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chaos-snakeboi-journal · 2 months

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Concerning The Recent Histories of Aqshy, Ghyran, and Their Hated Dawnbringer Crusades #2

Chapter One: The Dawn of the War

Note: The time of these writings is speculated to be early into the Vermindoom, as references exist to several entities that changed or were destroyed during the Era of the Vermindoom itself. Even as early as the tract's first publication, some information had already become outdated.

In writing these commentaries, I have opted to go saga by saga. This first entry concerns the first history in my possession, titled The Recent Histories of the Dawnbringer Crusades: Book One: Harbingers. Part of me suspects that perhaps the tomes I've received are incomplete, and a scan of the archive of documents provided alongside it confirm this suspicion. This first tome concerns in terms sometimes broad, sometimes general, the twin-headed Dawnbringer Crusades out of Hammerhals Aqshy and Ghyran, which have recently become tremendous sites of conflict in the Vermindoom that even now bedevils our days.

In fair Hammerhal Aqshy where we lay our scene, the great throngs of Sigmar's servants are preparing for a great march. However, the city buckles under the strain of a great Shudderplague that drives men to lethargy and sorrow. Needless to say, my preference was for the plague to take them all, but some intrepid agents of Sigmar's throne had other ideas.

Hammerhal Ghyran, too, suffered under the effects of this plague, where mystic rains conjured by their madness-touched nature goddess poured over the land in slightly too-great a force. Financial and political corruption swiftly rose from those hoarding their goddess' blessed rains, while under the soil, fat flies of Nurgle rose. Once more, my heroes are highly apparent.

The chapter concerning the Nurglite Harbinger Phulgoth struck my imagination in many ways. I did not realize that the magicks of the Order pantheon could be so subverted. A great rain of life from one of the aelves' own gods was woven inside out to become a torrent of filth and woe. Bog dead “rightfully owned” by the archmaester of death himself were turned into hideous plague zombies. Although I am far from a proponent of the Plague Lord and his...ways, Phulgoth's talent at gaining his god's blessings are surely aspirational.

With a brief sidenote regarding corruption within the Hammerhal Aqsha (it took them long enough), Phulgoth is opposed by a blasphemous caller to the ghoul-curse of the Flesh-Eater Courts. Regrettably, in the ensuing clash, it seems Phulgoth is forced to retreat. To the victor goes a brief dialogue, exposing the hypocrisy of the Flesh-Eater Counts, to reject all sanity for the sake of vainglory. The devotion their Marrowscroll Heralds command is admirable, but they are simple deceivers from the Golden Path.

The Harbingers of Decay such as Phulgoth are more intriguing, and paint an almost-appealing image of the might of the Nurgling legions. However, grief and sorrow is not my forte, nor are the suppurating wounds of the wretched Nurgle legions. I prefer myself whole and as I am, save a few improvements along the Path to Glory – especially ones that do not involve the blessings of the Lord of Decay.

The tome goes on to relate turmoil in other realms claimed by the march of ghouls, grots, and duardin marching against one another. The Fyreslayers, in particular, are the first to answer some great unchecked fires in Hammerhal Aqsha's streets, and what they found was shocking: Grot invaders, led by a howling champion of their ilk, were setting the flames intentionally, all to steal mere bottles. The death and destruction that followed robbed the city of an important financial asset, cementing their need to march forth.

The chapters concerning the rest of this conflict sort of meanders in the same direction. The grots desire bottles, the idiots of Azyr refuse to aid the duardin, the duardin are able to stop the grots but at great cost. We've seen this saga a thousand times over the endless histories of the Fyreslayers, and I hope that the supplementary materials can illuminate some more interesting facets of the Fyreslayer/grot conflict. Although I call neither side friend, the tenacity, strength, and mighty liquors of the duardin hosts and hope they ultimately triumphed.

At long last, the crusades...sort of launch. This is a slow-developing history, to be certain, and the ranting about Sigmar's will and benevolence tells me the author of the piece most likely holds a pro-Azyr bias. However, often the only delusions harbored by Azyrite authors are those of their own superiority – rarely are narratives written by them taken up in visions, dreams, hallucinations, and lies. The dedication to the truth makes their documents (at least those which are not flagrant propaganda) accurate.

#ic journal #warhammer age of sigmar #aos #age of sigmar soulbound #soulbound #oc blog #warhammer #chaos #slaves to darkness #warcry #dawnbringers #harbingers #dawnbringers book 1 harbingers

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bunmurdock · 6 months

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👋

saw a post about toxic people in fandom, and while it was strongly-worded, boy do i have things to add.

unfortunately, i know who this post is referring to, and i’ve refrained from talking about them up until now, but i think it’s good visibility for this community to have. that person was a notable presence in fandom and mutual of mine who, over time, underwent a significant personality and blog overhaul. they were once very sweet and intellectually-stimulating to talk to but shifted over to a toxic corner of the comic fandom and began to act in certain ways aligned with that corner of fandom (emphasis on corner of comic side, most comic fans i’ve spoken to are nothing but kind and welcoming). i want to shed light on some things i’ve witnessed. this person was an awesome content creator for live action dd, but, well. feel free to read on and form your own opinions.

yes, this is about briefcasejuice.

if you follow them, you'll have probably seen their posts about live action fandom, i.e. marvel's daredevil is "ableist", "racist", and liking it makes you problematic. like, i understand people fall out of love with media all the time, and i think virtually any reason is valid to leave. i don't care. what bothered me about this person was, ultimately, their repeated hypocrisy and behavior towards others in fandom.

up until the time i unfollowed, i was noticing their posts on my feed—initially innocuous—grow increasingly negative and unproductive. sure, tv discourse and critique is healthy and good, i have my own grievances with live action daredevil. but soon enough, it had extended to fandom, fandom creations, perceived fandom failure to engage with their content, people or ideologies they found problematic irl or on social media, everyday inconveniences, etc. it was just... the same old predictable negativity and virtue signalling reminiscent of those who are chronically online, but lacking in self-awareness and emotional regulation skills.

moreover, i found their response to some sincere, good-faith asks to be disappointing. iirc, there was one situation where some anon was trying to learn about transgenderism, and was met with a disproportionate negative emotional response. it was not a good look, and coincidentally that ask response was later deleted. in another situation, they were kindly asked not to use rape-promoting language in describing certain individuals that they disliked, and their response was to deny it when the language was uninterpretable in any other way. i remember seeing these on my feed, and they gave me pause about being friends with this person.

which brings me to why i'm adding this response in the first place, because while i do not care what views this person holds or what they do on their own blog, what really grinds my gears is the betrayal and disingenuous behavior towards friends in fandom. this person was best friends with user @/pastafossa and seemingly the number one fan of the fic “the red thread”; they’d blog about it repeatedly. i started reading the story because of their marketing. imagine my shock at these posts which were made less than two years apart.

this person also went on to complain repeatedly about a perceived lack of tumblr engagement to their own followers. tumblr engagement is notoriously shit, but there's a difference between asking and expecting. asking is reasonable, entitlement is ugly. and i have to wonder how much of their off-putting nature contributed to less engagement.

not to mention i recently found out that they had joined fandom misrepresenting their age, engaging with me and other adults in fandom through our heavily adult fanworks before they had turned eighteen. they had started engaging with my content in early 2022 with their age listed as adult at that time, but the current age listed on their blog (as of march 2024) doesn't reflect a continuity. further digging on other sites confirms this. this behavior is violating, not to mention that they, at least at one point, had a strict minors-do-not-interact policy on their blog.

it's clear that they over-identify with their interests to an unhealthy degree through their repeated attempts to cull their interests and gatekeep topics that they perceive to be esoteric and cool. and while i agree that there are parts of the daredevil media and fandom that need to change, this level of denial and vilification of one's past and the community that supported them is characteristic of someone who's mentally unwell, and i would encourage anyone reading this—content creators, authors, and artists—to stay away from this person and to brace yourself for fringe fandom behavior like this on this website.

(please do not send hate to anyone.)

#idk. at least they're an interesting character study #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock #charlie cox #daredevil #netflix daredevil #psa

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cappymightwrite · 2 years

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Mythology, Folklore & The Isle of Faces....

In the southeastern region of the riverlands is the mysterious Isle of Faces, one of the few known locations in the south where the weirwoods thrive... As someone with an interest in Germanic paganism (thanks to my MA studies), the Isle of Faces really stands out as somewhat evocative of certain sacred groves, i.e. important Norse cultic and ritual sites:

Finally the wise of both races prevailed, and the chiefs and heroes of the First Men met the greenseers and wood dancers amidst the weirwood groves of a small island in the great lake called Gods Eye.

"There they forged the Pact. The First Men were given the coastlands, the high plains and bright meadows, the mountains and bogs, but the deep woods were to remain forever the children's, and no more weirwoods were to be put to the axe anywhere in the realm. So the gods might bear witness to the signing, every tree on the island was given a face, and afterward, the sacred order of green men was formed to keep watch over the Isle of Faces. – AGOT, Bran VII

(The Isle of Faces by Kaija Rudkiewicz)

It is pretty evident from the text that the mysterious Isle of Faces is a place of spiritual, but also political, importance — it is where the children of the forest and the First Men "forged the Pact." But what makes it most striking to me is that like the sacred groves of the Norse peoples, the godswoods and the Isle of Faces were also once connected to ritualistic human sacrifice:

"Me and mine were here before the Manderlys. Like as not, my own forebears strung those entrails through the tree."

"I never knew that northmen made blood sacrifice to their heart trees."

"There's much and more you southrons do not know about the north," Ser Bartimus replied. – ADWD, Davos III

[...] gathering in their hundreds (some say on the Isle of Faces), and calling on their old gods with song and prayer and grisly sacrifice (a thousand captive men were fed to the weirwood, one version of the tale goes, whilst another claims the children used the blood of their own young). – TWOIAF, Dorne: The Breaking

In real world history, Neil Price has noted that "some of the most dramatic and public sacrifice sites are the sacred groves," sites that have also left lasting mark on certain Scandinavian place-names. For example, an important cultic site in the Norse world was the one at Gamla Uppsala, in Sweden, which included, amongst other things, a sacred grove:

Adam of Bremen mentions one as part of his account of the Uppsala rituals, a cluster of "divine" trees in which some seventy-two bodies of male animals (nine of each)—including men and large beasts such as stallions—were suspended and left to rot. Similar scenes are depicted on the Gotland picture-stones and on the Viking-Age tapestries from Oseberg. – Neil Price, The Children of Ash & Elm

Evidently, human and/or animal sacrifice is no longer practised in the godswoods of the north, yet its history is nevertheless remembered by the northmen and looked upon negatively by followers of the Seven. We can see some parallel here, as well as hypocrisy, in the way Christians viewed the same practice by pagan Scandinavians:

The Christian cultures of Europe thought it normal to put people to death in a variety of foul and public ways, and yet recoiled in atavistic horror from a tree hanging animal corpses. – Neil Price, The Children of Ash & Elm

People always like to make out that the Vikings were particularly violent, when in actual fact... they were no more violent that anyone else living in that time. Their move to raiding, however, was shocking to the people of the British Isles because they had previously had a decent trade relationship... but anyway, that's not the point here!

