracy theorist and hate speech preacher, has been rising in recent weeks — with bans or partial bans including from Google, Apple and Facebook.
However, as we noted earlier, Twitter is not among them. Although it has banned known hate peddlers before.
Jones continues to be allowed a presence on Twitter’s platform — and is using his verified Twitter account to scream about being censored all over the mainstream place, hyperventilating at one point in the past 16 hours that ‘censoring Alex Jones is censoring everyone’ — because, and I quote, “we’re all Alex Jones now”.
(Fact check: No, we’re not… And, Alex, if you’re reading this, we suggest you take heart from the ideas in this Onion article and find a spot in your local park.)
We asked Twitter why it has not banned Jones outright, given that its own rules service proscribe hate speech and hateful conduct…
Abuse: You may not engage in the targeted harassment of someone, or incite other people to do so. We consider abusive behavior an attempt to harass, intimidate, or silence someone else’s voice.
Hateful conduct: You may not promote violence against, threaten, or harass other people on the basis of race, ethnicity, national origin, sexual orientation, gender, gender identity, religious affiliation, age, disability, or serious disease. Read more about our hateful conduct policy.
Add to that, CEO Jack Dorsey has made it his high profile mission of late to (try to) improve conversational health on the platform. So it seems fair to wonder how Twitter continuing to enable a peddler of toxic lies and hate is going to achieve that?
While Twitter would not provide a statement about Jones’ continued presence on its platform, a spokesman told us that InfoWars and Jones’ personal account are not in violation of Twitter (or Periscope’s) ToS. At least not yet. Though he pointed out it could of course take action in the future — i.e. if it’s made aware of particular tweets that violate its rules.
Twitter’s position therefore appears to be that the content posted by InfoWars to other social media platforms is different to the content Jones posts to Twitter itself — ergo, its (hedgy & fudgy) argument essentially boils down to saying Jones is walking a fine enough line on Twitter itself to avoid a ban, because he hasn’t literally tweeted content that violates the letter of Twitter’s ToS.
(Though he has tweeted stuff like “the censorship of Infowars just vindicates everything we’ve been saying” — and given the hate-filled, violently untruthful things he has been saying all over the Internet, he’s essentially re-packaged all those lies into that single tweet, so… )
To spell out Twitter’s fudge: The fact of Jones being a known conspiracy theorist and widely visible hate preacher is not being factored into its ToS enforcement decisions.
The company says it’s judging the man by his output on Twitter — which means it’s failing to take into account the wider context around Jones’ tweets, i.e. all the lies and hate he peddles elsewhere (and indeed all the insinuating nods and dog whistles he makes to his followers on Twitter) — and by doing so it is in fact enabling the continued spread of hate via the wink-wink-nod-nod back door.
Twitter’s spokesman did not want to engage in a lengthy back and forth conversation, healthy or otherwise, about Jones/InfoWars so it was not possible to get a response from the company on that point.
However it does argue, i.e. in defense of its fudged position, that keeping purveyors of false news on its platform allows for an open, real-time debate which in turn allows for their lies to be challenged and debunked by people who are in their right minds — so, basically, this is the ‘fight bad speech with more speech argument’ that’s so beloved of people already enjoying powerful privilege.
The problem with that argument (actually, there are many) is it does not factor in the human cost; the people suffering directly because toxic lies impact their lives. Nor the cost to truth itself; To belief in the veracity and authenticity of credible sources of information which are under sustained and vicious attack by anti-truthers like Jones; The corrosive impact on professional journalism from lies being packaged and peddled under the lying banner of self-styled ‘truth journalism’ that Jones misappropriates. Nor the cost to society from hate speech whose very purpose is to rip up the social fabric and take down civic values — and, in the case of Jones’ particular bilious flavor, to further bang the drum of abuse via the medium of toxic disinformation — to further amplify and spread his pollution, via the power of untruth — to whip up masses of non-critically thinking conspiracy-prone followers. I could go on. (I have here.)
The amplification effect of social media platforms — combined with cynical tricks used by hate peddlers to game algorithms, such as bots retweeting and liking content to make it seem more popular than it is — makes this stuff a major, major problem.
‘Bad speech’ on such powerful platforms can become not just something to roll your eyes at and laughingly dismiss, but a toxic force that bullies, beats down and drowns out other types of speech — perhaps most especially truthful speech, because falsehood flies (and online it’s got rocket fuel) — and so can have a very deleterious impact on conversational health.
Really, it needs to be handled in a very different way. Which means Twitter’s position on Jones, and hateful anti-truthers in general, looks both flawed and weak.
It’s also now looking increasingly isolated, as other tech platforms are taking action.
