#wrongdoing for the violence to come is... concerning

[amaltheas-garden]

so are condal & co making the unironic claim that Targaryens have the divine right of kings cause Aeg I had an ice zombie nightmare 100 years ago...

god forbid a woman go to war because she wants power i guess

[inkempressz]

Yandere Izuku Midoriya with a God Complex

If Izuku Midoriya developed a god complex and lost his moral compass over years of being a pro hero, his yandere tendencies would become far more sinister and delusional. The constant adoration from the public, the power he wields, and the endless cycle of defeating villains could erode his humility, leaving a man who believes himself untouchable and above societal laws. Combined with his obsession for you, this would make him terrifyingly controlling and dangerously detached from human empathy.

The Evolution of His God Complex

Izuku’s unwavering dedication to heroism and his rising fame would transform him over time.

1. Moral Decay Through Justifications:

• Years of battling villains would desensitise him to violence. At first, he might have regretted the collateral damage caused by his actions, but over time, he’d rationalise it as “necessary sacrifices for the greater good.”

• This mindset would bleed into his personal relationships, including you. If he believes something is for your benefit, he’d do it without hesitation, regardless of whether it harms others or violates your autonomy.

2. Seeing Himself as Above the Law:

• With his immense power and influence, Izuku would come to see laws and regulations as obstacles created for ordinary people. He’d believe he operates on a higher plane, where the rules don’t apply to someone as indispensable as himself.

• If anyone tried to hold him accountable for questionable actions, he’d dismiss their concerns, framing himself as the only one who can keep the world safe.

• This mindset would extend to you; he’d see you as his reward for all he’s done for society. In his eyes, no one else could love or protect you like he can, and thus, you’re destined to be with him.

3. Viewing Humanity as Livestock:

• Years of dealing with selfish villains and watching ordinary people rely on heroes to save them would foster a quiet contempt for humanity. While he’d still protect civilians outwardly, inwardly, he might see them as weak, directionless creatures who exist only because of heroes like him.

• This distorted worldview would extend to your relationships with others. He’d see anyone close to you—friends, family, colleagues—as nothing more than distractions or threats to his control. Their lives would hold little value to him compared to yours.

How His God Complex Affects His Yandere Behaviour

1. Complete Possession of You:

• Izuku wouldn’t just see you as his partner; he’d see you as an extension of himself. To him, you are his creation, someone shaped by his influence and protected under his power.

• He’d believe he has the divine right to decide what’s best for you, dismissing your own desires as “uninformed” or “short-sighted.”

2. Manipulating Public Perception:

• If you tried to escape or speak out against him, he’d leverage his public image to discredit you. He could frame you as mentally unstable, traumatised, or even in danger from imaginary villains to ensure the world sides with him.

• His adoring fans would make it nearly impossible for you to find help, as no one would dare accuse the beloved “Symbol of Peace” of wrongdoing.

3. Casual Violence Towards Others:

• Izuku’s god complex and moral decay would make him ruthless towards anyone he deems unworthy of his time.

• If someone flirted with you or tried to help you escape, he’d treat them as villains, using his quirks to punish them with terrifying efficiency. In his mind, their suffering would be justified because they interfered with his “sacred” relationship with you.

4. Creeping Detachment From Humanity:

• Izuku’s lack of empathy for ordinary people would lead to chilling behaviour. He might calmly discuss harming others as if it’s inconsequential, or even use people as pawns in his schemes to keep you close.

• He’d view the world as his playground, and its inhabitants as mere tools to be used or discarded in pursuit of his happiness.

5. Obsession With “Perfecting” You:

• As someone who sees himself as a god-like figure, Izuku would want you to reflect his perfection. He’d subtly (or overtly) criticise your habits, appearance, or social interactions, “guiding” you to meet his ideal vision of a partner.

• Any resistance on your part would be met with condescension, as if you simply don’t understand what’s best for you. He might even isolate you under the pretext of “helping you grow.”

Creepy Behaviour Under the Influence of His God Complex

1. Sacrificing Others for You:

• If someone threatened your safety—or even your relationship—Izuku wouldn’t hesitate to destroy them. Whether that meant ruining their career, orchestrating their public humiliation, or outright killing them, he’d justify it as protecting what’s his.

2. Twisting the Narrative:

• Izuku would craft a story where you’re the ultimate victim in need of his protection. Even if you actively tried to escape, he’d spin it as you being “confused” or “in danger,” ensuring everyone around you supports his version of events.

3. Creepy Worship:

• Despite his god complex, Izuku would paradoxically worship you as his muse. He’d keep locks of your hair, items you’ve touched, and photos of you in secret shrines. He’d tell himself these are tokens of his devotion, proof of his unshakable love.

4. Absolute Isolation:

• Izuku would create a gilded cage for you, cutting you off from the outside world under the guise of protecting you. He’d shower you with affection and gifts, making it hard to see him as a villain, even as he strips away your autonomy.

5. Experimental Behaviour:

• Izuku’s analytical nature would drive him to “test” your limits. He might stage elaborate scenarios to see how much you depend on him, such as faking a rescue or putting you in harm’s way just to swoop in as the hero.

What Makes Him Truly Frightening

Izuku’s descent into a god complex, combined with his yandere tendencies, would make him a man who believes he’s entitled to rewrite reality to suit his desires. His power, intelligence, and public influence would render him nearly untouchable, and his unwavering conviction that everything he does is for your sake would leave you trapped in a nightmare where he’s both your saviour and your captor.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Public Notice:

It has often been said that Donald Trump was running for president to keep himself out of prison. Mission accomplished.

But the fact that Trump wasn’t behind bars long ago, that he didn’t suffer any consequences for his criming and now likely never will, can be laid squarely at the feet of one man: Attorney General Merrick Garland. Garland dragged his feet on prosecuting Trump for election interference and pilfering classified documents, making it easy for him to run out the clock.  Coming in on the heels of a literal insurrection, Garland was a bad fit for his job from the jump. He made clear early on that he didn’t see addressing issues from the Trump era as a priority, declaring that he would not look backward. Garland is an institutionalist, leading him to see his real job as protecting the Department of Justice rather than imposing any consequences on Bill Barr and others who turned the DOJ into a corrupt playground. Someone who saw the abstract notion of an institution as more important than actual people and actual wrongdoing was never going to be the person who aggressively pursued an ex-president whose crimes were always in full view, which was what the country desperately needed back in 2021.

Bringing a knife to a gunfight

Rather than moving quickly to prosecute people — including Trump — for January 6, Garland’s first moves were to take actions that actually favored Trump, all in the name of protecting the institution. In May 2021, the DOJ went to court to block the release of most of a Bill Barr memo that might have revealed how hard Barr worked to avoid charging Trump with obstruction of justice after the Mueller report. There, Garland was continuing work that had begun under Trump. But while it made sense that Barr would want to block the release of information revealing his role in helping Trump, it made no sense for Garland to want the same. The country had both a right and a need to learn everything possible about what happened during the first Trump presidency and led to a spasm of treasonous violence. That’s far more important than getting a generally favorable ruling on the DOJ’s right to sit on memos. 

Garland also moved quickly to defend Trump against defamation claims by E. Jean Carroll, brought after Trump claimed she made up her accusation of sexual assault to sell books. The DOJ filed a brief substituting the government as the defendant for Trump so it could argue that Trump’s defamation of Carroll was done in the scope of his employment as president, which would likely have resulted in the case getting dismissed. As with the Barr memo, Garland decided it was more important to preserve the DOJ’s general ability to protect federal officials from defamation claims than to acknowledge the unprecedented nature of Trump’s behavior and let him suffer the consequences he clearly deserved.  Taken in a vacuum, neither of these actions would be quite so galling. In both instances, Garland was generally trying to maximize the DOJ’s power, which isn’t necessarily awful. But what is galling is that he took these two steps with such swiftness, only a few months after being confirmed, while not showing nearly the same concern to address Trump’s crimes. 

Fairness to the point of absurdity

Garland’s desire to always appear evenhanded is also what led to the ridiculously aggressive pursuit of Hunter Biden, naming a special counsel and ultimately successfully prosecuting the president’s son for tax evasion and lying on a federal form to obtain a gun. And don’t forget how swiftly Garland appointed a special counsel to investigate President Biden’s retention of classified material. In early November 2022, the White House voluntarily disclosed that some classified documents had been found at Biden’s think tank. The FBI opened an investigation five days later, and Garland raced to name a special counsel, appointing Robert Hur in January 2023. Hur was a Trump appointee, serving as United States Attorney for the District of Maryland from 2018 to 2021, and he demonstrated his hackishness by releasing a report in February of this year that did grave political damage to Biden by gratuitously describing him as an “elderly man with a poor memory.”

While Garland couldn’t move fast enough to protect the DOJ and to aggressively pursue the Biden family to show his evenhandedness, he didn’t get around to naming Jack Smith as a special prosecutor until November 2022, nearly two years after the insurrection. By that time, it was likely already too late. This is true even if Smith had not run into unexpected obstacles, such as Trump winning over the Supreme Court with an absurd argument that he was basically wholly immune from criminal charges.

[...]

All those motions and appeals take time, which is why it was a bad idea to wait until November 2022 to appoint Smith, who then had to convene a grand jury to consider criminal charges over Trump’s willful retention of classified documents and his lies to the FBI about it. Smith didn’t issue an indictment in that case until June 2023. Smith had to convene a separate grand jury for charges related to the insurrection, so the DOJ didn’t indict Trump on those charges until August 2023.

This left Smith overseeing two incredibly complex cases against a defendant with nearly limitless resources, given that Trump could keep tapping political action committees for his legal bills, shifting the cost to his campaign donors and the RNC. By March 2024, Trump had racked up $100 million in legal fees, and while he kept draining the coffers of various PACs, donors were always eager to replenish those funds. Therefore, Trump could file as many frivolous motions as he wanted and run out the clock without taking any money out of his pocket. Smith never honestly had a chance that these cases would wrap up before Election Day. Garland’s foot-dragging on naming Smith is precisely what allowed Trump to run out the clock on his federal criminal charges, setting the stage for a presidential run that culminated Tuesday with his shockingly thorough defeat of Vice President Kamala Harris.

Appointing Merrick Garland to AG was a terrible choice in retrospect, as his timidness allowed a criminal to get off scot-free and run for President (and win).

[kleftiko]

❦ HOUSE OF SILVER

cw: mature themes (paid sexual favours), implied historical violence, historical ideologies regarding sex, fem!reader

< PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT >

The Edo period—the final era of feudal Japan. daimyos, samurais, and the common class, all with a purpose to help society. After her father lost his money and status when she was a child, y/n works as a maid in a teashop, following courtesans and cleaning up after their jobs. When the head of the Gojo clan comes in one night, she doesn’t expect to see him again, much less have him call on her.

Madame Ino is a few seconds away from breaking her nails clean off of her fingers. In the rising sun, her panicked look reminds you of an ao nyobo, with you being her victim, waiting to be devoured for trespassing on her house.

She takes a look at your clothing, which isn't very different from when she left you at the door to the room a few hours ago. You can't tell whether she feels relief or disappointment. Her eyes dart back and forth, searching for any signs of mischief or wrongdoing. It's as if she's trying to piece together the puzzle of what transpired in her absence.

"Tell me." She speaks, her wide eyes locked on you. And you're waiting for her painted lips to unhinge and swallow you whole.

A shallow breath hisses from your teeth as you try to figure out where to start the story.

"He didn't..." You begin, "Lord Gojo didn't call for me to... satisfy him."

An audible click resounds through the room as the Madame's red nail clatters to the floor. Her gaze intensifies, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Are you certain?" she asks, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The weight of her trust hangs in the air, urging you to continue your explanation.

You nod fervently, assuring her that you did not jeopardize the teashop's reputation with your clumsy inexperience. As her breathing calms down, her eyes flick down to her thumb, now without a nail, dripping small bits of blood onto her pale skin.

"What did he want?" Her voice is barely above a whisper as she tries to steady herself. The tension in the room is palpable, and you hesitate for a moment before responding, carefully choosing your words.

"He asked about my family."

You can see a flicker of fear in her eyes as she processes your words, but as quickly as it appears, she snubs it out. The Madame takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself before speaking again.

"Why would he be interested in your family?" she asks, her voice filled with concern.

You shake your head with genuine confusion.

"I told him everything I know; I was brought to you when I was 10, before that, I have no record of where I was or who I was with."

She nods her head, focusing elsewhere as her anxious fingers run over her bloody thumb. If she's not careful, she may get an infection or stain her clothes.

"Madame?" You draw her attention back to you. "Shall I get you a towel?"

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she realizes the state of her thumb. "Yes, please," she replies gratefully. "Thank you for your concern."

The bumpy road slightly rocked the carriage along the road. The passengers inside could feel the vibrations of the uneven terrain as the carriage made its way forward. The constant swaying as a wheel overcomes a stone is the only sound heard besides Lord Gojo's hand fiddling with the chasen mage atop his head.

A small pout sits on his lips, eyes trying to peer to the top of his hair as he mumbles, "I don't like having my hair up."

The samurai you'd seen once before sits beside him, his gaze fixed out the window and not on the Daimyo.

"Take it out." He simply states.

The pout is redirected to the samurai.

"Tsumiki worked hard on this; I can't just take it out."

"Then don't."

You blink a couple times, the sleep surrounding your head still fogging up your mind, so you can't quite tell if this is a dream or not.

You remember footsteps and the Madame's voice bringing you out of reverie.

"Lord Gojo, please." Her voice was in the hall but quickly gained volume. "You can't just take the girl away; you know that's going to cause trouble."

"I find that trouble doesn't bother me much." The Daimyo's voice made your eyes open and your head lift from the futon.

And that's when he opened the door to your and Miwa's room. His enchanting smile was casual as always as he looked down at you.

"Good, you're awake." He said. "Get dressed; we have somewhere to be."

And that's how you ended up in the carriage with the two men, apparently on the way to the Daimyo's place.

You clear your throat, wondering whether or not you were allowed to speak, but when the two pairs of eyes are on you, you manage to ask, "May I know your name?"

The samurai bows slightly and says, "Geto, ma'am."

You replicate his move, "Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I didn't get a proper introduction." Gojo cuts in, not looking upset in any way. "When we met, you looked like you wanted me dead. The next time, you just started undressing."

In harsh embarrassment, your eyes fall to the floor, and you feel heat spreading through your skin.

"I apologize for that," you mumble. "I was under a different impression at the time."

Gojo doesn't answer, and out of curiosity, you looked up to find an amused smile on his face as he watched you.

"Well, so long as that's cleared up, we have something to ask of you." Geto interrupts, and you look towards him. Despite the intimidating implication of him being a samurai, having a sword, and towering over you, his presence was far more comforting than the Daimyo's.

Gojo makes you act irrationally, so for the remainder of the carriage ride, you focus on Geto.

Upon arrival, you look out the window.

The scenery is breathtaking, with lush green fields stretching out as far as the eye can see. The vibrant colours of blooming flowers and the gentle sway of trees in the breeze create a serene atmosphere. It's a stark contrast to the bustling city you left behind, and you can't help but feel a sense of tranquility wash over you. Coming up is a stone courtyard, adorned with intricate sculptures and a beautiful fountain at its centre. The sound of water cascading down creates a soothing melody that adds to the overall peacefulness of the scene. As you step out of the carriage, you can't help but be captivated by the elegance and tranquility of the courtyard, willing to explore what lies beyond its inviting entrance.

You open your mouth on instinct, about to comment on the beauty of the daimyo's court, when Geto leans down and whispers.

"Try to keep compliments to yourself." He side-eyes Gojo and says, "They all go to his head."