So, to get back to human sacrifice 😅 it's interesting to note that according to TWOIAF, there is a tale that "grisly sacrifice" took place at the Isle of the Faces: "a thousand captive men were fed to the weirwood." If it is a confirmed fact that the godswoods in general held ritual sacrifices then it's not much of a stretch of the imagination... in fact, it may be possible that the part of the Pact signing in which "every tree on the island was given a face," may be connected to this. Could it be that the faces on the weirwoods are representative of the faces of these first sacrifical victims?

Turning to real history, the spiritual significance of wood carvings is not unique to the godswoods:

Wooden figures of vaguely human form were also set up in the marshes, either as idols or perhaps as proxies for actual people, a kind of permanent sacrifice. These objects have been excavated from the bogs in some numbers and can be very large, taller than humans (perhaps appropriately, if they really are gods). – Neil Price, The Children of Ash & Elm

Obviously I'm just speculating, but it could be that faces carved into the weirwoods similarly act as "proxies for actual people, a kind of permanent sacrifice." But on the other hand, they could also be representive of the old gods themselves "bear[ing] witness."

These sites are very hard to trace through archaelogy, but something of this kind has remarkably survived at Frösö (the same 'Freyr's Island' we encountered earlier as a place-name) in northern Sweden. When alterations being carried out inside a medieval church required the removal of the floor, directly beneath the altar archaeologists found the well-preserved stump of a birch tree, surrounded by hundreds of bone fragments. Radiocarbon analysis has shown that the tree was cut down in the late eleventh century—in other words, about the time the first wooden church was erected (and close to the date of Adam of Bremen's tale of the Uppsala grove). The bone deposits date from the tenth century, thus dating the activities around the tree firmly to the Viking Age. – Neil Price, The Children of Ash & Elm

I could write a whole other post about sacred trees in Norse culture and ASOIAF, because whether intentional or not there is an intriguing parallel with the use of one central tree... or heart tree.

The bones represented substantial numbers of animals of several species, and presumably had been offered there over many years—perhaps the bodies were even hung from the branches. [...] The tree was certainly meant to be seen, as it was situated at the highest point of the island, with views over the lakes and mountains. – Neil Price, The Children of Ash & Elm

As noted earlier in Davos' chapter, the northmen apparently "strung [...] entrails through the tree." Grim, yes, but not a foreign concept! This detail is supported in TWOIAF, specifying the killing of "criminals and traitors":

The men of the North are descendants of the First Men, their blood only slowly mingling with that of the Andals who overwhelmed the kingdoms to the south. The original language of the First Men—known as the Old Tongue—has come to be spoken only by the wildlings beyond the Wall, and many other aspects of their culture have faded away (such as the grislier aspects of their worship, when criminals and traitors were killed and their bodies and entrails hung from the branches of weirwoods.) – TWOIAF, The North

This kind of puts a judicial spin on the practice, rather than a spiritual one, though possibly it is a mix of the two. In the case of the Isle of Faces, however, "a thousand captive men" were rumoured to have been "fed to the weirwood," which sounds a lot more ritualistic, imo.

The location of the Isle of Faces is also worth mentioning in terms of how it corresponds with real Norse cultic sites and sacred groves. It's placement on an island, called the God's Eye 👁 again, probably unintentionally, mirrors sites like Frösö ('Freyr's Island'), creating an even more liminal environment. Rather than a reference to Freyr though, the name the God's Eye rather evokes someone else.

(Detail from SÁM 66, an 18th Cent. Icelandic Manuscript)

It may not be coincidental that several of Óðinn's names refer to him as the god of the gallows, and that some of the myths relate how he could wake the hanging dead and interrogate them about the future. Divination played a major part in Viking ritual, and this too may be connected with the sacrificial groves. – Neil Price, The Children of Ash & Elm

Óðinn is famously known for having hung himself upon Yggdrasill, a sacrifice of himself to himself, as recounted in the eddic poem Hávamál ('The Lay of the High One'), st. 138:

I know that I hung on that windy tree, spear-wounded, nine full nights, given to Óðinn, myself to myself, on that tree that rose from roots that no man ever knows.

Óðinn is also well known for another kind of sacrifice — his eye 👁 — at the "much-famed fountain of Mímir," as mentioned in Völuspá ('The Prophecy of the Seeress'), st. 28:

Alone she sat out, when the aged one came, the Dread One of the Æsir, and she looked in his eye: 'What do you ask me? Why do you try me? I know it all, Óðinn: where you hid your eye, in the much-famed fountain of Mímir; Mímir sips mead every morning from Corspe-father's pledge: do you know yet, or what?'

Lastly, Óðinn has an interesting relationship with liminal spaces, specifically islands as well. For example, in the youngest version of Gautreks saga there is an account, sometimes known as Víkars þáttr ('The Tale of Víkar'), which includes an episode in which the protagonist Starkaðr's foster-father Grani Horsehair takes him to an island where eleven men are at council. Grani then sits himself in the twelfth chair, revealing himself to be Óðinn.

So, when it comes to the godswoods, weirwoods, ravens, greenseeing and the religion of the old gods as a whole... things really do start feeling very very very Odinic. These evocations can be extended to certain characters, with Bloodraven being especially blatant, although he is likely not the only one who bears these associations... we might look towards Bran, but also, intriguingly, at Jon. But anway, that's definitely the topic of a longer meta!

Back to the Isle of Faces... while there is definitely a hint of Óðinn present, the reference to "green men" is also worth noting.

"No one visits the Isle of Faces," objected Bran. "That's where the green men live." – ASOS, Bran II

"Maybe he came from the Isle of Faces," said Bran. "Was he green?" In Old Nan's stories, the guardians had dark green skin and leaves instead of hair. Sometimes they had antlers too, but Bran didn't see how the mystery knight could have worn a helm if he had antlers. "I bet the old gods sent him." – ASOS, Bran II

All the tales agreed that the green men had strange magic powers. Maybe they could help him walk again, even turn him into a knight. They turned the little crannogman into a knight, even if it was only for a day, he thought. A day would be enough. – ASOS, Bran II

The figure of the Green Man in folklore is an interesting one. Originally, according to Carolyne Larrington, he was "a decorative motif: typically, an image of a man's face peering out from a cluster of stylised oak-leaves, leaves which, in turn, grow out of his cheeks and forehead," (The Land of the Green Men). This 'foliate head' is very widespread, particularly in English church architecture, but also elsewhere in Europe. Some have argued that the Green Man is representative of an ancient vegetation god, "the spirit of regrowth and natural fertility." This is interesting when we consider that the green men of the Isle of Faces are also tied to growth and nature, protecting the sacred grove of weirwoods...

Nevertheless, we can't really say what the origins of the Green Man motif are, though many other figures have been connected to him... including Óðinn/Woden/Wotan, as the leader of the Wild Hunt.

(A Green Man from the abbey-church of Vendôme, France)

Another leader of the Wild Hunt in folklore, however, is Herne the Hunter, who shares a notable similarity with the Horned God or Cernunnos, of Gallo-Roman origin.

Interestingly, like Bran's description of the green men, Herne the Hunter is known for having antlers growing out of the top of his head. Like so many folkloric figure, he has fairly vague origins with his earliest mention actually appearing in Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor, although it is likely that the Bard was drawing upon older local legend:

There is an old tale goes, that Herne the Hunter (sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest) Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns; And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle, And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain In a most hideous and dreadful manner. You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know The superstitious idle-headed eld Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age This tale of Herne the Hunter for a truth.

– The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 4, scene 4

(The "Cernunnos" type antlered figure on the Gundestrup Cauldron)

As the play explains, Herne the Hunter is a ghost connected with Windsor Forest, and specifically a great oak tree. So, once again we have this reoccuring theme of a singular tree being of supernatural importance — the godswood's heart tree, the central tree at Frösö, Herne's oak tree... Yggdrasill, the world tree of Norse mythology.

One final folkloric/historical figure who is worth mentioning is Hereward the Wake, an Anglo-Saxon nobleman and leader of a local resistance to the Norman Conquest of England. His base, when leading the rebellion against the Norman rulers, was the Isle of Ely in eastern England. Up until the 17th C. the Isle of Ely was very much an island, surrounded by a large area of fenland. Following the Norman Conquest, the Isle became a refuge for the Saxon resistance, however it was eventually taken by the Normans after a prolonged struggle. Stories differ thereafter about how things were exactly negotiated, with some saying that Hereward vanished into the Fens...

Like Herne, though, Hereward is another folk hero said to be a leader of the Wild Hunt... just like Óðinn. I'm not saying they're all one in the same, since Hereward was a real guy, just that it's interesting how certain characteristics seem to repeat and link up.

Hereward's name in Old English is also composed of the elements here, "army" and ward "guard," with the epithet "the Wake", first recorded in the 14th century, possibly meaning "the watchful." So, not only does the real life history of Hereward's resistence against the Norman invaders, his base on a island in the Fens (the Fens vs riverlands), somewhat parallel the struggle between the children and the First Men... his name also reflects the guardian role of the green men of the Isle of Faces.

(Ely Cathedral, also known as the 'Ship of the Fens' rises majestically above the mist, photograph by Terry Harris)

In conclusion...

What's so fascinating about the Isle of Faces and its green men in ASOIAF is the details it leaves half explained, as well as its evocations of real life mythology and folklore. It's not one direct reference, but possibly several... or just a cool coincidence, you never know! Nonetheless, I'll sum up the parallels I picked up on:

Godswoods, weirwoods + sacrifice -> the Norse sacred groves, ritualistic killings involving a central tree, Yggdrasill + Óðinn

The faces of the weirwoods -> wooden icons as permanent proxies for sacrifice victims, or possibly the gods themselves

The God's Eye 👁 -> Óðinn, the one-eyed god

The antlered green men of the Isle of Faces -> the Green Man of European folklore, the Horned God + Herne the Hunter

The Isle of Faces + the Pact -> the Isle of Ely + Hereward the Wake

The common factor for all the figures I mentioned is the Wild Hunt... so maybe stay tuned for a discussion on that!

