#OR DESCENDING TO COMPLETE LUNACY

[walleeli]

“See, whenever I pass the ball to you…

…it means that I trust you. You get it?

Partnerships like that are a rare thing.

Don’t take it for granted.” -Cheng Xiaoshi

(Season 1 Ep 3//Season 2 Ep 12)

[mellowwillowy]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐦 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

sc: The Lunacy of Duke Venomania's Manga

The late Empress did not change her stoic face, her eyes merely glanced at his stiff body. This was the sign of the end of his tyranny and the beginning of her son's tyranny.

For 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 I , II , III

Warnings: Unknown and Unaware Incestcual Relationship, Attempted Murder on Reader, Mental, Physical, and Power Abuse. This is dedicated to the fic's clarity. Only read this after you finish the fics(If you are ready to cry that is).

This family is cursed, its bloodline is nothing but filled with filth and sin, all flowing in fheir body as well. This is the confession written by the late Empress to that child, the embodiment of karmic debt.

That child was born out of a heinous act of the late Emperor, the crown prince's wife was assaulted by him. She cried to me, begging for a miracle to happen, to take the baby in her womb away. She tried aborting it but was faced will countless failures as was evidently shown by her enlarged stomach.

Truth be told, I was grateful for the fact that it was her who bore it and not me. Is it a sin for me to think like this? I am merely praising God for his benevolence to me. Had it been me in her position, what would be left out of me?

The baby was born under the sky that was blanketed by stars as though all deities were laughing at its state. Not only was it an embodiment of guilt and shame, its condition was pitiful.

Am I in the wrong for praising God that my sons were born healthy and normal without any anomalies? Perhaps God started to doubt me and punish me...

The mother of that child was unhinged. It wasn't a rare sight for me to see her crying along with the baby. It wasn't rare to see its father glaring at the baby with hatred and grudge.

As time passed, the baby grew up into a toddler. One day, it crawled to me with these large eyes blanketed with the stars I saw that day on the day of their birth. It smiled at me warmly. It made me feel ashamed of how I was grateful for my fate. It made me feel guilty. With trembling hands, I embraced it. The child laughed at me and its hands flapped to my side.

Have they even been embraced by their parents?

That didn't matter. What matters is that I saw her try to murder her own child years later. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. The pillow was placed on top of her child's face, and the child stayed still. Dead?

... if the child died... and if her crime was discovered... she would be banished... and the crown prince would be devastated and decided to descend from the throne...

That way my husband would be the next Emperor with my son, Erickson, standing next in line!

God, please forgive me for I have sinned all this time.

Forgive me for being greedy.

-- 01

In the end, I remembered how the child looked at me. It was looking at me as though I was their mother...

I yelled for the guards and they immediately separated the mother from the child. Had I not been fast with my voice and thought, I would have never been able to see the stars in their eyes.

She cursed me for doing so. My brother-in-law was not happy with me but who was I but if not the mother of this nation? Even if I wasn't the mother of this nation, I was still the mother this child wished they could have. Had I been consumed with greed completely, I would have never been able to live without guilt placed on my shoulders. The bruises and cuts on the child were merciless, inhumane.

It took 3 years for me to be able to take them into my care. It took 3 years for my brother-in-law to back away from the position. It took 3 years for me to finally be able to embrace that child again.

I introduced them to my sons, Erickson was the first to talk to them although his question was rather unethical.

"Mother! Are they a girl or a boy?"

Nonetheless, they were not hurt by that question. It made me think, that if I couldn't take them in as my child, then they would become my lady-in-waiting. Starting then, I started dressing them up in dresses, growing their hair, and teaching them the etiquette of a lady. They were smart enough to understand everything in a short time, allowing me to let them study what Erickson and Noel had been studying.

The three grew up together, they were going along with each other whims. Noel who had always been quiet once eventually opened up to them while Erickson would always try to monopolize their attention.

Erickson, there's something wrong with him ever since he was little. He didn't have the mind of children around his age, he matured too early. Noel, on the other hand, was a bit slow in his studies as he showed more passion for martial arts.

-- 02

Erickson was crowned shortly after he reached his teenage years, I am glad Noel did not show any sign of envy toward his brother. The Emperor did not oppose the idea of Noel being a knight as well.

Then, a prophet came to visit us, Her figure was hooded by a cloak but it appeared that she was a little girl of 12-year-old.

'One of your sons shall be of a priest,' she said, 'and that man would be the downfall of this nation.'

That man. Who exactly was this 'that man?' Brother-in-law was out of this nation, his whereabouts unknown.

-- ripped

Noel came to me, he insisted on his plan of marrying that child. God, what am I capable of? To tell them this bitter truth? I should have noticed how blushes crept through my son's ears whenever he was around that child. What should I do? He threatened me. He threatened me with his own life and that child's life.

'I don't have the heart to kill my family but I am well capable enough to bring who I love to my grave.'

Even if I told him the truth, he would not falter, I can see that. Because he is my son. Right? This is for his own happiness, right? What am I doing wrong God? If I ever told him that one truth, what would he do? I doubt he would just let things be. I truly doubt that's the case. Because he is capable of bringing someone he loves to his grave if he couldn't have them in this life. I don't want the two of them to die, God, am I doing this right?