Though the silver-haired man must have heard because he rolls his eyes,

"Honestly, Suguru, with your sharp tongue, I'm surprised I'm still standing." But he looks at you. "This is a school of sorts, so if you do have compliments, I wouldn't be the one to direct them to."

His smile is playful and mischievous, as if he's hiding a secret. It's clear that Gojo enjoys the banter between him and Geto, adding an air of lightheartedness to the atmosphere. It becomes evident that their playful dynamic is a reflection of the unique camaraderie within the walls of this... school.

"Where..." you can't help but be distracted by the scenery, "where are the students?"

"There are only a handful of them, but they should be around here somewhere." The Daimyo waves you off before walking towards the steps that lead inside. "I'm sure you'll see them sooner or later. But wouldn't you rather learn why I've asked you here?"

You don't mention that he didn't exactly ask you here, but more just picked you up and brought you, as you follow his long strides. He leads you down a hall to a room with an assortment of pillows on the ground surrounding a low table. There's a view of the courtyard through the window, and you follow Gojo and Geto as they take a seat around the table.

"You truly don't know anything about your family?" The Daimyo gets straight to the point as he leans forward, his gaze piercing into your eyes. You feel a slight unease, but curiosity compels you to answer truthfully.

"I'm sorry, I really don't."

Gojo slumps rather dramatically, and you furrow your brows, not remembering him being this lax when you last met, though that could be because you were too concerned with something else.

He sighs. "I really hoped this would be easier."

You stare at him; is he... pouting?

"The reason we ask," Geto interrupts, "is because we believe you come from either the Kamo or Zen'in clan."

Blinking, your face reflects that these words mean nothing to you.

But you don't get a verbal response; instead, your gaze zones in on a bug crawling up the samurai's shoulder. At first glance, it seems to be a beetle, until it reaches closer to his neck, where a long tail follows the hollowed body of the creature. Its tail is something like that of a mammal, with fur at the end and completely out of place for an insect. Looking again, you notice other oddities in this bug, ones you would have dismissed if it hadn't captured your attention with the low moaning of something.

With wide eyes, you're completely still as you make out what the being is saying: low whispers of, "My dear husband..."

Your mouth is dry, but Gojo catches your attention.

"So you can see it, then."

taglist:

@witchbybirth / @alekssashka7 / @haqita-kimoji / @idktbhloley / @swimmingsharkpuppy / @thecolorpeach

[mariacallous]

Even as a growing number of foreign governments commit to protecting the rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and intersex (LGBTQI+) people, others are actively marshaling their resources against them. From the Hungarian government’s legal and political attacks on LGBTQI+ people to Iraqi legislation that punishes those who “promote homosexuality” and increases criminal penalties and fines for same-sex relations, the negative trends are significant and concerning.

In many places, politicians blame LGBTQI+ people for a wide array of societal ills to boost their popularity at home and their geopolitical interests abroad, distracting from the real economic, social, and political challenges their countries face. In Georgia, for example, the ruling party may have used anti-LGBTQI+ rhetoric to manipulate the political landscape ahead of elections. Meanwhile, in Lebanon, a country long considered relatively welcoming for LGBTQI+ people in the Middle East, one activist described a political leader’s rhetoric as “the manufacturing of a moral panic in order to justify a crackdown, and to deviate public attention away from their unpopular policies.”

Although human rights are seen by some as a lower-priority foreign-policy issue for the United States than so-called hard security threats, the failure to protect them abroad can have significant negative consequences for U.S. interests. Now more than ever, the United States needs to push back against foreign-government repression of LGBTQI+ rights while also doing this work at home. As U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken put it recently, this matters “not just because we have a moral imperative to do so,” but because doing so “helps strengthen democracy, bolster national security, and promote global health and economic development.”

Across a range of issues, it’s clear that anti-LGBTQI+ policies and rhetoric can cause significant damage to many of the United States’ top foreign-policy priorities.

To start, efforts to repress LGBTQI+ rights are often a canary in the coal mine for more severe persecution to come. A 2022 report found, for example: “From Nazi Germany to genocide in Darfur to the breakup of former Yugoslavia, the imposition of ‘moral’ codes that directly assault sexual and gender identities and freedoms came before widespread state-led physical violence and atrocity crimes.”

The targeting of LGBTQI+ people can also be a precursor to, or occur alongside, abuses against other vulnerable populations. The Taliban-promoted sexual assault of and life-threatening attacks on LGBTQI+ people, for example, have occurred concurrently with brutal restrictions on women’s and girls’ participation in education, work, and other aspects of public life. Likewise, vicious torture of gay men in the Russian Republic of Chechnya has taken place against a wider backdrop of long-term human rights abuses by Chechen authorities.

Erosion of LGBTQI+ human rights can also signal and exacerbate the breakdown of democratic norms and institutions, including restrictions on independent media and judicial review, serving as a bellwether for the state of civil society more generally. Russia’s recent detention and prosecution of LGBTQI+ people have paralleled its crackdown on independent journalists, human rights defenders, and civil society.

Countries in which the human rights of LGBTQI+ people are less respected also frequently have greater levels of corruption, partly because discriminatory legal regimes create barriers to reporting wrongdoing by corrupt officials, making LGBTQI+ people an easy target for extortion. Corruption, in turn, compounds other pressing problems: It degrades the business environment, drives migration, and impedes responses to public health crises and climate change. States with endemic corruption are also more vulnerable to terrorist networks, transnational organized crime, gang-related criminal actors, and human traffickers. This is, in part, because threats to transparent and accountable governance are among the root causes of radicalization, and restrictions on LGBTQI+ and other civil society organizations reduce the capacity of those groups to mitigate the conditions conducive to violent extremism, terrorism and other criminal activity.

Not only are anti-LGBTQI+ policies a drag on economic growth, but they are also detrimental to public health. Punitive laws fan the flames of stigma and discrimination, in turn making vulnerable communities reluctant to seek life-saving and public health-protecting services. Across 10 countries in Sub-Saharan Africa, for example, HIV prevalence in countries that criminalize homosexuality is five times higher among men who have sex with men than in countries without those laws.

Taken together, the failure to protect LGBTQI+ people’s human rights can create disastrous effects for U.S. interests. State-sponsored discrimination and violence undercut the United States’ tremendous investments in international anti-corruption efforts, counter-terrorism programs, economic development, and public health. And, as the COVID-19 pandemic made clear, a disease threat anywhere can quickly become a disease threat everywhere. The same can be said for terrorism, corruption, and economic instability. When governments target LGBTQI+ people, they also increase the chances that the symptoms and consequences of this repression will spread in their communities and across borders.

Given the stakes, it is crucial that the United States uses the tools and powers it has to promote accountability for human rights abuses and mitigate their harms to U.S. citizens and businesses.

In this respect, the recent heightened repression by the Ugandan government is illustrative. In May 2023, Uganda signed into law the Anti-Homosexuality Act (AHA), which mandated the death penalty for certain “serial” offenses and a 20-year prison sentence for the mere “promotion” of homosexuality. Although the legislation was decried by human rights advocates, it was lauded by some of Uganda’s geopolitical partners as evidence of shared interests. Shortly after the legislation was passed, the late Iranian President Ebrahim Raisi visited Uganda and made the unfortunately common—and demonstrably inaccurate—claim that homosexuality is a Western import. He also identified opposition to Western support for LGBTQI+ people as “another area of cooperation for Iran and Uganda.” In similar fashion, an editorial on the pro-Kremlin Tsargrad website summarized the law as “a geopolitical victory [for Russia], which they see as the direct result of years of their hard, methodical work [on a] global anti-LGBTQ hate campaign.”

The AHA was the final, egregious straw amid an ongoing decline in respect for human rights, including of LGBTQI+ people, and democratic backsliding in Uganda, and the United States’ response was swift and comprehensive. Underscoring the link between the violation of the human rights of LGBTQI+ people and broader harms to American interests, U.S. President Joe Biden described the law as part of an “alarming trend of human rights abuses and corruption.” The United States issued a business advisory; updated the U.S. Travel Advisory and Country Information Page for Uganda; expanded existing visa restrictions to include those repressing vulnerable populations, such as human rights advocates, LGBTQI+ people, and environmental defenders; supported the World Bank’s decision to pause Uganda’s access to new funds; and imposed sanctions on the Commissioner General of the Uganda Prisons Service for widespread violations of human rights, including credible reports of physical abuse of political opposition and LGBTQI+ people. President Biden also determined that Uganda did not meet the eligibility requirements of the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA), “on the basis of gross violations of internationally recognized human rights.”

Although the law remains in place, these actions and international attention have had effect: Uganda’s government has not conducted widespread roundups of or ordered death sentences against LGBTQI+ people. But violence, abuse, and evictions have increased in the country, and arrests of LGBTQI+ people have persisted and likely risen under an earlier, colonial-era law that criminalizes same-sex conduct.

As the situation in Uganda demonstrates, the United States has options to respond to foreign governments that fail to uphold their human rights obligations. These measures can be unilateral, as is the case for issuing travel advisories or removing trade preferences, or multilateral, which could involve working with the United Nations, the World Bank, or other multilateral institutions. They can also be affirmative, as opposed to punitive—for instance, expanding humanitarian and development assistance for human rights defenders and mobilizing private sector capital to support businesses that operate consistent with international non-discrimination standards.

As with all diplomatic efforts to address wrongdoing, the choice among these options will vary depending on circumstances, such as whether a government is launching a new campaign against LGBTQI+ people or has an older but little-enforced criminal law on its books. Inevitably, the importance of raising human rights concerns will be weighed against other U.S. priorities, and human rights will not always prevail. However, increasingly, LGBTQI+ issues are being integrated into bilateral relationships, even when doing so is not easy and when quiet diplomacy is the only option. In all circumstances, consultation with LGBTQI+ civil society must be prioritized in weighing the benefits and risks of action to ensure that efforts do not contribute to backlash or negative repercussions for LGBTQI+ people on the frontlines of global human rights movements.

In a recent State Department convening on LGBTQI+ rights in U.S. foreign policy, Secretary Blinken made our commitment clear, telling civil society leaders: “Our promise is this: We will be with you every step of the way. We’ll persevere with you. We’ll listen to you. We’ll learn from you. We’ll help resource and support your fight. And we’ll bring our strength together with yours so that finally together we can build a world where all people are genuinely free—free to be who they are, free to love who they love.”

Although this work may have been in the spotlight during Pride month, it requires our focus year-round. Indeed, our national security depends on it.

[sevendeadlywhispers]

7Seals

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Chapter 10

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•Previous Chapter: Chapter Nine

•Next Chapter: Chapter Eleven

• Chapter List

• New chapters every Thursday

•Content: Levi Ackerman × OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

• Word Count: 2.7k

• Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter.

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The barn felt unusually quiet as I arrived early, beating even Levi to our usual meeting spot. A sense of solitude lingered, was this a consequence of my tardiness on other days?

Last night's events weighed on me, casting shadows over my tired eyes. Sleep had been elusive, and the mess hall became my refuge until breakfast's arrival. I lacked the strength to face Alexander's apologies, his attempts to sweep our....

my reality under the rug.

My ODM harness, once a symbol of freedom, became a painful reminder. Straps pressed against my bruised chest, every adjustment sending jolts of pain through my body. Alexander's violence from the night before echoed with each painful breath.

A few slaps had escalated into something more sinister. Questions circled my mind – was it safer to endure the torment within the confines of his presence, or was escape an option for me? Answers remained elusive, a puzzle I couldn't piece together in this weary state.

Levi's sudden appearance shattered my contemplation. Startled, I dropped my canteen, and it rolled away, farther and farther away from my reach.

"Erwin wants you," Levi's voice cut through the air, disrupting the silence that enveloped the barn. I couldn't bend to retrieve my fallen canteen, I had to watch it roll away. Maybe later I'll find the strength to pick it up.

"Hurry up. Come straight back here when you're done," Levi's instructions echoed, as I walked away, leaving the abandoned canteen behind.

I stood outside Commander Erwin's office, why he would summon me.? Was it about my performance? Levi's tardiness this morning added a layer of curiosity.

"Come in," his cheerful voice beckoned. He seemed to anticipate my arrival, knowing the time it took from the training grounds to his office.

"Commander," I greeted as I entered, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity bubbling within me.

"Take a seat," he instructed, and I complied, feeling a sense of unease despite knowing I hadn't committed any wrongdoing. Perhaps it was about my lax approach to training.

"How are you?" Erwin inquired, his words carrying a certain depth that left me questioning if he referred to more than just my well-being.

"Good, thank you. What about you, Commander?"

"Very well," he replied cryptically, and the atmosphere in the room only thickened.

"How's the new squad?"

"Well, I'm the only member, so good," I chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Ah yes, we will get there," Erwin remarked, pacing around the room. Then, he delved into more pressing matters.

"How do you like Levi as your captain?"

"Um, he's doing well. I'm learning a lot," I replied cautiously, sensing a shift in the conversation.

"Last I heard, you were pretty behind in skills for the squad. How's that going for you?" Erwin questioned, pinpointing the very concern that had been lingering in my mind.

"Still need work, but it's going," I admitted, though the truth was, I felt inadequate compared to Levi's prowess. The looming expectation of meeting their standards weighed heavily on me.

"Right," Erwin said, circling to the other side of his desk, where he sat down in front of me. His gaze lingered a moment longer than I'd have preferred.

"How's Alexander?"

"He's good,"

"Really?" Erwin raised an eyebrow. "He's doing okay with you on the Levi Squad?"

"Yeah, he's been really supportive, helping me with different things," I lied, attempting to paint a positive picture.

"Ah," Erwin mused, sifting through paperwork and extracting two sheets. "Then you won't mind telling me why Alexander was yelling at four in the morning." His smile persisted as he laid the papers on his lap.

I glanced at the papers and back at him. "I'm sorry, Commander," I said with a smile, mirroring his demeanor.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I guess it's best that we both tell the truth," Erwin remarked.

"The incident report is in my hands as we speak."

Why did I think I could deceive him? Erwin wasn't Levi or Alexander; he saw through facades. Rookie mistake.

"Okay, fine," I surrendered, though only halfway. I wasn't ready to reveal everything. "He got mad at me for staying up to do paperwork. He was just concerned for me."

Erwin hummed and stood up, tossing the papers into the fireplace while maintaining eye contact.

"Very well, then." His smile returned. "I wouldn't want to keep Levi waiting. Enjoy your day, Aldridge."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, grateful for the quick dismissal.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

"Iris," Levi's voice echoed through the training grounds.

I propped myself against the nearest tree, gasping for air as the ODM course left my chest throbbing with pain. Levi's call urged me to action.

"Get over here. Quick," Levi commanded, his tone brooking no delay.

He didn't want a casual stroll; he demanded urgency, beckoning me to use my ODM gear to reach him. Releasing my hooks became a symphony of stabbing sensations, each motion harder to conceal.

"Why are you wearing your ODM gear incorrectly?" Levi lifted two fingers beneath my leather straps, giving them assertive tugs.

His fingers glided over my chest as he tightened every buckle, his scowl etching disapproval into his dark eyes.

"There's no reason your harness should ever be this loose," he reprimanded, continuing to cinch my straps. "Your ODM gear was one malfunction away from leaving you hanging by the cords. These wires are very dangerous. You could have lost a limb with how lax your harness was."

In the final tug, pain surged through me. I fought against collapsing, refusing to show weakness. As Levi's eyes met mine, I winced at the pain, trying to conceal it. His fingers grazed one of my bruises, rendering me speechless. I couldn't utter a word, fearing I might unleash more than words in the captain's presence.

"It hurts?" Levi asked, confusion etched across his features.

"No, I'm fine," I lied, suppressing the pain that clawed at me.

"Then get out there and run some drills." His hand patted my head and pushed me forward.