#cappy's thoughts #asoiaf + norse mythology #asoiaf + folklore #the isle of faces #the children of the forest #the first men #the old gods of the north #asoiaf + religion #just nerdy stuff

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disasterfandoms · 3 years

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Meet My Dad || A Brock Reynolds x Carter!Reader Imagine

A/N: SO we were brainstomring in one of my discord groups about what would it be like if Full Metal had a daughter, and now it’s a thing where if i write this for @theysayitscrazy then @bravo-four-seal-team has to behave for a week. Also, this contains the ship Trent/Metal.

Join the Taglist!

TW: a tiny bit of smut (no nudity or graphic depictions), protective parent, murder threats

Taglist: @milfdeacon @bravo-four-seal-team @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @velvetcardiganbucky @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @mrsmarvelous1995 @madhare0512 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @iris-oaklee-carter-911oc @kobababy @i-love-scott-mccall @pinkrockstar19 @supervalcsi @itsonautopilot @abby-splace @innerpaperexpertcloud @softi92 @thelovelyleo23 @jasonbabymama @peaches-1999

“Dad!” You yelled, walking into his house uninvited as usual. Did you really need an invite to the place you called home for the longest time, though? He wasn’t there, that was evident by his cat, Whiskers, still needing to be fed for the morning. You filled his bowl with kibble, petting the old boy who used to keep you company on dark and stormy nights.

You walk further into his kitchen, seeing the note on the counter that said that he’d be back later. You write a note back, telling him that you’ll be at your boyfriends, and to call you later. You pet the cat once more, before leaving the home, suddenly nervous at the thought of your dad knowing about you and Brock, and your plan for them to meet.

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Full Metal came home a couple hours later, petting Whiskers and putting the groceries away. You and him had a weekly gumbo night, where you all eat and either watch a movie or play some games, getting your time with each other you two needed in in one night.

He’s been a single dad for over twenty years, your mom having left him and you when you were just three years old. He bared no hard feelings, his life and job was complicated and she never truly wanted to be a mom. So, he took time to figure out how to parent you while being home all the time, and figured who’d watch you when he was away. You two made it work, and now you’re closer than ever.

He found the note, noticing your handwriting right away, and visibly paled as he read its contents. A boyfriend? Who? and when? He could have sworn you would have told him before now about any boy you were seeing. He needed to take a breath, calm down. You were a grown adult, with an apartment of your own and a stable job, it wasn’t the end of the world that his baby had a boyfriend.

He took a second, making sure his hands stopped shaking before he picked up the phone, dialing the oh-so-familiar number.

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You were straddling Brock’s lap, your tongues colliding as you moved in sync. His lips had then attached to your neck, causing you to moan. Your hands were tangled into his hair, causing him to groan when you pulled it accidentally. His hands travelled down your back, resting just before the opening of your jeans. One hand slid up your shirt, his hands feeling rough against your soft skin, you giggling as he flipped you over, so he was on top.

He opened your legs, putting his knee right next to your covered core, letting you grind against it as he continued his trail of kisses down your chest. He almost took his shirt off when you heard your phone ring, interrupting the fun that was about to come. You quickly grabbed it, groaning as it was your dad. Brock nodded in understanding, moving to lay beside you on the bed as you answered, “Hi Dad!”

“Y/N, you left a note. Boyfriend? Who the fuck are you dating? Why haven’t you told me about this guy beforehand?” Metal shot off at an impressive pace, not impressed that she told him this through a note, for fucks sake.

“I’m great! How are you, are we on for gumbo tonight? I brought him up because I thought about bringing him.” You said sarcastically, moving to snuggle up to Brock, who happily wrapped his arms around you, his leg intertwining with yours.

Metal was pacing in his living room now, rolling his eyes at the sarcasm he heard at the beginning of your response. “You want to bring him? To our tradition?” He asked, shocked you’d even consider it.

“Well, yeah, Dad, it’s just one gumbo night for you to meet him and get to know him outside of work. Besides, you bring Trent sometimes!” You retorted, huffing at the hypocrisy. You could hear Brock chuckling beside you, causing you to stick your tongue out at him.

“That’s different, it’s Trent!” He shot back, stopping his pacing as he was worried he was going to step on Whiskers. He then continued, “Trent’s being invited if you bring him. Wait,” he spoke, his mind registering what all you said thirty seconds ago, “Outside of work? HE WORKS AT DEVGRU?!?!?” He yelled, feeling his face getting hot with anger. One of those idiots is dating his kid?

You put the phone away from your ear, he’s always deafening when he’s angry. Brock kissed your shoulder, one of his hands moving up to grab your breast, massaging it gently, causing you to roll your eyes. “Yes, he works at DEVGRU. He’s on Bravo, with Trent. Invite him! You know I love T,” you say easily, your breath hitching as Brock continues to tease you.

Metal doesn’t even know what to reply to that. He’s full on having a meltdown. His kid, his sweet, caring, loving child is dating someone in Bravo. Oh, Oh god, They’re dating that cocky ass kid. “I gotta go, see you two tonight.” He said quickly, before hanging up without you getting a word in. He rubbed his face with his free hand, before calling Trent to come over.

“He hung up,” you said simply, putting the phone back down on the nightstand, before focusing on the man beside you. You adored him, not just physically, but the kind soul he has, and the willingness to do whatever was necessary to keep you safe and happy. You knew your Dad was a bit... much, but you hoped once he saw you two together, he would calm a bit. “Now, where were we..” you trailed off, giggling as he turned over onto you, starting where you both had left off.

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Trent was a little worried when Full Metal called him, panicking at the apparent fact that Clay was dating his kid. Trent had been around you since you were a little kid, becoming very close to Metal as they started working together at DEVGRU.

He was incredibly amused at the fact that Metal was having a meltdown while simultaneously starting the gumbo for the night. He wouldn’t interrupt the man, he’s just here to listen and watch his friend chop and cook everything the gumbo needed ingredient wise, while yelling at how Clay was too arrogant foe his own good.

“Of course Y/N would go out with him. Why go for one of us, anyways?” he asked rhetorically, chopping up the andouille sausage, probably imagining it was Clay’s.. well... you know.

“Because they were raised by you? And surrounded by a Naval influence their entire life?” Trent shot back, chuckling as Metal glared at him. Man, if looks could kill...

“Scott, take a breath. You raised Y/N well, they must see something in Clay to not only go out with them, but to want to introduce him to you,” Trent tried to reassure the man, who this time took a deeply breath and nodded.

“I just don’t want them to get hurt,” he spoke quietly, shaking his head at the thought. You were his child, his only one at that, he hated seeing you cry, especially over some dumb ass kid.

Trent nodded, standing up to go over to him, rubbing his back. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. He’s helped Scott raise you since you were a kid, he felt similarly about keeping you safe.

They were silent for a while, before Trent felt like he needed to reassure Scott one more time. “Tonight will be fine, you’ll meet the boyfriend, be polite tonight and then tomorrow you can threaten all you want,” he offered up, and it worked, as he saw Scott smile for the first time today.

“Come tonight?” Metal asked, he didn’t want to have to deal with this alone. Plus, he could just have it on his head that this is just the team hanging out and you just so happened to be there.

Trent nodded, smiling at the offer. He knew Scott needed someone here with them to keep him calm, and he was secretly hoping he’d ask him to stay anyways, the guy makes a mean gumbo.

——————————

It was three hours later, and Brock was suddenly incredibly nervous. He knew Metal was going to kill him, especially because it was his only kid that we’re talking about. He was in love with them, though, so he guessed he’d make it work.

“It’s going to be fine, Dad’s just a big teddy bear,” you reassure him, watching him chuckle nervously. You smiled, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Your boyfriend may be a man of few words, but it was no secret he was worried about your dad’s reaction.

The silence was comfortable as he drove you both towards your childhood home. He was quiet, taking in the site of the place where Metal raised you, squeezing your hand when he heard you take a shaky breath.

“Hey,” he said quietly, catching your attention as you were getting lost in your worries. “I love you, Y/N/N.”

You smile brightly, saying “I love you too,” before he pulls you in for a kiss, all and full of adoration. He breaks away for a few moments, kissing your nose in the process, causing you to giggle.

You lead him up the steps to the front door, noting that Trent’s bike was in it’s usual spot. You smiled a little, happy your dad’s boyfriend was here to enjoy the chaos. You whispered to Brock, “I told you my dad and Trent were together, right?”

Brock’s eyes widened, shaking his head. Oh, this was going to be fun, he thought, before taking a deep breath. You smile at him, before opening the door, going into your family home, which was warm and the smell of the spices in the gumbo. You picked up Whiskers, who was hanging out in the cat tree by the entryway, and said to Brock, “This is Mr. Whiskers, he used to keep me safe when it was storming and Dad was on a mission.”

Brock saw the way your eyes lit up with you saw the cat, and his heart melted a little bit. He pet the furry creature, personally he wasn’t a fan of cats but he couldn’t help but pet him.

You put him down, taking his hand as you guide him further into the home, yelling, “T, Dad! We’re here!” You give his hand a squeeze, bringing him to the living room.

Trent came out from the living room, smiling as he saw you with... Brock. “Hey kid,” he hugged you tightly, before finally breaking, laughing hysterically at the fact that it was Brock you were with.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Metal left the kitchen, hearing his boyfriend of five years laughing hysterically. He walks in, seeing Trent doubled over in laughter, looking at you, smiling. “Hey baby,” He spoke softly, opening his arms for a hug, looking at who she brought with her, completely expect Clay, and not... Brock?

“Brock? Dog boy? Seriously?” He asked, causing Brock to laugh a little bit.

You backed away from your Dad, going to your boyfriend, who immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You shot back, “Well, yeah? Who else would I have gone for, Sonny?”

Oh, yeah, that broke Metal.

He just stared at you two, trying to form words, but his brain was short-circuiting. Trent was in tears, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Didn’t.... see that...coming,” he finally got out, grabbing onto Metal’s shoulder yo hold him up.

“I thought you were dating Clay,” your dad said slowly, shaking his head at the fact you brought the weird one home... typical.

You look at him confused, “No... Brock and I have been together for almost a year,” you tell him gently, smiling as your feel Brock kiss your forehead. You leaned into him for comfort, worried about what your dad will say.

“I... alright,” he sighed, smiling as Trent kissed him on the cheek. Trent was proud of him being calm, and not threatening your boyfriend. In reality, he was planning Brock’s death a very violent way, and where to hide the body.

The night went smoothly, a little too smoothly, if you were honest. Everyone ate and had a good time, the night ending with each Carter cuddled up to their significant other, watching a horror movie.

