#or maybe some of them could be for religious purposes and have temples

[girlscience]

alien be upon ye

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Lips of an Angel

No content warning, just good old fashioned m/m love.

Originally posted on A03

Will sighed and stretched his arms above his head as he watched his computer screen switch off. Pulling out his cellphone, he clocked out for the day. Rubbing his temples, he leaned back in his chair.

Another week of work done. The sweet release of the weekend dangled in front of him. And by release, it would be another friday and saturday at the bar, nursing cocktails and inhaling greasy food that was probably doing worse things to his body than the alcohol.

But it was routine at this point. He found himself putting on his sneakers and pulling on his jacket. Keys and wallet already in his pocket, he sighed. Pulling out a ponytail holder, he pulled back his hair. He’d have to get it cut soon. The work from home life had him starting to be sloppy with his looks.

The bar was up the street from his apartment. It was a small hole in the wall that served its purpose: getting people drunk and their inhibitions lowered. Everyone was there to have a good time, maybe take it back to their place.

It was a dimly lit room, smoke from the kitchen wafting over to anyone who decided to sit across from the bartender. Jo gave him a nod of acknowledgment, hands moving dexterously as she mixed something for the man in front of her. Once she filled the glass, he took it with thanks, sliding his payment to her, then leaving a folded up bill in the tip jar. The amount of green made Will almost envious.

“Your usual, Will?” She asked, grabbing bottles to start the mix.

“You know it.” He smiled, then sat close to the wall. Turning toward the bar, he saw a few people playing pool. A couple of newcomers, an older man and someone young enough to be his son. The older man was white haired, with rosary beads hanging out of his pocket. But despite the religious item, he wore a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans, leather wristbands fastened up his arms.

The younger’s hair was ash blonde, pulled back into a tail, wire framed glasses covering his eyes, the dim light making quite a glare. His clothes clung to his body, showing off a muscular physique. Tan athletic tee, with dark jeans. When he bent over to line up his shot, quite a few heads turned or necks craned. As the cue slid back and forth between his thumb and forefinger, Will noticed an eye tattooed on the back of his hand.

Will felt the glass hit his fingers, and it jostled him out of his staring. Picking up the drink, he tilted it to Jo and then started to sip at it.

“You got any change?” A voice drawled next to him.

A woman stood next to the jukebox, her hair curtained around her face. Her cheeks were flushed. She was in a blue sundress, with leaves patterned up and down the skirt.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “But there’s a card reader.” Taking another sip, he tapped the bar. Jo whirled around and called out an order to the cook. The hiss of the deep fryer was loud, drowning out all the chatter in the bar.

They could use some tunes. Will left his drink and went to the jukebox and flipped through the songs.

“Can I make a request, Mr. DJ?” The woman asked. Her eyes were icy blue, sending a chill up his spine. The all too familiar hunger that set him on edge.

“One song,” He said, holding up a finger. No need to cause a scene if she was being polite.

She pouted, but nodded. The chill went from his spine to his stomach, and formed a weight that made him feel uneasy. He’d be sticking to the bar and Miss Jo, it seemed.

After making a playlist, Will stepped back and caught another look at the pair playing pool. They were chatting, with the older guy waving. After a moment, he went and put the cue back, before heading out the door.

Going back to the bar, Will sat and sighed. There was now a heaping plate of nachos next to the half empty drink. He took a few bites and washed them down with the rest of his cocktail.

“So, what does a guy gotta do for fun around here?” The stranger’s voice made Will straighten and turn around on the barstool.

“You’re probably in the most lively spot.” Will admitted. The woman had gone to the other side of the bar, talking to a pair of men. The hair on the back of Will’s neck stood up.

“Hmm.” The stranger picked up a pale ale, sipping it. He leaned on the bar. His eyes were hazel, but looked almost golden in the dim room. “Well, that’s good then. I like the quiet.” Setting down the bottle, he held out his hand to Will.

“Thomas.” The eye on the back of his hand seemed to glower at the other occupants of the bar.

“Will.” He returned the handshake, the cold from the bottle clinging to the stranger’s hand. “Just moved here?”

“Passing through for work,” Thomas sat down on the barstool, swiveling it back and forth and sipping from the ale. “But I wanted to see if there was fun to be had while I was here.”

“Am I giving off that much of a vibe?” Will chuckled, taking his freshly filled drink.

“Huh?” Thomas asked, arching a brow.

“... Nevermind.” Will shook the plate of nachos. “But the way, these are to die for.”

Thomas picked up a chip with a heaping amount of cheese and meat on it. Most of the liquid dribbled onto his fingers. He ate it, before noisily sucking on his fingers.

Now that was just unfair. Will turned toward the bar, trying to subtly hunch over.

“A little salty for my taste, but the meat’s good enough,” Thomas said, sticking out his perfectly pink tongue and winking. He finished off his ale and then called for Jo.

“Let me get another drink, and one for him.”

Will fumbled with Thomas’ shirt, pulling it over the man’s head. A silver cross swung back and forth, a braided cord holding it around his neck. It seemed to be engraved, but Will’s eyes were elsewhere, hungrily looking over the body behind it. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d done things one would consider sacrilegious while people wore their holy symbols.

He’d personally left the faith a long time ago.

Their lips crashed together again, Thomas’ fingers twisting in his hair. That perfectly pink tongue pushed its way into Will’s mouth.

The taste of the pale ale was faint, which put Will a little more at ease. At least Thomas wasn’t blind drunk. They hadn’t been knocking back drinks, but it was always a gamble he hated taking when he took someone home.

Glasses askew, Thomas slipped his hands under Will’s shirt and slid it up. Lips trailed across his chest and stomach. Skin prickling and nipples pebbling, Will let out a groan. Back to his front door, Will eyed his bedroom.

Thomas had another eye tattoo on his left pec, right below his nipple, and another above his navel. It was odd, but at least it wasn’t anything hateful.

Readjusting his glasses, Thomas gave a soft chuckle. “I’ll admit, when I saw the woman eyeing you up at the bar… I knew I had to make my move.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Will pressed their bodies together. Scorching hot flesh, stomach, chest, hips…

Thomas dropped to his knees, starting to unbuckle Will’s belt. His hands were moving so fast, Will barely had time to react.

“Hold it!” Will put the heel of his palm to Thomas’ forehead. The motion seemed to stun him. Slowly, he looked up.

“What?” The tip of Thomas’ tongue poked out of his lips. It waggled back and forth, taunting him with what it would be doing shortly.

“Sorry, I’m a bit anal about this… No pun intended.” Will rolled his eyes at the wording and staggered out of Thomas’ grip to the bedroom. He was so hard it was hurting to walk. Every bit of friction from his clothing was agony on his cock.

When he pulled open the drawer on the nightstand, he retrieved a condom and a bottle of lube. He’d have to go out and buy more of both soon.

Thomas hung in the doorway, studying Will with crossed arms. His amber eyes flashed with lust. The piercing gaze made Will’s cock twitch, a wet spot forming on the fabric of his pants. God, he needed to fuck this man soon.

“You put that on…” Thomas said, walking over and slipping a hand into Will’s waistband. “I’ll take these off.” He unbuckled the belt, his eyes never leaving Will’s.

Once the pants hit the floor, Thomas eased down Will’s briefs. His quickly dampening head was already poking out of the waistband. Precum dribbled from the tip as the fabric slid down his thighs.

Slipping on the condom, Will sat on the bed. Thomas moved between his knees, parting them. His mouth wrapped around Will’s length, taking it in easily. As he bobbed his head back and forth, he caressed Will’s balls and stroked his thigh.

It was heavenly. Will tilted his head back and let the sensation roll over him. The hot and wet mouth did its job, making him feel the pleasure as though the condom wasn’t even there.

“If you’re this good all the time,” Will panted, pressing his hand on Thomas’ head to make him take it to the back of his throat. “I hope your job relocates you here.” Rocking his hips, he thrust upward.

Opening his mouth wide, Thomas gagged, the sensation nearly making Will explode. Drawing his head back, he looked up at Will, as if asking for approval. His lips came off the cock, before he began to trail his tongue up and down the shaft.

“Too much at once?” Will asked, feeling his cheeks burn. He cupped Thomas’ cheek, putting a thumb to his lips.

Thomas gave a quick nod, giving Will’s length a few strokes. His shoulders and chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. The lust seemed to be gone, but his actions weren’t slowing. Metal glinted as the cross swung back and forth.

“Be a little more gentle with me, please?” Lips went back to the tip, tongue swirling.

Burying his fingers in the nearly white hair, Will made a fist and pumped back and forth, making sure to be slower. Thomas’ mouth was tight and warm. The sucking sent a pleasant buzz through Will’s body.

“Your mouth feels really good,” Will moaned, tilting his head back. “You suck as well as you smooth talk.”

The chuckle that came from Thomas nearly brought Will to a climax. He managed to control himself. All this edging was going to do a number on him. Sweat formed on his upper lip and brow as his shoulders began to itch.

“What time is it?”

The question made Will shake his head. Fogs of lust muddled his brain, making it hard to register what was being asked.

“Ermm…” He fumbled for his phone, managing to grab it. Thomas’ mouth never left his cock, the sucking seeming to grow harder and faster. Clenching, Will managed to keep himself from cumming, despite Thomas’ best efforts.

It was nearly 3 am. They’d left right after last call. He hoped that he wasn’t keeping Thomas up too late. Then again, what even was Thomas’ job? Would lack of sleep affect it?

Thomas pulled himself off Will, panting hard. Rubbing his jaw, he looked at the erection, as if pondering what to do.

“Do you want to stop and leave?” Will peeled off the condom, more pre cum drooling out the tip of his cock. He hoped the answer was no.

“Just wanted to know…” Thomas panted, his fingers resting on his fly. “Do you… Want me to leave?”

Will shook his head. “Just got caught off guard by the question, is all.” He got a fresh condom as Thomas slipped off his pants.

He was wearing black briefs, which he quickly tugged off. The black eye gave way to golden hair on his groin. His cock was dripping, twitching with his heartbeat. Like the rest of his body, it was glistening with sweat.

The erection rubbed against him as Thomas’ lips crashed into Will’s again. Hand stroking Will’s length, Thomas let out soft moans.

Reaching out, Will stroked Thomas’ tip and shaft, getting a few whimpers and more precum dribbling down his fingers. Parting their kiss, Thomas bit his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as he thrust into Will’s grip.

“I almost don’t want you to let me go.” Chuckling nervously, he smiled and licked his lips. Panting hard, he let himself rub against Will’s grip a little longer. Warm breath tickled Will’s mouth as Thomas stared at his covered cock.

Straddling Will’s thighs, he kissed his lips, his neck, and the v of his collarbone. His thumb brushed against the curve of Will’s jaw, before he pulled back.

Thomas laid on his stomach, spreading his legs. His ass was perfectly round and muscled, his thighs thick and firm. Between this and his face, it was hard to pick which to look at.

Will lubed himself up, easing a finger into Thomas. Hissing with pain, Thomas clenched, making a fist into the sheets. Despite wanting to yank himself back, Will pulled out slowly. He prayed he wasn’t taking some poor stranger’s first time.

“Easy…” Will urged. “You’re gonna pull something.” Or break his finger. A trip to the hospital would have been a bad way to end the night.

“Sorry,” Thomas let go, taking in deep breaths. “Believe it or not, I don’t do this often.” He chuckled softly, the sound sending that pleasant buzz through Will again. His cheeks were bright red, although there was plenty of blood to keep him rock hard.

Will nodded, leaning over Thomas’ body. Through his fingertips, he could feel Thomas’ heart racing. Trailing his nails over Thomas’ back, Will felt the gooseflesh forming.

Easing his digit back into Thomas, he slipped it back and forth. Thomas let out whimpers, grabbing one of the pillows and burying his face into it. Even muffled, the noises drove Will crazy. His cock felt like it was about to rip through the condom.

Adding another helping of lube, Will lined himself up.

“Just let me know if you want to stop,” His lips brushed against Thomas’ ear as he spoke. Thomas let out a shuddering breath in response, wriggling his ass as Will.

As he slipped inside, Thomas gasped. Grabbing the sheets again, he kept a white knuckled grip as Will pushed in deeper. He was tight as the fist he was making.

“Fuck…” Will brushed hair from his eyes, giving his hips a few test rocks. Thomas gasped at the motion.

“Keep going,” Thomas grunted. “I can take it…”

Placing his arms on either side of Thomas, Will began to thrust. Thomas yelped, burying his face into the pillows again. Closing his eyes, he continued to rock back and forth, letting sensation take over.

Thomas’ gasps turned from pained to excited, then slipped into moans. Will increased his speed, thrusting harder and deeper, pressing himself completely onto Thomas. Their skin was slick with sweat, their bodies slipping over one another. Seizing Thomas’ hair, Will turned his head back, their lips meeting.

Moaning into his mouth, Thomas nibbled on Will’s lip, before tossing back his head Will seemed to hit the right spot. His whole body clenched, jizz spurting from his cock.

The motion made Will grunt, and he finally let himself go over the edge. Even with the condom, he could see some white fluid on Thomas’ ass. Slowly, he eased himself out. Thomas’ body completely collapsed onto the bed, his hair falling around his head in a halo. A few strands clung to his temple, which Will found himself kissing.

“Let's get you cleaned up…” He muttered into Thomas’ brow.

In the darkness, a pair of eyes fell onto Thomas. He could feel them. Will’s sleeping form was in the crook of his elbow, dark hair falling over his chest. Tracing his thumb over Will’s shoulder, Thomas looked back and forth.

Then, he saw the icy blue eyes in the window. Wisps of brown hair twisted in the wind. The eye on the back of Thomas’ hand opened, a beacon of white piercing through the darkness. The cross around his throat changed into a dagger, the leather cord forming the hilt. At the sight of the gleaming metal, the demon’s features twisted and it let out a soundless scream.

It spiraled and turned into the shadows, vanishing as the first rays of dawn began to peek through the window.

He’d brought the people of this quiet town another night of peace. And he was fine with that.

[clickerflight]

Burned at the stake - Part 1

Well. I have done it. 14K ish words. I'll put this out in about 5 bits me thinks. Anyways, enjoy!

Content: Vampire whumpee, out of body experience (?), mention of vampire trafficking, burning flesh

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list

.....................................

Fanatic was a word often tied to cults, to religious nuts, to conspiracy theorists, which really is quite narrow minded. The word fanatic more often applies to a wider range of people, more specifically known as anthropology students. After all, who else would spend outrageous amounts of money and time to go to some remote jungle that could most certainly kill them in a thousand different ways for the remote chance that they might find some ancient temple that some random drunk dude swore till he was blue was there, and also very haunted. 

So, yes, Joanna was having just about as much fun as a human being could experience as she hacked her way through the brush ahead of her slightly less enthusiastic colleague, Kyle. Because he had more of his wits about her (more but not much more as he was a student of ancient languages and only here in case they found the temple and something needed to be translated) he was slowed by making sure they marked the path back clearly. 

“Joanna, when was the last time you looked at the map?”

“Kyle, you know as well as I that time does not exist out here,” she replied, pausing to get a sip of water before pushing forward again. “But we do not need a map! All we need is our hearts and our minds!”

Kyle laughed as she flashed him a grin while reaching to pull out the map and check the compass. “Yeah, we’re on track.”

“Good,” Kyle replied. “Do you know how much farther we need to go?”