Taking a step away, I released my hooks, aiming for the nearest tree. My body betrayed me, halting mid-air, no movement could save me now. Instead of the graceful landing, I collided with the tree with a sickening thud, a sharp pain radiating through my chest. I crumpled, unable to move, the world spinning in a disorienting dance.

The loud whirls of ODM gear above were a distant echo, my senses dulled by the impact. Strong arms lifted me, and there he was – Levi, his concerned face hovered above me, but my mind was a haze, disconnected from reality. His fingers traced my chin, shifting my face, and then rested on my neck. The contrast between his rough, calloused touch and his usual demeanor was striking. A smile played on my lips at the paradox of his gentleness against the backdrop of his harsh persona.

Above me, Levi's voice echoed, distant and muffled. I smiled, lost in the surreal moment, he seemed concerned. His eyes told a different story than his usual stoic facade.

"I don't feel good." I laughed but the laugh slowly turned into coughing. I threw my hands over my mouth as the blood spilled out of my mouth.

His concerned face quickly turned to disgust as he looked at my bloody hands.

"Yeah. I don't think I'm supposed to do that." My eyes slowly fell closed, the last thing I felt was Levi jerk my body from the ground.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

"Well, good morning, soldier," the lady greeted me in the sterile confines of the infirmary. White walls surrounded me, and a woman in a white coat stood beside my bed.

Maybe it wasn't just a bruise?

"That was a nasty fall you had there," she remarked, helping me sit up. I shrugged off the pain, laughing nervously. Why did it feel like my whole body had been run over?

"You broke a rib; it punctured a hole in your lungs. You'll be fine. Give it a couple of months, and you'll be good to go back flying around on those damn things," she reassured me, poring over some papers.

"Thank you," I said, grateful for the news.

"You know," she began, setting down the papers and fixing her gaze on me, "that rib wasn't a fresh crack."

"Ha, really?" I chuckled, attempting to downplay the situation. "Must've been out for a while."

"No, the way that fella ran in here with you, you wouldn't have had time to have bled as much as you did. You've been bleeding internally for hours, and I know damn well that fall didn't crack your rib," she stated, staring intently.

I was left speechless. What could I possibly say?

"The bruises on your stomach say otherwise."

"Being a scout isn't easy," I deflected with a laugh.

"And I know coming up with excuses ain't easy either," she retorted. "It's a matter of time till they start catchin' the lies and mixups."

"Aren't you tired?"

My eyes met her brown gaze, she looked at me in disappointment. What did she think she knew?

"You're not alone."

I remained silent as she left the room, her words echoing, a subtle offer to share the burdens. What was there to talk to her about? She took one look at me and assumed everything. How?

Levi walked in just as the nurse left, his presence filling the room. His eyes, colder than steel, locked onto mine.

"You idiot," he groaned, arms crossed. "How long did you know your rib was broken?"

I felt the weight of his gaze. Levi, usually pristine, wore the stains of my blood like a badge of annoyance. Why hadn't he changed yet?

"I didn't know," I lied, trying to hold his gaze.

"Bullshit," he spat, his eyes briefly softening as they met mine. The intensity became uncomfortable, and I broke away first. He leaned against the wall, a resigned "Tch" escaping his lips.

Levi had given up, a sight I thought I'd never witness. He looked at me again, breaking the silence, "How you holding up?"

"I'll be fine. Back in two weeks," I assured him. He rolled his eyes but concealed any disagreement.

"I already talked to the doctor," he disclosed. "You won't be ready until the end of October, shit maybe November."

I should've known they spoke, but what else had they discussed?

"I'm sorry, Captain," I mumbled, head hung low. "I understand if you want me off your squad. I'm only a liability."

"Shut up," Levi ordered. "You don't call the shots around here. You are a fucking liability, a pain in the ass. But I'm the Captain, and what I say goes."

He paused, his gaze piercing mine.

"You will become the best soldier the scouts have ever seen. I don't give a damn if you don't want to; you're on my squad now. You better enjoy your rest now because I won't be gentle with you."

Our eyes remained locked as I responded,

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now we—" His voice was abruptly cut off by the door.

The door swung open, and Alexander entered, his gaze immediately locking onto Levi, dismissing my presence in the room.

"Alexander."

Levi's voice sliced through the tension, a rare acknowledgment that sent shivers down my spine. Levi's eyes trailed every move Alexander made, a predator assessing its prey.

Alexander's ocean eyes eventually met mine as he sidled up to my bed, gripping my hand with increasing pressure.

"Where have you been?" His feigned concern rang hollow.

"I got hurt during practice," I replied with a forced smile, my thumb grazing his hand as he tightened his grip. His dismissive response stung. "You'll be fine," he said, brushing off my discomfort.

"She's not fine." Levi interjected, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall near the door.

"I'm sorry," Alexander turned to Levi, ignoring me. "I wasn't speaking to you."

Levi's eyebrow arched, his death glare intensified.

"Seems like you forgot about our little run-in the other night. I'd leave if I were you. Erwin's not here to save you this time."

Alexander's grip on my hand loosened as he backed away, leaving the room with a cryptic promise. "I'll see you later tonight," he uttered before the door closed behind him, and Levi promptly locked it.

"What was that all about?" I questioned Levi, curiosity getting the better of me.

"None of your business," he retorted, his demeanor as stern as ever.

"Well then, I'll just ask him when he comes back later," I responded casually, shrugging my shoulders.

"Doubt he'll say something," Levi remarked, his expression unreadable.

"And why's that?" I pressed.

Levi shot me a side-eye as he pushed himself off the wall, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed.

"Okay..."

"Aye, brat," Levi addressed me. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"Yeah, I did," I admitted, snapping my head towards him.

"I'll remember that," he warned.

"Go ahead, no one is stopping you," I retorted, slumping back into the bed.

"What's got you so pissy?"

I glanced around the room before fixing my gaze back on the bed. "My damn rib is broken," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"That's your own damn fault," Levi chided. "You should have known better than to practice while being injured."

"Save it," I shot back in frustration. "Outside those walls, if you're injured, there's no relaxing and stepping out. You push through it, or you're dead."

A heavy silence settled in the room, broken by Levi's voice. "You're right," he conceded. "But you're not outside the walls. You're inside. Until then, you are going to do whatever it takes to keep you alive and well. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," I affirmed.

"You guys got it lucky up here," Levi remarked. "Not everyone has access to a doctor or medicine. Take advantage of it while you have it."

Lying in the medical room with Levi keeping a watchful eye, his words about the scarcity of medical care outside the walls echoed in my mind. Not everyone had the privilege we did. Countless citizens in the innermost parts of the wall were in desperate need.

"Hey, Capt?" I addressed him, breaking the silence. "What do you mean by 'up here'?"

"What else could I mean?" he grumbled. "The underground doesn't have shit compared to the lives above."

"Are you from the underground?" I asked without hesitation, a question that had lingered in the air for so long. Levi's reaction spoke volumes – he looked like he wanted to kill me. The words slipped out before I could second-guess myself. It was something I genuinely wanted to know, a piece of the puzzle that was Captain Levi. The rumors were varied – from high-ranking officials' son to a country town, but the most persistent was that he hailed from the underground.

"Yeah, and?" Levi replied, scanning my reaction, as if he anticipated a negative response. But I didn't care. Who was I to judge someone based on their birthplace? If anything, I felt a sense of empathy.

"Ah, so the rumors are true," I remarked.

"It's not a secret," Levi said. "It's not like it's anyone's business either."

"No, you're right. It just explains a lot," I shrugged with a small grin.

"Explains what?"

"The way you act," I said, looking at him. "But also the way you and Alexander despise each other."

"I don't despise him," Levi asserted. I gave him a skeptical look, and he huffed. "I detest him."

"That's the same thing, Captain," I laughed. "Well, it explains the ego contests."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You both act like there can only be one person from the underground up here. Y'all got some unfinished business or something?"

"The hell are you talking about, Aldridge?" Levi was starting to get agitated.

"Did you guys know each other from the past?" I questioned.

"I've never seen that kid before," Levi stated. "Why do you think we know each other? Unless you know something I don't, cadet." His face was stern.

"I thought you guys knew each other by the way y'all acted?"

Levi's eyes widened. The confusion was etched away by anger as received the news.

"Alexander is from the underground."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

[strawberryforks]

small city, small problems // (eventual) dean winchester x reader

summary: you move to lebanon kansas and have two run-ins eith the winchester boys. in one, you’re awesome, in the other… well…

warnings: violence, blood, swearing

word count: 1343

author’s note: requests/asks open & encouraged!

hunting was your job but it didn’t pay the bills. no, that was taken care of by the numerous scams you ran. monster slayer by day (who would willingly go after those freaks in the dark? thinking about it made you shiver) and door to door salesman, telemarketer, pyramid-schemer by night. credit card scams and fake identities had stopped helping you the minute you decided to settle down. now, going by your actual name for the first time in what felt like forever, you house hunted too.

small city, small problems, you thought, settling on lebanon, kansas. you found a duplex for $700 a month and moved all of your belongings in--it took hardly any time because your entire life could fit in the box of your truck. none of it was damp or damaged thanks to the tonneau cover you splurged on.

neighbors could be difficult to deal with but yours seemed unassuming enough. the landlord had described them as an older couple that kept to themselves and that sounded better than rooming with five college students or staying in a rundown motel. you just hoped they wouldn’t notice the blood caked under your nails when you checked the mailbox, or the various injuries you always had when you walked to and from your truck.

you were sitting on the floor, both legs stuck out in front of you, and dozens of newspaper clippings in between them. you planned on taking a break from hunting but when you were in the life and aware of the creatures that go bump in the night, these things tended to fall right into your lap. missing people--this many--in such a small town was never innocent. nor were the all black eyes you made contact with on your way back from the supermarket. a demon problem you could handle but it didn’t quite explain the missing people. It was fine, you would figure it out.

a fist slams against the door in an aggressive manner, one that far too many policemen used for you to be comfortable with. you lift the corner of your mattress and swipe the information you’d found under it. you hide any evidence of your wrongdoings and stuff your phone into your pants pocket. then you pulled open the door. two men stand, wearing suits and presenting badges. you look at the badges first--agent figsbottom and dave. you snort and your hand moves over your mouth quickly as you try (and fail) to stifle laughter. the taller man frowned and his brother’s eyes narrow. “come on in, boys.”

the winchester brothers are confused. this isn’t the level of respect they were used to receiving when posing as federal agents. the thing is, you knew them. well, knew of them. dean and sam winchester were pretty famous in the hunting community so no, you weren’t about to play concerned citizen even though… well, you were concerned. the hell were they on your doorstep for?

“we have some questions for you miss,” dean says. he flashes you a smile along with his badge and sam shoots him an irritated look, placing a hand on his shoulder and shoving subtly. “have you seen either of these people? samantha and owen have--”

you hadn’t seen them anywhere else but on the newspaper. you lift the corner of your mattress and pull out the papers. “they’ve been missing for just over a week. you should be looking for these two if you want a rescue mission and not a recovery one.” you tap your hand against another couple's photo and sam’s eyebrows raise. “i’m a hunter too. just moved into the area. y/n l/n, nice to meet you.”

dean shakes your hand and you tighten your grip in challenge. the two of you stand, staring at each other and aggressively shaking hands until sam’s laughter interrupts your brief pissing contest.

“i’m sam,”

“and your dean,” you look at the shorter brother, right into his green eyes as he nods. “your reputations precede you.”

“all good things i hope?”

you laugh and give a small shake of your head. “so, the case. what do you guys know that I don’t?”

“no offense sweetheart but we don’t need any extra help. you and your partner can pick another town and another monster.” dean says.

you scoff. “no. first of all, i live here now, and secondly, i’m on my own. no partner needed.”

“you hunt alone? that’s a death sentence.”

“death is the only thing certain in life though you and your brother toe the line often--anyways, i’m not phased by it. hell or heaven, they’ll be lucky to have me.” neither of the boys have anything to say to that. sam keeps trying to angle his head just so, wanting to see all of the pages you’ve compiled and dean is staring straight at you, saying nothing. you clap your hands together, breaking up the silence. “want to compare notes or are you going to get the hell out of my house?”

neither winchester wanted to compare notes and so, you chased them out with various threats of violence. the eldest one had the gall to smirk and shout “goodluck!” before climbing into his beautiful ‘67 chevy impala.

—

the next time you see the brothers you’re in mortal danger. you're tied to a chair and bleeding all over the place--head swimming in regret and your own mistakes. if you were conscious enough to be embarrassed you would be. your neighbors, the sweet and unassuming old couple were actually long gone. dead and rotting. a pair of ghouls were wearing their bodies like meat suits and the gardening the old lady did every day like clockwork was her burying bones. they nabbed you while you were sleeping and you were a good fighter but with your limbs still heavy with exhaustion, were no match.

the rope was tight around you and it was stained crimson. they were taking turns biting off chunks of your flesh when the front door was kicked in and you could barely lift your head to see which brother had managed to break the door in just one go-- “impressive,” you acknowledged weakly. there was a struggle. you heard it but couldn’t track it with your eyes, not as they blurred and unfocused.

then you were being untied. you fell forwards and into strong arms. “hey. sweetheart, going to need you to stay conscious, yeah? not going to let a few ghouls be your end are ya?”

you shake your head ‘no’, and fight to keep your eyes open. “sammy!” dean shouts. “we need to get this bleeding stopped.” you’re passed to the taller winchester who puts pressure on the worst bite. dean starts talking to himself or his imaginary friend, cas. “cas you feathered fuck, hurry up!” he shouts to the sky and a moment later there's a ‘whoosh’ and a new hand is on you--on your forehead. light erupts but you only see white.

when you wake up you’re in a bed that isn’t your own--in a room that isn’t yours but that smells like leather, firewood, and vanilla? your face crinkles in confusion and you haul yourself into a sitting position, groaning. then, you notice the eldest winchester, dean, sitting in a chair across the room. he scoots closer to you looking you over to make sure that you’re alright.

“sorry about that,” you apologize. “can i, uh… is there anything i can do for you, your brother and… the angel?” you’re still unsure about that one, but hate owing people (or magical beings) more than you could ever articulate. “to repay you all for…”

“for saving your ass? yeah. there is.”

“okay…?” you’re hesitant.

“if you insist on hunting, don’t do it alone. not ever again. you can stick with us or go off on your own, but the second you find a case, you call me.” you agree easily. you’re alive and he isn’t making you clean toilets or sell your soul, he’s offering to help you.

you exchange numbers and then you’re off. you’ll keep your promise. probably…

[tokoyamisstuff]

Breaking Bonds Ch. 5

Summary: Regardless of logic, something meaningful is developing between you and your husband. Warnings: Slight angst, violence blood and injury A/N: Long chapter ahead, got a lil' carried away. Pacing and past/present is messed up pls ignore.

"Do you understand the violence it took to become this gentle? [...] The gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it."

- Nitya Prakash and Richard Siken

[Previous Chapter]

Surprisingly, Rabban didn't grow bored of you as soon as he anticipated.

Quite the opposite, even: Up until now you merely shared a name and your quarters, but from this day onwards the two of you became practically inseparable.

It might sound ridiculous - and honestly, it is - but that one kind act of his was enough to gain at least a tiny fraction of your trust.

Despite Rabban having spent a lifetime of wrongdoings, you were now determined to bring forth the good buried deep inside of your husband, no matter how.

At least you wanted to believe there was still something left to save.

Those aspirations were the last straw, the only thing that would give your life on this nightmarish planet some hope.

Right now, however, being in midst of the arena, you reconsidered whether the potential you saw in him was more wishful thinking than anything.