Twitter’s spokesman also implied the company is working on tuning its systems to actively surface high quality counter-narratives and rebuttals to toxic BS — such as in replies to known purveyors of fake news like InfoWars.
But while such work is to be applauded, working on a fix also means you don’t actually have a fix yet. Meanwhile the lies you’re not stopping are spreading on your platform — at horrible and high cost to people and society.
It’s hard to see this as a defensible position.
And while Twitter keeps sitting on its fence, Jones’ hate speech and toxic lies, broadcast to millions as a weapon of violent disinformation, have got his video show booted from YouTube (which, after first issuing a strike yesterday then terminated his page for “violating YouTube’s Community Guidelines”).
The platform had removed ads from his channel back in March — but had not then (as Jones falsely claimed at the time) banned it. That decision took another almost half year for YouTube to arrive at.
Also yesterday, almost all of Jones’ podcasts were pulled by Apple, with the company saying it does not tolerate hate speech. “We believe in representing a wide range of views, so long as people are respectful to those with differing opinions,” it added.
Earlier this month, music streaming service Spotify also removed some of Jones’ podcasts for violating its hate-speech policy.
Even Facebook removed a bunch of Jones’ videos late last month, for violating its community standards — albeit after some dithering, and what looked like a lot of internal confusion.
The social media behemoth also imposed a 30-day ban on Jones’ personal account for posting the videos, and served him a warning notice for the InfoWars Facebook Page he controls.
Facebook later clarified it had banned Jones’ personal profile because he had previously received a warning — whereas the InfoWars Page had not, hence the latter only getting a strike.
There have even been bans from some unlikely quarters: YouPorn just announced action against Jones for a ToS violation — nixing his ability to try to pass off anti-truth hate preaching as a porn alternative on its platform.
Pinterest, too, removed Jones’ ‘hate, lies & supplements’ page after Mashable made enquiries.
So, uh, other responses than Twitter’s (of doing nothing) are widely possible.
On Twitter, Jones also benefits from being able to distinguish his account from any would-be imitators or satirists, because he has a verified account — denoted on the platform by a blue check mark badge.
We asked Twitter why it hasn’t removed Jones’ blue badge — given that the company has, until relatively recently, been rethinking its verification program. And last year it actively removed blue badges from a number of white supremacists because it was worried it looked like it had been endorsing them. Yet Jones — who spins the gigantic lie of ‘white genocide’ — continues to keep his.
Twitter’s spokesman pointed us to this tweet last month from product lead, Kayvon Beykpour, who wrote that updating the program “isn’t a top priority for us right now”.
We've heard some questions recently about the status of Verification on Twitter, so wanted to address directly. Updating our verification program isn’t a top priority for us right now (election integrity is). Here’s some history & context, and how we plan to put it on our roadmap
— Kayvon Beykpour (@kayvz) July 17, 2018
Beykpour went on to explain that while Twitter had “paused” public verification last November (because “we wanted to address the issue that verifying the authenticity of an account was being conflated with endorsement”), it subsequently paused its own ‘pause for thought’ on having verified some very toxic individuals, with Beykpour writing in an email to staff in July:
Though the current state of Verification is definitely not ideal (opaque criteria and process, inconsistency in our procedures, external frustration from customers), I don’t believe we have the bandwidth to address this holistically (policy, process, product, and a plan around how & when these fit together) without coming at the cost of our other priorities and distracting the team.
At the same time Beykpour admits in the thread that Twitter has been ‘unpausing’ its pause on verification in some circumstances (“we still verify accounts ad hoc when we think it serves the public conversation & is in line with our policy”); but not, evidently, going so far as to unpause its pause on removing badges from hateful people who gain unjustified authenticity and authority from the perceived endorsement of Twitter verification — such as in ‘ad hoc’ situations where doing so might be terribly, terribly appropriate. Like, uh, this one.
Beykpour wrote that verification would be addressed by Twitter post-election. So it’s presumably sticking to its lack of having a policy at all right now, for now. (“I know this isn’t the most satisfying news, but I wanted to be transparent about our priorities,” he concluded.)
Twitter’s spokesman told us it doesn’t have anything further to share on verification at this point.
Jones’ toxic activity on social media has included spreading the horrendous lie that children who died in the Sandy Hook U.S. school shooting were ‘crisis actors’.
So, for now, a man who lies about the violent death of little children continues to be privileged with a badge on his not-at-all-banned Twitter account.
Two of the parents of a child who died at the school wrote an open letter to Facebook’s founder, Mark Zuckerberg, last month, describing how toxic lies about the school shooting spread via social media had metastasized into violent hate and threats directed at them.