“Well, probably another 2 or 3 miles but…..”

Kyle paused, looking at Joanna who’s movements became more purposeful and smooth, like she was completing a ritual. Kyle felt it as well. There was a tension in the air. Something that said they would discover something interesting soon, like the forest was holding its breath while it waited for their reaction. 

And now that he thought about it, the birds had all gone silent. 

Joanna had noticed as well, and she slowed down so he could catch up with her. His shoulder brushed hers as she paused, leaning to see past the foliage ahead. It almost seemed as though there was a man-made clearing, and the tension in the air went from intriguing to nerve wracking. Kyle glanced past Joanna who tightened her grip on her machete and pushed forward. The foliage around the clearing was dense, and the effort to get through it left Joanna and Kyle exhausted as they took turns cutting the vines. Kyle was so exhausted, in fact, that when he broke through the foliage with one last swing his tired arms and legs didn’t expect the lack of resistance and he fell through into the clearing. 

A cloud of fine particles filled the air around him, coating his mouth as Kyle took a surprised breath. Kyle coughed hard, stirring up the ash around him as he forced himself up and out of the cloud he had stirred into the air, trying to find fresh air as Joanna came out behind him. 

Kyle continued coughing out a lung or two as she stood there silently, and as his voice came back to him, he choked out, “I’m fine, by the way.” He coughed, listening for Joanna’s apology or joke or-

He blinked hard, eyes watering as he turned to look at her. “Joanna? I-” 

Joanna was pale and staring at something behind him. He turned quickly, ash swirling up around his feet. The ash was everywhere in the clearing. The clearing was huge, as well, as though it had been burned and razed. Or maybe the thick layers of ash were killing off life and keeping the plants from coming back in the clearing. 

The immense expanse of ash, so strange and wrong compared to the jungle that refused to touch the clearing, was nothing compared to what was in the middle. 

A pole jutted from the ground, silver chains nearly hidden in the ashes underneath the charred and blackened mass skewered on the pole. There was the faint shape of ribs in the mass, the whole thing smoking faintly in the sun.

“Uhhhhhhhh, what’s that?” Kyle asked softly, but his voice seemed to ring in his ears without the dense foliage to muffle it. 

“I dunno, but I’m gonna touch it,” Joanna said, kicking her way through the ashes with a scared, though determined step. 

“Joanna!? What do you mean you’re gonna touch it!?” he cried, reaching forward to stop her. 

She dodged past him, turning grey as the ash melted into the sweat of her body. She reached the charred mass on the pole and reached out a hand, brushing over it. She screamed and jumped back as more ash and char crumbled through her fingers. Kyle reached her, nearly knee deep in ashes. 

More of the black char crumbled away, and something pale peaked through what remained of the ribs. Something that pulsed and flinched. 

Holding his breath, Kyle leaned forward as Joanna vigorously wiped her hand off on her pants. 

“Er….. I think this was.. Is it a vampire?”

“What?”

“There’s a heart under here. Still beating,” Kyle replied, not removing his eyes from the heart which seemed to be fused to the pole which skewered up, just barely missing it. He was trying not to be sick, but his stomach churned right along with the pulsing of the vampire heart. 

Joanna shoved him out of the way so she could look, and Kyle was glad for it as he hadn’t been sure he would be able to look away. He grabbed his water out and sipped on it, shivering slightly as he dealt with what he’d just seen. 

“What do we…. What do we do with it?” Joanna asked, reaching in and touching the heart very gently, almost stroking it like one would do to the chest of a friendly bird. She watched as the heart fluttered and she touched it again gently. This time the heart pulsed in response and she found herself whispering, “It’s alright. We’re not leaving you here.”

“We’re not taking that thing, are we?” Kyle asked. “What if it was left here because it was, I dunno, a monster or something?”

“So we should just leave it here?”

“We… well, we shouldn’t leave it to suffer, obviously, but we could, er…. I’m sure we could find a stick…”

“We’re not killing it. That’s murder,” Joanna replied, still stroking the pale heart. 

“We should call the government, then. This isn’t our problem!”

Joanna gave him a withering look, cupping the heart and shielding it from the sun as more of the chest cavity collapsed. “And they’ll kill it for sure. You know that this country doesn’t ‘waste’ resources on vampire recoveries.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Kyle said. He took another sip from his water and sighed. “Alright. Are we going to smuggle it back with us?”

“We have to.”

Kyle sighed. “Alright. We’d better take it back to the hotel and figure out how we’re going to get it back home. You’re carrying it.”

“Chicken,” Joanna said with a sharp grin. “Could you pass me your handkerchief?”

Kyle nodded and handed her a couple clean ones from his bag, most of them out of ziplocks and already damp to help with staying cool while they hiked, as he usually used them for. 

Joanna gently wrapped them around the heart and cooed at it. “I’m sorry, love, this is gonna hurt.”

She gently pried the heart from the pole, which revealed itself to be made of silver and had burned the heart to the metal. The heart thumped irregularly as she pulled it away from the pole, leaving charred flesh behind. It nearly squirmed right out of her hands and she shushed it, pulling it more gently until she had the swathed heart shivering in her hands. 

She stood up and turned, still cooing at the heart and stroking it gently, making sure the sun wouldn’t get to it by wrapping it in another piece of cloth. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Kyle said with a heavy sigh. They turned back and made their way out of the jungle slowly and surely. With the heart tucked into her bag, they got a taxi in the rundown town to get back to their hotel room.

As soon as they had the door locked behind them and were all settled, she pulled the heart out. The wrappings were dried out now, though the heart looked a bit better for being damp. She went and made the handkerchiefs wet again, wrapping them around the heart, which still flinched when she touched it, but seemed to be beating at a steadier rate. 

“We need a plan,” Joanna said. 

Kyle sighed, sinking into the bed. “We can’t keep it here. There are only so many times we can extend the trip, and if it’s discovered it’ll be confiscated and destroyed…. Or worse.”

Joanna nodded faintly. The two of them were well acquainted with the fact that there were dark markets trading in pieces of vampire hearts, claiming them to be ancient creatures with fantastic knowledge of the past. Most of the time, the poor things weren’t allowed to grow and were just kept in a silver lined box and treated like an interesting old trinket. Or they were grown out, forced to tell all they knew, and then they had their hearts removed again so they could be easily stored or sold on. You didn’t get into anthropology without first dividing which side of that moral quandary you stood. Many of their peers were actually lobbying for even more rights for vampires so this sort of thing would be cracked down on a bit harder, though she knew that the laws they volleyed for were specifically ones that would put vampire hearts in the hands of people like them. Of course it would be in the name of helping ancient vampires transition with people who understand a bit of the world they used to live in before they were stripped of their bodies, but the motivations were the dreams of getting useful information first, and straight from the source.

Joanna would be lying if she didn’t have the same thoughts when they were riding back from the jungle.

“I guess that just leaves the matter of how we’re going to get it back,” Joanna said. “I used to know some guys we could have shipped it with, but they got arrested a couple of months ago….”

“It probably wouldn’t be safe to ship it. It might get eaten by rats on the way, or someone might hear it thumping,” Kyle replied, standing up to have a look at the heart. “I think you might have to hide it under your shirt or something.”

“Under my shirt?” She asked, annoyed. “Why my shirt?”

“Because you can use your bra to keep it from falling out,” Kyle said, sounding ashamed with having to even voice the idea out loud. 

“Bold of you to assume I wear one,” Joanna said to get back at him. He spluttered in a very amusing fashion and she laughed, the heart in her hands picking up the pace for a moment. 

“Alright,” she said when Kyle looked close to fainting with embarrassment. “I guess that’s fair. But someone at the gate will absolutely notice that my shirt is moving every time it does.”

Kyle sighed. “We have a few more days. Maybe we can find some way of making it be still for long enough to get through the gate. There has to be something.”

Joanna gave him a long-suffering look. “Fine. Hold this,” she said, passing the heart to him before pulling out her phone and typing ‘How to get a vampire heart to stop moving.’

………………………..

There had been pain for a very long time. How long? How does one count heartbeats when one does not have fingers to aid them? Does time even matter in the face of all of that pain? Reasoning certainly doesn’t. One learns to stop questioning the why of the pain, and try to adapt ways of ignoring it. Or using it in intervals to stay sane. 

What was worse than the pain was when there was no more body to feel. Just a heartbeat to keep the time. The nothingness lasted…. Less than the pain? It was hard to tell. It was almost worse. There was no way to grow anymore, to try and escape from this place, so finding ways to stay sane became almost nonexistent. There was an occasional burning that would bring sanity back, but never for long, like the brush of a finger over a hot stone to remember what heat was like before it was doused out in a river. 

Being a heart, you couldn’t properly muse. You couldn’t have proper thoughts. Just memories that played in an order of thinking. A mockery of it, like drawings of a sunrise to try and describe a sunset. 

Still, it was all one had left when put in such a position. Playing memories over and over in a semblance of thoughts, hoping that the use of them in this way would not damage or destroy them. 

The heart had given up on stringing memories into thoughts. It was tiresome and sad. Instead playing out favorites. The heart had grown quite good at this over time and had begun to use its infinite time to uncover new ones. Like digging. Brushing aside the sand of time like the sands in the -

“Maman! Can I dig in the garden?”

“Yes, Esial. Listen for me when I call for you!”

“Yes, Maman!”

Sand on the edge of the herb garden. Maman was a healer. Esial, the young boy with bright eyes and sticky fingers got to digging, using a nice stick he found. Usually, he would dig out lines and pull leaves off of plants and trees, shoving them in the dirt so he could have his own garden and he’d show his Maman, and she would always aww and coo at him and scoop him up. They would show father when he got home. 

But just as he started this wonderful pastime, his stick scraped past a rock. He stopped and used his fingers to scoop away the dirt. The stone was small and rather round. The black color took hold of his imagination. It could be an amulet! It had to be! Why else would this small stone be so black and shiny? He giggled as he ran around, pretending to vanquish evil with every wave of the stone until his father came home and saw him. 

His father had been very keen to listen to Esial describe the magic powers the stone had. 

“I don’t know about putting flight and fire blasts into the same stone, but we can see what we can do.”

The workshop smelled like mint and sage and his father started painstakingly carving runes into the stone, whispering about what they meant and how they would protect his little Esial. 

The Heart wished it could remember all the details. 

“There,” his father said, putting a leather cord through the hole he’d drilled out with some sort of magic. “Try this on.”

Esial did, and was delighted. He loved his amulet more than anything! Except perhaps the blanket Nanan had made for him when he was born. He decided he would always keep it on him so he would-

“THERE! GET IT!!!”

Esial ran through the trees, heart thumping stolen blood through his body. He’d been so hungry. He’d needed something and it was better that it was an animal than a person, right?

“THIS WAY!”

Esial came sliding to a stop and ran in another direction, not wanting to be cut off by the hunters. He reached up to his chest to grab his amulet, but his pale fingers closed on empty air. His amulet? His AMULET! Where did he-

The Heart stopped that memory in its tracks. The Heart had control over the memories, and it didn’t want to watch that one again. Not again. 

Instead, the heart reached for a memory of teenage years, pondering over them all to-

East blood. 

There was a hand, pounding with east blood cradling the Heart. Why were there hands? Pain, burning, screams, flinching, fear-

The fingers smoothed over the Heart. Memories of Maman smoothing down hair lovingly surfaced and the Heart slowed, now more curious than scared. Something cool, moist, damp, was wrapped around it. The Heart relished in the feeling before the hands tugged. Sharp pain tore alongside the Heart as it was ripped from something and the fear came back as more cool, moist, damp was wrapped around it. 

Time passed and the Heart got the sense of… movement. They were going somewhere. The Heart couldn’t sense the hands anymore, though. But it was moving

Eventually, the damp, cool, moist was pulled away and the East Hands stroked the heart directly. The Heart did not think, but it did hope. 

The East hands placed the Heart in new ones. Rougher, bigger, Northwest blood. The Northwest hands held the Heart, though did not stroke it. The Heart grew nervous as it sensed the anxiety in the blood flow beneath it. Soon enough, though, the East hands were back and were stroking it again. The Heart relaxed just enough that, when the cold, dry, freezing touched its flesh, it was merely confused rather than afraid. That changed very soon as the East hands left and disappeared entirely. The fear became vivid and sharp as the cold enveloped The quickly beating Heart. But as the heart got cold, it grew tired. And even more so. The fear dropped to mild anxiety, then to malcontent tiredness. Then…. Nothing.

Part 2

@whumpsday

[rollforimagination]

Campaign Idea

Knock Knock it’s COMMUNISM. BITCHES.

Description: You (players) sad (capitalism) so you (players) spread happiness (communism)

Tip: Make one character the DnD version of fucking Karl Marx, it doesn’t matter the class or the race but make them a philosopher/writer that’s working on writing a book about their ideals, and during the campaign they could cite some passages (the player has to read the book)

Functionality: If the player reading the book (so Karl Marx) bought the actual Das Kapital they have disadvantage on all rolls involving the book, if they have it by some “other” ways they add a d8 to the rolls.

If the player doesn’t have Das Kapital, but another player does and they give it to the player, they will have advantage on the rolls involving the book.

Tip2: You could make that, one time for long/short rest, if the DnD Marx’s player uses the book the player who gave it to them will receive either 1 inspiration point or 2d12 Temporary HitPoints, or other shiny looking stuff

Characters:

Karl Marx (Mage, y’know, using the book for two uses? Paladin, finally the communist one?)

an ex underpaid server of an inn that quit to join them (very nice if the race of the character is one of the hated ones, or even better if they’re a half tiefling half elf, doubling the racism, to add a little bit of flavour to their backstory and to the setting) (class? Either Monk or Rogue. I mean, someone who gets attacked everyday for their race? 99% of the time that shit results into being able to punch back)

An ex knight who saw how corrupted the monarchy is and it’s tired of it (additional points if it’s the big bear of the group, tall, muscled and hairy and always ready to take a hit for Karl Marx) they are the first two of the group and known each other for a long time (maybe Karl was the mage of the king?)

A Druid who was stuck in their dog-cat-animal form/someone who was cursed to be polymorphed into a dog for the last 15 years, now that the witch who cursed them has been killed they are free but unable to afford anything because for all this time they obviously didn’t had a job, and their family thinks that they died long ago so they would never believe them to be the same person (maybe also because mow they have some dog-cat-animal facial traits? Not too weird but enough to not recognise your own child) and so they have no money, and were forced to live on the streets begging for some food and money.

Tip3: Maybe now they are Shifters (the race), or Tabaxi or they still randomly transform into that animal (roll a d100 every turn of combat and after doing something that the DM or them thinks is important, on a 10 (up to 30) or lower they transform into the animal they were polymorphed for 3d8 minutes (the d100 still needs to be rolled while they’re an animal, and if they roll a “turning into the animal” number, they roll the 3d8 again and add that to the total). Also they should be able to know the language of the animal that they were since they spent 15 years as one.

An artificer who is a genius but since their inventions are not enough “profitable” or “gives too much to the poor” and “damage the economy” as some rich ass bastards always say before scrapping the idea of founding their creations. They are sick of this and just want to create things to make life better for everyone, who cares about economy and money? They sure don’t!