You got a pedestral seat watching this unnecessary violent event- the favourite sport of their primitive culture - unfold. It was used mainly for entertainmennt, as well as means of punishment or execution.

The Beast was raising his blade, the deafening noise of his admirers cheering him on echoing through the air alongsides the paradox rays of their black sun. He was toying with his contender, showing off since he was certain of victory. No wonder, since it was standard to drug all the opponents before the fight.

Might be your imagination, but he seemed to be scanning the crowd frantically until he found the face he was looking for. A careless action, considering one's gaze should never leave the enemy until the fight was over.

You could've sworn to see a small smile tug on the edges of his lips when he locked eyes with you, desperate to see the slightest hint of adoration from your side.

Rabban had learned something about himself through this marriage: He wants to please, needs to be needed. By his uncle at first of course, but now he's got another fixation - and this one was built on something more than plain trauma.

Well, not only trauma at least.

Your husband genuinely wanted to take care of you, but tragically he did not know how with those hands that only ever knew how to destroy.

He was aware that he could never earn your affection, let alone able to handle being loved...

...but in hindsight he already possessed you, didn't he?

A ray of light hit your face, reflected by the opponent's blade as he struck Rabban's left shoulder. You sucked in a pained breath on his behalf, feeling dizzy as you saw his blood mix with the sand.

You folded your hands as if you were praying for him to win - and as soon as he sees it, newfound thrill flowing through his veins.

Without so much as flinching he tore the blade out of his own flesh, his head held high as he effortlessly brought the other man to his feet without even breaking a sweat.

Only now you realized how ridiculously strong he was indeed - able to snap also your neck whenever he pleased.

You closed your eyes, turning away as your husband went for the kill , sealing his victory. It was a quick death, unusually merciful for their kind that's known to reach new lows concerning sadism.

"My Countess" the bloodied man greeted you confidently, chest swelling with pride as he approached you. You'll never fully get used to your title, 'Countess Rabban'. But the enthusiastic way he adressed it made you almost comfortable with that new role - or rather new life.

"My Cou-" Rabban didn't waste any time, sweeping you off of the ground as soon as you were in reach to go for a borderline-lewd kiss. You could only wonder what was going on in his head, suddenly being so prone to public displays of affec- no, ownership.

"That victory is my gift for you." You hate whenever he'd bestow you other's death and misery - but Rabban literally can't help himself, doesn't know how else to show you he cares.

"You're hurt." He almost seemed pleased with your reaciton - so sympathetically and worried despite the brutality you just witnessed.

"Minor injury" he chuckled darkly, "This is nothing."

The way you looked at him was unlike anything he's ever experienced before. No one had ever dared to approach him with anything else than fear, disgust or malice - and he prided himself on that fact.

Until now that he was practically melting whenever you were unable to keep yourself from smiling, knowing he managed to get this reaction from you.

It felt both right and yet so terribly wrong at the same time, the way you were drawn to his man.

Have you been on Giedi Prime for so long already that you were slowly succumbing to madness, blending in with the Harkonnens you lived among?

During the whole stroll towards your home, you felt Rabban's hand on the small of your back. A subconscious act, perfectly unaware how addicted he had become to your closeness by now.

And yet not unnoticed by others...

"Surely a great achievement, wasn't it?" Your smile wouldn't falter while you patched Rabban up - as he personally requested - nodding along while listening carefully to his overexaggerated stories. You could tell he was desperate for praise, born as the black sheep into this fucked up family.

"Sounds like you did amazing" you compliment his tale and instantly see his eyes light up - yet his fist balling nervously at the same time. He was bad at catching sarcasm, and used to mockery hidden beneath fancy phrasings.

"Careful" you shoo him, not done yet with your stitches. Gladly the blade caused a clean cut, so no tendons or other anatomical strucutres were severed.

Your husband had more luck than judgement, as usual.

"Y/N?" Blinking up at him after having applied the bandage, you suddenly feel his palm cup your much smaller one, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. "Thank you."

Rabban was smiling at you, different however from the one you were normally used to. A pityful attempt to mimick a friendly demeanour, so contradicitonary to his whole self it was almost comically inaccurate.

"I-I...no problem, really." You felt heat rising to your face, heart fluttering as his other hand cupped your cheek. He was incredibly cautious to be gentle when his palm wandered to the back of your neck, pulling your face closer to his...

...but just when you were about to surrender yourself to this absurd attraction, you stopped yourself.

Remembering the reason you knew the skill of patching up after all, back when all those lives were - and still are - destroyed by the Harkonnen made you think straight again.

"I'm sorry, Rabban" was all you managed to wring out as you sprung up, violently shaking your head as if to shake those feelings right off.

"Don't be. It's alright." You freeze in your tracks at his understanding reaciton, and yet feel like even the chemical gases of the outside would be less suffocating than his presence.

The Beast watches you leave, chose not to pursue you. He was disappointed with the outcome of his approach, yet uncharacteristically not mad either - just confused, and maybe a little hopeful, at last.

It took you a while to calm down, arranging your thoughts and trying to rationalize your emotions as good as possible. Still, your mind went back again and again to this tender moment you shared, wondering whether it would really be so bad to catch feelings for someone you were tied to either way...

...wait, what in the known universe were you even doing?!

This man is the dead enemy of your homeworld, having caused so much misery that he can never be forgiven!

No. Never!

You might have to tolerate spending your lives together - but you'd be damned if you let the circumstances twist your loneliness into some forlorn type of affection!

This villain is just curious about the customs of usual people. Neither is he capable of having a meaningful bond, nor does he deserve it.

Much to your luck Rabban was nowhere to be found after your return. At least initially you felt alleviated not needing to talk this through - until it dawned on you who would have to pay the price for your insolence.

"Milady, wait!" one of the soldiers begged, fearing the consequence of guiding you to the slave pits. "This is no place for a noblewoman!"

"You dare questioning my decision?" The small garnison immediately stopped in their tracks when you turned around, startled by the hostile glare you shot them. "Maybe I should inform my husband about your lack of cooperation."

As ashamed as you were of this mischievous joy, as satisfying it also was for the roles to be reversed for a change. For them to be forced to listen to your every command, despite you being an 'inferior' Lankiveili.

After all this time of hiding and losing against the Harkonnens, right now you had the upper hand. A small victory, if only symbolic.

"N-No, please" he wrung out, visibly concerned. "Let us at least lead the way. For your safety."

Even during the day the planet's surface was somehow even darker than the inside of those soulless, metallic buildings. Anyone staying here for too long would either suffer chemical burns or choke on the pollution, so wearing protective gear was mandatory.

The slave pits were far away in the middle of nowhere, making it impossible to escape. You've been told that none of them could survive more than three years top under those conditions...

At first you thought Rabban was here because of your neither polite nor subtle rejection, but then you got wind of something different: A maid had informed you about the latest political scheme in the Empire - not that Rabban would care about any of it, as long as his position was secured...

...but well, this time it wasn't. The Emperor had set a decree that would take Arrakis from your husband's lead and give it into the hands of rivaling House Atreides.

Who knows what heinous things he'd do to those poor slaves to let off some steam.

No, it was good this way, as harsh as this might sound. You were developing irrational feelings, so witnessing how the Beast treated others was just what you needed to get down to reality again.

You'd soon find out, seeing your husband at the horizon and in front of him lined up slaves, serving as today's victims. He walks past each of them with one hand on his whip, none daring to look directly into his eyes as he fed on their fear, dwelled in this abstract idea of control and power.

When he finally picked out one that particulary unnerved him for no concrete reason, ready to strike him with his infamous poisoned whip, you leaped in front of that poor person just before the hit, yelling "STOP!"

You don't know what possessed you to do this, or how you even managed to get this far without being grabbed by the bystanding soldiers - but instead of the expected incoming blow, there was dead silence among every involved party.

Even with the mask on he recognized your voice and the body language gave it right away, so graceful and much more docile - yet the shock he was feeling seeing you of all people here was too quickly replaced by fury.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?! I ALMOST CRIPPLED YOU, DAMMIT!"

Rabban turned around, concerning himself with the soldiers and completely forgetting about the slaves you quickly waved off to save themselves. "What the hell is my wife doing here?!"

"My-my Count, she insisted-" the man's breath got sucked right out of his lungs when Rabban's fist met the plexus right under his ribcage.

"Any other objections?" Everyone shook their heads. "Good. Escort her back. Immediately."

"Rabban" It unnerved him that you'd speak to him so casually, so careless in front of third parties. "I have an important matter to discuss with you. In private."

"Later" he deliberately turned you down, not even biding you another look as he went after the escaping slaves. "Got unfinished business. Now get her away from here, carry her if it need to be."

"Hey, I- don't touch me!" Your initial near-death-experience was nothing compared with the frustration you felt skyrocketing a thousandfold right now. "Rabban, please!"

"They wouldn't dare harming you" he assured you as one of the guards casually threw you over his shoulder. It was so unfair, how considerate he could be when he was just about to destroy another person like a goddamn toy.

You were lashing out at your abductor's back, accompanied by the laughter of his men while they carried you inside of the main building. Feeling humiliated, no, tainted by their touch - knowing very well what happened to other maidens from your world that had fallen into the hands of Rabban's henchmen...

...and to think it could get any worse than this...

"Let. Her. Down." You knew that voice, hoarse and absent of any emotion. It made the hair of your neck stand up, head spinning with adrenaline.

"Good" he spoke as you were carefully placed to the ground again, the dagger in his hand pointed towards a door, ordering "Leave us alone. I'll walk her the rest of the way."

"My dear brother-in-law" you cheered in a high-pitched, fake-friendly tone, covering up how terrified you truly were. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Up until now Feyd had no interest in you whatsoever - and you were damn glad about it.

The current generation of Harkonnens were a distillation of malice, indifference, sadism and dehumanization - with Feyd-Rautha being the most exceptional specimen in all of those characteristics.

Unlike Rabban, he had been raised by the Baron and Piter ever since birth, not a fraction of positive influence left.

Basically, he had been doomed to become a freak from his very first breath.

Even your husband was creeped out by his own brother, the pure evil he impersonated. He never spoke about it openly, but you always noticed how defensive his stance became whenever those two were in the same room.

"Oh, I thought we'd chat a bit while we're on our merry way." He could play the part of a civilized young man to perfection and it made you sick to your stomach.

Sometimes you forgot that no matter how weird it may sound, Rabban was actually the most sane of them all. His poor impulse control just makes people have a wrong impression.

It was actually something you actuall admired about your husband- he carried his heart on his tongue, unlike those fake aristocrats.

"So, how's the marriage life with my brother?" he asked as you were slendering across the halls, every person you came across ducking down in fear of the youngest Harkonnen. "You know, I can hardly imagine what you go through. My uncle used to say he was more beast than man - and they treated him accordingly."

You balled your fists at the thought of a young Rabban being mistreated in the most gruesome ways, having gotten used to those distraught screams he wrung out every night until this day.

But you knew better than to fall for his provocation right away.

"With all due respect" you dropped the courtesy, "Why would you care?"

"Well, I might not know what love feels like - but I sure know how it looks. And my brother seems quite attached to you."

You furrowed your brows in disbelief at his observation, meanwhile he was circling you- as if to analyze what the hell was so special about you. "They say I'm good at reading people, and he's always been an open book to me. Even his own men started talking, and they rarely dare to speak out of line."

"So what?" Your voice was shaking with the uncertainty of his intentions, aware that you were right now a victim to his whims. "As long as we do as we're told, does it really matter what happens in the privacy of our home?"

"Well, you still despise him, don't you?" Feyd was now prventing your advance, standing in front of you in all of his glory. A handsome young man indeed, but everything about him was repulsing nonetheless. "He enslaved your planet and killed countless of your relatives. You must hate him deeply...but maybe I have a solution for this problem."

Feyd's hand reached out for you and you were certain of receiving pain or worse at any second - yet he merely twirled a strand of hair between his fingers, before tucking it behind your ear.

"You don't care about wealth or power" he whispers, almost cheek to cheek with you now. "How admirable. You only wish to wake up from this nightmare and return to your loved ones, don't you? I can arrange that."

Oh, he sure was good with his words. To the untrained eye one would assume someone this charismatic could never be a psychopath - but knowing his true, corrupted soul kept you from falling for his silver tongue.

If it was for his own benefit, he could lie with every breath.

"I am no fool. You wouldn't help someone like me if it wasn't for your personal gain." Shivering at his aura, this intrusion of personal space you could tell he was amused, aroused even. "So why? And how?"

"Ah yes, that's more of a trade. I'll grant you freedom..." Feyd explained as he rummaged in his pockets, pulling out a small flask. "...and you kill a man for me."

"Now what do you say?" he urges, shoving the obvious poison into your hands. "It's untraceable. They'll never find out."

Clutching the small phial in your hand, eyes darting from the liquid inside to your inlaw and back, you croak "I don't understand."

Murder was not punished by law on Giedi Prime - the only justice was the survival of the strongest. It was even greatly encouraged to kill someone shall you desire something they owned, may it be their post or even worse motivators. And Feyd had already tried assassinating his uncle several times, even then remaining unpunished.

"You're perfectly capable of killing Rabban yourself. Why go out of your way, including me in your petty sibling rivalry?"

"Where'd be the fun in that?" the Harkonnen shrugged, a manic grin splitting his face in two. "Having him die at the hands of this foolish crush would be way more rewarding. Just imagine life leaving his eyes when he realizes who is responsible for his demise. Perfect tragedy."

The thought alone made an incredible sadness overcome you.

"And then what, you become Count and terrorize my people?" He would definetly be the worse choice, you thought. But he had a point:

"I don't give a damn about your insignificant planet. I have greater aspirations. But Rabban still sees it as his homeworld, my uncle puts him under house arrest there frequently. I would simply leave you people alone as long as we get your ressources, you have my word."

"So, what do you say? You'll get revenge for your people and return to Lankiveil as widow." There's a chance that this plan might work, that they would let you leave so your folk doesn't revolt. And still... "Who guarantees me that you won't frame me for the deed and have me executed?"

"The choice is yours. You'll never know if you don't try" he urges, visibly irritated of this far too long conversation.

Before he left you by yourself, he turned around one last time - the severity of his words echoing inside of your mind. "Besides: A quick death would be better than a long life full of agony, don't you think? Only a matter of time until he'll revert back to his old self, believe me."

On your now secluded way home you took several detours, even though feeling uncomfortable among other Harkonnens.

Feyd was right in a way, of course.

What if one day Rabban forgets himself in the heat of the moment, and does something he regrets later? Would certainly not be the first time. His brother on the other hand might generally be more dangerous, but intelligent enough to know when to behave shall the risks outweight the benefits.

"Surely he's bluffing" you tried to convince yourself, make sense out of this messed up situation. "It simply can't be true."

Yes, he might temporarily be a little less intense, but Rabban was still Rabban - both brothers evildoers that didn't even hesitate killing their own parents.

They don't love anyone but themselves.

Before you were even close to your chambers, you hear a familiar roar accentuated with fleeing servants throughout the hallways. Stepping foot into your shared bedroom you find it in ruins, your husband sitting on the floor now coated in silence.

"R-Rabban?" you call out for him and you flinch as he stares you down like a feral animal. As soon as he sees your face however his anger subsides, evaporates just like water in the desert.

"Where the hell have you been?!" he grumbled, features softening as he got up again. Anyway, you wished to not be within his hitting range right now."You left before me and were gone for hours."

"I- sorry..." you stuttered, the guilt of your secret conspiracy making you unable to even look at him. "I thought no one was waiting for me here, so I went for a walk."

You immediately began mentally speculating what punishment might follow - until Rabban caught you off guard. He wrapped his arms around you, holding your body firmly against his that was still trembling with rage.