Please forgive your Mother for doing this, Noel, Erickson. Mother couldn't decide what's best for everyone. Mother wants Noel to live. Mother did not realize that Noel was feeling lonely this whole time.

And I did not know Erickson was too.

'Mother, I'll be courting them as the next Empress.'

Erickson had always been the child that took what Noel had. Everything Noel had will be monopolized into, including his honor as a knight and his fiancee.

I opposed it of course, not only was it because of the filth in their blood, but they were Noel's fiancee and were incapable of bearing children.

'Mother, I don't care about my descendants. Noel could just continue it for me.'

He had no interest in looking for concubines, he was serious about them. Why? Didn't Erickson want them only because they are Noel's bethroed?

I couldn't do anything. I can't do anything. The person you two love is your Royal Uncle; how am I supposed to reveal that truth without having one of them spilling bloodshed?

I don't know. Perhaps this is my punishment. Perhaps I have always been sinful all along, feigning ignorance and self-justification, this is my punishment.

In the end, I remain selfish. I will bring this truth to the grave with me, this way everyone will be spared this unnecessary bloodshed. Noel was sent away while Erickson wedded that child.

Yes, this way, no unnecessary bloodshed would happen even though Noel had to lose his footing, literally.

-- ripped

...saw him here. There was blood all over him, with an eerie smile, he held my hands in place and said,

'Mother, I am the child of God. I am his son, and I will bring down any form of injustice.'

I trembled at his words, this form of injustice he was talking about was Erickson. In the end, he didn't kill me. My whole room was searched for something and I was locked away in the Twin Tower.

What would happen if I told them the truth now? Would it even matter?

I understand now, what I should do.

I will lock this truth into the Pandora's box so that the child won't have to feel disgusted and bathed in guilt.

I will follow him even after my death. I will follow them all.

I'm writing these all as a form of confession to the Church. May God forgive me, for I have sinned even until my last breat-

--Blood splatters

[jewishbarbies]

Bitch, YOU ARE AN ABUSER.

This is so true. I have been saying it to the other anti blogs. When I saw that she called her ttpd set, 'female rage' obviously to get a dip on the impact of Paris Paloma's song, Labour, which is completely fucking different from her rage because she IS a fucking ABUSER! It actually makes me so angry too. Paris created a song that every fucking woman can relate to from all backgrounds, ethnicity, race but here comes this fucking imbecile of a white woman taking the moment for her own because she is the insufferable billionaire woman. That song is NOT talking about abusive women! Fucking hell! She's also obviously taking a bite of the 'female rage' that is all about Olivia Rodrigo's second album. She comes up with these words to get the power from where it should be and being dramatic about her lunacy! I'm fucking tired!

taylor is a culture vulture. the second something starts being popular, she descends on it to make it all about her, and finds any way possible to make money from it. she wouldn’t know female rage if it walked up and punched her in the mouth. if anyone should be singing labour, it’s joe after having to deal with her. but Paris even talks about how she based the song on the experiences of women in history but also heavily on the experiences of women of color throughout history and that’s such an important part that I think a lot of women using the song overlook/don’t know. yes, women have all had it hard. but women of color and women further oppressed because of their minority group had so much more shit to deal with and for much LONGER than white women. it’s just another thing taylor will never be able to understand. she grew up upper middle class in a rich, white neighborhood where mommy and daddy bought her a career and paid to make it happen until they 100% ensured she’d be a millionaire to make back their investments. and this bitch wants to sing about doing too much labour. give me a fucking break.

[danddymaro]

Blind | Bloodhound x (fem) Reader

Not love at first sight, but something close

it takes a single moment for you to be struck by the love bug

Dude, I LIVE for simp/  Bloodhound whether they are a sick Yandere or a sweet, devout partner. I’m trash

Word count: 1123

It took a moment, just a single instance for it to happen.

For Bloodhound, it was as though time had suddenly slowed down, the world giving them a moment to appreciate the wink of time just a bit longer so they could truly cherish it to its fullest glory.

The bullets that had zipped past them traveled at such an agonizingly slow pace, that they felt brazen enough to pick at them from the air and toy with them during their travel.

It was complete lunacy, yet, the Legend felt exhilarated at such a sensation, such a heated rush that felt like a wild surge of electricity had fallen upon them, in a thunderbolt. shockwaves danced over their flesh in little tingles that needed the touch of this very delightful new affection.

Urgency filled them, the newfound desire almost unbearable.

You, who had, until then been someone unknown to them, though pleasant enough to be acquainted with, looked rather lovely.

'No...' they then thought, not going further with the thought without correction, 

You looked beautiful, marvelous, too good for words. 

- Too perfect to not admire.

'- A gift from the gods,' 

Rarely had they ever thought of anyone so divine, and you were one of the only few who had made them think so.

Your pretty lips were bruised at the side, a partial split decorating them from where you'd been hit earlier. You wore it so carelessly, almost unbothered by it after the initial long press of your thumb to it confirming there was a lesion. 