A warlock who once was a healer in a temple, Ka’rl revealed them (since they couldn’t leave the temple for religious purposes) that those who couldn’t afford to be healed were left to die and that they healed only those who paid an invent price before even simply entering the temple. Due to the shock, they not only lost any faith in their cause (their religion didn’t involve a God or at least not an existing one) but their anger caught the attention of a Celestial Being with whom they made a pact with to make this nonsense stop. (Maybe make that the Celestial Being proved to have the power to do so by healing everyone in the entire city, since the warlock from now on should be filled with trust issues)

An earth genasi/elf ranger, that witnessed the exploitation of natural resources by the ruling class, that hurt not only the lower class but also animals and other creatures. They now seeks to reclaim the land for the people and help Ka’rl establish a society where nature and its resources are shared equally.

A Robin Hood parody, but who steals stuff instead of money (like food and other goods) because they were the accountant of a Duke and now how to fuck up economy (double points if they become best friend with the artificer and use their inventions to steal more stuff)

Inspiration: this (sad) meme ⬇️

Thanks to @guerrillatech (and to @wizard-kisser that always reblog good materials that I feed my brain with and doesn’t even know)

[quiietjay]

i hate people who "think about the roman empire a lot"

I absolutely do not trust people who "think about the roman empire a lot" unless they think "oh wow ancient civilization cool" because if you know literally anything about the roman empire then you'd fucking know that maybe glorifying it is probably a fucking red flag. I am going to rant as to why the Roman Empire sucked and is ass and why it's fucked that people "think about it a lot." It's a long one.

My view on the roman empire primarily comes from my art history studies, but I'm pretty firm in the belief that since art is reflective of its period's culture, conflicts and views that you can relatively safely judge a culture by its art. and I know that morality is ultimately relative and subjective depending on culture and the time period, but honestly here I could give less of a shit especially when that same morality is being applied to modern day by a certain people.

The Romans' art, or what's left of it at least, is almost entirely comprised of art depicting the emperors or other high-ranking officials. Most art in the Roman Empire was propaganda for the emperor or erected in celebration of the conquest of peace arising from the conquering of other people. There is some Roman art that is more focused on the domestic side of things, but most Roman art, at least the art that mattered in the culture at large, was emperor propaganda.

"But Jay! The Romans had the strongest army in the world at the time! Not to mention their technological innovations that changed the world forever! It's no wonder they thought they were the best!" I strawman. They did invent the strongest concrete known to man, arches, aquifers, whatever, but the ancient Romans could have invented particle accelerators and I would not hate them any less. All that those were were excuses to beat down on the 'lesser' men. Oh look! I can irrigate more efficiently than you and i have plumbing! Surrender or die. And this is not even touching upon the blood sports. I could write paragraphs upon paragraphs for why the Colosseum is probably one of the more disgusting things to come out of human history, but I'll try to keep it short. I know about all the human sacrifices in other cultures like the Aztecs cutting the hearts out of young men alive and then throwing their bodies down their temple and whatever else you want to say. You could argue it's worse that the Colosseum's purpose. But the Aztecs? They thought that if they didn't do that then their god would end the entire fucking world. The Romans? They watched slaves kill each other and let people get mauled by lions for funsies. They executed prisoners in cruel and unusual ways. There was no ritualistic or religious connotation for it. They just wanted to watch people die for fun.

Back to art, comparing this to a different culture, most other cultures do not revere their leaders to tthe extent of being nauseating. The only other example that i can think of that enables this cult of personality to this degree were MAYBE the ancient Egyptians, they literally believed that the pharaoh was their god incarnate- they were born for the duty of king, and while their art focused much on the pharaohs and mythology, they did not have the same emphasis on the pharaoh as the Romans did their emperor, most art celebrating the pharaohs were commissioned by the kings themselves and usually used to decorate their tombs and there was no need to essentially dickride the pharaoh. Everyone already fucking knew the pharaoh was the one in charge. Even though the pharaoh was their god-king other art was allowed to exist.

Roman art is pretty, sure, but their art reveres conquest and tyranny. most statues were elevated in honor of conquering other cultures or to celebrate generals that did. The Greeks did marble statues first. Actually, speaking of the Greeks, the Roman pantheon (until SOMEONE made Christianity the main Roman religion (Constantine)) was just a copy of the Greek pantheon and replaced their names with what are now the names of our solar system's planets. They changed Zeus into Jupiter, Poseidon into Neptune, etc.. These guys just took Greek culture and forced it widescale and made everyone else have to deal with it.

To recap, Roman art is shallow, inherently imperialist, narcissistic bullshit. Even compared to other cultures they were fucking psychopaths. And to add insult to injury, they were unoriginal. And I'm going to explain why the FUCK all of this matters to me in modern day since obviously, the Ancient Romans are long-dead, their empire gone.

I can start out with what the definition of an "empire" is. Rome is arguably one of the first long-surviving Empires in human history, and even more arguably one of the most important ones in the world, yes, I'm saying in the world because the Roman Empire, even if just indirectly, has caused almost everyone on earth's lives to change drastically. The Romans were the ones who first came up with the concept of an "empire" and its meaning in its relation with the conquered. For a long time, the title of "empire" was tied directly to a country's relationship with ancient Rome. This is why the Holy Roman Empire existed as it did and why so many other states were eager to claim inheritance to the legacy of Rome.

We can see Rome's effects far and wide even in more modern history. Many fascist states took big inspiration from Rome (the Nazis, and Fascist Italy particularly.) The super cool idea of Gigantic Conquering Empire Chosen By God was so appetizing to the general western public that it's had attempted reenactments several times over.

People throughout history, and even nowadays, glorified the Roman Empire to such a degree that some consider it the peak of human history, ever. Even now it remains relevant unfortunately in our daily lives.

This allows me to finally get up to modern day and particularly the rise of neo nazis and marble statue pfps which is kind of what spurred this whole thing.

You know why all the trad marble statue pfps on twitter have the reputation that they do? Fascists and imperialists revere other fascist and imperialists. the people who think about the roman empire today (white men) admire the Roman Empire in unsavory ways, even if they don't know it. They admire the conquest, the slavery, the propaganda, the self-absorbedness of the Empire. They wish that modern day countries were more like the Roman Empire. They wish that war and conquest was glorified again (at least much more than it is now,) they want that narcissist propaganda art back.

They do not care for art any further than the aesthetic value and how it upholds their already-held beliefs, just like the Romans. All they care about is keeping the status quo and keeping a cult of personality intact and keeping everyone in line as much as possible. This is the exact same mindset that the Nazis had and what led to their demonization of modernist art and their "degenerate" art exhibitions, and what leads to fashy art mindsets now.

So with ALL of this, what I am ultimately saying about people who glorify the Roman Empire is that they are glorifying imperialism, narcissism, conquest, and war. What I am saying is that you should steer clear of men who think about the Roman Empire "a lot" because chances are that their views at least to some extent align with fascist and imperialist ideologies, IF they are not ignorant and think "man... big country.... strong....".

Run away if they know anything about the Roman Empire outside of the abridged synopsis of their history. RUN if their admiration of the Roman Empire is reflective of their view on art and how society, in general, should be run. Stop saying "x is my roman empire" because "x" is not the imperialist country you admire and wish to bring the philosophies from it to modern day.

If you've read this far, you might think that I'm reading too much into all of this, and you know what? you're probably right. But I've seen too many trads and fascists on the fucking internet not to see patterns where there are and my knowledge of Rome, its consequences, and what it means for modern day informs me NOT TO FUCK WITH PEOPLE WHO "THINK ABOUT THE ROMAN EMPIRE A LOT."

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Maybe you should… go on a journey. See the world more.

Aka, ‘Please leave because you’re terrifying the newbies who are actually scared you’ll kill them.’

Skalar scoffed as she washed her face in the cool rushing river. If the brats who came to the Temple wanted to become appropriately trained, they should get used to someone breaking things.

… okay maybe breaking Jared’s arm was a bit far.

… and perhaps she didn’t need to climb up that tree and fall to ruin that cart on purpose, even if the owner was scum.

… and- you know what, no. Yeah, they were right to send her off to calm down.

The Hill Dwarf sighed, taking a moment to remove her blonde hair from its bun, the thick curls falling to her shoulders. She stuck her head into the river, removing some of the sweat clinging to her. Her pale skin possessed red burns already from the heat, and Skalar wondered why in the Hells she went to Anauroch. She had a reason to search out any forgotten ruins, but the heat was killing the monk. She got lucky there was a single river she’d stumbled upon.

Pulling her head out, she shook her head like a dog before gathering the curls haphazardly to put them back into a bun. She’d fiddle with it later. Maybe she’d finally shave the hair off. Maybe not.

She readjusted her pack before standing. No reason to stick around the desert if it was going to be that damn hot. She walked off, wondering where to go. She honestly… huh, when was the last time she’d left the Temple? When she was… wow…

“I feel so young,” Skalar said out loud. It was true, she supposed. She was only fifty-five. Young for a dwarf, given they could live to 350. And she’d been at the temple since she was twelve, a street rat of a child who tried to steal from a monk who had, instead of hurting her, smiled and taken her to the Temple. The place was different then most centers of worship. Monks, clerics, paladins and priests lived there, all working together. The lifestyle focused on simplicity and worship in everyday actions.

Skalar loved it, loved the training, and while she never considered herself to be religious despite living there for decades, she found herself thanking the gods daily for what they do. The only issue would forever be Skalar’s rage within. The bitter anger within the dwarf bubbled up at random times.

Rage at her parents for dumping her on the streets (Papa, mama, come back).

Rage at the world for hating her for living on said streets (Just another rat scurrying about).

Rage at the snobby assholes who chose a life at the Temple for dumb reasons (Oh, I’ll be stripped of my birthright if I don't, oh I did it for a girl, oh I did it cause my friend is).

A monk should never let the feelings they hold overwhelm themselves. She could never follow that teaching. It wasn’t in her nature.

Skalar sighed as the sands beneath her feet became rock and grass. There was no point in dwelling on things. She may have been… pushed into taking a journey, but she’d do her damn best to enjoy it. Perhaps she would go to Baldur’s Gate or even Neverwinter? Oh! Candlekeep sounded fun, too!

The woman smiled to herself before she began humming on her walk. The sun was shining, and it was damn hot, but a shadow slowly fell over her. A cloud! She looked up only to freeze.

That… was not a cloud.

A massive ship with tentacles hung in the air, one of said tentacles flinging down. Skalar ran, hoping to avoid the thing-

Then blackness.

[screeching-0wl]

Hi I realise that this probably isn’t the kind of ask that you usually get but I’ve been wanting to get into Hellenic polytheism for a little while now but have no idea where to start. Are there certain books or texts I should read? Are there values or rules I should know to follow? do I need to be of a specific nationality or worship specific gods within the religion? How do I pray and make altars? Are there specific clothing garments that should be worn?

again I’m sorry for the bombardment of questions but I have been scouring the internet looking for how best to go about this and have found nothing so I thought it would just be best to ask someone.

thank you in advance if you do end up answering this but if you don’t that’s understandable and thank you anyway :)

Hi there! It's alright. I'm open to all sorts of asks and happy to help!

Before we get into it, I'll be talking about some things that might be quite traditional, things I use as someone who relies on historical accuracy in my practice to a certain degree. You don't need to strictly do everything like the ancients did. If you'd like to reconstruct in your practice that's awesome. I know from my own experience that it can be difficult at first, so don't be too hard on yourself if you can't do something. It takes time, patience and a lot of learning.

Texts

IMO the basics are The Iliad, The Odyssey, Theogony, Homeric Hymns and such.

Theoi.com is a fantastic resource for myths, cults, and historical information on the gods. The website has a library where you can find plenty of classical texts.

Here's my post on how mythology applies to religion. I'd like to edit it soon and add a couple things but maybe you'll find it helpful.

These also might be helpful:

Perseus Digital Library

Sacred Texts - classics

What to avoid:

Hellenic Online Groups/Forums to Avoid

Authors to Watch Out For in Hellenismos

Rules

You don't need to be of a specific nationality, ethnicity or come from a specific background. It's an open religion, meaning everyone's welcome regardless of where they come from!

There is no one specific strict set of rules one needs to follow in order to be a Hellenic Polytheist. There are certain customs, for example when it comes to worship and of course, remember to learn and respect the culture and the tradition.

If we observe the history, there are things that might seem like some form of rules but it didn't just regard the religion. It was also about functioning in the ancient society and religion played an important role in said society. Not all of these rules may be applicable nowadays, though and they could vary in different regions.

Some of them include:

Don't violate Xenia

Stay true to your oaths

Don't allow Agos

Don't abuse supplicants

Stand against murder

Bury the dead

Try to approach the gods while washed

Obey sacred laws (they varied depending on the sanctuary)

Respect Pythia

Do not steal from temples

Now, in the modern-day reconstruction of the Ancient Greek religion, these are the so-called Pillars of Hellenismos:

Ethike Arête - the practice of habitual excellence

Eusebia - reverence, loyalty, and sense of duty toward the Gods

Hagneia - the maintaining of ritual purity by avoiding miasma

Nomos Arkhaios - observance of ancient tradition, (religious) law, and customs

Sophia - the pursuit of wisdom, understanding, and truth

Sophrosune - the control of self through deep contemplation

Xenia - adherence to hospitality and the guest-host relationship

It's more of a modern thing created for the purpose of reconstruction and has its origins in philosophy. They're pretty much the ideals the ancients admired and strived for, which can be mirrored in one's practice. I think they can be quite helpful. Not everyone follows the same pillars, however. They may vary depending on the practitioner.

Prayer & altar space

Your altar can be as extra or as simple as you want. Essentially, it's a space you dedicate to the gods. The altar doesn't need to be super big or too fancy. It's up to you. You can have one altar for multiple gods or a general home altar. It's quite practical. You can also have separate altars to the deities of your choice but that's not a requirement. For example, I have a general altar for Theoi where I normally pray and make offerings and separate altars for my patrons.

Some "basic" elements an altar could include are:

Candles

Something to burn the incense

A place for the offerings, e.g. a plate/bowl

A depiction of the deity, e.g. a statue, drawing, image

Something that reminds you of the, e.g. their symbols

You don't need to spend a fortune. Handmade things are always a good way to honour the gods.

If you need to practice in secret you could make a "hidden" altar. I mentioned it here: LINK

When it comes to prayer, traditionally there are some customs depending on the deity:

When praying to Ouranic [heavenly] Gods, one should stand with hands outstretched in the air and palms facing upward

When praying to Chthonic [underworld] Gods, hands mustn’t be raised, and the prayer should be murmured

When praying to Einalic [sea] Gods, Nymphs and spirits of the earth, arms must be spread wide towards the sea; the hands are also be facing the cult image

You can pray out loud or silently, though. I often do it "in my head" whenever I can't do it out loud.

One more important thing. I won't ramble about it here but here's a great post about purification and miasma: LINK

Getting dressed

It's not required to wear a certain type of clothing however, if you're down for something like that veiling could be an option. Its purpose was to exhibit modesty. It was a common practice among women but it was not exclusive to them, men did veil as well.

It's a good way to honour Hestia, for example as she's known to wear a veil herself.

Here's an amazing post about it listing different styles: LINK

The most well know form of veiling involved using Himation, a rectangular cloak or shawl wrapped around the body and thrown over the left shoulder, like on the picture above but a more simple way to veil could even be wearing a beanie.

Or... you could always do it Achilles' way lmao! ↑ Whatever floats your boat!