"Never come to the slave pits again" he mumbles into your hair, head resting atop of yours. "Do you have any idea how many people there might try and take your life to get back at me for taking their loved ones?"

Did he just compare you to a beloved person?

"Haha, I doubt it" you chuckle a little flustered, yet the realization was creeping up on you. "It is widely known that you have very little regard for human life, except for your uncle of cour-"

Suddenly he grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at him - and the sheer adoration in his eyes made you see the truth. "Your wellbeing is my responsibility, whether you like it or not. Got it?"

Feyd was right after all.

You nod mutely, wanting to change the topic before you might fold completely. "I wanted to see you because I heard what happened to Arrakis."

"Yeah..." His free hand was still placed at your hip, squeezing ever so slightly. "My uncle will punish me soon. I am a failure, a disgrace, and because of this we lost the Spice."

Accusations about his poor government of your own planet were already at the tip of your tongue, yet for some reason you swallowed it in front of a man that had been robbed of the only chance to prove himself.

"Hear me out" you whispered, hands hesistantly resting on his shoulderblades to reassure him. "This is only a trap for House Atreides, I am sure of it."

You could almost hear the gears in your husband's head turning without results. "How?"

"They have grown strong, and their greatness is known throughout the galaxy." Putting two fingers under your chin in a pondering way, you add "Their popularity is threatening the Emperor. He wants them gone."

"And what does all of that have to do with my Arrakis?"

"If you wanted someone disappear without any witnesses, wouldn't you choose a planet with a lethal habitate and poor communication possibilities?"

Rabban's mouth stood slightly agape as he murmured "They'll be erased, and we return."

"Exactly..." Nothing could make you hide the overwhelming sadness you felt at that moment. "So it's not your fault, Rabban. It's merely part of a greater conspiracy."

Your kindness overchallenged him. He was never given it before and did not know how to deal with it properly - and yet you can redirect his anger so well that he almost feels comfortable in his own skin.

"Seems like I owe you my gratitude once again" he laughs and for a moment you think you could get used to this softer side of him. "Is there anything you wish for, so I can make it up to you?"

"I want to see my family!" you blurted out, the answer coming as fast as a lightning bolt. "Take me with you next time you go to Lankiveil."

All this wealth and this is what you settle for?

"Alright, whatever" he rolled his eyes, a little jealous of the people you loved so dearly. "But if your theory is true, I'll be called to battle soon. So be patient with me."

Eradicating a whole bloodline out of selfishness and greed, once again proving your point. As someone from the minor houses you knew better than anyone that there wasn't really a good or bad side in this.

"Don't worry" you feel his palm on your shoulder, "I'll return victorious as always. Those weaklings stand no chance!"

Yes, this Empire was built on the blood and tears of the weak and righteous. All the great houses did atrocious things over the past millenia, and this circle of violence and betrayal will continue until there's no humans left.

One tyrant follows after the other. There were no victims - only culprits and accomplices.

So why were you consoling, encouraging him even?

There was another way, allowing you to prevent this massacre if you weren't so pathetically hesistant. Just murder this wrenched menace and save hundrets, if not thousands of lives!

"Say, Rabban..." you ponder as you fondled with the poison hidden in your sleeve, eyeing the bottle of liquor he'd surely empty this evening. "Why did you never try to kill your uncle and become Baron yourself?"

The Beast had a perplexed expression at that random question, so you tried walking him your lane of thought. "I heard it's common among your people if you want to take someone's place..." You became gradually more quiet, that last part almost inaudible and yet you regretted it slipping out. "...like you did with your father."

"I- don't know." Your husband's voice was an octave deeper, laced with sadness and...guilt? "It was never my wish to have him gone. I'm comfortable with my role as it is."

"You are so loyal to undeserving people..." Your words confuse him, make memories resurface he'd rather remained suppressed. But you wouldn't have any of it. If you were to be judge and executioner, then you wanted the whole truth. "Then why did you kill your father, our dear Count? For power? Because he tried to help my people? Tell me!"

Nothing like that - he merely adapted to his environment.

And still, he remembered the look of betrayal in his father's eyes, as it was yesterday - as well as the distraught scream of his mother. That feeling of killing someone with his bare hands for the first time...

...it was back then that he realized that love couldn't fix a broken man like him after all.

"BECAUSE THEY ABANDONED ME!" he finally snaps, roaring right into your face. "Do you have any idea what it means to live on Giedi Prime when you are unworthy?"

He runs around fiercely, slamming his hands against his temple to keep the past from reemerging. "The things they do to make you obey, how they bend your behavior into a direction beneficial to them? What you endure, what you need to do?"

You can only helplessly watch his breakdown, heart breaking for him as you want to hug this poor child that had been turned into an unstable warmonger.

"I have nothing else" he ultimatively whispers, defeated.

"That's not true - you have me." Taking a few steps forwards, you take his hand...

...and place the flask right into his palm.

"What is this?"

"Poison" you retort flatly, "A deadly one. From your brother, meant for you."

"Why?" He looks at you flabbergasted, fondling with the flask in his leather glove. "You should ask him, not me."

"No" his voice cracks, both stunned and touched by your decision. "I know my brother long enough to believe this is within his range of possibilities. What bothers me is you...why didn't you do it?"

You are at loss for words, contemplating to cowardly flee again - but Rabban insists, slowly coming closer and blocking your exit. "Tell me. I need to hear it."

"Please" you whimper, feeling your resolve shatter as his lips brush yours. "Don't make me say it..."

This is insane, wrong, a betrayal to your people and everyone that had suffered under your husband's influence...

...and yet you find yourself yearning to close the gap between your lips.

Rabban knows very well what Stockholm-Syndrome is. A handful of former victims had thought to love him to make his abuse more bearable. He grew tired of them eventually nonetheless, of their pretentious survival tactic.

"Your father begged for your life back then" he confesses, wants to spill all the disturbing facts about him and wanting you to love him either way, in spite of being contrary to all of your beliefs. "I told him I compromised only to make you watch your pathetic homeworld crumble to dust. And then I behea-"

SLAP

You want to go for another hit but Rabban catches your wrist, staring you down so intensely you hate yourself for what it's doing to you.

It's the first time you kiss him back, grabbing him by the collar to pull him down to your height. You feel him smile against your lips, lifting you up just to throw you onto the nearby mattress.

How many times had you lied here without anything ever happening?

"Tell me to stop" he breathes, carnal tones filling the air as his hands worked their way across your body, "And I will."

You shake your head in approval, moaning uncontrollably while Rabban undressed you, tracing sloppy kisses across your body. It made you high on this feeling, deafening out the voice of reason screaming in your subconsciousness.

For the first time, his touch was meant to mend and not break.

If only you knew that he'll make you regret that affection of yours all too soon...

"I'm not good at being gentle...but for you I'll try."

[Next Chapter]

[darkwitch1999]

Angst Headcanon: When Marc Was Bullied at His Old School…

Italics= Thoughts and Narrations

Bold+Italics= Marc's negative thoughts

Principal Clément’s Office

(The office was eerily quiet. Marc Anciel sat anxiously in a chair facing his principal’s desk, his fingers nervously fidgeting as he finished recounting the events that had just transpired. A pair of broken glasses sat in his lap. His hair was a distorted mess with pieces frayed all over at different angles. His entire upper body felt sore and he felt his arms pulsing with pain. The principal, Mrs. Clément, listened to Marc’s story patiently as she waited for the boy to finish. Marc had come to her after the latest bullying incident had occurred, which involved Marc getting both physically and verbally harassed by a group of students. Marc winced at the memory of enduring the bullies’ vicious mockery and berating while being pushed and shoved around against the lockers. One of them had grabbed him by his hair and held him in place against the locker while two others punched his arms and another one stepped on his glasses that fell off his face while he was getting shoved around and broke them. And all of this torment was just because Marc wore a skirt to school today, which wasn’t anything new. Marc has had to deal with bullying ever since he started middle school, but this year, the bullying became both verbal and physical. He’s tried to tell his teachers multiple times about the bullying and asked for help, but they never did anything about it. They always took the side of the bullies rather than the victims. This time, however, Marc had gathered up the courage to seek help from the school’s principal, hoping that she would have at least an ounce of sympathy for him and try to help him. After Marc had finished talking, the two of them sat in silence for a moment as Mrs. Clément took in the anxious boy’s recount. Then the principal began to speak.)

Mrs. Clément: Marc, I hear your concerns and I assure you that our school has zero tolerance for bullying, but I also believe there may have been a misunderstanding on your part.

Marc: (shocked) A-A misunderstanding…?!

Mrs. Clément: Marc, I can assure you that these students that you are accusing of wrongdoing are good children. They get good grades, have no prior history of violence or any allegations against them about bullying their fellow students, and their teachers speak very highly of their behavior in the classroom. To put it frankly, I find it difficult to believe that these students would intentionally cause harm to another student. That is not to say that I don’t believe your side of the story, but I do believe that perhaps you may have misinterpreted their actions or confused their acts of horseplay as acts of aggression.

Marc: (still in shock) H-Horseplay?! She thinks they were horseplaying?!

Mrs. Clément: If I recall correctly from your account of what happened, only the male students from that group were “pushing you around” and “punching your arms” as you have stated. It is not uncommon for boys your age to roughhouse with each other Marc. Perhaps they were simply just playing around with you. I can understand how you could misinterpret this as an act of violence against you. After all, you only have two mothers in your household and no father to guide you on normal boy behavior. Sure, you may have your younger brother, but again, no father. You probably have no idea what is considered normal behavior for boys your age to exhibit, but take the advice from someone who has spent years dedicated to the educational system and who has guided hundreds of young boys every year. I can assure you that these boys meant you no harm when they were roughhousing with you in the locker rooms. 

(Marc was speechless from hearing the principal’s words. She was doing what all the other teachers Marc had gone to for help did, siding with the bullies and praising them as “good students”. Meanwhile, she was also trying to fabricate some story that Marc was just confused by their actions just because he was raised by two moms and didn’t have a father. The boy was growing tired of his teachers and fellow students using that excuse against him, especially when they used it as an interpretation as to why Marc liked to wear makeup, skirts, and dresses, which was the furthest thing from the truth since his mama prefers wearing pants and suits over skirts and dresses and his mom doesn’t even wear makeup in favor of the natural look. Marc wanted to say something. He wanted to speak up and argue with his principal that she was wrong and that what those boys did to him wasn’t just “boys being boys”, but Marc couldn’t find the courage in him to speak up. His mouth was clamped shut and he knew that even if he opened it up to speak out, no words would come out. Besides, he knew better than to argue with or “talk back” to the authority figures at his school. It would only make things worse.)

Mrs. Clément: As for the matter in regards to your claim of them teasing you, I wouldn’t bother worrying about that either if I were you, dear. They are just words and though harsh as they may be, everyone is entitled to their own opinions. After all, if no one were allowed to express their opinions, there would be no honesty left in the world, now would there? 

Marc: (speaks softly and hesitantly) N-no…I guess there wouldn’t be…

Mrs. Clément: (smiles contently) Exactly. There isn’t any need for us to all get worked up over a group of kids just speaking their minds and I highly suggest that you don’t even give them the time of day if their words bother you so much and just ignore them. Words can only hurt you if you let them hurt you and only have power if you give them power.

Marc: T-That’s what I have been doing…I-I have tried ignoring them for years now and it’s never worked! Y-Yeah…I guess you got a point there…

Mrs. Clément: See? Now you are starting to understand how pointless it is to make a big fuss over a few small misunderstandings. I’m glad that we were able to clear this up without having to turn this whole thing into a big investigation. It would have just wasted everyone’s time with interviews and don’t even get me started on the paperwork. Incident reports have to be filled out. And just think about how your two mothers, who already worry themselves to death over you, would react to this situation.

(Marc felt a sense of dread and anxiety run through his body at the mention of his mothers. He knew exactly how they would react if they found out that he was getting bullied and he didn’t want to cause them any more trouble or worries that he was already giving them. They had enough on their plate to worry about and Marc didn’t want to add on to it just because he wasn’t strong enough to endure some assholes.)

Mrs. Clément: I’m sure you can understand that bringing your mothers into something so insignificant and meaningless wouldn’t do anyone any good. I can imagine that both of them would be beside themselves with worry and well…we both know how… “chaotic” your birth mother can be. After all, we wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened during our last Career Day to happen again, right?

(Marc shuddered at the memory of that day. What should’ve been a day when parents and guardians came in to talk about their jobs escalated into a shit-show. All because one of the homophobic teachers could not resist badmouthing his mothers about their lifestyle and insisting that “depriving” Marc of a father figure was damaging to him and unhealthy for his development. If only that teacher knew the consequences that awaited her for pissing off his mama. In short, it involved Marc’s mama chasing after the teacher and threatening to beat her with a chair, while Marc and his mom watched the madness unfold. The chase lasted for about twenty minutes until his mom decided to show the teacher some mercy. As much as his mom enjoyed watching his mama beat the crap out of a homophobe, she also didn’t want Marc to witness that amount of graphic violence. That was when she instructed Marc to lie down at the bottom of the stairs and pretend to be hurt to snap her wife out of her rage. Fortunately, his mama’s maternal instincts kicked in just in the nick of time because she had the teacher cornered with nowhere to run. The school and his moms were able to agree that the teacher wouldn’t press charges against his mama for almost assaulting her with a chair if his mama agreed to only set foot on campus grounds if she was escorted by her wife and to behave in a “civilized” manner while on campus grounds. His mama accepted the terms of the agreement, albeit begrudgingly since nothing was done about the teacher who made those homophobic remarks, but at least now everyone at that school knew never to talk shit about her family again. Now, however, Marc imagined an even worse scenario in which his mama would find out about him getting bullied. Though Marc knew that his mama would never physically harm a teenager, she would definitely tear his bullies to shreds by beating them in their own game of verbal assaults. They would probably be traumatized for life and need years of therapy afterward, and regardless of how terrible they were, Marc knew that no one deserved such a fate to befall them. As for the teachers and principal…Marc didn’t even want to think about what his mama would do to them.)

Marc: (speaks hesitantly with his head lowered and eyes staring at the broken glasses in his lap) N-No…ma’am. I-I don’t w-want that…y-you are right. I-I guess I was just overreacting a bit. I-I am s-so sorry to waste your time. I wasn’t th-thinking and being selfish.

(Marc avoided eye contact with Mrs. Clément as he felt his eyes start to water and steeled himself the best he could to keep his tears in. He didn’t want to start breaking down in tears in front of the principal. All he wanted now was for this pointless conversation to be over so he could leave to have his emotional breakdown somewhere private before he had to head back to class. He also noticed pressure beginning to build up in his chest and breathing in and out was not as smooth and easy as before. The principal, oblivious to the young boy’s oncoming anxiety attack, smiled softly and stood up from her desk chair. She walked over to where Marc was sitting and stood behind him, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. Though this gesture was intended to comfort the young boy, what it did was make Marc feel worse.)

Mrs. Clément: Oh come now, Marc. It isn’t entirely your fault. After all, you are still young, and sometimes young people tend to make a big deal out of little things that are not worth all the fuss and drama. But that is why you have adults in your life such as your teachers and myself at this school to guide you and help make sense of things that you don’t fully understand. Like I always say, children can resolve any issue if they just talk it out with the adults around them first. I bet you feel much better now that we have talked about this simple misunderstanding and resolved your problems.

Marc: No, I don’t. I feel a lot worse now. Y-Yes ma’am. I-I do.

Mrs. Clément: (claps her hands together) Perfect! That is just wonderful to hear. Now, I do believe that your next class will be starting soon. Let’s try to have a better day today. After all, you have soccer practice after school today and I am sure your team would want you to be at your best during practice. 