You'd both initially landed hot, narrowly escaping the battle with evasive moves that kept you both out of the line of fire that came from competitors fortunate enough to get their hands on a weapon.

And while you'd left with little to nothing in your hands, the fight for survival had been fierce given your lack of gear.

Guided by their Raven’s claw, they pathed way for an escape, a chance to come closer to victory.

Your hair was in various tangles from the travel down, something you'd muttered about to yourself as you'd descended, and it had been something Bloodhound sighed tiredly at. 

"What?" you said with a raised brow, offering your partner a cheeky grin. 

"You should worry about the battle more than your appearance," they suggested, making you huff out in dismissiveness as you pressed your thumb to your lower lip, the blood that dotted the flesh making you squint hard in annoyance.

"Of course, you would say that," you added quietly before looking away. 

You were fairly new and were taking advice from another Legend, one you’d easily befriended . 

Mirage had given you little pointers, advising you that good Media was also a part of the gig. 

-You had to either look good or look cool.

Besides, after you'd read a couple of the fan's reblogs of you... you decided that perhaps a bit of self-care was needed.

'Being in the public eye sucks...' you thought dishearted.

Bloodhound’s retort was a soft, dismissive hum, though they inwardly questioned why you would be concerned when you presented yourself just fine.

You now found yourself in an anxious flee, weaving through an open space of tall vegetation.

"Come on..." you breathed, hoping your partner pulled through.

It had been a rather risky, yet creative plan you offered to them after looking down at your only gun between the two of you.  Though, it was thoroughly thought out as you planned to follow a specific route, calculating every move no matter how fretful and uncoordinated they might have seen to the offending party. 

- That was, of course, the plan.

You had only one weapon, a long-ranged weapon with no optics, and much more out of your favor, 6 shots.

"Looks like we got a pretty shitty drop," you said with a low huff, passing the other Legend the sniper with no reluctance, without a question of any sort.

"It is yours," Bloodhound said in response to the offer, quickly skimming their eyes from the offer, and instead searching the trail they'd followed for signs of another competitor lurking.

Because the last thing they needed was to get ambushed.

"I think it would be of better use in your hands," you said kindly, being humble enough to admit that their aim was certainly better.

Afterall, their sight definitely was.

This was a sport to you, to them hunting others had been their life far before the games.

"We don't have much to work with," you started, "But luckily people are still landing, so we might have a good chance of an ambush," you offered with a devious, little chuckle.

"We just have to play it smart," you murmured, mentally preparing yourself because if you screwed up in any way, you were toast.

Meanwhile, Bloodhound had trouble deciphering whether or not the chance you took was admirable, or simply an act of recklessness on your part.

It only made sense to them as to why you got along with the speed demon so much, why you jumped at being paired with each other because perhaps Octane was one of the only other people willing to dive headfirst into disaster and walk out grinning whatever the outcome was.

Win or lose, it was just fun to complete, that was his philosophy, and something you often claimed too.

Momentarily, you smiled at them, an excited grin shot the hunter's way as you craned your head back and got a good peep at your partner from where they'd been posted.

"You're amazing," you beamed back at them, your voice reaching them thanks to the coms.  The excitedness and awe you conveyed through those two words had Bloodhound somewhat dumbfounded enough that a simple thank you that felt the custom was released with mild difficulty.

It was strange, but you were greeted with silence, though you didn't seem too troubled by it.

Meanwhile, Their keen eyesight had been witness to a smile that left them stunned, struck by something that left their chest feeling wounded.

From that very moment you ...

You, who had really been nothing but a good, occasional companion had become the center where their life gravitates to, the very essence of allure in every sense, even in your most distasteful moments.

You dug through your new loot, happy as could be while you relayed your finds through the coms as they made an approach towards you.

By then, Bloodhound sees you for what you truly are; a gift from the gods. 

You are their destiny, their intended life companion.

Unknowingly you grin at them, and they cherish the expression, reflecting on how you'd always been beautiful. 

How could they have been so blind before?

[madhousedarry]

The Omen: Legacy of Lunacy | Chapter 15

And at this time Richard Nigel was in Seventh Heaven with happiness and truly heavenly bliss from his joy.

Right in front of his face, right opposite his eyes and nose, hung the wet, glistening in the soft light of the lamps pussy of Asia Scallop, flowing with vaginal juice, which the young man diligently licked with his tongue, mobile like a small red snake, trying to penetrate as deeply as possible into her fragrant and enticing vagina.

His partner only moaned quietly, busy sucking his mighty cock, thanks to which, mind you, Dick earned his agent nickname "Damien The Thorn".

They were now at an altitude of twelve thousand meters on board a practically empty airliner, because apart from the two of them there was absolutely no one else in the passenger cabin, which gave both of them the idea to have sex right there, without waiting until they arrived in Jokyo, where they had recently flown straight from Whorecouver in order to track down a mysterious Kasakhian who, just yesterday, had managed to jump down from the same height at which they were now in the sixty-nine position.