“Our families are in danger as a direct result of the hundreds of thousands of people who see and believe the lies and hate speech, which you have decided should be protected,” wrote Lenny Pozner and Veronique De La Rosa, the parents of Noah, who died on 14 December, 2012, at the age of six.
“What makes the entire situation all the more horrific is that we have had to wage an almost inconceivable battle with Facebook to provide us with the most basic of protections to remove the most offensive and incendiary content.”
from Social – TechCrunch https://ift.tt/2KyjDut Original Content From: https://techcrunch.com
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Stop Motion Creator Reviews - present merchandise of various firms
You possibly can by no means make a fortune over the web in a day. Nevertheless, it's all the time doable to earn cash online Stop Motion Creator by varied channels obtainable over a time frame and tens of millions earn their each day bread by online jobs. Working online has change into common right now and alternatives to earn are additionally rising. I?ve given under a number of higher methods to utilize the obtainable alternatives to earn money online.
Earlier than you begin trying to find methods to earn cash, it's best to determine which methodology to decide on. First methodology is to search out jobs that anybody can do and the opposite one is which requires expert experience.
I?ve given under some typical methods to earn money online.
1. Knowledge entry: You possibly can simply seek for corporations who provide knowledge entry jobs and is the best solution to earn money online. You simply have to fill in knowledge to a type and earn on every type entered. The job could also be easy however the problem is to discover a firm that can give you real work and who pays. Many knowledge entry corporations of are both rip-off or unreliable. One vital that you want to bear in mind earlier than taking on an information entry job is to not pay the corporate any upfront charges for the work they provide. Such corporations are right here to not present work or to get the job performed however to extort cash from us.
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Article directories are web sites that home free articles. These articles are normally put there by whoever owns the copyright to them as a promotion methodology. Every article has the homeowners byline positioned underneath it in order that those that ultimately learn the article will know who wrote it (or no less than who owns it) and can be capable to get involved with or go to their website for additional data.
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http://joelpreston.hatenablog.com/entry/2017/11/13/025859
Let?s take a real-life instance. Think about that you're an accountant working from house. You write an article on an accounting matter and place it on varied article directories. Those that are in search of the topic you wrote about will learn your article, see that you've the information and ability that's wanted to do a job for them, and go to your website or contact you by way of e-mail. Your article simply gained you a brand new shopper who could use your companies frequently, however will certainly provide you with a pleasant revenue no less than as soon as.
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In the span of approximately two years, Colton Haynes ditched his MTV and CW roots, came out, fired his management and took some time off. Now, he’s returning from his hiatus wearing nothing but a glittering thong. The rowdy new comedy “Rough Night,” about a Miami bachelorette weekend gone wrong, features Haynes as a stripper who plays a pivotal role in the movie’s third-act twist.
When I sat down with the 28-year-old actor, who found fame on the television series “Teen Wolf” and “Arrow,” he was candid about the highs and lows of publicly declaring his sexuality. Newly engaged and freed from the leash of career advisers who wanted to market him as straight, Haynes has processed the anxiety that accompanied his private life being laid bare. It’s as good an excuse as any to expose himself to the world, thong and all.
When offered a movie like “Rough Night,” is the fact that you’re wearing only a thong in most of your scenes part of the pitch?
I have no idea. I literally quit acting for over a year and then I re-signed with a new agency, and then they called me. They were like, “Hey, you just got offered this role.” I said, “I got offered … why? What? With Scarlett Johansson? What? Can you call them back and make sure they’re not looking for Jesse McCartney or someone else?” They weren’t, so I was excited.
Is Jesse McCartney really where your mind went as the alternate Colton Haynes?
I love Jesse McCartney, but I am always mistaken for him. I don’t know why. It’s just a funny thing — people will have conversations with me as if I’m Jesse McCartney. I’ve never met him; he seems like the coolest person ever, but I’m not him.
You took a year off after leaving “Arrow.”
Yeah, I took a year off after “Arrow” and dealt with some personal issues. Then, I came back with a really positive mindset and this came along.
Was that during the coming-out?
The coming-out thing was a year ago in May, so yeah, it was basically that whole process. When that happened, it was me figuring out, “OK, is this a good move?” I parted ways with my team, and it was a really tricky year for me. My anxiety was terrible, and eventually I was like, “I’m not going to literally waste the last 10 years of my life.” So I started back and it’s going well.
Did you anticipate a moment where you’d need to make a public declaration about your sexuality and then ride out the attention it would receive?
No, I never thought — I’ve been told by so many people that you cannot be out and have a career. Literally people would set me up with girls for press. The craziest thing was my career actually became the best it’s ever been once I actually was true to myself. That happened, and it was the most amazing experience. I was in Paris the day that the EW article dropped, and I cried for three days straight.