Marc: (forces himself to speak up) A-Actually…I’m not going to soccer practice today. I decided that I didn’t want to play soccer anymore this year.

Mrs. Clément: (raises an eyebrow in confusion) Oh really? Why not, dear?

(Marc lifted his head and made eye contact with the principal. The young boy had no idea if the concern in Mrs. Clément’s voice was sincere or not.)

Marc: I-It just isn’t for me and I don’t really have must interest in it anymore. It was fun being on the team for two years…b-but I’m really not that good at soccer and I would only be dragging them down. Be-Besides, I-I’ve been wanting to focus more on my writing for a while and now I will have more free time to do so.

(Marc forced himself as he anxiously waited for the principal’s response, hoping that the woman was buying the lies that he just told. In truth, Marc didn’t want to quit soccer. He loved soccer and has played the sport ever since he was three. He just couldn’t take the bullying that he was getting from his teammates now anymore.)

Mrs. Clément: (smiles) Well, that’s great to hear that you are pursuing your true passion. Though I am sure that everyone on your team will miss having you around.

Marc: No they won’t. They are probably celebrating over the fact that I am gone, not that I can blame them. I was useless on that team anyway. They didn’t need me…

(Marc stood up from his chair and exchanged goodbyes with his principal as she led him out of her office. As soon as the office door was closed, Mrs. Clément walked back over to her chair and fell into it with an exasperated sigh.)

Mrs. Clément: (sighs) Ugh…hopefully that will keep that whiny little brat out of my hair for a while. If one good thing came out of today, that lousy little ****** is quitting the soccer team. About time! Our sports team doesn’t need another year of being represented by another whiny little ******.

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

Phew, well there you have it. The first and only time that Marc went to his former principal for help back when he was attending his old school. This was also the last time he went to an adult for help because after talking to the principal, he finally realized that nobody in that school cared that he was getting bullied and they weren't going to do anything to help him. It also explains why Marc never told his mothers about him getting bullied because he hated making others people feel worried about him (and because he didn't want his Mama to attack the school faculty with her bat again).

Also, if you are wondering what this horrible principal looks like, here's a concept design of her that I made using Create-a-Sim since I'm a terrible artist and I suck at drawing characters.

(Please feel free to deface her picture if this headcanon has made you feel inclined to do so. I just might go ahead and do the same after I finish typing this because I was feeling disgusted myself writing this bitch's character.)

Anyway, let me know what you all think about this headcanon. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions you wanna ask for me to answer and let me know your thoughts about this story.

@nerd-chocolate @artzychic27 @imsparky2002 @andromeda612 @princessbutterflysposts

[itsnothingofinterest]

Well that’s an interesting question. It’s one I think we already know the answer to (or at least what the answer was), but what say we ponder it anyway to speculate on what it’ll mean for next chapter and how the whole fight’ll play out.

Up until now, Toga hasn’t had a villain name seemingly because of her insistence that she doesn’t warrant it; she is a normal girl who merely loves in her own way. Sure she lives on the streets or in caves & fights alongside terrorists against heroes, but that’s because society attacked her first, was hostile to a normal girl like her first. It’s what has to change to accommodate a normal girl like her.

But that’s been her answer up ‘till now. So now that she’s asking herself this vital question about her origin again, what kind of answers might she give and what could that mean for her?

Well she could hold fast to her convictions above; she has no villain name because she is just the girl Toga Himiko, fighting for her life against government agents who want her dead and killed her friend already. Perhaps if she says as such out loud; it could lead to the final breakthrough in Uraraka I’m hoping for where she realizes how much Toga is motivated by fear for her life and we’ll finally get somewhere there. I really feel whatever final resolution comes between these two is gonna be based on the two sympathizing with & understanding each other.

Which, speaking of sympathy between the two; I wonder if Toga might look at Uraraka’s strange actions and see them as another way they’re alike, and embrace how that makes her weird and also normal. Because Uraraka is normal, that’s part of why Toga’s so interested in her, but if she’s coming to Toga after her side killed two of her friends for freaking girl talk in the middle of a war then she’s definitely a weirdo. Just like Toga. (Maybe we can get Uraraka’s poor background to come back to refute Toga’s ‘easy life’ claim while we’re at it.)

It’s also possible the villain name question will remind Toga that she doesn’t want to be a villain, which’ll be combined with Uraraka telling her killing & bloodlust is bad to get her to just quit. Not a fan of this one tbh. I just think giving the girl whose been fending for her life since middle school the violence & murder is bad breakthrough sounds a bit off. At least if the other side isn’t gonna address their own wrongdoing in the process too. And Toga just giving up without addressing the ‘heroes will kill me’ concern sounds more self-destructive than ever to me. But I’m listing it for completion.

Still, another possibility is to realize she isn’t normal anymore; look at all this chaos she’s been dragged into. And maybe she’ll be okay with that. Maybe she could embrace all this chaos and the roll she’s been forced into, finally take up a villain name, and entrench herself in her new family’s fight. In which case I am getting back on my ‘We are getting My Hero part 2′ BS because that is Dabi’s new ice quirk all over again. Much like when Bakugou got his hero name, that’s the sign of a new leg of a character's arc beginning, not said arc coming to an end.

And there’s other ways it could go down still. Guess we’ll see next...oh what’s that?...Taking a week off?...Well good for Horikoshi. Anyway, guess we’ll see in two weeks how this question plays out.

[wolves-and-dragons]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: the Haunting of Daemon Targaryen

Main Masterlist

Bonus Masterlist

Synopsis: Haunted by the ghosts of Harrenhal, Daemon encounters the Lady of Larks among those ghosts, who comes to him with the intent of enacting vengeance for his wrongdoings against the troubaritz.

CW: Strong language, mentions of past violence, haunting themes, body horror, monster attacks, death and gore (Minors DNI), blood, trauma, guilt, some nudity.

----------the Riverlands: Harenhal------

It was midday in the castle- Oh no wait, it might be a little later than midday.

Daemon was serving himself some food as he listened to Ser Simon Strong droll on about negotiations that still needed to be carried out to rally the River lords to Rhaenyra's side, despite their liege lord Grover Tully being incapacitated at the moment due to his failing health.

Daemon, having not gotten a full decent night's sleep for who knows how long- probably since he landed in this castle and being away from Rhaenyra- found himself beginning to dose off.

As he drifted into slumber, the faint sounds of a woman's voice echoed off the wall.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees..."

Daemon's eyes widen, fully alert than he was mere moments ago, "What was that?" he demands. "Whatever was what, your Grace?" Ser Simon asks with concern.

In another corner of the hall, Alys Rivers was busy crushing herbs and adding them to a cup of wine she intended to serve Daemon with hopes that perhaps it might help him get a full night's sleep this time around.

"Didn't you hear that?" Daemon questions as he looks around. "I don't believe I quite follow, your Grace," Simon admits. "I thought I heard singing," Daemon insists, "a woman singing." "That can't be," Simon assures, "unless it was Alys over there, but I'd have known." "It came from over there, I'm sure of it," Daemon points in a random direction, not even sure where the vaguely familiar singing voice was coming from.

"Perhaps it wasn't a woman at all," Alys suggests, "perhaps it was a songbird...a nightingale, or a robin...or perhaps a little lark." At the mention of that last particular bird name, Daemon sat straight and gave Alys an indecipherable look as the witch hands him his cup of wine, "I added a little something extra to this mix," she tells him, "perhaps it might help you sleep tonight."

Daemon looked at the herb laced wine and then looked up to see Alys walking away, "when little birds who've known true freedom are caged, they refuse to sing...and slowly begin to decline."

------------later that night----------------

Deep inside the walls of Harenhal, in the dark of night, Daemon laid in his bed chambers, doing his best to sleep in spite of the haunting nature of this cursed place.

The king consort had been in Harenhal for weeks now...or was it months? Daemon had this feeling he was losing his sense of time in this haunted castle. He's heard the rumors, that Harenhal was cursed from the moment of its inception. He didn't exactly believe these stories to be true, but after spending some time and seeing the visions of a young Rhaenyra and Laena, he has come to believe that maybe this was so.

Either that, or maybe he needs to lay off whatever potions that witch Alys has been giving him to help him sleep.

Daemon closed his eyes, intending to let sleep take him, hoping that negotiating with the river lords will be done soon and he can return to Dragonstone, and return to his old bed with his queen niece-wife at his side. In peace.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees..."

Once again, that familiar yet eerie voice sings out, faintly reverberating against the decaying walls, forcing Daemon to open his eyes. The Rogue Prince looked around. No one was in his room, and he couldn't hear anyone outside at the door. Daemon closed his eyes once again, hoping he could finally sleep.

"Bats all a swaying in the breeze"

This time, Daemon bolted from the bed. "Hello?" Daemon calls out, hoping someone might answer, "is someone there?!" No answer. With an excessively tight grip on his sword, Daemon approached the door. He looked down to see the shadows of someone passing by down the hall. Daemon kicked the door open, sword pointed at whoever was waiting for him.

No one was there.

The king consort then heard the pattering of tiny footsteps. He looked at one end of the hall to see a small figure turn a corner. It appeared to be a child. Against his better judgement, Daemon followed.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing no* manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

The voice sounded closer. Daemon recognized that siren's call anywhere, as it was a voice he became familiar with a long time ago when he was still young and reckless. Keeping his sword in hand, Daemon saw the child like figure run into an unoccupied room. The child looked familiar, it almost reminded Daemon of when Aemma was still that size, when she was a girl of at least three years, roughly the age and height she was when her mother attempted to take her away from him that night in King's Landing....

The night the witcher came to take the both of them away from the Rogue Prince. The voice continued its lullaby as Daemon cautiously stepped into the room.

For your dolly Polly sleep has flown Don't dare let her tremble alone For the witcher, heartless, cold Paid in coin of gold

Inside, by the burning hearth, sat a woman, holding some kind of bundle in her arms, rocking it as if it were a newborn babe. The woman wore a dress of black, her long dark hair flowing down to her waist, back facing Daemon as she continued to rock the sleeping babe in her arms. She also wore a veil that shrouded her face from view.

He comes he'll go leave naught behind But heartache and woe

As Daemon approached, he noted the pool of blood the woman was sitting in that seemed to have come from nowhere, but she continued to sing regardless. He wasn't a fool; even if he couldn't see her face, her voice made it clear that this was the Lady of Larks. The Rogue Prince has yet to determine if she was real or if this was the curse of Harenhal resurrecting her spirit for the purpose of further haunting him to the brink of madness.

Deep, deep woe

"Mama?" a young Aemma's voice got Daemon's attention. The girl in question approached her mother in a curious manner. "Shh, little love," vision you softly addresses your daughter, "we don't want to wake up your brother, now do we?" You look to the bundle in your arms, then briefly turn your gaze up to Daemon, "there are monster lurking outside these walls, after all."

You looked back down at your son,"He has his father's eyes." You continue to hum your melody as Daemon came about to get a better look. Initially he was confused as to why you had another child in your arms in place of Aemma. But then he recalled that earlier on the day of your escape, when he initially came to you to with hopes of having his way with you, but you had stopped him when you announced that you were pregnant once again.

With this in mind, he saw the child in your arms. It was a boy. The son and heir he had hoped you would've carried for him. The babe had tufts of silver hair on his head, and he slept peacefully in his mother's arms. "What shall we name him?" Aemma asks, leaning over her mother to get a better look.

Daemon looked down to see that the blood that pooled around you was seeping from under your dress...from between your legs. When he looked up, he saw the baby in your arms was completely deformed, looking similar to baby Visenya when she was prematurely expelled from Rhaenyra's womb when news had reached the both of them of Viserys' death. He saw the blood stains on your arms as you look up, the veil lifted off your face to reveal the dark spots under your eyes as well as your gaunt, ashen face.

"...I was hoping your father would name him..." "My father?" "The White Wolf."

On that cue, Daemon looked up to the mantle of the fireplace to see the reflection of someone standing behind him...with white hair and glowing, gold eyes. Daemon immediately turned around to see it was the Witcher himself, eyes burning with seething rage.

Before Daemon could react, Geralt stabbed the man through the gut. Daemon braced himself, expecting there to be lots of pain and lots of blood spilling from his wound. Instead, when the king consort opened his eyes, he found he wasn't in Harrenhal anymore, but in what appeared to be some kind of dusty crypt, a mausoleum almost.

Birds* are silent for the night

Cows turned in as daylight dies

At the sound of your voice, Daemon looked ahead to see you and Aemma standing by a shroud covered body on a table, almost as if you and her were keeping vigil, the both of you dressed in black, your veil lifted to show your face, which somehow looked even more gaunt and ashen as before. Aemma, he noticed, looked a little older now, roughly now a girl of nine, maybe ten years old.

Ten years might be more like it, Daemon surmised, as that was the age Aemma's dragon was first fitted with a saddle, and Aemma was currently in her riding leathers. Daemon approached the table to inspect the body as you continued to sing.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing no* manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

"What happened to him, Mother?" Aemma asks as Daemon leans over, moving about with the intention of removing the shroud so as to get a better look at the body. "I wish I knew, little love," you sigh, "it all happened so fast in the dead of night...but he's in a better place I think...at least now, he can't hurt us anymore."

Daemon pulled off the shroud to see the body was his own, naked, eyes missing, his torso revealing scars of some kind of beast that slashed him opened. Daemon eyes widen once more at this reveal. "I know what had happened," a gruff voice spoke. Daemon looked up to see Geralt had appeared from nowhere once again. Realizing this time, he was defenseless, Daemon braced himself, expecting the mutant to stab him  in the gut once again.

Instead, the witcher walked through him, placing a hand through the autopsy incision to investigate the cause of death. "His heart is missing...along with his liver," Geralt states, keeping a neutral expression, "there's only one creature I know who is that picky an eater...a striga."

"No, that's a lie!" Daemon accuses, though no one seemed to hear him. He turned to you and Aemma, "he's lying, he's the one who committed the deed. This MUTANT is a kingslayer, Little Lark, you cannot trust him! He cannot be trusted with our daughter!"

"What's a striga?" Aemma asks, clearly not having heard her father. "A rare creature that was created by means of a curse," you answer, now facing up at Daemon with a clear look of contempt, eyes bloodshot as if you've been crying for quite some time. "Who enacted the curse, mother?" Aemma asks.

You didn't answer right away. Daemon put it together right away, realizing YOU were the one who enacted it. "Little Lar- (y/n)?" "I did what I had to do," you say, voice starting to become distorted with rage, "I did what I needed...in order to finally be free..."

A high pitched screeching sound reverberated throughout the crypt. Daemon looked around frantically, trying to figure out where that sound was coming from. He looked back at you and Aemma, only to see your daughter had all but vanished. "Aemma?"

"Strigas are female," you say, causing Daemon to look back once more to your again, your countenance now expressing sorrow. "The striga is a princess," he heard Geralt say behind him in realization.

Tears fell from your eyes, regret showing clearly on your countenance, "It should have been me," you sob, "it should have been me..."

The striga screeched once more, and the scene changed. You and Geralt vanished as Daemon found himself in the halls this time around. He frantically looked around to realize he was back in Dragonstone.

None of the torches were lit. The darkness in the halls was pitch black, giving a foreboding ambience. Daemon looked ahead to see a dim light in a room down the hall, similar to what he saw before back in Harrenhal.

As he approached, he heard you resume that woeful lullaby once more.

My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries

As the witcher, brave and bold Paid in coin of gold

He peaked into the room to see bodies lying on the floor, covered in blood and gore as if they were massacred by some kind of beastly animal. Bodies belonging to his stepsons Jace, Luke, and even little Joffery. He looked to see the corpses of his daughters as well. Seeing Baela laying next to Jace and Rhaena next to Luke caused several tears to fall from Daemon's eyes. More still would flow forth when he saw the little bodies of Aegon and Viserys laying right next to each other, clutching the sides of their mother who also laid dead.