Additional links

Here are some posts that might be useful:

Hellenic Polytheism Masterpost

Hellenic Polytheism 101

Cheat sheets for Hellenic deities

Offerings (traditionally)

Misinfo about Hellenismos

Hubris

[dailyadventureprompts]

Out of curiosity, how do you think one could spin a Good aligned blood religious organization. Like blood rituals are an easy clue for some scary evil necromancy etc, but I was still stuck on the idea of a religious order that heavily relies on blood magic for, I don’t know, fertility or life based magic? In which maybe the shedding of blood is more akin to blood donorship, or something where the real blessing is not in blood shed itself but celebrating the body’s ability to heal?

Deity:Sekhmet, Lady of Life and Slaughter

When the heat of your blood feels like the scorching presence of the sun, whether in anger or in fever or in passion, you will know she is with you. Greet her with a smile, and dig your teeth into your foes.

Setup: As with their patron, the cult of Sekhmet has taken many forms throughout history, ranging from healers to generals to blood-mad killers. The lion headed goddess herself was said to have been created as a judgement upon the world, a scourge against mortals for their disobedience towards the gods. As her priests tell it, Sekhmet was too fit for her purpose and would have driven the mortals to extinction, had the gods ( or some clever hero) not intervened and tricked her into drinking a lakes worth of booze adulterated to look like blood. 

Drunk enough to see reason ( and deciding she liked beer way more than she liked the taste of human flesh), Sekhmet relented, going on to become a protector and distributor of justice. It’s this incongruity of a “tame” apocalypse god that characterizes her worship to this day: Sure her breath is the killing heat of the desert and her displeasure manifests as plague, but that’s all the more reason to keep the goddess happy through cheer and good works. Sure in her time the Lioness devoured whole cities and cut down armies with sword and claw, but who’d dwell on awful things like those when we could throw a festival and get sloshed instead? 

Sekhmet’s doctrine is a sort of benign nihilism that appeals to those who have seen the very worst the world has to offer, soldiers, survivors, and the dishonored who know that the “goodness” of the world is a thin veneer over an abyss of unremitting horror, yet choose to try and make it better regardless. They embrace the dichotomy of a slaughter god that has chosen peace, adorning themselves with weapons, fangs, and blood-invoking paint while going about their lives as healers, hosts, and peacekeepers. Though the majority of folk regarded these bloodied acolytes with wariness, those that know the cult of Sekhmet know there are fewer truer allies to call upon in a crisis. 

Adventure Hooks:

While exploring the city, the party comes across the steps of a small temple laden with gold and other offerings, shadowed door open but seemingly unoccupied. Within they find the vivacious priestess Meryet, who’s otherwise pristine white robes are stained crimson around the edges, and who’s laugh is so deep and rich it makes their skin prickle in delight. She explains that the offerings are left by those who’ve received healing at this temple, an open display of their thanks and an invitation to those who would work in the service of the lioness. Meryet exalts the party to partake in divine slaughter: beasts, bandits, the unjust, anyone and anything who would improve the world should their blood run out upon the sand. She hints at wondrous rewards should the party wield their weapons in Sekhmet’s name, as the goddess observes all good works and would see them duly rewarded.

Plague has broken out in a settlement, followed shortly after by a series of grisly murders that are at first thought to be the result of attacks of a bloodthirsty animal. The apprentice of the local healer has gone half mad with loss and secondhand fever as the lady of slaughter whispers to him of those that are to blame. When night falls and his blood boils, he transforms into a great lion, hunting those who let the poor languish in squalor, or those who broke quarantine to see to their own amusements. He remains mostly unaware of these transformations, save for the grim satisfaction he takes every time he hears of a new victim.

The party are fortunate enough to be in town in time for a grand celebration, and end up running into a small congregation of Sekhmet’s devoted who are distributing pomegranate beer to the revelers as an offering to their goddess. The congregation is led by a retired mercenary who has plenty of stories to tell should the party be willing to listen over a drink, and might give them several leads on dungeons or other opportunities in the region. Shortly after they return from such an excursion, they find that the congregation has been censured and the mercenary jailed, on charges of tricking festival goers into consuming human blood. The faithful reach out to the party to investigate on their behalf, eventually pointing them in the direction of a power hungry  high priest of a much more significant temple who wishes to use the “degeneracy” of Sekhmet’s followers to shoulder out other faiths in the region and secure a religious hegemony.

Titles: The Lioness, she of the golden eyes and bloody tongue, the prowling doom, the life-savoring

Signs: Blood flowing like water, scorching solar heat, the calls of lionesses, scattered riches fangs and fruit

Symbols: A golden lion with a red chin/lower jaw, A solar disk stained in blood or with claws, a pomegranate being cut by a knife

Art

[samwisethewitch]

Cults? In my life? It’s more likely than you think.

In my last post, I talked about how the Law of Attraction and Christian prosperity gospel both use the same thought control techniques as cults. I’ve received several public and private replies to that post: some expressing contempt for “sheeple” who can be lead astray by cults, and others who say my post made them scared that they might be part of a cult without knowing it.

I want to address both of those types of replies in this post. I want to talk about what a cult really looks like, and how you can know if you’re dealing with one.

If you type the word “cult” into Google Images, it will bring up lots of photos of people with long hair, wearing all white, with their hands raised in an expression of ecstasy.

Most modern cults do not look anything like this.

Modern cultists look a lot like everyone else. One of the primary goals of most cults is recruitment, and it’s hard to get people to join your cause if they think you and your group are all Kool-Aid-drinking weirdos. The cults that last are the ones that manage to convince people that they’re just like everyone else — a little weird maybe, but certainly not dangerous.

In the book The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, author Jeff Guinn says, “In years to come, Jim Jones would frequently be compared to murderous demagogues such as Adolf Hitler and Charles Manson. These comparisons completely misinterpret, and historically misrepresent, the initial appeal of Jim Jones to members of Peoples Temple. Jones attracted followers by appealing to their better instincts.”

You might not know Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple by name, but you’ve probably heard their story. They’re the Kool-Aid drinkers I mentioned earlier. Jones and over 900 of his followers, including children, committed mass suicide by drinking Flavor Aid mixed with cyanide.

In a way, the cartoonish image of cults in popular media has helped real-life cults to stay under the radar and slip through people’s defenses.

In her book Recovering Agency: Lifting the Veil of Mormon Mind Control, Luna Lindsey says: “These groups use a legion of persuasive techniques in unison, techniques that strip away the personality to build up a new group pseudopersonality. New members know very little about the group’s purpose, and most expectations remain unrevealed. People become deeply involved, sacrificing vast amounts of time and money, and investing emotionally, spiritually, psychologically, and socially.”

Let’s address some more common myths about cults:

Myth #1: All cults are Satanic or occult in nature. This mostly comes from conservative Christians, who may believe that all non-Christian religions are inherently cultish in nature and are in league with the Devil. This is not the case — most non-Christians don’t even believe in the Devil, much less want to sign away their souls to him. Many cults use Christian theology to recruit members, and some of these groups (Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, etc.) have become popular enough to be recognized as legitimate religions. Most cults have nothing to do with magic or the occult.

Myth #2: All cults are religious. This is also false. While some cults do use religion to recruit members or push an agenda, many cults have no religious or spiritual element. Political cults are those founded around a specific political ideology. Author and cult researcher Janja Lalich is a former member of an American political cult founded on the principles of Marxism. There are also “cults of personality” built around political figures and celebrities, such as Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao, and Donald Trump. In these cases, the cult is built around hero worship of the leader — it doesn’t really matter what the leader believes or does.

Myth #3: All cults are small fringe groups. Cults can be any size. Some cults have only a handful of members — it’s even possible for parents to use thought control techniques on their children, essentially creating a cult that consists of a single family.  There are some cults that have millions of members (see previous note about Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Myth #4: All cults live on isolated compounds away from mainstream society. While it is true that all cults isolate their members from the outside world, very few modern cults use physical isolation. Many cults employ social isolation, which makes members feel separate from mainstream society. Some cults do this by encouraging their followers to be “In the world but not of the world,” or encouraging them to keep themselves “pure.”

Myth #5: Only stupid, gullible, and/or mentally ill people join cults. Actually, according to Luna Lindsey, the average cult member is of above-average intelligence. As cult expert Steven Hassan points out, “Cults intentionally recruit ‘valuable’ people—they go after those who are intelligent, caring, and motivated. Most cults do not want to be burdened by unintelligent people with serious emotional or physical problems.” The idea that only stupid or gullible people fall for thought control is very dangerous, because it reinforces the idea that “it could never happen to me.” This actually prevents intelligent people from thinking critically about the information they’re consuming and the groups they’re associating with, which makes them easier targets for cult recruitment.

So, now that we have a better idea of what a cult actually looks like, how do you know if you or someone you know is in one?

A good rule of thumb is to compare the group’s actions and teachings to Steven Hassan’s BITE Model. Steven Hassan is an expert on cult psychology, and most cult researchers stand by this model. From Hassan’s website, freedomofmind.com: “Based on research and theory by Robert Jay Lifton, Margaret Singer, Edgar Schein, Louis Jolyon West, and others who studied brainwashing in Maoist China as well as cognitive dissonance theory by Leon Festinger, Steven Hassan developed the BITE Model to describe the specific methods that cults use to recruit and maintain control over people. ‘BITE’ stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, and Emotional control.”

Behavior Control may include…

Telling you how to behave, and enforcing behavior with rewards and punishments. (Rewards may be nonphysical concepts like “salvation” or “enlightenment,” or social rewards like group acceptance or an elevated status within the group. Punishments may also be nonphysical, like “damnation,” or may be social punishments like judgement from peers or removal from the group.)

Dictating where and with whom you live. (This includes pressure to move closer to other group members, even if you will be living separately.)

Controlling or restricting your sexuality. (Includes enforcing chastity or abstinence and/or coercion into non-consensual sex acts.)

Controlling your clothing or hairstyle. (Even if no one explicitly tells you, you may feel subtle pressure to look like the rest of the group.)

Restricting leisure time and activities. (This includes both demanding participation in frequent group activities and telling you how you should spend your free time.)

Requiring you to seek permission for major decisions. (Again, even if you don’t “need” permission, you may feel pressure to make decisions that will be accepted by the group.)

And more.

Information Control may include…

Withholding or distorting information. (This may manifest as levels of initiation, with only the “inner circle” or upper initiates being taught certain information.)

Forbidding members from speaking with ex-members or other critics.

Discouraging members from trusting any source of information that isn’t approved by the group’s leadership.

Forbidding members from sharing certain details of the group’s beliefs or practice with outsiders.

Using propaganda. (This includes “feel good” media that exists only to enforce the group’s message.)

Using information gained in confession or private conversation against you.

Gaslighting to make members doubt their own memory. (“I never said that,” “You’re remembering that wrong,” “You’re confused,” etc.)

Requiring you to report your thoughts, feelings, and activities to group leaders or superiors.

Encouraging you to spy on other group members and report their “misconduct.”

And more.

Thought Control may include…

Black and White, Us vs. Them, or Good vs. Evil thinking.

Requiring you to change part of your identity or take on a new name. (This includes only using last names, as well as titles like “Brother,” “Sister,” and “Elder.”)

Using loaded languages and cliches to stop complex thought. (This is the difference between calling someone a “former member” and calling the same person an “apostate” or “covenant breaker.”)

Inducing hypnotic or trance states including prayer, meditation, singing hymns, etc.

Using thought-stopping techniques to prevent critical thinking. (“If you ever find yourself doubting, say a prayer to distract yourself!”)

Allowing only positive thoughts or speech.

Rejecting rational analysis and criticism both from members and from those outside the group.

And more.

Emotional Control may include…

Inducing irrational fears and phobias, especially in connection with leaving the group. (This includes fear of damnation, fear of losing personal value, fear of persecution, etc.)

Labeling some emotions as evil, worldly, sinful, low-vibrational, or wrong.

Teaching techniques to keep yourself from feeling certain emotions like anger or sadness.

Promoting feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness. (This is often done by holding group members to impossible standards, such as being spiritually “pure” or being 100% happy all the time.)

Showering members and new recruits with positive attention — this is called “love bombing.” (This can be anything from expensive gifts to sexual favors to simply being really nice to newcomers.)

Shunning members who disobey orders or disbelieve the group’s teachings.

Teaching members that there is no happiness, peace, comfort, etc. outside of the group.

And more.

If a group ticks most or all of the boxes in any one of these categories, you need to do some serious thinking about whether or not that group is good for your mental health. If a group is doing all four of these, you’re definitely dealing with a cult and need to get out as soon as possible.

These techniques can also be used by individual people in one-on-one relationships. A relationship or friendship where someone tries to control your behavior, thoughts, or emotions is not healthy and, again, you need to get out as soon as possible.

Obviously, not all of these things are inherently bad. Meditation and prayer can be helpful on their own, and being nice to new people is common courtesy. The problem is when these acts become part of a bigger pattern, which enforces someone else’s control over your life.

A group that tries to tell you how to think or who to be is bad for your mental health, your personal relationships, and your sense of self. When in doubt, do what you think is best for you — and always be suspicious of people or groups who refuse to be criticized.

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 26

part 1 | part 25

a/n: no matter how long you have been here, just know i'm extremely grateful for anyone who's read this fic. now here's the latest chapter.

Sometimes it felt like the days dragged on. Each and every hour was laid out just like the day before–the week before. It made time seem endless, even though Y/N knew it definitely was not. Sozin’s Comet was getting closer and closer each day. Y/N didn’t know if it was the anticipation for that long fated day or if it was some buried fire bender gene in her body, warning her of something to come. She could feel it deep within her bones. She woke up earlier and earlier each day, no matter how late her night ended up. And each day the sun greeted her with warm yellow light that made the air a little easier to breathe.

As they moved further south and into Fire Nation territory, Zuko made mention of Ember Island as a place to hide out. The island–or chain of islands, really–were close enough to Caldera City that it would be a good place for them to lay low and wait, as well as uninhabited by enough people that they could lay low.

Y/N thought it was a little risky to be living in the Fire Lord’s Ember Island house, but Zuko was probably right, this was going to be the last place anyone would look for them. Maybe Y/N was just unsettled about being back, so close to Caldera City, or maybe it was being back on Ember Island for the first time since she was 9.

Somewhere between the temple and the beach house, Y/N tired of training. It just added to the monotony, and so she just…stopped. Instead, she spent her days on the beach, sometimes alone–often with the others though–playing in the tide pools and skim-boarding on the sand. And sometimes, if she felt like she didn’t have enough time on her own to recharge, she’d leave in the night, either through her window or the front door to take a walk on the beach in the moonlight. Only to come back and wake up a few hours later, ready for sunrise.

Today was no different, though the sun was already peeking over the horizon and into her room when her eyes peeled open.

The wooden floors creaked under Y/N’s feet as she crept out of her room silently.

Each board was smooth under her bare toes, not well-worn by many little feet running across them year after year but made that way before they were even built into the house, for no doubt a hefty fee. The beach house was… cold, to say the least. It just felt like each pore of the house seeped something uninviting, reminding them that they shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t just Y/N who felt it, they all spent as little time as possible in the house.

She padded into the kitchen and struck their flint to start a fire under the stove–mostly unneeded since Zuko had joined their group–but wholly necessary when he wasn’t around to be their fire-starter. Y/N didn’t mind doing it this way, it felt nice being able to do something with her own hands for once instead of relying on the others to make clean water or heat up the food. She boiled just enough water for one cup of tea before heading out to the courtyard where she knew at least two of her friends would be awake.