Brock had went to start the truck after the movie was over, letting you to hug your dads. “Thank you,” you whispered, smiling at Metal.

“what for?” he chuckled, letting go so you could hug Trent.

“For being nice to him, and not threatening to kill him,” you chcuckled as you hugged Trent, who went back to having his arms wrapped around Metal when you let go. Metal nodded, as you said goodbye, not knowing his plans for in the morning.

“You did good, babe,” Trent mumbled, kissing his cheek before making sure the food was away, getting ready to go to bed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All was quiet on the base the next morning, the hustle and bustle of the military operation at it’s usual pace. All of Bravo trickled in one by one, no one understanding the scene in front of them as they entered the cage room.

In front of Brock’s locker, there was a hatchet, a bag of lye, and a shovel; along with a note which was written in, what looked like, blood.

“Brock,

You hurt my kid, these tools will be used in removing you from the situation. The hatchet will be used to cut you up into bite-sized pieces for Cerberus to enjoy. What is left of you will be dissolved by the lye, and you will be buried where no one can find the evidence.

They’re my child, I will do whatever it takes to make sure they are happy and safe.

I’m watching you.”

Bravo watched Brock visibly pale as he read the note, causing Trent to smile, shaking his head at his boyfriend’s antics. He should have known last night was too calm, that Metal was being polite because Y/N didn’t want their father to be overprotective.

Oh well, at least Brock understood now the consequences if he fucked up.

#brock reynolds x reader #brock reynolds x carter!reader #scott full metal carter #seal team #seal team imagine #Trent Sawyer #Trent Sawyer x Scott full metal carter

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vreugd-madelon · 2 years

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Pillars of the Earth Review

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet is a 1076 page Historical Fiction novel. The 1st in the Kingsbridge series, and it’s followed by World Without End (#2) and A Column of Fire (#3). I got this book from my mother who found it at a little library.

Follett has re-created the crude, flamboyant England of the Middle Ages in every detail. The vast forests, the walled towns, the castles, and the monasteries become a familiar landscape. Against this richly imagined and intricately interwoven backdrop, filled with the ravages of war and the rhythms of daily life, the master storyteller draws the reader irresistibly into the intertwined lives of his characters into their dreams, their labours, and their loves: Tom, the master builder; Aliena, the ravishingly beautiful noblewoman; Philip, the prior of Kingsbridge; Jack, the artist in stone; and Ellen, the woman of the forest who casts a terrifying curse. From humble stonemason to imperious monarch, each character is brought vividly to life. The building of the cathedral, with the almost eerie artistry of the unschooled stonemasons, is the centre of the drama. Around the site of the construction, Follett weaves a story of betrayal, revenge, and love, which begins with the public hanging of an innocent man and ends with the humiliation of a king.

Trigger Warning: Rape, Graphic Violence.

I rate this book 5/5 stars.

I’m astounded by how much I love this book. I will confess my bias and tells that I’ve been raised Christian (Christian school, but not like going to church every Sunday), but I’ve never wanted to see a Cathedral be build so much in my life!

The chapters are insanely long, like chapter 1 was 83 pages! But with the 40 hour audiobook it felt like it was flying by and has an awesome narrator. This chapter follows Tom Builder and his family which was really interesting to see the conversations that they’re having. However the insta-love between him and Ellen was something I’m not a fan of. Luckily their relationship really grows inside these pages and I really wanted them to flourish. What shocked me was his fate at end of part 3. I still feel it in my soul. Chapter 2 follows Peter and I really didn’t see the switch between POVs coming. I really like how his story line picks up from when we meet him with Tom. Chapter 3 is William’s POV and I really dislike him as a person, but love him as a characters. I just love to hate him and it’s been a very long time since I loved to hate and abhor a character so much. His fate at the end is very fitting. After these three chapters I really thought that William’s was the most interest.

A lot happens within these 1000+ pages. I won’t be able to cover all of it, but here are a few highlights: My favourite character I absolutely love is Aliena, and yes, she gets her own POV. She’s a strong independent woman, who needs no man to save her. Yet it’s the silent type that captures her heart. I do like the themes within the book. The hypocrisy within the church is a very large part, especially with Prior Phillip being such a humble and honest man and even he has to give in to trickery at some moments, but he really is a ‘means justify the end’ type of man. Every single character is morally grey. They do good things and they do bad things. They do thing for their own advantage, some do care about the consequences and others don’t care at all or a little less, casting them aside after nothing more than a moments thought. It’s only those special few that actually go out of their way to help others.

I do absolutely recommend this book for anybody and everybody!

Do you have any questions? Or maybe some recommendations? Send me an ask here on Tumblr or tweet me. If you wish to support me, you can buy me a coffee! Or even buy my debut fantasy novel, The Mending Road.

#Pillars of the Earth #Ken Follet #world without end #A column of Fire #historical fiction #cathedral #england #12th century #book review #series #books #reviews #review #religion #The morning and the Evening

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

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‘Ashamed to be Korean' extract — the Moon scam is paid for in blood, poverty, misery, sickness and death by a slave class of Japanese

September 30, 2012 This has been incredibly hard to do, but I have decided to sacrifice my national pride, personal interest and loyalties to start telling the truth about the complicated religious scams of the Moons and the so-called “Unification Movement”.

Why? Because I guess I discovered that I still had some conscience left alive somewhere inside of me, so I decided to come out and tell the truth, and before it shrivels up totally. Another reason for me to come out is the tragic and shameful truth that the Moon scam is paid for in blood, poverty, misery, sickness and death by a slave class of Japanese who have been, and continue to be, what must be the most hapless class of religious scam victims in history. This is worsened by the fact that the victims have been deliberately and cynically scammed by a group from another country.

I have no love or respect for the Japanese, and like most Koreans, I have rarely missed an opportunity to gloat at any Japanese misfortune with other Koreans but I guess I have to draw the line somewhere.

It is my intention to tell the truth about the Moons and the Korean feudal ‘aristocracy’ from the position of an insider in the hope that those members who still have enough of a vestigial conscience left functioning in themselves can know the unvarnished truth and fully understand the crimes that have been, and are still being, committed and either help stop the crimes from being committed, or at least walk away and not contribute even silently to these crimes. … It has been said that one of the problems with the Moon Church is that every country projects their own image of what they want the “Messiah” to be; The Japanese see an emperor to grovel to and worship, westerners saw Moon as the the second coming of Jesus, while for the Koreans a conquering King that will elevate Koreans above all other nations (you might as well know we think we are superior to the rest of the world physically, spiritually, intellectually, and culturally). Therein the problem starts, Moon’s genius was to able to manipulate facts and myths and lies to divide and conquer and get exactly what he wanted for him and his family and for Korea which has created the core culture and operating practice of the movement: Deception.

Some people may think that the Divine Principle is the religious doctrine of the ‘church’, but it is nothing more than a recruiting tool. The real ‘religion’ is like an onion, with separate layers of rules, requirements and benefits. The easiest way to understand the game is to realize that Moon wanted to set him and his family as a royal family governing as a theocracy from day one. His goal was to control all power, money, laws and rules, at least as much as he could get hold of.

The theocracy works by strict hierarchy with the Moons as the top royals, the Korean blood relatives as the minor royals, the rest of the Koreans as the aristocracy and top officials. The rest of the nations are all in the position of servants. The only absolute in the Moon church is the position of the Moons and the loyalty demanded from the members.

Have you wondered why all top posts involving power and money are controlled by Koreans?

Do not be fooled by the fact that we trust the Japanese more than our own and use then nominally to hold assets and the like – that is only because they are totally obedient.

What Moon and his family fear the most is meritocracy, God forbid if there was a level playing field, the whole game would be blown sky high. It is fantastic for us though, to have rules applied not only in a selective way but completely differently to always ensure the Moons and ourselves are on top.

My greatest personal amazement is how supposedly educated people in advanced countries have bought the enslaving myths of Moon that have in fact been precisely tailored for them without them realizing the utter insanity and nonsense of coexistence of completely contradicting realities and myths and rules, without even acknowledging the irony of it all! Maybe we are much cleverer than you.

The Japanese have bought the fantasy of ‘Eve Nation’, when in reality there never was and still is absolutely no intention to use them for any purpose other than for donations and slave labor. If and when they are no longer needed they will be dropped like a dirty habit in favor of another country (if one was available), this threat has been constantly drummed in to their heads to keep them desperate and obedient.

What they do not realize is that in private Sun Myung Moon, when he was alive, Hak Ja Han and all the Moon children and we 2nd gens in the inner circle not only have no respect for Japan and instead gloat at the way in which Korea has been taking over Japanese business, laugh at the Japanese members and refer to them in really raw, rude ways. We see it as a rightful revenge for what we think they did to us. On the other hand, we never fail to remind them of the indemnity they need to pay to us.

I have heard Japanese old members emotionally talk about how they will accept anything because they had felt loved by “Aboji” at some time. When they say this, they remind me of rabbits caught in the headlights, totally bamboozled by the Korean charismatic gift for delivering shameless emotional appeals at 1000 horsepower. The reason they were taken in is because they had only ever experienced emotion in Japan at 100 horsepower before meeting Moon, so they are convinced that 1000 horsepower emoting must be the real thing.

Given the Japanese unfortunate penchant for masochism, perhaps it is not surprising that they have been fooled, but I am truly amazed that more Westerners have not been able to see through this scam.

My jaw drops as members still refer to the Moons as “True”, as an unending string of evidence of their unbridled wickedness and hypocrisy appears on this and other sites, it makes me giggle involuntarily, as I watch Westerners falling over themselves to justify or deny their crimes contorting themselves to deny the truth.

My only explanation for it is commitment bias, nobody wants to admit they have been fooled. Please read the facts honestly and use your conscience to decide what to do. Remember the laws of physics and math, the laws of countries and most importantly of all the laws of morals and values either apply equally and universally or not at all.

Members have been trained like Pavlov’s dogs to do our (more accurately the Moons’) dirty work for us. Foreign members justify our crimes with that precise get-out-of-jail-free card that the whole Moon scam relies on.

Read more here: https://tragedyofthesixmarys.com/ashamed-to-be-korean/

___________________________________________

In 1965 Japan gave $800 million as reparations for their occupation of Korea

The Japanese government supported Korea with $800 million in 1965, $400m in 1983 and over $10 billion in 1997.