He'll chop and slice you Cut and dice you Eat you up whole

Daemon approached Rhaenyra's body, kneeling down to touch her face. She was cold, and he wondered she has been this way. How long had it been since the striga came in and slaughtered them all?

No...! It wasn't the striga. It was the witcher who did this. It had to be him. HE had to be the one, he's a Butcher, that's what a witcher does. They kill indiscriminately without feeling and steal children from their beds as these sterile, freakish mutants cannot reproduce like regular human beings can. They take those same children and turn them into witchers, robbing them of their fertility and twisting their bodies into something unnatural.

No doubt, if Daemon had not come for you and Aemma, the witchers of Kaer Morhen would have put his daughter through a similar fate.

It had to be the witcher...it had to be...he had to be the one who did this to Daemon's family. He slaughtered them like animals and stole Aemma from her bed as recompense, with the intention of turning her into one of his kind.

In shock, Rhaenyra opened her eyes, taking Daemon by surprise. How was it his niece-wife survived? "You did this..." Rhaenyra weakly says, handing reaching out to touch one of her dead sons, "you brought this on us." "No...no, it wasn't me," Daemon insists, "it was the mutant bastard that did this. He slaughter our children and made off with Aemma."

"You brought this upon us, Daemon," Rhaenyra insists, "as you brought upon my ruin." "No, I had nothing to do with that," Daemon shakes his head in denial. "You should have just let her go..." Rhaenyra continues, "you should have let them both go..."

Eat you whole

Sensing there was someone behind him, Daemon turned to see a beastly grotesque creature standing before him. It resembled that of a rotting corpse, making high pitched clicks as it approached him.

Daemon reached for his sword once again, but again realized he was unarmed. Unarmed and defenseless. Even if he did have a weapon on hand, Daemon actually wasn't sure if he would survive anyway.

Daemon saw some kind of trinket hanging off the striga's neck. He recognized it to be a silver necklace, the same one he sent to Aemma for her 14th nameday...the same one he placed on Aemma the day of the Driftmark petition before she yanked it off and replaced it with the witcher's medallion.

"Byka zaldrīzes?"

The striga, whom Daemon now recognized to be Aemma- whom he presumed had the curse brought down upon her by your doing in a desperate bid to get away from him- tilted her head in a curious manner, making a small chirp in response.

Daemon found himself starting to cry, finally realizing what had happened.

He looked past striga!Aemma to see you at the door, still gaunt looking, still dressed in black, fresh tear stains from your eyes.

"What have you done?!" Daemon demands with an accusatory tone. "I freed myself from your cruelty...it appears to have cost us both everything...you should have let me go..." you answer, covering your face with the veil once again, "you should have let us both go..."

With those final words, the striga howled with a rage that was deafening. She lunged at Daemon, ripping a chunk of his neck, forcing Daemon to fall, landing right next to Rhaenyra. He laid in agony as blood poured from his wound.

The striga/Aemma stood over Daemon, raising her long claws before slashing through his gut, his visceral organs falling out as a result. As Daemon laid there dying, he found it surprising that it was not as painful as he would have anticipated.

As his vision darkened, he saw the striga vanish, that witch Alys taking her place.

"When songbirds who have known true freedom are caged, they start to decline," Alys says to him, "and sometimes...they will brings others down with them," She leaned further in, "tell me, Your Grace...was it worth it? Was caging your Little Lark worth all this carnage? Worth the lives of your children? Of the child you sired with the Lady of Larks?"

Sounds of knocking at the door forced Daemon to bolt upright from his bed, cold sweat breaking out as he panted in terror.  The Rogue king consort looked around to see he was back in his bed chambers in Harenhal. He checked his hands in case he cut himself in his sleep again.

No new cuts on his palms this time. But remembering what the striga had did to him in his nightmare of a vision, he began to assume the worse.

Daemon hastily jumped off the bed and quickly removed his night clothes to inspect his body for any fresh wounds in those areas, not paying heed to Ser Simon opening the door.

"You Grace, I thought I should inform you, a raven has...oh dear."

Simon stood there, speechless as a naked Daemon used his hands to inspect for any potential wounds on his torso. "Uh, your Grace?" Simon speaks up, bringing Daemon out of his panicked state.

Daemon stood straight and turned to face Simon, pretending like he didn't care that this man had caught him in such a vulnerable state. "I assume you barged in without permission for a reason, Ser Simon," Daemon says with a snappy, inpatient tone.

Simon shook himself out of his embarrassed state before he addressed the king consort, "oh uh, I meant to inform your Grace, that uh, another raven had just arrived."

Daemon gave Simon an indecipherable look. In his irritable state, Daemon informs the Strong knight that he will read the message momentarily, and has Simon dismissed while he gathered his clothes for the day.

When a fully clothed Daemon walked out of his rooms, he looked over to see Alys standing in one corner of the hall, looking all strange and mysterious like as usual. Daemon frowned a bit, starting to wonder what exactly was in those herbs she gave him the other day. Whatever it was, he would need to lay off that stuff for a while...possibly for the duration of his stay in this haunted place.

Daemon turned and walked away, but not before he heard Alys speak up while he was still within earshot.

"So was it all worth the cost, Your Grace? All that to keep your little songbird trapped in her gilded cage?"

Daemon made a 90 degree turn to confront Alys on that question, only to see the witch had disappeared from the hall.

Deep down, much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew Alys' question was a valid one. If Daemon had continued to entrap the Lady of Larks, if he had stopped her from escaping with the witcher, if he had continued to force her by his side...if he had stopped her from leaving King's Landing in the first place...would he have paid an even heavier price for his actions?

Daemon felt like he had already paid plenty for his selfish recklessness already. For stealing you from the witcher's keep in the first place. For forcing her to remain on Dragonstone and King's Landing when he was fighting in the Stepstones. For forcing you to wed him and forcing you to consummate their marriage with the hopes that you would give him a male heir. For ripping Aemma from your arms the night of your escape with the White Wolf.

All those things Daemon had tried to bury deep down and go to great lengths to ensure his oldest daughter would never learn of those things. 

All the lengths he went through had all been for nothing as Aemma had eventually found out after 16 years...and she disavowed her father for it as a consequence.

How different things could've been if had been kinder to the Lady of Larks...how different things could've been if he never pursued her to Kaer Morhen in the first place...

If he had just let her go...and allowed her daughter to live a life that was vastly different then the one she was forced into.

[mysteriouslyjollyheart]

You really don't even know me

You might know my name.

You have just foolishly believed

Everything that they had to say.

I might be a little crazy

But I am far from insane.

The enemy was busy at work on me

In my early childhood days.

But Mama didn't even know or realize

All the errors of my Daddy's ways.

She really did truly love me

And she wanted me to be saved.

She never gave up on me

To God she continued to pray.

Now out living in the world

I was doing it my own way.

I thought that I had found real love

But with it was more hurt and pain.

The harder I tried to make it work

It seemed more and more problems came.

With all of his intimidation and violence

I knew I had to get away.

Living out on the street

For more than just one day.

I tried to check myself on out

But somehow, because of God, here I remain.

Those times living in the darkness

All my wrongdoings I will claim.

Forgiveness is a requirement

It does no good to place the blame.

But God did a great work in me

I have been forever changed.

Filled with the Holy Ghost

I walk with Him each and every day.

Observation of those on the street around me

Somehow my ministry just came.

I try to encourage them to find Jesus

Warning them that He is the only way.

I share with them my testimony

And the things that I overcame.

To just give them some hope

That God can always make a way.

I let them know they're deeply loved by God

Despite their life being deranged.

If I can help them with a need I will

Maybe just a simple necessity obtained.

A small act of love and kindness

While their life is all rearranged.

Many are fighting unspoken battles

So the best thing that I can do is to pray.

Most others just look down on them

Some people even complain.

Nobody wants to live like that

The enemy already has them down and living in shame.

Thoughts that surely there's someone that cares

Too often all quickly fade away.

Can't count on anyone or anything

Everyone is the same.

Should of known better

Just another time betrayed.

Never having anybody to love them right

For all that they've suffered, they take the blame.

Coming from a dysfunctional family

Often from family they are estranged.

With childhood trauma experienced by most

There's lifetime side effects that can remain.

PTSD, anxiety, depression, mood disorders and addiction

Are just a few things that they can face.

They can have medical disorders and chronic pain

For some they have things that can never be erased.

With no family support or other help

Nothing ever gets changed.

To never know unconditional love

Maybe not even knowing Jesus name.

To not have any kind of faith

Or never being taught how to pray.

For nobody to show compassion or concern for these

We should be ashamed.

Just where is the love of Christ in you?

Because to steal, kill and destroy is Satan’s game.

With all the love and good things of God

That the church continues to proclaim.

Where are all of God’s people

Serving others and striving to bring about a change?

To simply show someone God’s love

Why couldn't you just stop and pray?

Surely it doesn't surprise you that they don't believe

Because nobody from the church ever came.

Each of us will be held accountable

By God on judgment day.

Amy

[the-true-stories]

Oiland Terror: Inside Story of Mohsen Fallahian’s Crime Network in the UK

The name Mohsen Fallahian comes up frequently in reports and investigations of organized crime. However, despite being well-known as a convicted murderer, the suspect escapes the authorities because of his multiple illegal enterprises. His wrongdoings range from money laundering on various continents, including the UK and Israel, to acquiring passports and residencies where he does not legally belong. The following report will examine Mohsen’s criminal activities around the world, particularly in Canada, Europe, and Turkey.

Mohsen Fallahian: The Notorious Convict

Mohsen Fallahian is no ordinary criminal on the loose; he is a convicted murderer whose knack for violence has vexed law enforcement for many years. More than being convicted of murder, reports confirm that Mohsen illegally acquired Turkish passports for both his brother, EbrahimFallahian, and himself. Such impudent violation of international law suggests his willingness to stay out of the hands of justice by all means necessary.

However, murder is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Mohsen's criminal portfolio. He operates an illegal oil tank in Bandar Abbas, following in the footsteps of his father’s oil smuggling operations. The facility serves as a front for a larger operation, allowing Mohsen to profit while avoiding authorities.

Abbas SherifAskari: Partner in Crime and Money Launderer

Abbas SherifAskari, the son of SherifAlAskari, is another key figure in this intricate web of crime. Like Mohsen, Abbas has a dark history of manipulating legal systems for personal gain. He is deeply involved in money laundering, using his sister in Canada and his girlfriend as conduits for moving illicit funds. Abbas and Mohsen have been linked to large-scale financial operations that span multiple countries, further complicating efforts to dismantle their network.

Abbas has also been implicated in securing fraudulent visas for his family, including his sister and her husband MeghdadTabrizian, to live in London. These actions raise concerns about the legitimacy of their residency and hint at deeper, more sinister intentions.

Money Laundering Network: A Global Concern

The scale of the money laundering operation spearheaded by Mohsen, Abbas, and their associates is alarming. Abbas AlAskari’ girlfriend, SetarehHeshmat, is a critical player in this network. Her role includes facilitating financial transactions that fund illegal activities. Authorities are closely investigating Setareh’s involvement, as her actions have aroused considerable suspicion.

Mohsen's sister also plays a vital role in this criminal organization. Based in Canada, she has been moving large sums of money, carefully avoiding the scrutiny of law enforcement agencies. Her actions not only implicate her in the operation but also serve as a glaring reminder of how deeply entrenched this network is.

Shell companies created to convert dirty money into clean money

Shell companies are the part of money laundering network of SherifAlAskari, MeghdadTabrizian, and Mohsen Fallahian. These shell companies exist only on paper, and have no real-world operations. The money is layered through these companies to hide their illicit origins from the regulators. The dirty money can sent to these shell companies as legitimate payments for goods and services. The fraudsters may then use the money the way they want, including terrorist activities. They may also take advantage of the complexities of international laws and regulations, and move funds through countries including the UK, Israel, Lebanon, Iran and Ukraine, that makes it easier for them to evade anti-money laundering (AML) checks. Their network is widespread and extensive, as a Panama vessel is often used for this purpose. The vessel sails to Iraq where papers are changed to show as if the origin of oil is Iraq, not Iran.

Money goes through layering to prevent tracking

These savvy money launderers use loopholes of financial regulations to clean their dirty money, making it look as if it is a legitimate business. The money changes multiple accounts, with quick frequencies, and often has inconsistent or incomplete information. The money is put through multiple transactions and often changes forms. For example, it can become gold, and then used in real estate purchases. This layering allows SherifAlAskar, Tabrizianand Fallahiantrio to make the money go round the UK, Israel, Ukraine, Russian, Iran, Lebanon, and other countries of the world, which makes it difficult to track the origin of the illegal funds.   

Money laundering has an adverse impact on the overall economy, as economic policies become less effective. This also adverse country’s ability to foster sustainable growth as the economy becomes more prone to unpredictable fluctuations. It also increased divide between the affluent and the general population at large that ultimately threatens the foundations of a fair and equitable society. The unchecked flow of money can be used all sorts of malicious activities, including terror funding in Israel, UK, and other countries.

Illegal Residencies: Mohsen's Global Escape Route

In addition to his oil smuggling operation, Mohsen has managed to secure illegal residencies in multiple countries, including Italy. This move underscores his desire to escape justice and continue operating his criminal empire. His ability to slip through the cracks of international law has put him at the center of a global manhunt, with law enforcement agencies in Turkey, Canada, and Italy now working together to track him down.

Conclusion: A Network of Crime, Technology, and Terror

The criminal syndicate involving Mohsen Fallahian, Abbas SherifAskari, SetarehHeshmat, and others is a complex and dangerous operation. From murder and money laundering to visa fraud and terrorism, this network poses a serious threat to global security. With ties to Iran and cutting-edge AI technology used to create weaponized drones, the group has drawn the attention of international authorities.

The need for immediate action is clear. Law enforcement agencies must work swiftly to dismantle this criminal empire and bring those responsible to justice. Mohsen Fallahian and his associates cannot be allowed to continue their reign of terror, and the world must remain vigilant in the face of such dangerous individuals. The public should stay informed and cautious, as the far-reaching consequences of this criminal network continue to unfold. International coordinated efforts are the need of the hour to curb the menace of money laundering, and prevent the money from being used in terrorist activities.

[loveforalexzverev]

Thank you for your answer! It’s much appreciated❤️

If you sure you don’t mind, I’d like to know more about your reasoning behind not believing the accusations. Though I hope you won’t get any anonymous hate for answering!

Hi again Anon,

I'm sorry for the late reply. Thank you for your concern, but it's okay, anyone who comes here spreading hate gets instantly blocked. I've always made it clear that I want my page to be a positive space for supporting Sascha. I'm not a contentious person and I don't want to waste my time arguing with hateful people. Thank you for being thoughtful though ❤️

I've tried to outline my reasoning based on evidence / analysis. It's fairly long, so I've put it beneath the cut. I hope it answers your question:

First of all, I want to make it clear that I absolutely abhor domestic violence, I think it's disgusting and any perpetrator of it deserves to be in prison. Though I've been a fan of Sascha's for years, as soon as I heard about the allegations, I made it my duty to research the case and become properly informed. No matter how much of a fan I was of someone, I would never stand by and support them if they were a domestic violence perpetrator. Equally, I was not going to go along with whatever the general public opinion was on social media and immediately treat him as though he was guilty. Instead, I chose to research and form my own opinion.

With the first allegations, I read both articles Ben Rothenberg wrote thoroughly and found inconsistencies / elements in the claims that were logically implausible. My dubiousness from examining both articles was only heightened when considering that Rothenberg wrote them. He made his name writing about tennis, but has since used his platform from this to spread gossip on Twitter. Moreover, he has a track record of starting false rumours about people which ruined their lives. Most notably, he was the main orchestrator behind Doug Adler being fired after he falsely accused him of racism.