Y/N didn’t like feeling optimistic. It was a terrifying feeling. There was so much riding on their success; she didn’t want to spend so much energy on hoping only to have it all dashed away if things didn’t go their way. It would be too heartbreaking. But watching Aang, she could. They weren’t even sparring and she could see the power behind every blast of fire. And she had hope for their future. She had to; she wasn’t going to lose her friends.

“You’re doing that one wrong,” Y/N said from the shadows on the porch. She held her warm cup to her chest, the breeze blowing in from the ocean was keeping the courtyard chilly until the sun could rise high enough to heat the island.

Aang didn’t seem too surprised to hear her voice. “Doing what wrong?” He asked, confused.

Zuko frowned up at Y/N from his seat on the steps but nodded to Aang. “She’s right, you have to dip further down so when you come up the fire creates more of an arc.”

Aang pushed through a few more poses before Zuko stood up and joined him. Y/N stole his seat and pulled her legs up to cross them. She watched as they moved in tandem, working though the most basic of firebending forms all the way up to a few advanced ones. Memories flooded Y/N’s head so fast it made her dizzy. She remembered sitting just like she was now, watching her two brothers work through their forms when she was younger. On chilly mornings, much like today, she would wrap herself in a blanket nest and sip on tea that was much too sweet as they worked well into mid morning. In a sudden rush of affection she realized she was doing much of the same thing, just years and years later.

Aang had learned fast. That was good. She set down her empty cup as the two boys headed back to her, both sweaty from their training. “Good job, Aang! You’re doing great!”

Aang beamed with pride. “Thanks, Y/N!

“Don’t be so encouraging, he’s still got a lot to learn,” Zuko grumbled, taking a seat on the ground next to her.

Y/N pouted. “He needs encouragement. That’s how he learns.” Y/N learned that from watching the differences between Katara teaching styles and Toph’s teaching styles.

“Speaking of firebending,” Aang kicked his feet against the edge of the steps and looked around like he was avoiding something. “How did you know about the firebending forms?”

Zuko leaned back on his hands. “I’d like to know that too.”

Y/N smiled softly. “I watched my brothers for years, religiously learning all the forms and practicing them on my own. I wanted to be just like them. I guess I still remember them.”

Aang frowned. “It’s not like you couldn’t bend on purpose.”

Y/N was surprised to see Aang look so sad. “I know.” She shrugged and looked away feeling her cheeks redden with both boys staring at her. “I just wanted to be normal so people would stop paying attention to me for the wrong reasons.” She mumbled.

“It made you a better sword fighter,” Zuko said suddenly.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“The discipline and movements. You do the same when you’re fighting.”

“I’ve never noticed, but you’re right, Zuko!” Aang exclaimed.

The thought made Y/N smile. “That was nice of you.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but let the smallest hint of a smile grace his lips.

She looked back to Aang, who still looked a bit hesitant. “Don’t worry about me. How about we go swimming? Before the others wake up!”

Aang perked up immediately. “That sounds great! Let’s go, Zuko!”

Y/N and Aang stood, both looking down at Zuko, who just stared at the ground between his feet. She could already hear him saying no, telling them that he needed to train more or meditate and didn’t have time to run off and play games.

Y/N opened her mouth to tell Aang that the two of them could still go but Zuko spoke up before her. “Yeah, okay.”

Sometimes even on those long, dragging days, it was the little things that made everything better; like playing in the surf with two of your friends.

---

That evening though, Y/N was back where she had started the day, and had decided that everyone in her group of friends, save for maybe Zuko, talked way too much. She craved those moments alone where she just had her thoughts to occupy her. Especially when she had a lot on her mind.

Y/N didn’t want to admit she felt stuck inside with Aang and Katara while everyone else was outside enjoying the evening, but she also felt guilty in turning down their request to help make dinner to just wander around on the beach until sunset. She didn’t help out much with making meals, and she felt obligated to help when she could.

So she was there, sitting on the dinner table, lotus style with a knife and a cutting board and a basket of carrots in need of chopping at her side.

“What else can I do, Katara?” Aang dumped some of the vegetables he was cutting into the stew Katara was currently stirring over the stove.

“Hmm, can you go out and get some more water to make the rice?” Aang grinned and nodded, before running out of the house towards the side of the house where there was a small barrel of collected water.

Y/N smiled to herself at the interaction and continued cutting carrots for Katara, trying not to let her mind wander, but it was hard with the monotonous work and the bad spot she was sitting in.

Just in front of her was the window where she had watched Zuko and Aang train while she made tea that morning, now it showed Zuko and Sokka doing their own training.

Y/N was struggling with more than just feeling like she didn’t belong on the Island. She didn’t know what she was going to say to Sokka, or if she was even going to say anything about her feelings at all. Without the constant traveling and the safety of a hideout, she was able to just stop and let those feelings and thoughts she had been holding back with a dam of fear wash over her.

It was all really confusing for Y/N. And hard to admit.

She didn’t want to face the awkward conversation of asking whether he could always be there for her. She didn’t want to beg him to never leave because she was so insecure. She was so afraid of losing everything and everyone that she was going to do just that because she was afraid of opening up.

What would happen if she never told Sokka she loved him back? Did she even love him back? What did love feel like?

Love with Azula felt like fire, sometimes it burned painfully, but in the good times it filled her with a warmth like never before. Zuko’s friendship felt the same, but it was less like sitting too close to the fire and more like sitting just in the right place where it didn’t dry out your eyes but didn’t make goosebumps grow on your arms. Sokka always felt like a cool breeze, one where you lift your face up to the sky and smile because it always feels like relief. But that’s not what Y/N is used to. How does she know if it’s love if it doesn’t hurt a little bit? How does she know that it's real if she doesn’t have to give all of herself until she is worn to nothing to make it work?

It wasn’t that she was afraid to care for him, she had made it clear that she did. It was just easier on her heart to keep him at a distance for now until she figured they were inevitably part ways. That’s how Y/N saw this all ending. Separated across oceans, back to where they came from, whatever the outcome of the war. Y/N wanted to dream of the possibilities and opportunities where they could be together in the long run, but those were just that, dreams for another lifetime. People from the Water Tribe didn’t marry people from the Fire Nation.

Everything that she learned over the last few months was that nothing was ever set in stone, so why should she and Sokka be.

Y/N stared out the window, pondering when it would all fall apart and sliced downwards on a carrot, but met nothing but the cutting board. She looked down where the knife was closer to her finger than to the carrots. She let out a little inward gasp.

“What?” Katara turned around and asked.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Nothing.” She motioned to the cutting board. “Do you want these smaller?”

Katara eyed Y/N and then looked to the cutting board. “They’re fine. But pay more attention, I don’t know how to reattach fingers yet.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave the wooden cutting board and her fingers until the others came bustling into the kitchen, all talking at once.

Y/N for the most part ignored everyone, until Sokka reached over and snatched one of the slices of carrots.

Y/N nudged his arm. “Can you wait?! I thought you didn’t like vegetables!”

“Aang got me to like carrots!” Sokka retorted, before quickly reaching around Y/N to grab another and popping it into his mouth.

“Why would you be sitting on the table that we have to eat off of?” Suki wrinkled her nose.

“Uh! Katara said I could!” Y/N stuck her tongue out.

Katara whipped around, hands on her hips. “I never said you could, I just didn’t say you couldn’t.” Katara turned back to stirring the stew before muttering under her breath, “Not like telling you no would have made a difference anyways.”

“Hey!” Y/N picked up a carrot and launched it at the back of Katara’s head.

Aang walked back inside carrying a bucket of water, to a kitchen full of chaos. Vegetables were being thrown across the room at one another, as laughter rang out. Sokka, Zuko and Y/N were sprawled on one side of the kitchen behind and under the table; with Suki, Katara and Toph only edging from behind the safety of the kitchen doorway to throw something.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N could hear the exasperation of a 112 year old monk in Aang’s usually cheerful voice.“Uh, guys, what are we supposed to eat for dinner now?”

---

Y/N was dozing against the headboard of her bed that night, when she heard the knock at her door. At first she thought she imagined it, that is until she heard a voice on the other side of the doorway. “Y/N, are you awake?”

Y/N slid out of bed and cracked open the door. She smiled and leaned against the doorjamb, a familiar feeling in her chest.

“Are you afraid that there are ghosts here too?”

Sokka grinned and nodded. “In this house? Absolutely. But I’m not here for that.”

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Come outside with me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Why?”

“Please, just come on. No questions.”

Y/N sighed and reached for an old silk robe she found in one of the closets, but her smile never left her face.

To be fair to Sokka, there wasn’t much to surprise Y/N with on an island she grew up on. But that night, the sky momentarily took her breath away.

Sometimes the simplest things were the most beautiful.

“I thought we could come out here; look at the stars a bit. I used to like doing that at home. Though it’s different. The constellations aren’t the same where I’m from.”

“I guess I’ll just have to teach you some.”

Together they laid side by side on the roof, and Y/N pointed out her favorites. The dragon, the jack-rabbit...

After Y/N had told Sokka the story of the Red Queen, some ancient fable of a powerful Fire Lady that was always one of Y/N’s favorites, they both grew quiet, Y/N asked the question that had been brewing on her mind. She worried that whatever she said would mess up the peaceful night they had been having. It felt like she was intruding on a secret that she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Hey, Sokka,” Y/N asked.

“Hmmm,” She looked over and Sokka looked about half asleep already. Maybe this would be good timing.

“Who’s Yue?”

Sokka’s eyes shot open and he sat up quickly. “What?”

Y/N could feel her face flush. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Yue.” The word sounded flat and foreign on her tongue. Maybe that wasn’t how you actually pronounced it? Some of the Water Tribe names and words were hard for Y/N’s mouth to form. If she could, she flushed deeper. “I heard you talking about them when I was hurt. I was in and out of it, so I don’t remember much, but I remember the name.”

Sokka suddenly looked very sad. Which was… odd because Y/N just thought that Yue was a Water Tribe spirit much like the Fire Nation had Agni.

“She’s the moon spirit,” Sokka whispered, his eyes cast down on his wringing hands.

Y/N eyes were wide. Why was he acting like this? “Oh. I figured she was a spirit or something. It sounded like you were praying to her, or something.”

“Yeah,” Sokka choked out. “Something like that.”

That’s when Y/N noticed there were drips of water on Sokka’s hands. Tears.

“Sokka?” Y/N said softly. She reached forward and–yup those were tears, dripping on their hands.

“She was a girl I met at the Northern Water Tribe when we first started traveling.”

“I thought she was…”

“She is.” For the first time, Sokka looked up. The pain in his eyes was unimaginable. “But she was still a girl when I met her.”

Sokka launched into a story that sounded more fantasy than real, but the look on his face, the sadness in his features, Y/N knew he was telling the truth.

“She was blessed by the moon spirit when she was born, it was the only reason she was alive. But when we were in the Northern Water Tribe—Zhao, a Fire Nation commander killed the moon spirit and all the water benders lost their bending, forever.” Sokka shivered. “It was scary, the moon was gone in the sky and we were helpless to fight the Fire Nation. It would have changed the tide of the war.

But she was selfless. She knew that she was the only hope for her tribe—for the world—and she sacrificed herself to save all of us. So now she’s the moon spirit…I guess. I don’t know, she’ll always be Yue to me.” Sokka’s voice trailed off with a sniffle. Y/N didn’t know how to respond.

Sokka sent a longing glance upward. The moon was just past full, waning in the far distance but still bright and round in the sky. “I think–I think she heard me that night. And she knew how much you meant to me, even then. And she saved you because…” Now it was Sokka’s turn to flush. “I don’t think I could live without you.”

Those words made Y/N’s chest burn. Her arms and legs tingled in relief as if all the tension in her body began to melt away. Y/N reached out, wiping a stray tear off of Sokka’s cheek. “Me either,” she replied instantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“’m not. Sad, really. I miss her, but it’s easier to always know where she is. She didn’t have a lot of choice in her life, but this was something she had control over. If she hadn’t become the moon spirit, the war would have ended right there. So her sacrifice meant that, you know, Zuko is our friend now and Aang has a chance at beating the Firelord and you have a place in all our lives. She made all of this possible.”

“Sounds like we have a lot more to be thankful to her for than just saving little old me then, huh?”

“You would have liked her.”

Y/N nodded and peered at the moon above them. “I do like her.”

No one else needed to know that after the two of them went inside and off to bed, that Y/N hung halfway out her window to get one last look at the moon. Y/N swore as her eyes closed and sleep overtook her that the moon shone a little brighter. Maybe that’s how the moon said thank you. Y/N’d never tell anyone that she whispered a small thank you too, to the girl who lived among the stars.

a/n: don't be shy, come talk to me in my askbox and tell me if you liked it

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[rose2jam]

Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults.  I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever.  This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.  

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something.  The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies.  But this Leader?  This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way.  Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered.  That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.  

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others.  Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families.  Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in.  He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them.  I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever.  But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin.  Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside.  And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him.  Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader.  Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded.  Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above.  Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).  

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters.  He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1).  Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be.  Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her.  (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well).  I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life.  And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical.  Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back.  For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental.  This friendship is everything.  Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts.  Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life.  But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up.  Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black.  So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3).  And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat.  And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4).  What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience.  He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible.  During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place.  It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5).  But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6).  He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus.  On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily.  So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this?  He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers).  But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members.  McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol).  So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles.  As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with.  His dorm mates became his family.  So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily.  Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic?  Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8).  At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word.  He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds.  Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse.  So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life.  By Muggles and Magic Folk alike.  And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light.  He betrayed her as well, of course.  But he did try to show remorse.  And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.  

So.  Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here.  Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate.  For what?  For power, for a family, for a community.  For a world where he is no longer the weird one.  For a world where he’s respected, strong.  For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult.  Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House.  Maybe he was recruited directly.  Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life.  And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions.  There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play.  Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right.  (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)  

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family.  Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult.  On the contrary, I feel sorry for them.  Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them.  Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”.  But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end.  They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart.  I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done.  But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany.  This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers.   There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2.   Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware.  As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family.  The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks.  Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry.  Back to Snape.  There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation.  This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this).  Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.  

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however.  In the end, he manages to break away from the cult.  The scales fall from his eyes.  In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off.  What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life.  He was brought back by genuine love.  Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

The Solari theory, aka. “here’s how Mel can still win”

Cast your mind back to episode 8, remember this dress from the flashback?

It’s a really nice dress right? It’s also nothing even remotely resembling Noxian fashion (which tends to be a lot of hard edges and black on black). What it does kinda resemble is Rakkor fashion. Specifically that gold ring symbol on her chest looks like a Solari insignia.

Yes i created a reference board just to make this point, cause it’s kinda what this entire theory relies on.

So “Rakkor”, “Solari”, weird fantasy terms, what do they mean? Well, the Rakkor are the largest, and most militarized of the tribes inhabitingthe Mount Targon region. The Solari are a religious order which most (but not all) Rakkor belongs to, who as you may have guessed from the name, worship the sun.

Also just to avoid confusion: oftentimes when you hear the word “tribe” used in fantasy, its meant to imply some sorta small, “In-touch with nature” nomadic community, based off of white people’s fetishized views of indigenous cultures. That is not the case here, the Rakkor are a vast (and diverse) group of people, they have universities, religious schisms, vast cities, and oh yeah, a well-trained standing army that could probably go toe to toe with Noxus.