Good cry?
It was amazing. Good cry, yeah. I was happy at the outpouring. Marc Snetiker wrote the best article, and then eventually I did the Out cover, which also was a good article. Now I live a more free and open life. It’s nice ― people have now started giving me work because of it, and it’s been really awesome.
Every gay person seems to have an opinion about how every other gay person should behave, especially when it involves celebrities.
Oh, 100 percent.
Did you get a sense of some people saying you’d done it the wrong way?
Oh, there was a very public thing, without naming names. I think people are not very well-informed, so if someone didn’t know that I literally did a three-page article coming out, then they could say some things. I think that whole situation was just not being informed. But the outpouring of people being like, “Oh, we knew the whole time,” that’s cool, but so did I. It’s this whole juxtaposition of “I also knew I was gay, as well.” I know you knew, and so did I, and I struggled with it for so long. Then, when it happened, I just started working nonstop on stuff I can’t talk about yet.
In what context were you set up with women?
I would be at a party. There was this whole story that ran with Lauren Conrad, who I love — she’s the best. Basically my old manager at the time was like, “Oh, take a picture with her.” He just basically ran this story trying to say that I was dating Lauren Conrad. It was there for about six months. I was like, “Oh, great, I have to do this.” That’s how it is in Hollywood. But not anymore. You have all these amazing showrunners who actually embrace people’s personal lives and embrace people’s truth. I think that’s really pivotal.
I’m surprised you were dealing with that even a few years ago. I figured we’d moved past that.
Yeah, I did that for seven or eight years. I was told by my first manager, like 10 years ago, “You will never work in this town if people know [you’re gay].”
I assume that’s what led to your management changes.
Oh God, yeah. That was like, “Bye! You gotta get out.” God. I wish I could say more.
You can!
[Laughs] Yeah. It was a compete team change.
So you’re just hanging out, and then you’re called upon for this “Rough Night” role with Kate McKinnon and these other funny women, where you’ll appear in only a thong.
Literally naked and I had no time to prepare. It was really fun when we were doing the movie. Especially Scarlett, she couldn’t stop laughing during the scene where my suit gets ripped off. In only one take she didn’t laugh. I wouldn’t say I’m a nudist, but I don’t care about that kind of stuff. It was super easy. I didn’t really have time to work out, but I don’t really care about that stuff. It was fun, but the thong was really uncomfortable.
Did your comfort level come from your experience modeling?
Yeah, I wanted to act because I did theater as a kid, but when I started modeling, it just got me so comfortable in front of the camera. I’m a nervous type of person all the time, but when you’re growing up in New York starting being a model, you really have no inhibitions. It was really easy and fun. It was funny because it wasn’t like I was playing some sexy guy — I was this really scared, quirky, weird, funny guy. And they kept giving me more. It was supposed to just be one scene and they kept giving me more.
After leaving “Arrow,” were you worried about being branded a CW star?
Yeah, you do come across that. I wasn’t worried because I don’t put too much thought into it, but at the time, when I started “Teen Wolf,” I was 21 years old. When I left “Arrow,” I was still 26 or something. I just wanted to take some time off to try to figure out if I can do anything beyond that. Not that it was bad — it was so fun, all those experiences. But I just mentally broke. My brain broke.
Because the production schedule was grueling?
Realistically, it was my personal life. My anxiety was so bad that I couldn’t even go to work. It really was so debilitating that I would faint at work. I would literally not be able to speak because I was so nervous. I had to get ahold of that before I could come back and do stuff. They were all so, so amazing and saw me crumbling. I was able to get out that. But with things like that, people are branded as CW or MTV stars, but it’s a really great platform. It’s a good start. A lot of people that have started doing that have gone on to do a lot of things. I definitely came out on the other side, but I don’t think I was worried.
What did you do to get a handle on that anxiety?
I have no idea. I don’t think I still am ahold of it. I was joking with my friend and publicist, Chase, yesterday. We were just getting on a plane and I saw a photographer outside the airport. Luckily, he didn’t know who I was and didn’t take a picture of me, but I literally panic sometimes. It’s that thing of your privacy being taken away. People think you are your character. And I’m so down and cool and chill with people, but when there’s a lot of my privacy being taken away, it makes me feel in a box.
Do you feel similarly when you sense someone with an iPhone snapping a photo in your periphery?
I can always sense it, yeah. I don’t care at all. I’m the first person to say “fuck” and grab their phone and say, “Let’s do a Snapchat.” I don’t care about that — it’s certain situations. I had a bad break-in at my house, and also with photographers and people knowing where you are, it’s tricky. Like, how the fuck did you know I was here?