Sun Myung Moon Church used the Japanese members for profit, not religious purposes – the world’s greediest church

Suicide of Japanese ‘Moon money mule’ in Uruguay. Mother of three children

A huge Moon Church scam in Japan is revealed

Shocking video of UC of Japan demanding money – English transcript

Moon extracted $500 million from Japanese female members

Japanese woman recruited by the Unification Church and sold to an older Korean farmer

How Sun Myung Moon bought protection in Japan

The ‘True Father’ who could not forgive. Sun Myung Moon: “I haven’t been able to release my grudge towards Japanese people yet.” November 2011

#Sun Myung Moon #Hak Ja Han #scam #extortion #Unification Church #Korea #Japan

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zorasdomain · 5 years

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apology regarding 2018

This post is in regards to a callout from 2018, in case you have not read it.

This is going to be lengthy, as I have a lot to apologize for and reflect on after so long, so it will be under a cut. I thank you all for your patience and your time in reading it.

Hello, it’s been awhile; I post this not to beg forgiveness, but to apologize in a more proper way. Both for my sake, and for the sake of the hearts I undoubtedly wounded during the event.

I want to sincerely apologize for how I handled things in the past. In 2018, I was going through an early transition into new beliefs, and I lost myself to my interest in politics and my arrogant stance that “I knew better”. A lot of my beliefs have changed. I’ve gone through extremes since leaving Tumblr on every side, trying to feel my way through the spectrum. Ultimately, I have decided people are always more important than politics. Always. And as much as I spoke about caring in that big, obnoxiously long and drawn-out piece as a page on my blog, it essentially boiled down to “why can’t we agree to disagree?”, and about being unwilling to change my mind for the sake of others. For the sake of a community of friends I had built over years, who had supported me through everything, and who I KNEW wouldn’t agree with my beliefs (for understandable reasons). I hid them because I knew that, I think. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, as I truly thought it wasn’t important, but politics do reveal things about a person and what their values are. I will say I have never lied about the care I had for all of you. I understand it hard to see, given my past actions (which are unquestionably inexcusable), but I was blind to the internal contradiction that it was. I cared, but disconnected the people in my life from my politics because I “didn’t think it should matter”. It does, as I have come to learn. I apologize for the way I handled that, which was (understandably) as a liar and a manipulator. I hadn’t been intentionally doing it, but I acknowledge now that it was what had happened, and that certainly hurt many.

There have been hurtful things said about me, but I understand where they came from; Hell, the tweets I posted were targeting hundreds of people I had following me, and thousands in larger communities. Those tweets were heinous (and still are; my opinions are drastically different now) and I know they were not easy to stomach. I do not excuse them in any way, and I have since learned from them. I apologize to any victims who had been triggered by the tweets. They were harsh and insensitive, and certainly not true. I, in no way, excuse what was said then; your experience is valid, and any reaction you had to my tweets was as well. This also goes for the POC who I hurt with my tweets. It was disgusting of me to post such a thing and to harbor the opinion. I have since learned and come to understand the problems inherent in our system, and I apologize for the pain I caused.

I had been approached a few times about my beliefs; once prior to the callout, asking about my opinions on Kavanaugh, which I went off about on a snap to someone; if said person is reading this, I apologize for the shock of that moment and for my immature handling of it. A second time after, on instagram, regarding my political opinions. I went off in a wretched way. I debated from some place of “moral superiority” (that was certainly not true, though) and said things I know were hurtful to not only that person, but to so, so many connections from this website, and countless others. People who meant something to me. Not citations or studies, not some stupid subjective political opinion, but people.

Deeply, more than anything, I am sorry for the pain I caused this community. I feel like I tore something in everyone’s heart. Not to say I think so highly of myself as being that influential, but because I was someone who projected only positivity, and to have that image ripped apart when reading the disgusting tweets on my twitter no doubt caused harm. I suppressed that then because that’s what I tend to do, but I’ve been reflecting, maturing, and acknowledging what I did and I knew I had to properly apologize. Not type something up about ~uuu why can’t we agree to disagree~~ to post before abandoning the site, but something real. That is what I hope this can be for all of you. It does not change the hurt that it caused at the time, or the person I was then. However, I hope I may be able to demonstrate that I am not that same person with ill in my heart and ignorance of political opinions and their place in the lives of others, especially LGBT and POC.

Also, just to clear the air, I know there was confusion about if I was in the LGBT community or not, or if I was lying. I can clarify I was not, and never have, lied about that. What I identified as at a given life stage was truly a part of my person at the time and what was right for me then. In 2018 when the callout was written, I was growing more comfortable in being feminine, but I still connected heavily with masculine energies and pronouns. The same stands for today. Feel free to ask about this if you have specific questions.

All that said, my political alignment today and since November 2019, not really lies with either party. I have not been a Trump supporter for some time, and view him critically today, especially with much of his harmful rhetoric and actions. My father view(ed/s) him very positively, and part of my reasons for backing him so unquestionably in 2018 was due to his influence. I’ve fallen out of the political scene and I believe it’s especially important now, more than ever, to care for those in our lives and our community. We cannot look to the establishment or any in power. You’ve all kept that in mind from the beginning, and I applaud you for that. I lost myself to politics, and it took me nearly two years to find my way back to something that should be simple to understand.

Thank you all for helping me grow when I needed to. Thank you for the friends I had made, the community I had established, and for the memories. I will not immediately disappear after posting this; I won’t be reblogging anything of course, but I will be checking my inbox and any DMs (they should be open, but please let me know if they’re not!). Anon will be off, as I feel it would be better.

Thank you!

Also, please don’t call me by the name in the callout. That made me really uncomfortable to have my birthname there when I was merely testing it out at the time to see if I could return to it. It did not feel right & it was merely a period of re-experimentation before settling on my identity once more. Please call me Silver. Thank you.

EDIT: I am a nb boy (he/him) & have returned to being comfortable in this identity since 2019/20. I will be transitioning soon. I’d appreciate respect in that regard. Since Summer 2019, I have been seeing a therapist and working through deep rooted trauma which led to the discovery of an incredibly fractured sense of self, which partially manifested in my political views and the hypocrisy and contradiction present in the self that I was on Tumblr in 2018 (happy, accepting, “do-no-evil” vibes) VS the self I portrayed on the twitter rightraichu (judgemental, argumentative, self-absorbed). This is, by NO means, justification for how I acted. Recognizing that I have several conflicting selves within me has helped me to be more attentive to contradictions in who I am, and how manipulative I can be. I recognize and have been working through the false faces I wear when I, in truth, have rather low emotional (not cognitive) empathy. Again, not an excuse, but an explanation I hope might help you understand me. I am, by no means, a healthy or whole person. I have a lot of demons I’m working though. And that is my burden to bear. I am so sorry that I didn’t recognize things sooner and seek help so that I could prevent from ever reaching the point that I did in 2018. But, the past is in the past and all I can do now is recognize that I am figuring myself out. I wish you all the best. Things have been rough lately. I hope everyone has been coping alright. Take care.

#zorasdomain #drama #apology

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crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

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19 with distorter and anyone else? :)c

19. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“Why does it always rain when I’m out?” Schneep grumbled to himself. He liked rain well enough when he was safe in his apartment, maybe with a blanket and a cup of coffee to go with it. But not when he was out on patrol. How was he supposed to see? Maybe he needed to add some eye protection. Or a hat. Or maybe something like a hoodie.

Luckily, it wasn’t pouring, just drizzling. But that was enough to make every flat surface slick, and turn the packed earth of the construction site into mud. Schneep had picked up police chatter about a disturbance here on his scanner. The cops had sent one patrol, seen nothing, and went back out, but he thought he might as well give it a try too. He wasn’t finding anything so far, though.

He carried a flashlight with him at all times. Currently, the beam was sweeping across the bones of the office building they were constructing, catching drops of rain in its light. There was no sound except the pattering of water against metal and stone.

Until suddenly, there was. A loud clatter rang throughout the sight, and Schneep spun around to see a piece of metal rebar fall to the ground right behind him. He pointed the flashlight beam upwards, glaring into the rain. The beam caught the outline of someone on the unfinished second floor, ducking behind an upright support beam. Schneep growled. “I see you. What are you doing? This is trespassing, and you should not be here.” He was fully aware of the hypocrisy in his words.

No answer. He swerved the flashlight around, catching the tail end of someone falling to the ground and running off. “Who are you?” he demanded, stepping after the person. “You must leave. If you do not, I will make sure you do.”

“You always sound so angry.”

Schneep stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t quite…grasp that voice. It wasn’t all there. “What do you mean? Do you know me?”

“Yeah. But I guess you don’t know me. You’ve seen me before, though.”

The voice was coming from behind him! Schneep spun around, spotlighting the voice’s owner in his flashlight. For a moment, he thought the rain was obscuring him from view. But then he noticed the details. The folded arms were black on the lower half, the hands had too-sharp nails. Black eyes dripped blood. And that smile. Schneep took a step backwards. “You,” he whispered.

“Me!” The gray man waved. It looked almost cheerful. “Hello, Henrik. That’s what they call you, right? I’ve heard Voltage on the news as well.”

“What do you want, creature?” Schneep put one hand behind his back, making a fist. The circuits in his gloves would only activate with pressure. “You’ve already come after two of us, do you just want the whole set?”

He laughed. “Aw, did they tell you already? I mean, you were there for one, but how’d you find out about the other one? He’s not very keen on the whole…telling people he might be losing his mind thing.”

“That’s where trust comes in, which I am sure you know nothing about.” Schneep glared. “Why are you here? Come to try and convince me to join you? Be one of your ‘friends’?”

“Well, Volt, let me tell you one thing.” His grin widened further. “I don’t want to be friends.”

And suddenly he was right in front of Schneep, nails digging into his arm until he reflexively dropped the flashlight. Schneep yelled, and with his other hand pushed the gray man away, releasing the built-up energy. The shock threw the gray man to the ground.

It should’ve been enough to knock him out. But he got right back up, now laughing. “That was something, wasn’t it?!” He tilted his head so far to the side that it cracked. “Haven’t felt that before! Haven’t felt something in a long time!”

“Get away from me!” Schneep shrieked, going in for another shock. But the gray man was fast. He dodged, grabbing Schneep’s arm with one hand and twisting it behind his back. He grabbed his head with the other. Schneep could feel his nails digging into his scalp.

“You didn’t let me finish!” He said, sounding almost offended. “God, so rude. Anyway, I don’t want to be friends with someone like you.” He yanked Schneep’s head backwards, who fought the urge to yelp. “No. You’d be much nicer as a corpse.”