People with big brains will find this way of killing time during a flight terribly indecent, but what do you expect from two residents of Analda of different sexes, where, as we know, there is no one except whores and hockey players?

It is not surprising that such an explosive mixture detonated immediately under the right conditions, causing both of our old acquaintances to have an attack of unjustified sexual attraction to each other at an altitude of 12,000 meters! But if only these two knew about that nightmare called Asia… However, who knows about it better than she herself?

In any case, it didn't matter to Nigel and Scallop, who, having known each other for only a day, had already become passionate lovers - apparently, this was due to the fact that in that memorable moment for both of them in the Whorecouver prison, in which Asia Scallop recruited Nigel's Dick, they both experienced incredible sexual tension, which then resulted in Asia's timid attempt to jerk Dick off and let the latter hold her tit.

And now their relationship was so close even without any connection - other than the obvious "you're the boss, I'm the fool" scheme - that it cost them nothing to risk their lives in order to satisfy each other even in such an inappropriate place as an airplane.

Be that as it may, they had almost reached orgasm, when suddenly the figure of a stewardess appeared at the end of the cabin, and our newly-minted lovers had to immediately stop stimulating each other's genitals and in a mad rush hide the genitals of their bodies under their suits, while the plane was already descending over Jopon.

As it turned out later, if it had not been for this most unfortunate oversight on the part of the stewardess, who, instead of addressing the only passengers of the airliner through the loudspeaker, decided to inform them of the landing, as they say, in person, then everything could have turned out completely differently, and in that case Dick and Asia would have had to get dressed not in front of one single girl, but in front of a whole crowd of employees of the Jokyo airport, who, after the landing of the airliner, immediately rushed into the cabin like dogs unleashed from a leash.

Dick instinctively wanted to pounce on a couple of cops so as not to let his beautiful companion be harmed, but the latter held him in place in time, clinging to his arm with a death grip.

The young man, who had perceived her behavior as an attempt to take away his freedom of choice to act at his own discretion, wanted to break free from the grip, but while he was floundering in one place like a fool, the police, passing their seats in transit, disappeared into the pilot's cabin.

"You see, you fool," Asia said to him in a wet whisper, "they don't care about us at all!"

Dick didn't answer her, but only gave up trying to break free from her grip, fortunately she had already let go of his hand and, rising from her place, began to smooth out the folds on her black leggings, which, although they hid the view of her pussy, however, due to the tight fit to her body, seemed to only further emphasize the feeling that Asia Scallop was actually completely naked, like Aphrodite emerging from the sea foam.

At least one sight of her crotch was enough for her new lover - agent "Damien The Thorn" - to immediately fill his mighty member with blood and try to break through the fabric of his underpants and jump out of his pants.

But Dick was too busy trying to come to his senses after the events that had changed so quickly - they were flying calmly at an altitude of 12,000 meters and having sex in the 69 position, and then suddenly the airliner had already landed at Jokyo airport and now a pack of furious customs officers had come on board for an inspection.

Not everyone would know what to do in such a situation, and so it is not surprising that Richard Nigel was simply confused and was now trying to cool his head (and his dick had long since been cooled by the cops who suddenly burst in).

After killing a couple of minutes to get his thoughts in order, Dick finally got up from his seat and followed Asia Scallop to the exit of the airliner. Since, as already mentioned above, there was no one else in the passenger cabin, and the crowd of cops was concentrated in the pilot's cabin, our sweet couple had no problems leaving the plane.

Having descended the steps onto the asphalt area near the airport building, our newly-minted lovers exchanged meaningful glances and, holding hands, headed towards a nearby yellow taxi, from the window of which a mustachioed face, adorned with an aerodrome cap, was sticking out.

"I'll give you a ride with the wind!" the driver said with a strong accent. "Only the air conditioning in my car doesn't work!"

"I don't give a shit," Asia Scallop answered him with a smile in perfect Joponese and sat down in the back seat. "Let's go! Just not too fast, because everything inside me hurts… Why are you standing there, stupid?" she asked Dick and waved her hand invitingly.

There was nothing to be done, so Dick had to climb into the taxi after Asia and lean back in the seat.

When the car started moving, his neighbor immediately pushed him down and began to pull down his underwear with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Do you want it right here?" Dick was surprised.

"Yes, yes, right here and now!" Asia hissed, already holding his rock-hard cock in her tender little hand. "Those customs faggots ruined my fun, and I'll never forgive myself for that!"

She didn't say anything else, because the next second she started sucking Dick's cock with fury. The driver with a moustache and a cap-airfield seemed to have either suddenly gone deaf as a stump, or had simply gotten used to the fact that his passengers were turning the back seat of his car into a real brothel, so not a single glance or movement of his lips showed that he heard and saw in the rearview mirror the scene from a cheap porn film that was playing out right behind him.

Maybe he was either gay or even asexual, but no one will ever know for sure. Anyway, by the time he got our couple where they needed to go, Dick had already cummed in Asia Scallop's throat five times in a row, and she didn't let a single drop of his cum go to waste, swallowing it all.