You’re at a comfortable level of fame for managing that. Are you prepared for what might happen as your profile continues to grow?
It’s funny because I was having the same conversation with someone last week. They were like, “You’re here, but what’s going to happen if you’re there?” I’ll be fine. I’ll think about that if that happens. If I’m lucky enough to do that and have that steady work and that kind of recognition, that would be great. Then, I’ll cross that path and get a bunch of Xanax.
You auditioned for “Twilight.” Given the level of intense fame those stars encountered, and how much they’ve had to distance themselves from the images that movie gave them, are you glad you didn’t get the role?
Oh my God. I talk about this all the time. I actually came across that script — I still have it; it’s in mint condition. I love Taylor Lautner — he’s the sweetest guy in the world, and he came out of it incredibly. He’s such a good guy, but I don’t know if, at that young age, I would have been able to do that. But if you watch Kristen Stewart’s interviews, she’s like, “We were the best family, it was amazing.” That young, I don’t know if I could have done it.
And even though she, Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner made off OK, you know the frenzy of that fame will always haunt them, to a degree.
Oh yeah, I mean, that was an explosion. It was crazy. That would have been crazy. And then me coming out after “Twilight”? That would have been too much.
Your coming-out experience would have been so much more magnified than it already was.
“You’re not our Edward!”
Oh, I didn’t even think about it from that perspective. That’s a whole other rabbit hole.
“We’re Team Jacob.” That would have been hilarious.
“Rough Night” opens June 16. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
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Text
Colton Haynes, Once Told To Stay In The Closet, Returns With A Sparkling Outlook
In the span of approximately two years, Colton Haynes ditched his MTV and CW roots, came out, fired his management and took some time off. Now, he’s returning from his hiatus wearing nothing but a glittering thong. The rowdy new comedy “Rough Night,” about a Miami bachelorette weekend gone wrong, features Haynes as a stripper who plays a pivotal role in the movie’s third-act twist.
When I sat down with the 28-year-old actor, who found fame on the television series “Teen Wolf” and “Arrow,” he was candid about the highs and lows of publicly declaring his sexuality. Newly engaged and freed from the leash of career advisers who wanted to market him as straight, Haynes has processed the anxiety that accompanied his private life being laid bare. It’s as good an excuse as any to expose himself to the world, thong and all.
When offered a movie like “Rough Night,” is the fact that you’re wearing only a thong in most of your scenes part of the pitch?
I have no idea. I literally quit acting for over a year and then I re-signed with a new agency, and then they called me. They were like, “Hey, you just got offered this role.” I said, “I got offered … why? What? With Scarlett Johansson? What? Can you call them back and make sure they’re not looking for Jesse McCartney or someone else?” They weren’t, so I was excited.
Is Jesse McCartney really where your mind went as the alternate Colton Haynes?
I love Jesse McCartney, but I am always mistaken for him. I don’t know why. It’s just a funny thing — people will have conversations with me as if I’m Jesse McCartney. I’ve never met him; he seems like the coolest person ever, but I’m not him.
You took a year off after leaving “Arrow.”
Yeah, I took a year off after “Arrow” and dealt with some personal issues. Then, I came back with a really positive mindset and this came along.
Was that during the coming-out?
The coming-out thing was a year ago in May, so yeah, it was basically that whole process. When that happened, it was me figuring out, “OK, is this a good move?” I parted ways with my team, and it was a really tricky year for me. My anxiety was terrible, and eventually I was like, “I’m not going to literally waste the last 10 years of my life.” So I started back and it’s going well.
Did you anticipate a moment where you’d need to make a public declaration about your sexuality and then ride out the attention it would receive?
No, I never thought — I’ve been told by so many people that you cannot be out and have a career. Literally people would set me up with girls for press. The craziest thing was my career actually became the best it’s ever been once I actually was true to myself. That happened, and it was the most amazing experience. I was in Paris the day that the EW article dropped, and I cried for three day straight.
Good cry?
It was amazing. Good cry, yeah. I was happy at the outpouring. Marc Snetiker wrote the best article, and then eventually I did the Out cover, which also was a good article. Now I live a more free and open life. It’s nice ― people have now started giving me work because of it, and it’s been really awesome.
Every gay person seems to have an opinion about how every other gay person should behave, especially when it involves celebrities.
Oh, 100 percent.
Did you get a sense of some people saying you’d done it the wrong way?