Here’s the thing though, Mount Targon is nowhere near Noxian territory, but other than that, the cultural values of two groups line up pretty well. Noxus sees itself as the great liberator, the Rakkor sees themself as the protectors of Mount Targon (and its’ tribes), both are really into military prowess. Meaning if Ambessa, for some reason ran into a solari warrior, they would probably hit it off.

However, given that the Noxian capital is on the other side of the planet from mount Targon, and that the Rakkor believes in communally raising children within temples, a relationship probably wouldn’t last. I can’t imagine Ambessa being particularly excited by the idea of her daughter being raised side by side with “peasants”.

And you might be like “hold on Valk are you really basing all off this on a dress scene in one seen? That seems kinda thin.” At which point I would like to draw your attention to my second big piece of evidence: Mel’s tattoos.

(And yes they are tattoos. they’re there while she sleeps, and they stretch/deform with her skin.)

Now scroll back up to my reference board for Solari sigils. Notice anything familiar? Yup a lot of them also have golden tattoos on their upper bodies, however theirs are in circular patterns fitting the solari aesthetic, whereas Mel’s are in a more art deco/Piltover style. You’ll also notice: Mel doesn’t have her tattoos yet in the flashback.

Which brings us to the meat of the theory: Mel’s dad is a Solari, who at some point during Mel’s lifetime had a falling out with Ambessa; maybe it was the same thing that led to Mel being semi-disowned? Who knows 🤷‍♂️, would explain why she smeared gold over her painting of the Noxian capital though. Until that point, Mel’s dad had been teaching her about his side of her cultural heritage, which she clearly had an interest in (why else would she wear a Solari dress in what I assume to be Ionia?)

After being shipped off to Piltover, Mel found someone who could give her gold tattoos similar to the ones worn by the Solari, but chose to instead have them made in a Piltover style. Possibly as an attempt to combine her cultural heritage with her new home? Or maybe as a way to own her Rakkor heritage without seeming like she was giving Noxus the middle finger?

How does all of this explains how Mel might survive the hextech rocket? Well the last thing we see before the rocket hits the council building is this:

A flash of light travelling across Mel’s tattoos in a way that doesn’t quite seem to fit with either the light already in the room, or the light emitted by the rocket’s engine. Light magic, like that practiced by the Solari however, is recognizable by its golden glow, and is very commonly used for defensive purposes.

Magic may be illegal in Piltover, but it’s not in Noxus; in fact there you are all but obligated to hone your magical abilities if you have them. So Mel grows up, having inherited her father’s magic and has some of the best trainers money can buy. She is exiled to Piltover where magic is forbidden, thereby also severing her ties to her dad. But in that split second before the rocket hits, she’s no longer thinking, instincts kick in before her conscious mind even registers the dangers, reaching out despite the rust, projecting a magical barrier around herself and those closest to her.

Because lets be honest here, they’re not gonna kill of Jayce and Viktor, and this feels like the least bs way they could survive the blast.

“But wait!” I hear you say: “Isn’t Mel’s dad Jago Medarda?” And no, it is almost certainly not. Let’s disregard Jago being white, because genetics can be weird and characters can have their race changed; what’s more likely is that Jago has been retconned. There’s just too much lore that doesn’t add up otherwise.

For those who have no idea what I’m talking about: There’s a page on the official lore wiki, which predates Arcane by years, saying that house Medarda is a well-established house in Piltover lead by an old white guy named Jago Medarda. Jago’s heir apparent is a (black or mixed race) man named Jalrond “Jae” Medarda; which seems to go against Mel being “the richest person in Piltover, but the poorest Medarda”. It also just doesn’t make sense to “exile” Mel to Piltover if she’s got like half her family already living there, Ambessa would already have a political presence. There’s also some, a bit iffy references to house Medarda arming anti-Noxus rebels, but those can potentially be explained, I just don’t wanna do a deep dive into Noxian poltics here.

[youngerdrgrey]

[excerpt from] I know you (even if you don't want me to) - chapter seven

since I'm hearing how hungry y'all are (cough @aliyahtheghost + @breeleroux especially), here's the start of chapter seven of I know you (even if you don't want me to) -- Ryan's recovery period is nearly up, so Batwoman is (almost) back bbs. Read on for some roommate talk into some WildMoore texting goodness. This chapter is a true fav.

(includes some talk of police brutality / Crow brutality + violence)

Ryan hops from one foot to the other. She keeps the pressure mostly on the pads of her feet. Light and nimble. Finally back at full form with only one day left in her two week recovery period. She’d do a flip if it wouldn’t make Mary’s head explode. Or disrupt the perfect tuck of her Center Volunteer shirt. Then again, Mary does anxiously hover in the doorway of Ryan’s bathroom. Maybe she’ll explode on her own.

“Mary, seriously?” Ryan reaches for her favorite purple lipstick. “I’m making mocktails and guarding the punch bowl. I’m not even dancing. Doctor’s orders.”

The doctor in question stabs a finger out at Ryan. Mary manages to look menacing even in her little scrubs. “If you so much as think about doing the Wobble—” She stomps into the bathroom.

It’s truly one of the greatest dances of all mankind. Ryan crosses her lipstick tube across her heart.

Mary continues, “I’m leaving you to climb up the stairs on your own. No ice pack, or pain meds, or anything.” Mary takes a deep breath. “Fortunately for you….” She walks over to Ryan to adjust the hair on Ryan’s shoulder. “I know someone who might help you out. Depending on how well your side mission is going.”

If they can call Ryan talking to Sophie a side mission. Ryan applies her lipstick and rubs her lips together.

Mary bats expectant eyes towards the mirror. “You’ve been getting along. Can I draft up the offer letter?”

Ryan smacks her lips. “She’s still a Crow, Mary.”

“A Crow you spent, like, all of yesterday on the phone with.”

Ryan didn’t spend all of yesterday on the phone with Sophie. In the morning, they texted about how awful the playlist for the dance might be. Then they swapped bad songs in the afternoon. Ryan’s personal favorite was a religious remix of ‘The Thong Song’ that truly had to be a parody. (“That God, Go-God, God, God.”) Then they told their personal dance horror stories after Sophie was off work. There were breaks.

Before Ryan can defend herself, her phone lights up from beside the sink. Sophie’s name flashes, and Ryan’s got her phone in her hands in seconds. Mary snorts.

Crowphie to Ryan Have fun making Shirley Temples all night. Here’s hoping someone will forget their school ID so there’s some action at the ticket table

Ryan leans her hip into the sink as she types.

Ryan to Crowphie 👀 You’re looking for action at a school dance?

Crowphie to Ryan Oh yeah, fingers crossed my crush saves me a slow one.

It’s a joke. It has to be, but Ryan thinks back to each near moment between them and feels hope and heat in her cheeks.

Ryan to Crowphie Too bad Batwoman doesn’t do dances

Crowphie to Ryan That’s probably for the best. We’re not on the best terms right now.

Not since the night Sophie rejected Batwoman. The night of “Figure that out, and get back to me. Until you do, I’m done.” Did she really mean that?

Ryan to Crowphie What happened there? She miss a signal flip this week?

Crowphie to Ryan haven’t used it. I doubt she’d want me to. I think I hurt her feelings.

That’s an understatement.

Mary clears her throat behind Ryan. Ryan glances up into the mirror to see Mary’s reflection. The teasing grin matches the tilt in Mary’s voice as she says, “You were saying? About not texting Sophie all day?”

Ryan narrows her eyes as dramatically as she can. “Don’t you have lives to save?”

Mary backs away. “Fine, go back to texting, just think about how much fun you could have talking to Sophie on the comms if she were part of the team.”

Ryan can’t help the sarcasm. “Because me and Luke have so much fun?”

“Obviously it’d be a different kind of fun. Less brother-sister fighting and more….” Mary pauses to think and cringes at whatever she thinks of. Ryan turns around to gently push Mary out of her bathroom.

“Good night, Mary!” she says before closing the door behind her roommate. She probably should’ve stepped out there too, come to think of it. Her phone buzzes again though.

Crowphie to Ryan I do miss going up to the roof. You know, feeling like I’m a part of something, even if I never will be

Ryan drops down onto the stool in the bathroom. It’s an accessibility aid that’s kind of perfect for moments like this. She can take her time. Process without having to actually move around in here. Close her eyes and remember what the wind of the rooftop felt like against her cheeks. With the suit tight to her body and all of Gotham below them. Sophie looks amazing up there.

Ryan to Crowphie You could go flip the signal. Send out that city-wide ‘you up?’ Or an actual you up since you have her number.

Sophie hasn’t texted Batwoman once in the last two weeks.

Crowphie to Ryan You don’t understand.

Ryan chuckles. She’s the only other person that could.

Ryan to Crowphie No, I get it. You could text her if you wanted to talk. Going up there would mean that you want to see her. You want to be with her.

Want to touch her the way Ryan did that night on the roof. The pads of her fingers over Sophie’s waist, their faces so close that it’s a wonder Sophie hasn’t recognized her yet. It goes to show that Sophie’s not that into Ryan as Ryan. Hasn’t memorized the way her jaw sits, or the shade of her eyes.

Crowphie to Ryan yeah

Yeah what? Yeah which? Because Sophie didn’t say it back.

Ryan to Crowphie So you admit it? You want Batwoman?

The typing dots come and go, then come again. Maybe it’s not about Batwoman at all. Maybe Sophie just wants to make out on the roof and be a part of the team. She wants to be Batwoman’s friend with benefits and can’t bring herself to admit it. Fine. Don’t admit anything.

Ryan to Crowphie Can’t blame you. She looks good in the suit 😏 — probably looks good out of it too lol

A perfect cop out for the cop.

Crowphie to Ryan If I wanted to see her without the mask, I could have. We flew together, remember?

Ryan tenses. A painful chill zips down her spine. Does Sophie know? Has she known all this time?

Crowphie to Ryan I didn’t look then because it’s not about her looks or who’s behind the mask. She makes me think. Both Batwomen have. 1.0 got me suspended. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to leaving the Crows. But it wasn’t about everyone then, you know? Jacob Kane hated Batwoman, and I really liked her. Those couldn’t exist at the same time. Meanwhile, 2.0 will not remove her boots from my neck. She’s like you in that way. She takes every opportunity to question my loyalty to the Crows and the people of Gotham. I just wish I knew if I was doing the same. If I was more than just another compromise for her

Fuck, it’s a good thing that they’re texting. Ryan’s whole face burns with that message. Since when is Sophie questioning anything? She never wavers.

Ryan to Crowphie Your Crow-workers beat the shit out of Batwoman 1.0, and you stayed.

Crowphie to Ryan Where else was I supposed to go? The GCPD? I *HATE* what they did, but that will NEVER happen again.

Ryan to Sophie And if it does?

She’s being generous by not saying “when it does.”

Crowphie to Ryan Then I slap my resume on the Bat-signal and hope she doesn’t throw it in the shredder.

Ryan to Crowphie Much more fun to use it for target practice.

Crowphie to Ryan Throw a bunch of Batarangs at it?

Ryan to Crowphie See, you get it 😉

Crowphie to Ryan It’s important to me that little Black girls can see women like us in law enforcement and positions of powers. I want them to know that they can save the world if they want to. It’s not their responsibility, but if it’s their purpose? If protecting people makes them happy, then I want them to know that they are not alone out there. They can make a difference.

There are so many other ways to make a difference. Ryan might have to let Sophie have this for now though. Her heart’s in the right place at least.

Ryan to Crowphie And if that doesn’t work out, there’s always being a ticket taker for a community dance. Shine that flashlight. Ruin somebody’s night!

Crowphie to Ryan Wowww. Spoken like a trouble maker.

Ryan to Crowphie Trouble finds me, okay? No need to worry about me, Agent Moore.

Crowphie to Ryan You sure about that? Your kids might try to fight you, just to see if you’ve still got it.

Ryan to Crowphie Oh I’ve got it. They’ll be too busy following you around to even notice me. Ol’ “Miss Sophie, Miss Sophie” punk asses

Crowphie to Ryan LOL. Ten bucks says they ask me where Batwoman’s been hiding.

Ryan to Crowphie Twenty says they don’t.

Crowphie to Ryan Easy money. You can drop it off at the lobby on your way in 😉

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more to come when I drop the rest of the chapter! reply and let me know if you're still with me. try and guess what happens at the dance?

[fitzefitcher]

honestly i've been seeing bastion as like a Buddhist-ish place with ancient greek aesthetics, bc letting go of your earthly attachments to be enlightened is pretty Buddhist. 'If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill the Buddha. If you meet your father, kill your father.', that kind of thing. i haven't thought of it as a Light place at all, though i can see why others do.

so there's. a lot of things I would like to cover in answering this, and I'm honestly dreading it a little lmao buuuuut I will do the best I can. I have a lot of thoughts about Bastion, and about the Light, so I'm going to take this as an opportunity to explore that. so: content warning for discussion of religion and religious trauma, esp in regards to identity erasure.

full disclosure: I'm an american queer that was raised roman catholic (specifically, roman catholic within the confines of a heavily irish-italian community) and currently identify more as like. an agnostic apostate, would be the closest thing to describe it, I think. generally, while I'm not really crazy about organized religion as a massive institution capable of doing absolutely wretched things to the people it alleges to helping (and by no means am suffering under the delusion that it hasn't and won't continue to do these things so long as oppressive systems of power are in place, just like it would be in any other area, not just religion), I also acknowledge that there's a lot of good in it, too, and it's the cornerstone of many people's community, culture, and identity. ultimately, my opinion is that religion is a tool, and whoever's holding that tool decides its purpose and intention. it's. a complicated matter lmao.

I'm not going to pretend I'm an expert on buddhism, here. obviously this was not the religion (or any of the many cultures its beliefs are centered in) I was raised as, and honestly even the research I've done for this feels like it's barely scratching the surface. so, rather than try and argue or explain something that is really out of the realm of what I'm familiar with or have experience with (esp. something that's not really mine to claim), I will try and explain things from my own experience as a queer AFAB person raised as roman catholic. and speaking from that perspective, it is very incredibly obvious to me how much of bastion was lifted from christian theology. not just the aesthetics of it, all of the weird identity conformity shit, too. the way that kyrian ideology is being used here, is as a tool to enforce this conformity.

same with how the Light as a concept has been developed in recent years- there are no longer any significant differences between the way individual factions use and interact with the light, even though as cultures their views on it should be radically different, or at least different enough that they don't feel like homogenized versions of each other. like, there's no real difference between how the humans view the Light, and how dwarves view the light, and how gnomes view the Light, and it doesn't really feel like there ever was. Nelves' view on it used to be characterized pretty strongly and differently, as did trolls and draenei, but the longer the years go on, the more that they sort of blend together. to get back to your statement, "I haven't thought of it as a Light place at all," I find that very difficult to parse as a statement, as Bastion as a whole has been developed from base concepts of the Light. Like, Kyrians were designed from spirit healers, spirit healers are now confirmed to be Kyrians (for some reason), and all of the aesthetics of their magic, their clothing, their environment are all heavily priest, paladin, and light-inspired. everything is golds and marbles and sky blues, when they become "corrupted," they suddenly become shadow-themed, like all greys and blacks and purples, their wings turn black, etc. but the similarities, and all their short-comings, go much farther than that.

so the general story thread of each area of the shadowlands in this expansion is that things aren't as they seem, right? that their individual systems are beginning to fall to internal corruption and are crumbling under their own weight. and we see this in each of the trailers- the houses of maldraxxus are starting to eat each other, ardenweald is slowly starving to death, revendreth's citizens are being choked with heavy demands from the aristocracy, and bastion is struggling to adjust in the face of new, unprecedented problems, unwilling to change their ways, even when it's explicitly obvious how badly they need to change. like, I've talked about this a little bit before- the trailer and the way it's structured led me to believe that we, the players, are meant to be hanging out with Devos and Uther, trying to help them convince Devos' boss that very obvious bad thing that's happening, is happening. And this is about how it goes for the other trailers- we learn about the betrayal of Draka's house in maldraxxus, and the maldraxxus storyline is centered on helping her figure out what happened and pick up the pieces. We learn about Ardenweald's rapidly shrinking resources and dying environment, and the ardenweald storyline is centered on figuring out what the cause of this famine is. We learn about Revendreth's aristocracy and how they're demanding more and more of the common people, and the revendreth storyline is centered on overthrowing the increasingly tyrannical cruelty of their current leaders and helping the common people, with the help of a leader favored by the common people. And I feel like, given the state of things, and how the IRL world as a whole has been going the past couple years, helping Devos and Uther get to the bottom of this, maybe even helping Bastion adjust and change in the face of these new challenges, would have been a very good, insightful storyline, and very appropriate for the times we're in.