Apparently, this satisfied her hunger to the fullest extent, because when the driver told them that it was time to get off and at the same time, out of the blue, advertised some cafe with the telling name "Lustful Scallops", Asia Scallop, with a strange gleam in her eyes, answered him that she would not take a crumb of anything to eat in her mouth for the next five hours.

In response, the taxi driver merely shrugged his shoulders: it was his business, as if to say so, after which, having accepted the money from her hands, stained with sweat and sperm, he drove off home, leaving our couple beaming with pleasure on the sidewalk near the entrance of some entertainment establishment, which was guarded by two hefty Joponese men of about twenty-five years of age, dressed in white camouflage without insignia.

"Hey, pussy-eyed ones," Asia Scallop shouted at the two, "I'm tired of your stupid ass-faces! I want to see the boss! And now! Do you hear me, piss-skinned faggots?"

"Damien The Thorn" was already prepared to repel an attack by the seriously angry Joponese, but to his surprise he saw how both guards, without blinking an eye, turned their backs on the Analdian woman screaming at them and disappeared behind the glass doors.

"What are you standing there for? Let's go after them!" Asia nudged him in the shoulder and moved after them.

Dick obeyed his companion and followed; he was sure that such an unceremonious treatment of the Joponese by Asia Scallop would not lead to anything good, but he decided to hold off for now on trying to hammer into her head, filled with fucking and banging, the basics of behavior in a foreign country.

He felt uneasy about becoming the lover of such an eccentric person, but since she was also his immediate superior after recruiting him in a distant Whorecouver prison, there was nothing he could do about it.

Asia seemed to see from his sad face that he was thinking about what had just happened, and suddenly stopped, turning to him with a burning gaze.

"What are you crying about, you idiot?" she asked in the tone of a child engrossed in an interesting game. "They're servants, lackeys, lackey shit! They don't dare disobey us!"

Dick didn't know what to answer her, so he limited himself to nodding his head. And the girl continued:

"They have to endure everything I want to do to them! Even smear their stupid faces with my shit and bathe in my urine! Do you want me to show you what they are ready for?"

The young man, listening to these words, saw that Asia Scallop was shaking all over, as if in a fever, and her mouth was twisted with excitement, which made it seem as if in front of him was not a recruiter, but a real maniac.

He found it hard to find the strength to make a timid attempt to say a word against her:

"N-n-no need," "Damien The Thorn" squeezed out with difficulty.

"I'll show you "n-n-no need"!" the girl mimicked him, jokingly shaking her fist at him.

Then she turned towards the two guards who continued to march and barked at them in a commanding tone:

"Stop right there, faggots!"

The Joponese stopped as one and turned sharply to face her. Asia Scallop, after a dramatic pause, during which her gaze ran lustfully from one guard to the other, said in the same commanding tone:

"Hey you, on the left! Get on all fours! GET ON ALL FOURS, YOU STINKING FAGGOT!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

The one to whom she addressed these words immediately carried out her command so quickly for his heavy body that Dick could not help but contain his amazement.

But Asia Scallop clearly wasn't satisfied with that, because after watching for a couple of seconds as the Joponese man, standing on all fours like a faithful little dog, looked at her with a completely emotionless gaze, she spoke up again:

"And you, condom, what are you standing there for? Give me the whip!"

"Damien The Thorn" didn't even have time to blink before the guard, who was still standing on his own two feet, suddenly took a whip out of thin air and threw it at the girl.

Asia Scallop deftly intercepted it and, shaking her long whip like a conductor's baton, again addressed the "dog-man":

"Now crawl to me, creature, and take off my shoe! Quickly!"

Dick, continuing to remain indifferent to the spectacle unfolding before his eyes, watched as his companion, at the last words, put her right foot forward, and the Joponese man quickly crawled up to her and began to take off her shoe.

When he finally succeeded, the eyes of all present were revealed to the goddess's foot, dressed in a short sock, and this sock, once completely white, had unsightly brown spots from sweat and dust in some places.

Dick wanted to look away or turn away, but Asia Scallop, meaningfully pushing him in the shoulder, immediately gave a new order:

"Now take the sock off my foot and swallow it! NOW, YOU SUCKER!"

She might not have said the last two words, because the Joponese man, who was on all fours, immediately pulled the dirty sock off her foot and stuffed it behind her cheek.

Dick saw how the poor guy then immediately swallowed this "delicacy" whole in one gulp, while maintaining complete indifference to everything that was happening.

Then Asia Scallop, clearly not satisfied with this, suddenly, for no apparent reason, swung her whip and began to strike the squatting Joponese man on his back, one blow after another, each one stronger than the other.

"Look, look good!" she hissed in "Damien The Thorn's" ear. "See what a face he has!"

And indeed, there was something to marvel at here - the Joponese man managed to maintain a stony expression while experiencing pain. But Dick was already tired of this.

Catching the moment when Asia Scallop raised her hand up, he immediately snatched the whip from her and threw it into the hands of the second guard standing nearby like a pillar, who immediately took it into his own hands and hid it behind his back.