Oh, there was a very public thing, without naming names. I think people are not very well-informed, so if someone didn’t know that I literally did a three-page article coming out, then they could say some things. I think that whole situation was just not being informed. But the outpouring of people being like, “Oh, we knew the whole time,” that’s cool, but so did I. It’s this whole juxtaposition of “I also knew I was gay, as well.” I know you knew, and so did I, and I struggled with it for so long. Then, when it happened, I just started working nonstop on stuff I can’t talk about yet.
In what context were you set up with women?
I would be at a party. There was this whole story that ran with Lauren Conrad, who I love — she’s the best. Basically my old manager at the time was like, “Oh, take a picture with her.” He just basically ran this story trying to say that I was dating Lauren Conrad. It was there for about six months. I was like, “Oh, great, I have to do this.” That’s how it is in Hollywood. But not anymore. You have all these amazing showrunners who actually embrace people’s personal lives and embrace people’s truth. I think that’s really pivotal.
I’m surprised you were dealing with that even a few years ago. I figured we’d moved past that.
Yeah, I did that for seven or eight years. I was told by my first manager, like 10 years ago, “You will never work in this town if people know [you’re gay].”
I assume that’s what led to your management changes.
Oh God, yeah. That was like, “Bye! You gotta get out.” God. I wish I could say more.
You can!
[Laughs] Yeah. It was a compete team change.
So you’re just hanging out, and then you’re called upon for this “Rough Night” role with Kate McKinnon and these other funny women, where you’ll appear in only a thong.
Literally naked and I had no time to prepare. It was really fun when we were doing the movie. Especially Scarlett, she couldn’t stop laughing during the scene where my suit gets ripped off. In only one take she didn’t laugh. I wouldn’t say I’m a nudist, but I don’t care about that kind of stuff. It was super easy. I didn’t really have time to work out, but I don’t really care about that stuff. It was fun, but the thong was really uncomfortable.
Did your comfort level come from your experience modeling?
Yeah, I wanted to act because I did theater as a kid, but when I started modeling, it just got me so comfortable in front of the camera. I’m a nervous type of person all the time, but when you’re growing up in New York starting being a model, you really have no inhibitions. It was really easy and fun. It was funny because it wasn’t like I was playing some sexy guy — I was this really scared, quirky, weird, funny guy. And they kept giving me more. It was supposed to just be one scene and they kept giving me more.
After leaving “Arrow,” were you worried about being branded a CW star?
Yeah, you do come across that. I wasn’t worried because I don’t put too much thought into it, but at the time, when I started “Teen Wolf,” I was 21 years old. When I left “Arrow,” I was still 26 or something. I just wanted to take some time off to try to figure out if I can do anything beyond that. Not that it was bad — it was so fun, all those experiences. But I just mentally broke. My brain broke.
Because the production schedule was grueling?
Realistically, it was my personal life. My anxiety was so bad that I couldn’t even go to work. It really was so debilitating that I would faint at work. I would literally not be able to speak because I was so nervous. I had to get ahold of that before I could come back and do stuff. They were all so, so amazing and saw me crumbling. I was able to get out that. But with things like that, people are branded as CW or MTV stars, but it’s a really great platform. It’s a good start. A lot of people that have started doing that have gone on to do a lot of things. I definitely came out on the other side, but I don’t think I was worried.
What did you do to get a handle on that anxiety?
I have no idea. I don’t think I still am ahold of it. I was joking with my friend and publicist, Chase, yesterday. We were just getting on a plane and I saw a photographer outside the airport. Luckily, he didn’t know who I was and didn’t take a picture of me, but I literally panic sometimes. It’s that thing of your privacy being taken away. People think you are your character. And I’m so down and cool and chill with people, but when there’s a lot of my privacy being taken away, it makes me feel in a box.
Do you feel similarly when you sense someone with an iPhone snapping a photo in your periphery?
I can always sense it, yeah. I don’t care at all. I’m the first person to say “fuck” and grab their phone and say, “Let’s do a Snapchat.” I don’t care about that — it’s certain situations. I had a bad break-in at my house, and also with photographers and people knowing where you are, it’s tricky. Like, how the fuck did you know I was here?
You’re at a comfortable level of fame for managing that. Are you prepared for what might happen as your profile continues to grow?
It’s funny because I was having the same conversation with someone last week. They were like, “You’re here, but what’s going to happen if you’re there?” I’ll be fine. I’ll think about that if that happens. If I’m lucky enough to do that and have that steady work and that kind of recognition, that would be great. Then, I’ll cross that path and get a bunch of Xanax.
You auditioned for “Twilight.” Given the level of intense fame those stars encountered, and how much they’ve had to distance themselves from the images that movie gave them, are you glad you didn’t get the role?