#they dont really...get along :)#asks answered #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #god i need to make special tags for the swich boys it annoys me #brigid writes fanfiction #septicswitchau #switch au prompts #von voltage #distorter

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madroxed · 6 years

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call my truth [shadowhunters. ~3k wip. pre-simon/raphael.]

simon should see it coming. [a post season one unfinished wip.]

a/n: HI, THIS IS AMNESTY FIC. it’s been sat in my docs folder for about two years now, and needless to say it’s not getting finished at this point. but, hey, it’s about 3k and the same as at least two other fics i’ve written (i had a lot of specific needs coming out of s1), and i figured i’d just stick what i had on my blog. i swear i’m trying to write new saphael fic, but, uh, yeah. until then have something that hasn’t been relevant in two seasons?

Simon should see it coming.

He’s spent enough time with the Clave now to know how they work, how they spin endless tales about ‘protection’ and ‘destiny’ and ‘sacred rights’ but look at Downworlders — at him — like they’re little more than an annoyance, a bug to swat or a child to scold, and that’s on their better days. Clary doesn’t notice it, can’t see the ugly truths behind the shiny new world that makes all those years of feeling different seem validated, and Simon wants to tell her that everyone feels like that, the mundanes, and the werwolves and vampires before the bite takes away any control they may have had over their own destinies, but she’s his best friend and he loves her even if he doesn’t always like her nowadays.

He knows it’s not fair to blame her, not for him Turning and not for him being here now, trapped in some farce of a deal with the Shadowhunters so they can parade him around as living proof of alliance instead of with the people who’s harsh words and sarcastic jibes had glossed over the reality of the home they were offering.

In the end, Simon chose Clary. He always chose Clary, and in hindsight he can see all the small crevices of his mistakes cracking into the crater he’s made for himself, but they’re his to live with.

(He still resents it, resents Clary, on the days when he’s patronized and insulted and looked at like a second class citizen as Clary laughs with Isabelle and doesn’t notice the way the world’s shifting towards something darker. Her mission to save her mom was true and just and the origin story of every kind of superhero, but he doesn’t think she realizes even now the wheels she put into motion with her casual arrogance and each seemingly harmless act of hypocrisy. Doesn’t think she sees the destruction she brought about in the name of ‘peace’ and the parts they all ended up playing in her name.

Simon made his choice because it was the familiar one, and he wonders how Clary would react if she knew he’d change it all given half a chance.)

Simon should see it coming in the way he’s slowly being shut out, in the way even Isabelle and Alec have stopped sharing as much. He should see it in Magnus’ frown, like he notices the change too, and the hushed conversations he and Alec share in corners that leave Magnus more frustrated than he arrived.

Simon should see it coming but he doesn’t.

He’s at Luke’s when he finds out, chilling on the couch and laughing at Alaric’s list of complaints about training the newer wolves. It’s a break in his routine, and the pack may still be getting used to having a vampire voluntarily in their mix, but it’s still a thousand times better than being at the Institute, stuck in the antechamber waiting to be scowled at and sent off like the good little errand boy he’s apparently become.

“Shit,” Luke says, cutting Alaric off mid sentence and staring down at his phone. Luke doesn’t swear all that often, and it takes Simon by surprise for long enough that he doesn’t notice the look Luke and Alaric share.

“Who?” Alaric asks, and it’s only then Simon recognizes the seriousness of the situation.

Luke opens his mouth and shuts it again, his eyes darting to Simon, and Simon feels suddenly sick.

“What’s happened?” he asks. “Luke, what’s happened?”

“It’s not Clary,” Luke says, and it hits Simon how much has changed when he’s surprised that’s Luke’s first point of call. He hadn’t thought for a moment it would be Clary, and even if he had, Luke wouldn’t still be sitting here looking like the doctor delivering bad news to a patient’s family if it were.

“Who?” Simon asks, echoing Alaric and hearing the broken bite in his own voice.

“I don’t know the details,” Luke says, and there’s a dark shadow across his eyes that suggests he’ll be finding out soon enough, “but apparently there was a fight. Some of Valentine’s goons. I guess the Clave must have called in some of the clan…?”

Simon’s out of the room before he’s finished the last word, using speed to distract him from the pounding in his head and the tightness of his throat. He has no idea where he’s going, thinks about the Hotel for a split-second before changing direction and blurring by the streets leading to Magnus’. Even if it’s not the right place, Magnus will have answers or help or both, and Simon thinks how strange it is that he trusts a Warlock who barely tolerates him more than anyone else right now.

(He knows why, of course he knows why, but it doesn’t make it any less weird.)

The door opens before he reaches it, magic that says everything Simon needs to know, and he stops only when he’s next to the bed, Magnus’ eyes filled with something that borderlines grief and the sharp smell of lightning on the air.

Raphael’s so still.

“It’s magic,” Magnus says against the silence. “It’s magic, but I can’t place it, I can’t— It’s something Valentine’s concocted, a weapon, I don’t know, and damn whichever warlocks are helping him to the seventh circle of hell.”

“How did you—?” Simon asks, choking on the words, and Magnus shakes his head.

“I didn’t, not in time. I knew something was going on, everyone was being so sketchy, but it wasn’t until—” He cuts off, running fingers through his hair and looking on the verge of collapse himself. “I felt it. Raphael’s family, and I felt it.”

“He’s alive though,” Simon says, but it comes out more of a question.

“For now,” Magnus says, “but the others…”

Simon’s never been so glad he doesn’t need to breathe.

“No,” he says, shaking his head roughly. “No.”

“Not everyone,” Magnus says. “A lot of the clan have already gone back to Camille out of fear. She’s still technically the leader, after all.”

“But those loyal to Raphael…” Simon says as names and faces flash across his eyelids. “Fuck.”

Magnus reaches shaking fingers out to the stockpile of potions he’s dumped in the corner. “The Clave have a lot to answer for.” Simon blinks, and Magnus gives him a pitying look that could just as easily be directed at himself. “They weren’t on the front lines. Coincidentally, the Shadowhunters were all stood just far enough back not to be hit.”

Simon clenches his jaw and wonders if every day of his afterlife is destined to be a new study in betrayal.

Clary eyes him warily when he arrives at the battle site, an arsenal of weapons and fellow Shadowhunters around her, and Simon hopes she didn’t know and hates that he can’t be sure.

It’s chaos, the signs of the dead and injured etched against the very ground, and Simon wants to rip the streets apart at the seams. The Shadowhunter wounded are being treated on the sidelines, but the real damage is further forward, trapped against a spill of spellwork that shouldn’t exist and the smell of it alone makes Simon want to throw up.

A faint moan catches his attention, and he’s moving before he can think about how dangerous the air could still be, flinging rocks away and pulling the broken body free.

“Lily,” he says, wiping away the blood and only just recognizing her through the bruises that are too slow to heal.

“Raphael?” she says, love and loyalty and pain threaded through.

“He’s alive,” Simon says, and she relaxes a little, lets him carry her back to safety. “He’s bad, but he’s alive. Magnus has him.”

“The others?” she asks, and Simon shakes his head and bites back tears Lily can’t, holding her to him as her body wracks with sobs. They’ve never been close, barely exchanged a handful of words when he was still living at the Hotel and most of those were about the stacks of paperwork Raphael pretended were part of Simon’s official duties, but that doesn’t matter now.

“I’m sorry,” Simon says, and means it about so much more. “I’m so sorry.”

He calls Luke who’s almost there anyway, and Luke has Alaric take Lily gently from Simon’s arms and to Magnus. The look in Luke’s eyes in pure fury, and Simon nods and hopes he knows he feels it too.

“You should go to your pack,” Simon says, and Luke blinks at him in surprise. “I’ll find out what I can, but you shouldn’t be here. Not if— You shouldn’t be here.”

“Simon,” Luke says, ever the protector and the cop and the father figure they all desperately needed.

“It’s okay, Luke,” Simon says, and hopes Luke understands. The darkness is here, it’s real, and they’ve all been prepared for war in the most arbitrary of ways but now it’s coming from sides they weren’t expecting and if the werewolves have enough of a head start to keep safe then they need to take it.

“Call me later,” Luke says, and Simon reaches out to bump his fist, something normal and childish and necessary.

“If you can get a message to Meliorn…” Simon says, and Luke nods and looks as worried and resigned as Simon feels.

Someone’s saying, “We now have more information about the weapon that Valentine’s building…” but Simon can barely hear it through the buzzing in his ears. They all look so calm, like this was just a science experiment, and Simon thinks about every history lesson he’s ever sat through with a new understanding.

“But the vampire clan,” someone else says, Isabelle, sounding shocked and confused and that’s better, that’s something. “They’ll react, they’ll—”

“Ah,” the first person says, and of course it’s some ordinary white man, trying so hard not to look smug with his own importance. Simon wants to rip his throat out. “It was actually the clan leader, Camille Belcourt’s, suggestion we use this particular group as reinforcements…”

“Camille?” Simon says, and he’s sure he’s barely managing to force the words from his lips but everyone goes silent and turns to him anyway. “The same Camille responsible for the bloodbath around the city? The one who Turns unwilling victims and doesn’t care if they live or die? The one who couldn’t give a flying fuck about your Accords?”

“Simon,” Clary says, hand at his elbow. “You signed the disclaimer. It’s legally binding…”

He pulls out of her reach, turning eyes he’s sure are nothing but black on her and wondering if this is about Jace and the new mission she’s put upon her own shoulders or if the lure of power and importance have grabbed at her too.

“I signed that for you,” he says. “I signed that for your crusade, and now you can’t even see…Do you get it, Clary? Your Shadowhunters, the protectors of the Shadow World, just massacred a dozen people as an experiment.” He turns back to the group as a whole and doesn’t miss the way hands are clenched around weapons. “How long have you been planning this? Months at least. Did it matter which group of Downworlders you used or were you just waiting to see which would involve the least backlash? I suppose the seelies were more on guard after you tried to take Meliorn last time, and the pack’s too strong right now for you to risk it. Clary’s — our — coup against Raphael must have worked out perfectly for you; the clan were already fragile after they rebelled, and Raphael was managing to keep things together by a thread, and then we set Camille loose and it would have been so easy for you to offer to turn a blind eye if she just did this one thing for you…”

He can see Alec watching him with horrified eyes and knows he finally gets it, understands that it’s through chance alone it’s not Magnus and friends buried under rubble.

“It’s the Downworlders duty…” a voice proclaims, and Simon feels hysterical laughter bubbling beneath the surface.

“No,” he says, strong and clear and finite. “It’s not. You can fight this war however you want but if you think any of us will lift a hand to help you again then you’re crazy.”

“This is about survival,” the man says, and Simon nods.

“You’re right, it is. And as of right now every Downworlder knows that it’s not just Valentine they’re having to survive.”