Asia Scallop, frozen in an idiotic pose with her hand outstretched forward, looked for some time with her mouth open, first at Dick, then at the Joponese man who continued to stand in front of her on all fours, and only when Dick, turning his whole body back to the exit, was about to leave this establishment, the girl came to life and, emitting hysterical screams from her throat, rushed after him.

"What are you doing?" she screamed, throwing herself on his back.

Dick turned sharply to her and, looking into her eyes, with difficulty restrained himself from punching her in the stupid face.

"And what are you doing?" he parried her question, shaking slightly. "We came here to track the path of some superman who threatens our country, or to make fun of these pathetic slant-eyed ones, or something?"

Asia Scallop stared at him for a few seconds, her tits under her red shirt bouncing up and down in time with her breathing, and then she suddenly gave "Damien The Thorn" a slap in the face.

The latter bravely endured his beloved's hysteria, realizing that now was not the time to put Asia Scallop in a straitjacket and inject her with tranquilizers - after all, no matter how mentally ill a fool she was, she was still his direct superior and it was on her that the entire success of the operation she had started to track and catch a certain Kasakhian depended, who would be able to sneak aboard an airliner and then jump down from a height of 12,000 meters and not only stay alive, but also be able to walk with his accomplice to the monorail station with the obvious goal of moving further and further towards his goal!

And to be honest, Richard Nigel simply fell head over heels in love with Asia Scallop, although he tried not to show it outwardly - even during sex with her, he tried to maintain a stony expression on his face and tried not to make any sounds, which, it seemed, only turned his partner on even more, who, it seemed, psychologically found it easier to fuck a mannequin-like Analdian than a hot Mexican.

In short, having taken the full brunt of her sweeping slap, "Damien The Thorn" did not say a word to her and was about to move forward when suddenly a shrill cry reached the ears of both lovers:

"Miss Scallop, MISS SCALLOP!" screamed a young man with a guitar case on his back, running down the street towards them as if he were being chased by furies.

Our sweet couple froze in place, giving the stranger the opportunity to come closer to them and stop two steps away from them, breathing heavily.

The steel-piercing eye of "Damien The Thorn" did not fail to notice that the young man's face was covered with a deathly pallor of fear, mixed with the blush of shame; however, the latter was an entirely understandable consequence of the shock of feelings he had experienced due to the fact that such an imposing beauty as Asia Scallop stood before him.

Dick swore to himself that at night this young man furiously jerks off his small cock, imagining how Asia gives him a blowjob with a swallow.

Dick was torn from these thoughts by the voice of the young man, who, still continuing to breathe like a steam locomotive, delivered in a breaking voice the following report of his own composition:

"Miss Scallop," he began, "I did everything as you ordered me, and I was able to find out exactly where our two suspects went!"

"So where did they go, Carlton?" Asia asked lazily, seeming not to be interested in the matter at all.

"I interrogated the cashier thoroughly," continued the young man, whose lips suddenly stretched into a predatory smile, "and in the course of this very, I tell you, pleasant operation I found out that they had bought tickets to Alma-Thou!!!"

"And how did you get the necessary testimony out of that pussy-eyed hen?" Asia suddenly perked up, her eyes once again lit up with the familiar "Damien The Thorn" BDSM mistress light.

"Oh, it's a long story," Carlton replied, licking his lips. "Let's just say that I forced that bitch, on pain of death, to suck my dick right in front of the entire monorail station staff! Oh, you should have seen their faces," he turned to "Damien The Thorn", "when that slut, drooling and making pathetic moans, swallowed my cum, while ten-plus-sized guys with batons and pistols stood in front of us, afraid even to fart, knowing that in the event of the slightest resistance, my buddies would blow their entire stinking station to hell!"

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

nerdanel gets characterised as the lone voice of reason within the house of fëanor a lot, and while i can kind of see where that’s coming from i intensely disagree. there is one braincell in that household, and it belongs to the dog. granted, she’s more rational than her husband and about half of her sons, but that's not an especially high bar to clear

nerdanel, you see, suffers from an affliction i somewhat melodramatically call finwëan spouse disease. it’s not just the house of fëanor; every single elf descended from finwë is some degree of ludicrous maniac, if rarely to the level of the old bastard himself. the extra waxes and it wanes, but it never disappears completely, and in all its diffuse branches the ruling house of the noldor is a constantly churning vortex of wild escapades, drama, and property damage. only a dyed-in-the-wool nutbag would look at this madness and want in

and that’s the crux of the matter, innit. everyone who willingly married into the house of finwë is someone who looked at a finwion and thought ‘i’m gonna tap that.’ true, that doesn’t always mean they’re attracted to lunacy, but in the wider view the people who actively choose to be involved in the insanity tend to be even louder about it than the people who just happened to be born into it. it’s the vicious cycle of finwëan spouse disease: only crazy people are willing to join this crazy family, so over the ages the family stays crazy even as each successive generation is less and less finwë. you could argue that there are some finwëan spouses for whom the nutballery is more bug than feature, but given who she married there’s no way you can say that about nerdanel

[wyvernscales]

Kirkwall is Weird

Kirkwall is a weird city. It is known that the Veil is so exceptionally thin in the area that demons can enter the mortal world freely underground. Blood magic, lunacy, abominations, and violence all run rampant. Twice the amount of mages are unable to complete their Harrowing than in Starkhaven, a city comparable in size. The streets are a maze, confusing to even the most skilled masons.