This, clearly, is not what happened lmao. Whether or not they'll decide to develop bastion further, at least in terms of addressing its failings with its own people, is up for debate, but based on WoW's previous history of similar stories, I'm not very confident lmao.

so I will touch on that statement of bastion being a "buddhist-like place" for a moment, I did look into buddhism a bit, and while I very quickly realized that there wasn't really a way that I could discuss this at length in a way that's fair (esp. with how many variations and cultures there are centered around it, again, I am not an expert, I am doing the best I can with the information I have), the very very bare bones basics of buddhism that I can find more or less boil down to, yes, letting go of earthly attachments to attain enlightenment. but this is not really a nuanced assessment of buddhism, and tbh, isn't really the goal of the kyrians' purification rituals. sure, at first glance, it seems to line up- shedding the burdens of their mortal lives in order to achieve ascension- but ascension here, is not enlightenment. buddhist enlightenment, from what I can find, seems to be the act of breaking free from the cycle of death and rebirth and from mortal suffering. kyrian ascension is the act of, not breaking free of that cycle, but tying yourself to it for an eternity of service. and living your life (even  an eternal one- especially an eternal one) in the service of others is a really strongly christian concept. and the kyrian's concept of virtues only strengthens this. the fact that kyrians have virtues at all is heavily christian-coded, and on top of that, the virtues they have feel like they've been lifted directly from christian beliefs. also like. they're literal fucking angels, trying to earn their wings. like. there's not much else I can think of that's that heavy-handed lmao.

let's talk more about those virtues, though.

the kyrian virtues are as follows: purity, humility, courage, wisdom, and loyalty. There are a number of variations on christian virtues, but here are two of the main sets: one set lines up as the ideological opposite to the seven capital sins (or seven deadly sins if you're an FMA fan lmao), and the other is more-or-less what is accepted in contemporary belief. This is what I was taught in sunday school/CCD, so this is what I'm a little more familiar with.

so set 1, the heavenly virtues, are: chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility, and set 2, the contemporary virtues, are split further into 2 groups: the cardinal virtues, prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, and the theological virtues, charity, hope, and faith.

So humility, courage, and wisdom, are pretty straight-forward in terms of what they represent, and line up pretty neatly with humility (lol) from the heavenly virtues, and fortitude and prudence from the contemporary virtues. To touch on those briefly, humility is exactly what it says on the tin, and acts as an ideological opposite to the capital sin of pride, fortitude is bravery and endurance as well as patience, and prudence is reason and self-discipline, esp in terms of handling yourself and how you interact with others. And these are perfectly fine as principles. the ones that set off alarm bells for me, though, are loyalty and purity.

as kyrian virtues, they don't really line up to any christian virtues from either set. but tbh, this is beside the point- the fact that purity and loyalty are considered virtues, at all, especially in combination with each other, at best feel very suspicious, and at worst openly hostile. and the way this is covered in game only enforces this. purity is only obtained by sloughing off pieces of yourself that the kyrians consider obstructive to your ascension and how you can serve the Purpose, and questioning this or any other aspect of their ascension ritual gets you sent to the temple of loyalty to, ostensibly, stay there until you Get Your Priorities Straightened Out lmao. Like, there's no exploration of why these purity rituals are being questioned to begin with, there's no examination of why the rituals are necessary to begin with, and seemingly, prospective kyrians are punished for even asking. like, for a faction that seemingly prides itself on helping their members becoming their best selves, it feels strange that the reaction to their unsure members is punitive instead of therapeutic.

at this point, the link between the kyrians' beliefs and christianity should be readily apparent. it's no secret that over the centuries, christianity has used as a tool for oppressive systems to dominate marginalized groups, both within its ingroup and without. "purity" in christianity is less a virtue and more a heavily enforced, wildly contradictory idea, hiding itself in mealy-mouthed platitudes about being a Good Person or Becoming Your Best Self while simultaneously, stringently punishing its own members for daring to step a toe out of an extremely arbitrary line. like, I remember going to church growing up, and in the same breath that the head priest said to pray for various members of the community (thoughts and prayers, lmao), pray for [insert local sports team here] to win for their upcoming game, he also said that yes, democrats are corrupting the country. yes, homosexuals are going to hell. mass was an exercise in enduring misery most of the time, and a big reason I stayed closeted from my family for the majority of my life is because of this, and I still am, in many ways. I still have to divvy myself up in bits and pieces to become Socially Acceptable enough to appease my extended family, and there are certain family members that I will go to my grave never having come out to them, because I know they will never accept me for who I am, truly. so to have purity be a kyrian virtue with no further examination, no trace of irony, and to have loyalty as a virtue to back it up, feels, at best, extremely tone-deaf.

when you quest alongside kleia and pelagos, you see these purity rituals, and you see how large a toll they take on them. you see pelagos struggle, and you as the player help him overcome the difficulties he faces- difficulties he could not overcome himself. you see kleia, over time, becoming more and more disgruntled with bastion's governing body as a whole, and finding more and more cracks in the kyrians' concept of purity. but no lessons are learned, from either of these. nothing is examined further, and I have doubts that it ever will.

you, the player, see other kyrians, who previously were orcs, tauren, trolls, draenei, all these non-humans, being stripped of their identity, ostensibly for the reason that it will make them more just and fair a judge, a concept that rapidly falls apart the longer you look at it. the idea of all these sentient creatures from all these walks of life, particularly the ones heavily coded as BIPOC, are to be stripped of their cultural identity and made into Homogenous Standard (white-coded) Blue Human is so intrinsically malicious that it is genuinely baffling that it was even seriously considered as an idea, let alone greenlit and put into the game. prospective mortals are scouted to be kyrians theoretically for the lives they lived in service of others, in justice and kindness and wisdom, and then they are made to give up more and more pieces of those lives, rendering whatever they've learned, whatever experiences they've gained, that made them this person that the kyrians sought out in the first place, an utterly pointless and redundant endeavor. things like kindness, wisdom, courage, are not inherent qualities. They are things that have to be learned. They are things in which the context of them is paramount to how they will be measured. So to say that it is Necessary to do this, to make them Fairer, to make them More Just, feels both stunningly nonsensical and just pointlessly, nihilistically mean.

so what does this have to do with the Light?

well, in recent years, it seems to be steering more and more towards the idea that only correct religion within WoW is the Light, and there's only One Way to be Light. Early on in WoW's development, it was established that yeah, shadow has a bit of a reputation and can certainly be misused, but nobody's arguing that the Light can be misused, too, and that neither shadow nor light are inherently good nor inherently evil- they just Are, and each serve their own purpose in this world and its way of things. I had written a post about this like. several years ago, and a lot of it hasn't aged very well (I will not link to it bc woof, it was Pretty Rough to look at again after seven years lmao), but the gist of it was that Light and Shadow, are less like good and evil, and more like the Force from star wars. Well, a more nuanced force- again, Light is not Strictly Good, Shadow is not Strictly Evil. They are merely opposite sides of the same spectrum, but they are not inherently antithetical to each other. It was less a religion/belief system with an established deity, and more just reverence for the universe and its workings as a whole. Yes, it has the markers and drapings of christianity, particularly in its aesthetics, but the actual belief system didn't really lift anything from any particular christian belief system, and didn't really match up to any one of them, besides, again, the aesthetic of it. The Light now, however- now it does have a lot in common with christian beliefs. or at least, it and the church of the light have a lot in common with the mentality of those with strong christian beliefs. Which is to say, again, there is only one Correct Religion, and it's Light, and there's only One Correct Way to be Light. other religions within wow are either condemned, painted as savage, violent, heretical, or watered down so much that they either don't matter or function as mere Extensions to the light.

last summer, when I was reading the "before the storm" novel as research for my sylvanas essay, one of the many, many things that made it a difficult read was how like. unintentionally, thoughtlessly intolerant Golden had written it. Anduin, one of the main characters in it, despite having a history of kindness, compassion, curiosity, and understanding, is kind of shunted into being a 1-dimensional Good Christian Boy(tm). Like, he struggles with interacting with the forsaken, despite them having been in existence for over a decade at this point, and more than half his lifetime, and despite having dealt with them before, and orcs, and tauren, and a great number of other non-human creatures, while still treating them with grace and dignity, and respecting their perspectives, experiences, and beliefs. like, he's painted as thinking that the netherlight temple would be an alliance-only, church of the holy light only affair, and is really surprised, even stunned, at the thought of having to interact with non-alliance, non-light priests. and something that really really stuck with me while reading this, was that Anduin, this compassionate, intelligent, understanding person, could only learn to interact with priests of other factions and species, despite having already done this before, many, many times in his life, on the basis that They, Too, Are Servants Of The Light. and there's just. no examination in this. no irony. Light is Right, Others are Not. No lessons were learned.

[whatstheproblembaby]

Fic: Points of Contact

PG-13, 2325 words, intended to be a character study but just kind of turned into a pile of fluff and banter? /shrugs

Also on AO3.

As much as she loved a quiet meal at home with her family, Shelagh appreciated their monthly invitations to dinner at Nonnatus House. The little ones were in ecstasy, surrounded by all of their favorite adults, who had no excuses not to play with them. She herself got to enjoy a meal in which she only had to cook one of the dishes, and now that Cyril and Fred were part of the guest list, she knew that Patrick looked forward to a little time with “the lads,” as he was (unfortunately) wont to call them.

She felt a smile blossom across her face as she re-entered the dining area from the kitchen, fresh cup of tea in hand. The others had adjourned to the parlour, where they were waiting for Doctor Who to start. Patrick, Cyril, and Fred had all dragged dining chairs to the far side of the room and were chatting away animatedly, though Cyril kept turning his gaze to the television every so often, clearly not wanting to miss a moment of the show. Sister Monica Joan was on a low stool, no more than a foot of space between her and the screen. Her focus, though, was on the children, who were listening somewhat attentively to her explanation of what to expect from the programme. Violet had had to step out on council business, so Sister Julienne and Phyllis had commandeered the armchairs, leaving the rest of the nuns and nurses to pile onto the sofa or sprawl out on the surrounding floor. Shelagh scanned the space, trying to see where she could squeeze in, when a gesture between Trixie and Sister Frances stopped her cold.

Trixie had perched on the arm of the sofa, one arm draped across Sister Frances’ shoulders. Even that level of public affection was a surprise to Shelagh, who hadn’t realized that Trixie’s comfort with casual, friendly touches extended past her fellow resident midwives, but Sister Frances’ response was the real stunner.

Sister Frances leaned contentedly into Trixie’s loose embrace, tucking her head as best she could onto Trixie’s shoulder and throwing her right arm over one of Trixie’s legs. She showed no fear of being caught doing something improper - indeed, Sister Julienne looked on with a smile as Sister Hilda finished relating an anecdote and the whole sofa burst into laughter.

Shelagh felt her breath catch. She only realized she had been hovering in the doorway a little too long when a concerned “Shelagh?” came from Patrick’s side of the room.

“Forgot to add milk,” she quipped, raising her cup and hoping the laugh she added at the end sounded less forced to everyone else’s ears. She turned and headed back to the kitchen, where she rummaged through the refrigerator with unseeing eyes.

A religious Sister is holy and separate, Sister Adelaide’s voice swam up from her memories. She rejoices and mourns with the community she serves, but she is not of the community. She cannot confuse the comforts of being a sister of man with her higher purpose fulfilling God’s commands with her Sisters in Christ.

Shelagh pressed her lips together wryly as she imagined Sister Adelaide’s reaction to the current display in the parlour. She knew her former instructor in the religious life had since passed on, but she hadn’t realized quite how different the lessons for the newer Sisters would be.

“My love, are you sure you’re all right?” Patrick reached down and took her teacup, setting it on the counter before securing both of her hands in his. “You’re taking an awfully long time to add milk to your already milky tea.”

“Maybe I want the extra calcium,” Shelagh said, smiling up at him. “These old bones could use some shoring up.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that statement, in order to not incriminate myself in the process,” Patrick said with an echoing smile. The love in his eyes still caught Shelagh off-guard, even after years of marriage. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m fine, Patrick,” Shelagh said tenderly. “The times have changed, that’s all. Now, we’d better get back to the parlour before Sister Monica Joan turns all of our children into mystics and Romantic poets.”

Patrick huffed out a laugh. “You know I’m going to ask you to explain what you mean by that first statement later.”

“I will. I just need a little more time to process it for myself first.”

Shelagh noticed the sensation of Patrick’s hand on the small of her back a little more acutely than usual as he guided her back to the party, marking how he removed it once they were properly in mixed company. Later, too, she became aware of how there was always a careful space left for her amongst the women, close enough to ensure she was included, but not so small that she was nudged playfully in the shoulder or brushed by someone crossing their legs to the other side.

The warm weight of her son in her arms at the end of the evening was her anchor. Teddy was dozing off by the time they left, and May and Angela weren’t too far behind. Thankfully, Sister Julienne offered to carry Angela out to their car to keep Patrick or Shelagh from having to make two trips down the stairs.

“Thank you for inviting us to dinner. We always have such a lovely time,” Shelagh said, rocking Teddy as she waited for Patrick to settle May in the back seat of the station wagon.

“The pleasure is all ours, Shelagh,” Sister Julienne said. She reached out and squeezed Shelagh’s arm once, maternally. “You know you’re part of our family. You are always welcome here.”

Shelagh just smiled, unsure of what her voice would do if she tried to respond aloud. By then, Patrick had secured May, so she focused on getting Teddy into the car next without waking him or disturbing the girls. Once all was in order, she and Patrick wished Sister Julienne a good night and waited for her to get back inside safely before they drove off.

In the car, Patrick started to say her name, but Shelagh cut him off by sliding across the bench seat and dropping her head on his shoulder.

“Get us home, Patrick. I’ll explain once we’ve got the children squared away for the night.”

The ride home was quiet, the soft sound of the radio the only real noise as Patrick navigated the streets of Poplar. Shelagh eventually shifted so her hand was resting loosely on Patrick’s above the gear shift, to allow him to manoeuvre the car better, but she stayed close by his side as they unloaded their children and got them in bed, earning a pleased yet confused look from her husband.