“I heard you gave quite the speech,” Magnus says when Simon gets back, and Simon collapses into the chair that appears next to Raphael’s bed and groans into his hands.

“I wanted to kill them all,” he says honestly, and Magnus just nods and doesn’t look like he judges him at all for the compulsion.

“Lily’s recovering. I think the rubble must have taken most of the magical hit so it’s just taking her a little longer to heal.”

“Good,” Simon says. “Great. And Raphael?”

“The same,” Magnus says, magicking up a chair of his own with an exhausted sigh. “I’ve called in a second opinion, but Caterina isn’t always the speediest at picking up her messages.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Simon says, because he needs to be sure he’s not alone, and Magnus looks at him sadly.

“Of course I do,” Magnus says, and Simon doesn’t need him to say I’ve lived through it before to hear it.

“This is my fault,” Simon says, because it’s been bubbling inside him for days, for weeks, for months. “I did this.”

“No,” Magnus says. “I’m not saying your choices were brilliant, but this isn’t your fault. Everything about the Clave is built on a faulty power structure, and it doesn’t matter how many good people are part of it, there’s always the ones who let their bias and bigotry rule.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Simon admits, watching the way Raphael’s eyelashes cast shadows against his cheeks. “I’ve only been a part of this world for five seconds and I’m already responsible for the destruction of the vampires.”

“Sorry if it bruises your ego, but Camille was responsible for that long before you came along,” Magnus says, and then there’s a coffee mug of warm O-Neg in Simon’s hands.

“Thank you,” he says, and hopes Magnus knows he doesn’t just mean for the blood.

He falls asleep and wakes up hours later with an ache behind his eyes and voices in the next room.

Alec’s murmuring soft nothings, and Simon debates leaving before this becomes super awkward, but he comes around enough to notice another presence, and, oh.

Okay.

Already awkward then.

“Hi,” he says when he opens the door, and Clary stands up immediately, her teacup almost overbalancing.

“Hi,” she says. “Simon, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” he says, because he can’t right now. He knows she means it, knows she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t, but all he can hear are Raphael’s shallow, labored breaths and the buzzing in his own ears.

“What can we do?” Alec asks, hand curled around the curve of Magnus’ jaw but eyes sweeping unexpectedly across the room to include Simon.

Simon wants to say ’Nothing’, to let his anger push them away until it’s just him and Magnus and Lily in the apartment looking after Raphael, protecting him the way Simon hasn’t before and should have, should have. He stays quiet, though, and that’s good, that’s right, because Magnus doesn’t.

“Spellbooks,” Magnus says. “At the Institute. There’s some locked away somewhere, very old, very…dark.” He waves his hand and summons paper and pen from thin air. “I don’t know if they’ll help, but maybe…”

“We’ll find them as fast as we can,” Clary says earnestly, eyes still on Simon, and he nods and accepts it for what it is.

Alec presses a gentle kiss to Magnus’ lips; for all their dramatic wedding day shenanigans he’s not one for casual PDAs, so the silent ’I’m glad you’re safe’ isn’t hard to hear.

“Life’s too short…” Magnus says when they’re gone, and Simon frowns.

“Too short for what?”

“Oh,” Magnus says. “I don’t know. We’re practically immortal, life’s anything but short for us, but it seemed like the thing to say.”

Simon frowns. “I have every right to be furious.”

“You do,” Magnus says, seriously. “We all do. Maybe I’m just saying that sometimes the best thing we can do for our own sanity is to move on. Forgiveness or not. Self-responsibility or not. The past doesn’t always have to define the future.”

He offers a self-deprecating smile before heading towards Lily’s room.

He’s right, Simon knows he’s right, but when the person you’re most mad at is yourself it’s—

Well.

It’s a process.

He finds Lily sat next to Raphael’s bed, fingers tangled in the sheets like she wants desperately to touch but knows she shouldn’t, and he passes her a mug before leaning back against the dresser.

“Should you be out of bed?” he asks. Lily shoots him a glare and Simon raises his hands in surrender. “Hey,” he says, “I just wouldn’t wanna be on the other end of Magnus’ wrath is all.”

“That man’s a terror,” she says, but the words soften her expression.

...and that’s it, folks. uh, for actually finished versions of the same basic story, let me direct you to when there’s no ground and back, to the time. as i said, i had very specific feelings back in 2016. i love and miss this corner of fandom a lot. someday i’ll remember that i still have to take these boys into the future, into a different world of magic, and to prom. promise 💖

#my fic #saphael #saphael fic #shadowhunters fic #shadowhunters #amnesty fic #unfinished wip #i pretend like two years is a long time #i have a jimon sequel fic from 2012 partly written still on my computer soooo #time is an illusion

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immoral-summer · 6 years

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On the topic of PewDiePie

@tearahi

I’m going to both address the main topic and minor tidbits from each of your articles, but let’s start with your articles:

Popular YouTube Streamer Promotes Channel That Publishes Anti-Semitic Content

The article talks about Felix calling someone a “crybaby” because of the gender wage gap. In case you didn’t know, the gender wage gap is a perpetuated myth that only “exists” because of averaged differences in each gender’s work area.

What I mean is that men, because they’re typically stronger and more lenient towards hard labor, they’ll work said labor-intensive jobs that earn more, whereas women typically work in “easy” jobs, such as secretary, office, teaching, etc. There’s no wage gap.

YouTube’s most popular user amplified anti-Semitic rhetoric. Again.

One thing I must mention is bias. Vox is typically left-leaning, so I’m going to assume this article is chock full of left-leaning bias from the start...

Told you.

This article also mentions past grievances, the “nazi salute video” and the “Fiverr anti-semitic sign video” specifically.

Upon finding the infamous “Nazi Salute” video, it seems to me like it’s... a joke. It’s a mockery of his “fame” and “persona”. I’m not shocked that journalists would use this, tbqh.

The Fiverr incident was satirical. It was meant to convey a message that Fiverr has no moderation. In general, Fiverr is an untrustworthy site, that famous “Credit Card Digits” guy got into legal trouble because Fiverr didn’t bother giving him the earnings he got after a ban. Take a quick Google search to find that one out.

The article also mentions the video in question, noting that “the first 15 seconds of part two contain a reference to a 2017 incident in which PewDiePie himself dropped a racial slur...”, which isn’t at all relevant to the topic. Yet another strategically-placed bit of bias to make people dislike Felix because of a slip-up that he’s apologized and faced consequences for many times already.

Not only that, the article mentions his followers’ ages, not realizing that parents exist and that not teaching your child about the proper ways and tips on using the Internet is what brings about its dire effects. The article also attempts to speak about the “Sub to PewDiePie” meme as negative. Vox describes it as “aggressive” to say a simple phrase. The article makes the fans look aggressive.

It’s also interesting how Vox mentions WSJ’s “investigation” on PewDiePie, where they even say that WSJ “emailed Disney representatives for comment on the content of his videos”. Sounds to me like the WSJ is attempting a CNN and either blackmailing or pressuring executives.

PewDiePie Receives Backlash After Recommending Anti-Semitic, White Supremacist YouTube Channel

I’d like to use this article to mention something that I strongly dislike about YouTube and this controversy’s hypocrisy.

Remember when Logan Paul video-taped a man hanging from the Aokigahara Forest in Japan? Remember how this caused the infamous “Ad-pocalypse” on YouTube, where advertisers were bailing out due to the controversy, which caused the entire “Demonetization” feature to occur on YouTube, which subsequently ruined multiple channels due to petty shit like “offensive language”?

Yeah, after that, Logan got his little movie released on YouTube Premium, whereas Felix’s “anti-semitism” scrapped his whole Premium show. Here’s the website’s article on this issue. I hope you can understand why I mentioned this.

Your last article doesn’t mention much, so this is where I’ll begin the main topic:

The video itself seems fine. There’s minor edgy post-editing, and his opinions are very out-there in terms of broadcasting it to his fans. I don’t understand how this video that he enjoyed with edgy humor is somehow making Felix out to be a “white supremacist nazi”

To reference Vox’s terrible article, they mentioned that this video was one of many “dog-whistles” to instill “white supremacist propaganda”. They also specify that the video contained “racial slurs” and all I heard was “nigga”. Says a lot about their fucking credibility, huh?

Also, I fully watched Part 2, which was linked in one of your articles alongside referencing the Charlotesville Attack, and I didn’t see said reference. Do let me know if there’s a timestamp for it, cause the commentary’s got me bored.

and with that, this is where I begin my first point:

Stop taking everything online so seriously.

This is hypocritical coming from some kid online who hates the idea of radical feminists even touching him, but this is a serious point to make.

It’s understandable, morally, to give grievance when someone makes an “edgy” joke or uses 4chan memes. Yes, boo hoo, someone online, for example, called you a “faggot”. I know it affects people, I know it’ll hurt being called a slur or some shit. We need to start taking the idea of the internet into play when discussing this type of shit.

The internet is anonymous. The internet has countless amounts of opinions, personalities, and worldviews. You can’t apply your thinking and understanding of your personal opinions onto others. You can’t say “don’t say faggot” and expect people to listen.

The only tip I can give you from this is just... don’t take the internet so seriously... unless there’s some call to action that can threaten your life, or some shit obviously, but you’re better fucking off just sweeping shit like this as either “stupid” or “funny” instead of getting your panties in a twist over tiny, petty comments that you’re inevitably going to see online.

And now my second point:

Stop fully believing in the media, especially when you haven’t confirmed anything yourself.

While the articles mention E;R as a whole, they continuously use the same video Felix mentioned as some sort of “proof”, even though there was little-to-no “white supremacy propaganda” or “nazism” in the video linked. This is why you fact check before assuming things are correct.

To give you a better example, look at the recent Covington Students controversy, where CNN gave a false report that painted teenaged students as “racists” due to edited footage. Nobody attempted to research and a bandwagon of angry people began to harass, dox, and threaten death upon the teens until someone had released a full 2 hour video that showed the teens’ innocence.

On top of this, some of your articles mention Felix’s past transgressions, even though these events were either satirical examples or poking fun at idolization.

Instead of telling the truth, your sources began the infamous train of hate, purposefully used said past videos as “proof” that he’s “anti-semitic” and a “nazi”, and Vox had even detailed WSJ’s blackmail scheme to get PewDiePie fucked. You and the others took the bait and are still lost in the sauce.

Take that as you will, I’m done here.

If you need clarification on anything, feel free to @ me. I’m going to hope you at least skim through instead of pushing this aside.

#pewdiepie #felix kjellberg

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residesatshamecentral · 6 years

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Unfamiliar faces

Part two of the 1950s-set AU. Huth is adrift on the French Riviera where he encounters a terrorist organisation led by a very familiar face...