Why is this? There are a few hypotheses, but I believe it is because Kirkwall is where the Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium broke into the Fade. 

(For a quick read, look at the bold text)

Let’s begin with its history: According to The Band of Three, a Chantry taskforce dedicated to uncovering Kirkwall’s secrets, the native people of the city are unknown, but the Imperium’s army arrived with force for an unexplained reason. It was founded in -620 Ancient and named Emerius after the Magister who founded it. The location ended up becoming advantageous due to the proximity of quarries that produced valuable metals. After a slave revolt in Minrathous, Emerius was chosen to be the Imperium’s hub for slave trading with a population of over one million slaves at its height. This staggering number is made even more horrifying when we recognize that hundreds to thousands of slaves went missing every year, their blood used for sacrifice. 

The mages of the Imperium created sewers underneath the city so they could run experiments and research underground; hidden away from the eyes of the average citizen. This is notable, since they had no reason to keep arcane research secret. Such tunnels are home to troves of artifacts, scrolls, and relics thought lost that show up in Darktown after the chambers get ransacked.

These sewers served a dual purpose however. The tunnels created across the city were made with grooves carved into the stone, encouraging streams of blood to reach the bottom. This blood was used for their blood magic, as the streets were built in the formation of glyphs and used to power the spells. There is no mention of where this blood ends up, only that they descend far into the earth.

The Band of Three come to an incredible conclusion:

“We've discovered the magisters were deliberately thinning [the Veil] even further. Beneath the city, demons can contact even normal men. Did they seek the Black City to compound the madness of their previous efforts? Or was it something else?” -Codex Entry: The Enigma of Kirkwall

The Magisters were deliberately trying to thin the Veil. The Band of Three pose that this project occurred after they walked into the Fade, but there’s no exact dates.

So when exactly were the Magisters thinning the Veil? What we do know, is that Emerius was founded in -620 Ancient and the Tevinters started losing their grip on the city in -203 Ancient, but fully lost control of it after the First Blight in -25 Ancient. That is a significant amount of time.

We can narrow it further though. Looking more broadly at Tevinter history reveals more. The First Blight started in -395 Ancient, and reached the surface in -380 Ancient. This was the start of the decline in the Imperium. Due to the chaos of the time, I doubt much research was able to be done. So the idea that it happened after the breach of the Golden City seems unlikely. We also see a massive civil war in the Imperium that occurs from -575 to -555 Ancient, and this is the catalyst for many mages to turn to darker magics and demon summoning became commonplace. I see this Veil thinning project as happening after the war due to the nature of this magic.

The timeline for this project has thus been restricted to -555 Ancient to -380 Ancient. It is here that we have a massive gap with no information between. But -395 Ancient, when the High Priests are said to have walked into the Fade is within the proposed timeline.

So in summary, there were mages working towards some secret purpose beneath the city. We know that the High Priests used pseudonyms to hide their identities, even from each other. This city happened to be specifically engineered for blood sacrifice and had access to quarries and Deep Roads entrances. We also know that sundering the Veil required the blood of hundreds of slaves and most of the lyrium in the Empire. And the Second Sin occurs at the tail end of Tevinter rule of the city, allowing around 150 years of research before it occurs.

But where specifically in the city could this have been done? Reason assumes that wherever the blood in the sewers ended up is where it was used, but the only mention of where it ends up is down. No destination other than that. I may be stretching out on a limb here, but I think the Primeval Thaig is where this research was done specifically. A Dwarven thaig located beneath the Deep Roads is a rather convenient location for the collection of all that blood. I don’t think the Magisters created it, but they may have discovered it while they were researching underground. It may have even been why the Tevinters used such force when invading the area, the location whispered to them by the Old Gods. The Thaig is littered with Tevinter constructs as well. For example, the Claws of Dumat, which were used to collect the blood of sacrificed slaves are found in the sealed Thaig. These Claws are specifically said to have been used to tear open the Fade. I can’t think of a more direct connection than that.

There is even evidence of a High Priest near Kirkwall. Corypheus. He awoke from dormancy in -191 Ancient and was trapped by the Wardens in the Vimmark Mountains right outside Kirkwall in -189 Ancient. While it doesn’t prove that Corypheus woke up around or lived in Kirkwall, it does prove that he was close. He also shows an interest in the Primeval Thaig, manipulating Bianca Davri into sharing its location. While this might imply that he didn’t know where it was, the route may have changed due to over one thousand years of cave ins.

I would also be remiss not to note the similarity between Tevinter imagery for the city and most symbols for the Black City. (Sidenote: after Tevinter rule of Emerius, the name was changed to Kirkwall, for the black wall of stone that faces the sea)

The first image is the Tevinter symbol for the city, the second is the current Kirkwall symbol, and the third is a Chantry symbol for the Black City. I don’t think Kirkwall is the Black City, but I do think the similarities in the images show some type of connection between the city and the Second Sin.