“You’re tactile this evening,” he observed mildly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walked down the hall to their own room.

“I’m tactile plenty of evenings,” Shelagh replied, handing Patrick his pyjamas from the wardrobe before fetching her own. “I just don’t always allow myself to act on it.”

“Because of-” Patrick broke off, freeing himself from his vest before continuing, “Because of something I’ve done? Shelagh, I’m so-”

“Not because of you, Patrick,” Shelagh said decisively. “Quite the opposite, in fact. But I’m not explaining while you’re changing - I don’t want you to smother yourself with your own clothing!”

They separated long enough to get their pyjamas on and wash up for the night, giving Shelagh one last moment to collect her thoughts.

“Come here,” Patrick said when she reentered the bedroom, holding his arms open from where he sat on his side of the bed. “If you’re still allowing yourself to be tactile, that is.”

Shelagh slid under the covers and into his arms gratefully. “I’m going to try. I don’t want to display too much affection in public, but...I think I may have been holding myself to old-fashioned standards.”

Patrick just raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with curiosity.

“Tonight, at Nonnatus, I saw Trixie and Sister Frances cuddle up to each other without a second thought, and I didn’t know what to do for a moment,” Shelagh explained. “When I was a Sister, casual physical touch was not encouraged. One was supposed to focus on one’s commitment to God to find sustenance and support. Perhaps after one’s life vows, or at a funeral for another Sister, there could be a quick embrace, but on a typical day, there should be space between one and one’s Sisters on the sofa at recreation, and one should not even think about touching or embracing a layperson unless they were experiencing labor, bereavement, or a medical emergency.”

“Really?” Patrick asked. “I’ve always thought of the Sisters as the most nurturing community presence - but now that you say that, I can’t count many times I’ve seen them actually offer a hug. An encouraging squeeze of the arm, perhaps, or a parcel of food or clothing if it serves.”

“We were expected to love as God loves, of course,” Shelagh said. “But there were ways we could do that while staying ‘holy and separate.’ Or so I was taught.”

“It would appear that whichever Sister was in charge of your lessons isn’t instructing anymore.”

“No, she’s long gone, may she rest in peace. And perhaps this new embrace of - well - embracing others is more of a Nonnatus trend than a result of any teachings from the Mother House. Still, it caught me by surprise tonight.” Shelagh tucked her head into the crook of Patrick’s neck as she finished speaking.

Patrick kissed Shelagh’s temple. “Because you were uncomfortable?”

“Because I was jealous,” Shelagh replied. She closed her eyes briefly to hide her embarrassment at saying so, but when she straightened up and looked at Patrick again, she saw nothing but understanding in his eyes, emboldening her to go on. “I spent ten years of my life keeping my distance from other people, believing it was the right way to show my devotion to God and my vows to Him. Still, I saw every moment I could have hugged a frightened mother and didn’t, or every moment I refrained from comforting one of the resident nurses at Nonnatus. I didn’t even let you hold me in public for the first year of our marriage because I was afraid everyone would think I was so starved for affection that I left the church the first time a man so much as looked at me. And now the Sisters can just casually curl up with the nurses on the couch in the parlour?”

Shelagh couldn’t restrain her frustrated tears any longer. Before the first of them were even finished trickling down her cheeks, she found herself wrapped in Patrick’s arms, her head cradled against his shoulder. He murmured soothing nonsense in her ear, assuring her he was in no rush for her to pull herself back together.

“I’m sorry, Patrick, I got you soaked,” Shelagh said once she was finally able to sit upright again.

Patrick wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I see the reasoning behind what you were taught as a Sister, but good intent doesn’t make up for years of you suppressing instincts that are now being supported by that very same institution.”

“Thankfully, I’ve also had years to work on retraining myself,” Shelagh said, a tentative smile on her face. “You’ve been quite helpful there.”

Patrick’s forehead crinkled. “I have?”

“Maybe not in so many words, but you reached for my hand when I was still afraid to name what I was feeling for you. You wrapped me in your coat when I was lost and cold on the road back to Poplar. You’ve held me time and time again as I’ve cried without me having to say a word - not five minutes ago, even! You have shown me that physical affection can be simple, natural, and meaningful, and it doesn’t diminish the quality of our love or our professionalism.”

“And here I thought I was merely capitalizing on my chances to show my devotion to my lovely wife,” Patrick said, squeezing Shelagh’s hands where they lay in his own. “I’ll always be here if and when you reach out, Shelagh.”

“I know, Patrick. I’ve always known that.” Shelagh leaned up to kiss her husband at that. “And I’m going to let myself reach out to you and to our friends more. I don’t want to give people a show, of course, but I’ve barely let myself hold your hand in public out of concern for propriety. I think we’re still within the bounds of good taste if we go a little beyond that, don’t you?”

“I should say so,” Patrick said, pressing another kiss to Shelagh’s smile. “But I could have a hidden agenda.”

“A hidden agenda? I’m not sure what you mean,” Shelagh teased, rolling onto her back and pulling Patrick on top of her.

“Let me explain.” Patrick leaned down and proceeded to illuminate his agenda quite thoroughly, adding a few items to Shelagh’s own in the process. When they had finally finished, Shelagh curled up with her head on Patrick’s chest, feeling sleep begin to claim her.

“Somehow I don’t think I’m going to add any of what we just did to my ideas of what’s appropriate in public,” she murmured, laughing softly. “But I’m happy for some things to remain just for us.”

“There’s a time and a place for everything,” Patrick agreed.

The last thing Shelagh felt before drifting off was a light kiss to her hair, an action she was all too willing to repeat the next morning as they opened up the surgery. The almost comical look of shock on Miss Higgins’ face in result gave her another reason to keep pushing her former boundaries - after all, where else was she going to find this level of amusement?

[spectrumed]

4. body

Do I have body issues? Well... yeah. Who doesn’t? I absolutely do not like being fat, that’s something I’d change about me. And I probably should bulk up a little, go to the gym. My diet isn’t terrible, I don’t eat any fast food, but I could still always eat healthier. More greens, less beans. But most of all, my biggest body issue is that I don’t really associate myself with my body. My mind feels disconnected from my body. The day scientists invent a way for us all to live as brains in jars on wheels, I’m there standing in line for a chance to become all cerebral. Being physical, it’s just so messy, so awkward, so uncomfortable. You feel pain, you feel embarrassment, you feel horny. Nothing good comes from having a body. If you were just a brain, you could go on thinking and calculating and just generally having a good mental time. Or you’d start feeling suffocated and trapped trying to move your limbs and realising that they have been all chopped off. Hmm… Maybe it’s more complicated than I initially thought.

I don’t understand people who enjoy physical activities. Let it be clear before we delve into this long rant of mine complaining about all things gymnastic, this is not particularly an autistic trait. In fact, there are plenty of autistic people who may excel as athletes, their drive and obsessive personality traits becoming quite useful in developing that discipline that is required to fully commit to becoming an all-star jock. Not all autistic people are reprehensible nerds. Some autistic people are actually quite sexy. Some even have abs. But that’s not me. That’s not my clan of autistic people. I like drawing maps. I like thinking about things. I like making cocktails. The only part of my physical body that I like to put strain on is my liver. Don’t make me go on a run. There isn’t an armchair in this world that I wouldn’t want to sit down in, even the ones that used to be owned by old chain-smokers that have that awful aroma that sneaks into your nostrils and makes you worry about second-hand lung cancer. Sitting is great. I like sitting. Also lying down. Lying down is good.

Am I lazy? No, I don’t think so. Maybe a little, but here’s the thing. I can’t control the things I obsess over. There’s a great deal of overlap between autism spectrum disorder and attention deficit disorder. If you’re reading this and you’re a fellow friend on the spectrum, you may have gotten diagnosed with both. One of those rare times in my life I have attended group therapy, more than half the group were diagnosed with both. I, however, am not. But seeing as the two conditions are so intertwined, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that a facet of autism involves difficulties in trying to focus on something, or even trying not to focus on something too hard. If you were to judge my tenacity, my ability to keep going, based solely on how I perform during physical tasks, you’d think I was the least resolute person on the planet. But then you’ll find me, some time later, staying up until four in the morning drawing another map. A map that’s really just a different take on another map that I drew earlier, that itself was a reworked version of a previous map that I drew but didn’t like, that actually began as a second iteration of one map I drew that was actually wholly different, that was based on a map of Europe but if Denmark never existed. How many maps have you drawn Fred? Why don’t you go mind your own business, you nosy ferret.

The DSM-5 (the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. You can think of it as something akin to a bible of psychology, which is definitely an inflammatory way to refer to it, but I’m gonna go with it! Because I’m a wildcard, and that’s just how I roll,) includes this section as part of its diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder.

Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus (e.g., strong attachment to or preoccupation with unusual objects, excessively circumscribed or perseverative interests).

Now, I personally don’t relate to that at all. There’s nothing abnormal in my intense love for maps. The fact that maps aren’t as widely cherished as they ought to be is a fault of others, and I refuse to acknowledge that this may be a part of my character that could be perceived as quirky, or out of the ordinary. But, still, for the sake of argument, let’s presume that I can get, at times, excessively circumscribed. I’d like to say that I’ve only ever engaged in excessive circumscribing in my privacy away from onlookers, but I am afraid that I may have allowed some of my excessive circumscribing to happen in public. I definitely do apologise for that. I will try to do better in the future. But you never know when you’re about to experience some excessive circumscribing. The best you can do is keep it limited.

I don’t know how neurotypicals work. So, you don’t feel these kinds of obsessions? These moments of intense focus? These fixations? Then, you lack passion? Are you heartless? Soulless? Or are you just weak? Are you too feeble to hold steadfast working on a project all night long? To lose touch with your sense of hunger, your need for sleep, and all contact with any other human person? My fixations may come across as strange, but to me, your lack of fixations come across as bizarre. The world is endlessly fascinating. Have you never felt that compulsion to just fully immerse yourself in a topic that allows you to forget about your physical body for just that moment in time? The body cannot hold me. I wish to absorb as much information as I can. If I could astral project, by gods, I would astral project. To decouple your consciousness from your mushy brain for just that little bit, to go soaring across the landscapes, to explore the cosmos, just free of all things corporeal, that would be swell. How terrible isn’t it, when you’re deep in research, learning all about the mystical religious practices of the long-dead hierophants of the ancient world, to be drawn back into the present by the sudden need to urinate? There is something so dreadfully mundane about possessing a human body. If only we could all be celestial beings allowed to just be without the biological needs associated with having flesh and blood and bone and bladders.

I am not religious, nor am I spiritual. I do not believe that there is an immaterial world that lies above the material. I do not believe there is an astral plane. I think that one of the terrifying things about living is knowing that we do not possess such a thing as an eternal soul, that all things are temporal, and that ultimately, we have to come to terms with that. It’s not so terrible. In some ways, the temporal nature of life can be its biggest blessing. All things must pass. Sure, that does include the good times, like that vacation you spent as a child wishing that it would never end. But it also includes the bad times. The heartbreak you feel from a failed relationship. The grief you feel after the passing of a parent. The depression some of us are burdened with. Some days are worse than others. But they too will pass. One of the remarkable things about the human body is its ability to bounce back from injury. To change and evolve in ways we sometimes find unthinkable. The brain, likewise, is transformational, capable of incredible developments. We’re not fixed in stone. We’re not eternal. Which is a good thing. It is what allows recuperation and progress. I should be thankful to my body for being there, even when I’m not. After all, isn’t your body your temple?

I am able-bodied. Am I disabled? There’s naturally a lot of questions that surround how we ought to understand mental illness or neurodiversity in regards to disability. Does autism spectrum disorder count as a disability? Well, yes, it can be considered a learning disability. It is certainly something of a handicap, you are experiencing struggles that most people don’t experience. But to your average layperson, your typical dullard who spends their time watching reality TV, drinking beer, and being happy, what counts as a disability to them? Would they see me and think I was disabled? I’m not in a wheelchair. I don’t walk with a cane. Though I will occasionally “stim,” make small repetitive moments with my hands or legs, I do not exhibit any kind of physical symptoms. If I told them that I was disabled, they’d scoff and tell me that I’m just making it up for attention. They’d say I’m probably just trying to mooch off the government, scoring welfare checks while doing nothing to contribute to society. I’ve got all my limbs. I am not sickly. I am actually quite strong, due to being a big and tall man, I am able to carry quite the load. So, I have no reason to not be a fully productive member of society, right? And yet, here I am, feeling at most times utterly perplexed by anything physical. Probably because I am just lazy, right?

I don’t think laziness is a thing. What is laziness supposed to actually be? Tiredness? If a person is perpetually tired, then they’ve likely got a sleep disorder. To call them lazy would be callous. There are plenty of overworked people that get called lazy, especially by tyrannical overseers who think of their charges as mere workhorses whose only purpose in life is to toil away in the factory until the day they die. Intolerable parents who see their terminally sullen child and instead of wondering what is making them so upset decide to deride them for their lack of ambition. Are you lazy when you are procrastinating? No you are just being a tad irresponsible, maybe, deciding to skip out on chores in order to play video games or masturbate. But you’re not just doing nothing. People generally don’t enjoy doing nothing. We need something to occupy ourselves, to fill that vacuum we all feel whenever we’re just sitting still. I am someone who appears to be comfortable just sitting still, but that’s because I’ve learned, since a very young age, to entertain myself with my own thoughts. To fantasise, to daydream, to do anything I can to escape from the void that is doing absolutely nothing. Boredom, that’s terrible. Boredom is existential dread. Of all the motivations that drive humans, love, spite, jealousy, or pride, I think the need to evade boredom is one of the most prevalent. Humans would rather experience electric shocks than sit alone in a room being bored.

I am not lazy, I am merely… excessively circumscribed. For as much as this may be a specific diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, I think it is also a common trait amongst all humans. There will always be within us a pull to do something other than the thing that we’re really supposed to be doing, that does not make us lazy, that just makes us terrified of boredom. Sure, you know that you’re supposed to mow the lawn, but that's just so dreadfully tedious, you just would rather be working on perfecting your new stand-up comedy routine. Thinking up jokes to tell on stage is so much more stimulating than cutting grass. And who cares if your lawn grows a little wild? Lawns are a scam, imposed by fascists to make us think grass in its natural state is ugly. All grass is beautiful, whether it is cut short or it is allowed to grow long. Do the thing that fulfils you. Allow yourself to become immersed in passion, to forget about those things that hold you back, the little silly things we’ve convinced ourselves is important. Stay up late, if you wish. You’re gonna kill it on open mic night, bud!

Yes, it is a problem when your obsessions grow so singular that you forget to feed yourself. When you forget personal hygiene, when you become trapped in your own apartment looking like some feral rodent caught in a cage. Like always, the key is moderation, and I know that from time to time, you may have to entertain a boring task or two. Clean your room, brush your teeth, trim your pubic hair, try to give an impression that you are taking care of yourself. If for anyone, do it for your mother. She will be happy seeing you looking like a civilised individual, wearing clean clothes and not looking malnourished. But don’t ever chastise yourself for being lazy. Laziness is a sin that we’re all guilty of, and if we’re all guilty of it, is it really a sin? Or is it just part of what it means to be a human? To be a messy creature made out of flesh and blood and bone and the occasional bladder. In the end, I’m more happy than displeased at having a body. It’d be much harder to type on a keyboard if I didn’t have fingers.

Still, I wish I wasn’t fat.