Oh my God. I talk about this all the time. I actually came across that script — I still have it; it’s in mint condition. I love Taylor Lautner — he’s the sweetest guy in the world, and he came out of it incredibly. He’s such a good guy, but I don’t know if, at that young age, I would have been able to do that. But if you watch Kristen Stewart’s interviews, she’s like, “We were the best family, it was amazing.” That young, I don’t know if I could have done it.
And even though she, Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner made off OK, you know the frenzy of that fame will always haunt them, to a degree.
Oh yeah, I mean, that was an explosion. It was crazy. That would have been crazy. And then me coming out after “Twilight”? That would have been too much.
Your coming-out experience would have been so much more magnified than it already was.
“You’re not our Edward!”
Oh, I didn’t even think about it from that perspective. That’s a whole other rabbit hole.
“We’re Team Jacob.” That would have been hilarious.
“Rough Night” opens June 16. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2s0roDb
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Colton Haynes, Once Told To Stay In The Closet, Returns With A Sparkling Outlook
In the span of approximately two years, Colton Haynes ditched his MTV and CW roots, came out, fired his management and took some time off. Now, he’s returning from his hiatus wearing nothing but a glittering thong. The rowdy new comedy “Rough Night,” about a Miami bachelorette weekend gone wrong, features Haynes as a stripper who plays a pivotal role in the movie’s third-act twist.
When I sat down with the 28-year-old actor, who found fame on the television series “Teen Wolf” and “Arrow,” he was candid about the highs and lows of publicly declaring his sexuality. Newly engaged and freed from the leash of career advisers who wanted to market him as straight, Haynes has processed the anxiety that accompanied his private life being laid bare. It’s as good an excuse as any to expose himself to the world, thong and all.
When offered a movie like “Rough Night,” is the fact that you’re wearing only a thong in most of your scenes part of the pitch?
I have no idea. I literally quit acting for over a year and then I re-signed with a new agency, and then they called me. They were like, “Hey, you just got offered this role.” I said, “I got offered … why? What? With Scarlett Johansson? What? Can you call them back and make sure they’re not looking for Jesse McCartney or someone else?” They weren’t, so I was excited.
Is Jesse McCartney really where your mind went as the alternate Colton Haynes?
I love Jesse McCartney, but I am always mistaken for him. I don’t know why. It’s just a funny thing — people will have conversations with me as if I’m Jesse McCartney. I’ve never met him; he seems like the coolest person ever, but I’m not him.
You took a year off after leaving “Arrow.”
Yeah, I took a year off after “Arrow” and dealt with some personal issues. Then, I came back with a really positive mindset and this came along.
Was that during the coming-out?
The coming-out thing was a year ago in May, so yeah, it was basically that whole process. When that happened, it was me figuring out, “OK, is this a good move?” I parted ways with my team, and it was a really tricky year for me. My anxiety was terrible, and eventually I was like, “I’m not going to literally waste the last 10 years of my life.” So I started back and it’s going well.
Did you anticipate a moment where you’d need to make a public declaration about your sexuality and then ride out the attention it would receive?
No, I never thought — I’ve been told by so many people that you cannot be out and have a career. Literally people would set me up with girls for press. The craziest thing was my career actually became the best it’s ever been once I actually was true to myself. That happened, and it was the most amazing experience. I was in Paris the day that the EW article dropped, and I cried for three day straight.
Good cry?
It was amazing. Good cry, yeah. I was happy at the outpouring. Marc Snetiker wrote the best article, and then eventually I did the Out cover, which also was a good article. Now I live a more free and open life. It’s nice ― people have now started giving me work because of it, and it’s been really awesome.
Every gay person seems to have an opinion about how every other gay person should behave, especially when it involves celebrities.
Oh, 100 percent.
Did you get a sense of some people saying you’d done it the wrong way?
Oh, there was a very public thing, without naming names. I think people are not very well-informed, so if someone didn’t know that I literally did a three-page article coming out, then they could say some things. I think that whole situation was just not being informed. But the outpouring of people being like, “Oh, we knew the whole time,” that’s cool, but so did I. It’s this whole juxtaposition of “I also knew I was gay, as well.” I know you knew, and so did I, and I struggled with it for so long. Then, when it happened, I just started working nonstop on stuff I can’t talk about yet.
In what context were you set up with women?
I would be at a party. There was this whole story that ran with Lauren Conrad, who I love — she’s the best. Basically my old manager at the time was like, “Oh, take a picture with her.” He just basically ran this story trying to say that I was dating Lauren Conrad. It was there for about six months. I was like, “Oh, great, I have to do this.” That’s how it is in Hollywood. But not anymore. You have all these amazing showrunners who actually embrace people’s personal lives and embrace people’s truth. I think that’s really pivotal.