@sweetss80 @killclaudia @me-fish @burnt-cinnamon @rivier

“Surprised that you of all people would go commie” said Huth. He leaned back in his chair so that the front legs lifted slightly from the floor. Springer watched him with slightly raised eyebrows. His expression was familiar, weathered and tarnished by age and something darker. It was the mixture of indulgence and dry self-reproach with which he had always greeted the younger man’s antics. To Huth is was oddly shocking: Springer’s face had become strangely pouched in the last decade, swollen from underneath and smoothed with hypocrisy. Far from the steely soldier troops had trembled before, Springer looked like a soviet caricature of a corrupt priest. His girth did nothing to lessen the resemblance.

“I am not a communist” he replied eventually “nor was I ever a beefsteak Nazi, as you well know. The soviets are a means to an end, nothing more.”

“But you collect intelligence for them.”

“The org needs funding, and a way to remain undercover. It is them or the Americans – although I believe there is a faction working for the Americans -”

“The Viennese lot, I know.”

“Frankly I prefer the soviets. The Americans have that extra level of hypocrisy that makes them just slightly beyond the bounds of tolerance.”

“They are hunting you of course.”

“Of course. And if they caught me I would have two options. Place myself and the org at their disposal or be tried for war crimes, as if that absurd phrase were not a contradiction in terms.”

There was a strange pause. Huth toyed with his cigarette, avoiding Springer’s eyes. A faint smile played around his lips, like a spider seeking shelter. Springer’s hard eyes remained fixed on him for long seconds, until finally he reached out and placed his index finger deliberately on Huth’s wrist. The front legs of the chair met the floor again with a small crash.

“So that is how I get you to look at me now” said Springer evenly. “Would you care to drop the act?”

“Albrecht” said Huth. Nothing more occurred to him, so the word hung in the air. Springer studied him silently. The index finger remained where it was, like a question mark. Huth had the absurd sensation that his flesh was trying to crawl away from it.

“…Is there anything you wish to say?” said Springer’s soft tones eventually. “You know you can never hide your thoughts from me. We know each other too well. And if you work for the org you will eventually say it anyway. Get it off your chest, Oskar.”

“After ten years of comfortably bottling up my emotions? Why break a finely cultivated habit?”

“Oskar.”

There was a subtle ring of iron in the word. Beyond the closed door, a guard coughed softly and shifted on his feet.

“…It is very hard” Huth whispered. The words came out in a rasp, his face almost immobile. His eyes were on the wall again, defiantly fixed there. “And it is harder still that it should be you.”

Springer studied his face for some moments. His hand closed gently around Huth’s wrist, then released him as he sat back. “Hard” he agreed softly. “Yes, it will be hard for you that I was involved. I am glad I kept you out of it…the worst of it anyway…”

“I know how much I owe you.”

“…And I know that you will be able to see that when you have to kill others to preserve your own life, eventually the numbers make no difference.”

Huth turned his head and smiled at him. It was a strange, weak smile, with something essential boiled out of it. Springer met it with one of his own, and they sat frozen in a moment, two lone animals showing their teeth across a space.

***

Huth walked for forty minutes after leaving the cramped office building, hoping to lull his tail into a false sense of security. Then, as though it had just occurred to him, he leaped onto a bus just as its doors were shutting, getting off without warning at an ill-lit street corner. After ten minutes of brisk walking through a network of alleyways, he hailed a cab and paid the driver to give him a quick tourist’s view of the Riviera – for, as the drawling, half-drunk German announced expansively, when you have just got off a plane to conduct and ad hoc business deal, you have to make the most of a trip, and he had an hour to spare before dinner.

The tourist trip was conducted to a constant litany of slurred bilingual rambling occasionally broken by the driver’s attempts to explain the sites to his annoying fare. Finally, the relieved man deposited Huth opposite the Grand Hotel, waiting patiently as his money was ceremoniously counted out for him. He did not bother to look back as he drove away, or he might have noticed how steadily the ostensibly drunk man was walking.

On a table in a room, a phone rang. A withered hand picked up the receiver.

“Hallo?”

“I’m in” said Huth. “I spoke to him. He had me tailed but I lost them.”

“Oh good. I shall tell the cook to expect a guest for dinner.”

#fanfiction #Albrecht Springer #oskar huth #shame central #ss-gb #1950s #w somerset maugham

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earith · 6 years

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vampyrekat replied to your post “I find it astonishing that tumblr can ‘there’s no actual proof this...”

You're so right but also, the phrase "I find it astonishing that tumblr" followed by almost anything is so funny to me, because at this point the site is such a wasteland of opinion I cannot be shocked by this.

shhh, I’m not actually surprised, the hypocrisy just jumped out

#vampyrekat #.txt

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amandajeanwrites · 6 years

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you say you want a revolution...

As I sit, on a dog-fur covered couch, with aching wrists from over-exertion in the form of writing, I feel incredibly proud. I’ve been contemplating how to write this post for weeks now, excited by the idea of starting a new blog that’s all for me and exactly how I want it, but nervous that it won’t be perfect. Of course, I see the irony in it, because the point of this blog is anti-perfection. I wanted to start a revolution, as it were, a renaissance of imperfection in a space that is now so flooded with ideals and standards to be met and maintained.

Let me take it back for a moment to explain myself. I watched a YouTube video a few weeks ago that really sparked my intrigue. A fashion YouTuber and blogger I’ve followed for years, Lily Melrose, recently posted a video where she “reacted” to her “cringeworthy” old fashion blog posts from when she first started her blog. I’ve always enjoyed her style, and I clicked knowing it would be interesting and perhaps as nostalgic for me as it was for her. Being apart of the millennial generation, I feel like nostalgia is something we really cling to, isn’t it?

Anyway, throughout the video, I was surprised and inspired by Lily’s so-called “cringeworthy” reactions to her outfits. Instead of being shocked and horrified by the pairings she made, she recounted endless great stories that the photos and blog posts brought to mind from her past. She looked amazing then, and now, but it wasn’t so much the fashion that had inspired me, but rather her mentality. She was reminiscing on days before being a “fashion influencer” was even a term in the English language, before photos of outfits could be monetized. She mused on taking and posting the photos for fun, wondering if anyone would be interested in her personal style. She credited her excitement to her quick blow-up within the fashion and blogging community.

That really resonated with me, the idea that way back when, you didn’t have to be perfect to gain traction. Her photos were often shot at awkward angles against her bedroom wall, only showing an outfit from the thighs upward, occasionally cutting off an arm or her forehead. They weren’t all in the same color scheme to make her theme “cohesive”. Her high-light wasn’t “on fleek”. She had bad days that she wrote snippets about. Her life wasn’t perfect, and most importantly, she was doing it for herself, and not the hundreds of thousands of followers she gained from her candidness.

I think today, social media is in a bad place. It’s on track to the right direction. Creators are finally opening up and showing human qualities moreso than they ever did, but the vast majority of things I find on Instagram (specifically, but also on YouTube and within the blogosphere) are highly curated images and videos. Every post has been read and reread and edited a thousand times to seem “clickable”. I’ve noticed myself really shying from the same cookie-cutter content, bored with it and ready to move on to real people providing click-worthy content.

Shane Dawson, another YouTuber I really admire, recently switched from short format videos, taste-testing Wendy’s products and conspiracy videos, to longer format series, really digging deep and delving into the human experience. To see such a change in him has been incredibly inspiring, and his point-of-view is unmatched in his industry. It’s refreshing, and in my mind, highly clickable.

I think I’ve gone on a tangent. What I’ve meant to say about all of this is that I’ve really been struggling with hypocrisy. I’m constantly inspired by creators all over the world who stand out of the box and really push their point-of-view, no matter how outlandish or abrasive it may be at first. I notice creators taking risks and doing what they are passionate about and thriving whilst doing it. Not only do I want to thrive while pursuing my own passions, but I want to inspire others to do the same. That’s always been my goal in life, to inspire and encourage other’s to follow their passions and interests.

On the flip side of that, I’ve noticed myself shying from social media. I’ll get really excited, brushing off the perfection, saying to myself that I should produce the content I enjoy, and do it for myself. I shouldn’t worry about numbers or the color pallet of my feed. Yet, I believe it’s been engrained into me through society and social media and the popularity of it all that I should strive for those numbers, for that perfection. So I hesitate to post, worried that whatever I’m writing or photographing or filming won’t live up to my own standards of what I think society expects from me.

So, this is a long winded way of saying that I want to change that, about myself. I understand I can’t start a revolution. I don’t have that kind of voice, or the personality of a strong leader. I also understand that I can change myself. I can push myself away from insecurities and towards the intended inperfections. I can write whatever I’m feeling, stream of consciousness like I am now. I can take fifteen photos of my dog and upload them to Instagram. I can record a cover of a Harry Styles song and upload it to YouTube. I can do all of these things because the internet is a free space and the perfect outlet for creativity.

This particular space, Tumblr, I’ve clung to for years now. It started as a little area of the internet for me to post my writing. At first, admittedly, I used it to cyber-stalk a boy I liked. He introduced me to the site, but I feel like it’s grown so much for me since then. Through my dash, I’ve watched social circumstances change. Educational dump posts have come and gone, anti-bullying campaigns, fanfiction. It’s an ever changing exchange of discourse for people without another outlet, and as far as I’m concerned, Tumblr has no limits.

I thought this might be a safe space for me to post whatever inspires me. I had another Tumblr where I posted my daily dribbles for over 500 days in a row. That experience was incredibly freeing and enlightening, and I had no idea what sort of inspirations it would spark. Now, I’d like to use this blog as a place where I can jot down my ideas and inspirations and hopefully inspire people from all walks of life.

I hope to promote imperfection and candidness. I hope to spark discussions that inspire and enlighten me further. I hope to gain traction and excitement for other projects in my life.

I guess that’s kind of all I have to say for now. I hope it sort of explained what you can expect, hopefully the unexpected. If that’s not defined enough for you, I plan on posting word dumps here. Opinion pieces strung together by a stream of consciousness, similar to this. I will post reviews: literary, film, television, music, live performances, whatever I can get my hands on. I will post mood boards compiled of images from Tumblr or Insta or Pinterest or real life. I’ll post music playlists for how I’m feeling at that time on that day. I’ll post little things that made me chuckle or made me cry throughout my day. I’ll post little snippets from the books I’m writing, little insights to my characters.

So, stick around. It’s going to be fun, this little revolution of ours.

Thanks, as always, for reading. xo

#writing #thoughts on #social media revolution #imperfectionism #lily melrose #shane dawson #inspiration #exciting things happen here

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