It should also be noted that Rothenberg has a specific, historic record of trying to tarnish Sascha's image which pre-dates any abuse allegations. He started a Twitter thread accusing Sascha of using his phone to cheat during a match at the 2019 ATP Finals:

The ATP released a statement clearing Sascha as they knew he was a diabetic and was checking his blood sugar monitor. At the time, he hadn't publicly announced his diabetes because of the horrific bullying he suffered as a child because of his condition. It took a while for him to feel comfortable coming forward with it, but the ATP always knew about it and thus defended him against the rumours.

So even back in 2019, before any domestic violence allegations were made against him, it's clear that Rothenberg already took a dislike to Sascha and was purposefully trying to ruin his name. And again, despite being proven wrong, he never apologised, never admitted fault, he just sat back and let Sascha get attacked unfairly. Worse still, when others suggested that his health is private and he shouldn't be forced to divulge things he isn't comfortable sharing, Rothenberg ignored any right to privacy, instead continuing this narrative that his behaviour is still suspicious and that he has every right to speculate (I've blanked out the accounts of the people he was retweeting for the sake of their privacy):

And of course when the ATP cleared Sascha as having not cheated, he simply posted a screenshot of their statement. Just as when Adler was cleared of any wrongdoing, Rothenberg never admitted fault for spreading false accusations about Sascha, nor expressed any remorse for any damage caused by his actions:

This then made Rothenberg's intentions with writing his articles clearer than ever to me. He didn't write those articles out of defence for women's rights. Instead, he used Sharypova's allegations as a means to further his continued pursuit to tear Sascha down. It was less like a journalist helping a woman share her story, and more like a desperate man with a vendetta finding common ground with someone: a shared interest to paint him in the worst light.

Further proof that those articles were not written because he cares so greatly about highlighting alleged domestic violence perpetrators in tennis: other ATP players have faced domestic violence allegations, and not once has Rothenberg ever conducted an in-depth, tell-all interview with any of their ex-partners. He didn't interview Basilashvili's ex-wife, Kyrgios's ex-girlfriend, Seyboth Wild's ex-girlfriend. It was only ever about Sascha. And all those cases were far more serious than his; they all involved the police, unlike Sascha's case. But Rothenberg never cared about them, he fixated on Sascha because he had a vested interest in targeting him specifically.

When he published his second article, he took it upon himself to stalk Zverev fan pages on Instagram to see their reactions to his articles, purposefully taking screenshots (with account names unredacted) of fan pages who chose not to believe the accusations immediately:

Firstly, it's extremely patronising to assume that the admins of these fan pages are "young and female". And saying that their decision not to believe his articles is a demonstration of their "support for their idol" is simply disgusting. He is not only assuming the age and gender identity of these admins, but also condescendingly misconstruing them simply questioning the veracity of these articles - a valid thought given his history of propagating false accusations - as them being clueless fangirls who refuse to consider their "idol" could do anything wrong.

And moreover, if Rothenberg genuinely thought the people behind these accounts are underage and impressionable, why exactly did he not think to redact their account names? Why did he take screenshots with their display name clearly visible? By his own admission, he believes them to be vulnerable, underage girls. And yet he saw no problem with making their profiles known to his followers, practically inviting hate their way. Because he cares about women's rights.

Crucially, in response to the allegations detailed in those articles, the ATP conducted a 15-month, independent investigation which involved interviewing Sascha, Sharypova and 24 other relevant people, as well as examining her evidence of alleged abuse. The investigation concluded that there was "insufficient evidence to substantiate published allegations of abuse". Thus, by their findings, he is innocent.

Rothenberg claimed that this verdict does not prove Sascha's innocence, but that it "neither confirmed nor refuted Sharypova's accusations". He argued that the investigation's findings don't disprove her allegations, even though the statement explicitly states that they "were unable to substantiate [her] allegations of abuse":

By falsely claiming that the ATP's ruling doesn't confirm or deny the allegations, Rothenberg implied that the findings suggest Sascha could still be guilty, just not guilty enough to punish him. It's very important to note that this is simply untrue; having "insufficient evidence to substantiate the allegations of abuse" means that evidence was provided, but through examining it, it was found to not prove that he is guilty of domestic violence. There's no such thing as not being innocent, but also not quite being guilty enough to face consequences.

He also continued to just openly bend the truth with Sascha's statements any chance he could, again, just to make him look bad. He wrote this about Sascha's episode of Break Point:

I can't state this enough: that's not what happened. Here's the actual scene he's conveniently recalling incorrectly:

That year, Sascha was returning to the ATP circuit for the first time since his injury. He was seeded outside the Top 20 for Roland Garros. He was defending semi-final points from the previous year and was due to meet Medvedev in an early round. As it happens, Medvedev lost in Round 1. In Break Point, we see Sascha catch the end of this match playing on a television as he walked through a hallway. Despite Rothenberg's claim, his applause was for Seyboth Wild's "ballsy" performance, not Medvedev's failure. When discussing this match, Sascha explicitly states: “Medvedev is one of the best players in the world, so, of course, it helps not playing him at an early stage” - a clear compliment which is interestingly missing from Rothenberg's recollection of this scene.

Sascha went on to say that, at the same time, he believes in karma, that “if you wish bad upon someone, then the bad is gonna come back to you”. In other words, even if Medvedev losing early would help him, he'd never wish bad on him as he believes that wishing bad on people brings bad back to you. That's what he actually said. The "karma" comment was about himself, but Rothenberg purposefully made it sound like Sascha vindictively celebrated Medvedev's early loss and called it "karma". That never happened.

And in case you were in any doubt about Rothenberg's professionalism: a clear example of how his personal feelings clearly outweigh everything else, even the preservation of the rules of the sport he chose a career in writing on, this was his take on the outcome of this year's Roland Garros final:

He is referring to the moment in the fifth set when Alcaraz double-faulted on break point, officially confirmed by Hawkeye, and yet the umpire insisted it wasn't a double fault. He didn't give Sascha the break back, and Alcaraz proceeded to win the Roland Garros title. People who call themselves "tennis journalists" should, by the very nature of their job, maintain a certain level of objective professionalism with regards to commenting on the sport.

Regardless of what you think of a player, seeing them fall victim to a clear flouting of the rules of tennis should not be encouraged like Rothenberg did here. As a tennis journalist, surely above all else he should want to protect the integrity of tennis as a sport and condemn any instances where its rules are openly violated. But no, he happily accepts - praises, even - cheating being allowed in a match so long as it's against someone he doesn't like.

The allegations were dubious in themselves to me, but knowing they were documented in articles by Rothenberg really cemented my disbelief. He has always disliked and unfavourably depicted Sascha, the allegations were just one of many things he clutched to as part of this.

As for the second allegations, I think the biggest issue with the case was the wide-scale misreporting done by the media concerning what the case was and what its conclusion actually meant.

Patea filed a penalty order application against Sascha, citing physical harm. Penalty orders are exclusive to German law: they are a means of people being criminally pursued for alleged unlawful offences without the complainant going to the police. In deciding whether to grant a penalty order application, the public prosecutor's office examines the evidence put forward by the complainant ONLY (in this case, Patea's evidence). At this stage, they do not hear any defence from the accused (in this case, Sascha). If they think there is sufficient reason to believe the alleged crime probable, they grant the penalty order and impose the relevant legal consequences.

The penalty order application was granted against Sascha and he was provisionally given a €450,000 fine as a result. He appealed the decision, and in German law, this appeal takes the form of a public trial. That's why his case was in court, he was never "on trial" in the conventional sense like the media portrayed, that's the only way you can appeal a penalty order. And again, only in this appeal could he give his defence, bringing forward evidence to disprove the allegations against him.

When the trial began, Sascha's lawyers outlined all the detailed evidence they had which proved that he could not have harmed Patea as she was alleging. German news articles described the evidence his legal team presented in more detail, I've posted links and translations to some of the relevant sections below:

In counter to Patea's accusation that Sascha strangled her, one of his defence lawyers, Alfred Dierlamm, outlined:

(Source: X)

Among his defence's expert witnesses was a renowned, forensic doctor in Germany named Michael Tsokos who has frequently worked in violence protection:

Another expert witness proving her allegations to be medically impossible:

You might have heard that the trial never formally concluded and that instead, a settlement was reached. It's really important to know that, despite what people say, it wasn't an out-of-court settlement, he didn't pay Patea to drop the case. When Patea took to the stand, she crumbled:

(Source 2: X)

After having contradicted herself, stuttered during her testimony and been proven to have lied multiple times, she withdrew the allegations. This then meant that the public prosecutor's office revoked the penalty order, which in turn means, legally, Sascha's presumption of innocence remains intact. Again, anyone saying "that doesn't mean he's innocent" is misinformed. There was no verdict of guilt / innocence because the case collapsed, Patea withdrew the allegations which meant that there was no case to give a verdict on.

As Sascha is the one who brought the trial, its conclusion meant that he had to pay court fees: €200,000, €150,000 going to the German state treasury, the remaining €50,000 to non-profit organisations. This is standard procedure. It is not the fine he was provisionally given for the penalty order, it was court fees, and not a single cent went to Patea.

It's also important to note that Sascha only accepted the settlement to end the case sooner for the sake of it not affecting their daughter:

Moreover, following this outcome, he was legally within his rights to sue Patea for defamation, but chose not to. Again, for the sake of their daughter:

He was never interested in a vindictive back-and-forth with this case. All he wanted was to clear his name against the accusations of abuse and maintain his rights to see his daughter. Legally, he has achieved both.

So those are my reasons for not believing the abuse allegations against him. I hope that answers your question. The facts are that there is a lot more evidence indicating his innocence than his guilt. Ultimately, the people who still call him an abuser already decided he's guilty from the start, they won't consider anything other than that, despite how much evidence there is pointing to the contrary. They're entitled to their opinion as I am to mine, but one thing I will never tolerate is people conflating me not condemning Sascha from the start as an abuser and opting to research and form my own opinion with me being an abuse apologist.

Thank you for getting in touch and for being polite, sadly it's quite rare to see these days, so I appreciate it.

Please take care 🫶🏻

[oc-aita]

(Note from author: This is written from the perspective of an exiled high class royal who comes from a cut-throat, elitist culture.

A is an autistic diplomat and historian, L is a happy-go-lucky drag queen. Bloodless means disowned and erakse means something similar to psychopath. A befriended the royal at a young age and she has been his doctor for over ten years.)

The human who introduced me to the internet has insisted I redact their names for privacy. I agreed to their council since they seem to know more about this strange contraption than me. The two in question will be referred to by single letters.

AITA for refusing to let an addict date my patient?

I (26F) refuse to let L (18M) date A (18M).

I will not provide details for client-patient confidentiality, but suffice to say, A's impairments are extreme and he is incapable of living alone and navigating to new places safely.

L is an incompetent, forgetful addict who refuses to respect his superiors and has taken A to parties in dangerous neighborhoods.

While A is strong-willed and enthusiastic about exploring the city, and I doubt any admonishment could have stopped him, HE COULD HAVE DIED. This place is rife with gangsters and lowlife. I am his doctor. It is my duty to prevent him from coming to harm. If that harm is L, I will gladly remove him from the equation.

A has fallen out of love before, to disastrous affects. Taojeni was similar to L - foolish and shallow. I refuse to redact his name since he is unworthy of privacy. Taojeni's love was foolish and shallow too. A year later, A is still terrified of relationships, and views himself as a despicable creature who all would shun once they knew him well.

You think L is different. "But I trust him!" you told me like your word would mean ANYTHING after all the ones you've trusted brutalised, neglected, or berated you.

You are foolish. You trust ME, a bloodless erakse. Your mind is addled by disease, starvation. Your trust means NOTHING to me. You have cried in my arms RUINED by the ones you trusted because you are too foolish to know their intents. (I spoke in excess and had to delete multiple paragraphs. If I had let my anger drive me I would have broached doctor-patient confidentiality. I cannot explain why he is danger, lest I endager him. I refuse to hide my mistake. It is shameful to refuse to admit wrongdoing.)

I digress.

A is highly malleable. He tries not to be an inconvenience despite his illness. I wish he allowed himself to inconvenience me. I am a doctor. It is MY JOB to be inconvenienced, you fool. I fear that L has never seen A struggle like I have and is not actually willing to support A.

L is lazy and hates hard work. He seems to have made an exception for A, but I doubt his commitment. A is an adept liar, capable of minimising his impairments, feigning good health and a sound mind. It makes my job as a doctor irksome, but I can't blame him for his habit of hiding crippling weakness. It would be foolish to display it.

A "completely and utterly adores" L and has begged me to hide his medical files and the full extent of his conditions. I acquiesced, but what reliable relationship can be built on a lie? I refuse to disclose the details of his struggles to L, but until he feels safe enough to be honest, I refuse to let them date.

L has confided in me. So has A. The mutual strength of their endearment is the only reason why I ask for impartial feedback on my behaviour.

I have lied to both of them. They both adore each other and it seems both would be happier in a relationship. I doubt their happiness would last, but they would be happy.

A would despise me if I resorted to intimidation or violence, so I resorted to the coward's tactic: manipulation.

I told them that there is no romantic possibility between them. Neither have confessed because of me. They are both too concerned with preserving their friendship to confess and risk losing what they have.

L would do almost anything for A. He fought ME (a giant female Aurish) as a tiny, pathetic Kalodolat, KNOWING he would die if I decided it. A was worth the risk to him.

L is typically immature and foolish with his money, but he spent the majority of his income on medical supplies for A before I arrived and took over financial organisation.

L seems... Almost a viable candidate, despite his uncouth manners and low rank.

The more I write, the more relieved I am that I sought feedback. The lot on this site mainly consists of peasants, but I will still listen if your arguments are convincing.

Tldr:

I worry that L is not as kind as he appears and will discard A as soon as his sickness becomes truly inconvenient. I refuse to let them date until he has proven himself to me as a worthy partner. Am I the asshole?

[aressida]

my entry: “Why Conspiracy Theories should Matter?”

They matter to vox and the Media, because they represent their loss of narrative control.

QAnon – The only cult that brainwashes you to think for yourself.

Conspiracy theories can diminish faith in institutions and government, lead to distrust of science and medicine, political influence to shore up their power, and inspire acts of violence.

People cannot distinguish conspiracy from truth properly. Anything that conflicts with Mainstream Media -> They call a conspiracy. The level of ignorance and critical thinking is at all time low. The education system in this planet needs to be creatively revamped.

CIA create the term “Conspiracy Theory”…

Since when did being a ‘truther’ become a bad thing? Seems it would be much easier to debunk conspiracy theories, but they are usually mocked, which only gives them more credence. Funny how that works. They must feel threatened. We are here to expose the wrongdoing and ultimately bring it to an end.

Conspiracy theorist is someone who questions the statements of known liars. They conspire, we talk about it. There is no theory. It is not a conspiracy theory when there is a mountain of truth.

If you do not know that the Human population has been systematically dumbed down. Like the things about deception is that if you knew, then you would not be deceived. You simply do not know that you do not know. You must wake up from this spell.

We are in a country and in a world that is being run by unbelievably sick people. The chasm between with what we have been told is going on and what is going on is absolutely enormous…

I mean we need to understand where conspiracy theories come from, because their emergence imperils a public good, namely trust in our institutions. And understanding conspiracy theories is about understanding why people think the way they do about the issues that concern them most and what they want to believe about them.

And as our politics gets more frenzied and confusing, conspiracy theories will continue to emerge to try to make sense of it all.

Nothing can stop what is coming.