I’m surprised you were dealing with that even a few years ago. I figured we’d moved past that.
Yeah, I did that for seven or eight years. I was told by my first manager, like 10 years ago, “You will never work in this town if people know [you’re gay].”
I assume that’s what led to your management changes.
Oh God, yeah. That was like, “Bye! You gotta get out.” God. I wish I could say more.
You can!
[Laughs] Yeah. It was a compete team change.
So you’re just hanging out, and then you’re called upon for this “Rough Night” role with Kate McKinnon and these other funny women, where you’ll appear in only a thong.
Literally naked and I had no time to prepare. It was really fun when we were doing the movie. Especially Scarlett, she couldn’t stop laughing during the scene where my suit gets ripped off. In only one take she didn’t laugh. I wouldn’t say I’m a nudist, but I don’t care about that kind of stuff. It was super easy. I didn’t really have time to work out, but I don’t really care about that stuff. It was fun, but the thong was really uncomfortable.
Did your comfort level come from your experience modeling?
Yeah, I wanted to act because I did theater as a kid, but when I started modeling, it just got me so comfortable in front of the camera. I’m a nervous type of person all the time, but when you’re growing up in New York starting being a model, you really have no inhibitions. It was really easy and fun. It was funny because it wasn’t like I was playing some sexy guy — I was this really scared, quirky, weird, funny guy. And they kept giving me more. It was supposed to just be one scene and they kept giving me more.
After leaving “Arrow,” were you worried about being branded a CW star?
Yeah, you do come across that. I wasn’t worried because I don’t put too much thought into it, but at the time, when I started “Teen Wolf,” I was 21 years old. When I left “Arrow,” I was still 26 or something. I just wanted to take some time off to try to figure out if I can do anything beyond that. Not that it was bad — it was so fun, all those experiences. But I just mentally broke. My brain broke.
Because the production schedule was grueling?
Realistically, it was my personal life. My anxiety was so bad that I couldn’t even go to work. It really was so debilitating that I would faint at work. I would literally not be able to speak because I was so nervous. I had to get ahold of that before I could come back and do stuff. They were all so, so amazing and saw me crumbling. I was able to get out that. But with things like that, people are branded as CW or MTV stars, but it’s a really great platform. It’s a good start. A lot of people that have started doing that have gone on to do a lot of things. I definitely came out on the other side, but I don’t think I was worried.
What did you do to get a handle on that anxiety?
I have no idea. I don’t think I still am ahold of it. I was joking with my friend and publicist, Chase, yesterday. We were just getting on a plane and I saw a photographer outside the airport. Luckily, he didn’t know who I was and didn’t take a picture of me, but I literally panic sometimes. It’s that thing of your privacy being taken away. People think you are your character. And I’m so down and cool and chill with people, but when there’s a lot of my privacy being taken away, it makes me feel in a box.
Do you feel similarly when you sense someone with an iPhone snapping a photo in your periphery?
I can always sense it, yeah. I don’t care at all. I’m the first person to say “fuck” and grab their phone and say, “Let’s do a Snapchat.” I don’t care about that — it’s certain situations. I had a bad break-in at my house, and also with photographers and people knowing where you are, it’s tricky. Like, how the fuck did you know I was here?
You’re at a comfortable level of fame for managing that. Are you prepared for what might happen as your profile continues to grow?
It’s funny because I was having the same conversation with someone last week. They were like, “You’re here, but what’s going to happen if you’re there?” I’ll be fine. I’ll think about that if that happens. If I’m lucky enough to do that and have that steady work and that kind of recognition, that would be great. Then, I’ll cross that path and get a bunch of Xanax.
You auditioned for “Twilight.” Given the level of intense fame those stars encountered, and how much they’ve had to distance themselves from the images that movie gave them, are you glad you didn’t get the role?
Oh my God. I talk about this all the time. I actually came across that script — I still have it; it’s in mint condition. I love Taylor Lautner — he’s the sweetest guy in the world, and he came out of it incredibly. He’s such a good guy, but I don’t know if, at that young age, I would have been able to do that. But if you watch Kristen Stewart’s interviews, she’s like, “We were the best family, it was amazing.” That young, I don’t know if I could have done it.
And even though she, Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner made off OK, you know the frenzy of that fame will always haunt them, to a degree.
Oh yeah, I mean, that was an explosion. It was crazy. That would have been crazy. And then me coming out after “Twilight”? That would have been too much.
Your coming-out experience would have been so much more magnified than it already was.
“You’re not our Edward!”
Oh, I didn’t even think about it from that perspective. That’s a whole other rabbit hole.
“We’re Team Jacob.” That would have been hilarious.
“Rough Night” opens June 16. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
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