So there we go. All of the evidence I have for why Emerius/Kirkwall is where the Magisters walked into the Fade. There’s definitely more to say though, especially on the Primeval Thaig and the implications for da4 with the red lyrium idol are... interesting.

Sources:

Codex Entry: Speculations on Kirkwall

Codex Entry: The Enigma of Kirkwall

Codex Entry: History of Kirkwall 1 and 2

Codex Entry: Privileged to be Wardens

Codex Entry: Corypheus

Codex Entry: Cardinal Rules of Magic

Codex Entry: Claws of Dumat

Codex Entry: Primeval Thaig

Dragon Age: Inquisition “Well, Shit” Quest

[spindlebeforesunset]

Baby Scenario = Kalim

Woe be the day the firstborn of the Al-asim family be turned into a smol baby. Woe to Jamil who is more than sure he will be completely burned alive if baby Kalim hurts himself because now, everything owned by the grown-up Kalim comes with the unavoidable possibility that his baby self will try to eat it all. Jewelry and phone included in the mix.

Jamil has sent one of the students of Scarabia to tell the Headmaster that Kalim is a baby - much like Malleus Draconia only two weeks before. Crowley comes, sees a burbling Kalim and says that there will be no total class cancellation, but the both of them are given a free day with 'late passes for our homework' coupon and a promise from Professor Crewel and Vil to produce the very same potion used for baby Malleus by nightfall. He leaves, mumbling about his school duties (but the baby...).

With baby Kalim at his hip (nomming on a pillow), Jamil researches how to feed a baby, how to burp it, and how to make it sleep. He resolves to make baby friendly soup because the last thing he needs is Kalim to get a stomachache from the usual food and goes to the kitchen.

Sighing, he places Kalim down in a pillow fence (made by the lower year dorm members at his orders) at the kitchen with some rubber squeaky peacocks and a parrot stuffie to prepare some soup. His only signals are the squeaking and giggles. A ghost pops up and scares the daylights out of Kalim making him cry.

When the ghost disappears, Kalim is too upset to eat but continues playing with his parrot stuffie and sitting on the squeaky toys.

Wrapping up the food, Jamil single-handedly marches all the way to the Mirror Hall with Kalim and all the luggage in tow. Except he forgot that babies love to squirm and it had to be at the worst possible moment at the staircase. Two choices present themselves in a split-second: drop Kalim who will be killed in the drop (and he will face execution) or drop the pillows and food (but Kalim will have nothing to eat). The latter is chosen and everything else is dropped

on Cater's head at the ground floor.

But Kalim wails because his parrot stuffie was dropped down too.

"ARE YOU OKAY?"

"WHO DROPPED SOUP ON ME THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"

"QUIET DOWN THE LOT OF YOU I AM NOT DONE WITH THE HISTO- oh. Carry on." Murmurs from the classroom.

Going downstairs, Jamil apologizes while his hair is being tugged by a sobbing baby. Cater sighs and relents but pinches Kalim's cheeks and to their dismay, is followed by a scream. WAAAAAA!

Doors open as lunchtime is announced but everyone gapes in shock as they stare at Jamil and Cater, frozen in shock over a baby.

Malleus is confused but a grim Lilia pushes him to the cafeteria, not answering any of the former's questions. Everyone suppresses a snort.

Students from various dorms offer help in carrying Kalim, but Jamil refuses and only allows for help regarding the pillows, the spilled soup to clean, and the parrot stuffie to be handed to the baby who shuts up as soon as the parrot is given to him by Jack.

In the cafeteria, where Jamil is forced to sit, Trey hands him a milk bottle. He doesn't hide the fact that he is suspicious of it even when Kalim tries to reach for it. Vil taste tests it, declares it free from poison (what the hell Jamil, hisses from Leona), and is the one to shove the milk bottle in the baby's mouth.

After finishing it, Kalim chucks the bottle at Floyd, and is reprimanded by a small slap from Ruggie. Silence. Then Riddle, Jade, Rook, Silver, Leona, and Ortho try to calm Jamil down from flipping the table because how dare you hurt him.

Undeterred by the slap, Kalim immediately falls asleep and Jamil panics big time thinking he died. Rook flicks the babysitter saying that it's only sleep, chill. And that's when Jamil is thankful that he sees a rise and fall of the chest.

At another table, Lilia comments the unfairness of no class cancellation because of another baby scenario.

"Another baby scenario? You mean this happened before - when?" Malleus.

Lilia clamps up whilst Sebek sobs in the distance.

Kalim is still snoring in Jamil's arms when they enter Scarabia Dormitory. Nobody knows why there is already a crib or who brought it, but sleepy baby is settled in.

Jamil reads his textbooks while watching Kalim sleep, but the unfortunate happens at mid-afternoon. Something smells off.

Oh shit, literally.

Headmaster Crowley appears, taking a break from his school duties, and the first thing he spots is Jamil moving on autopilot, putting on his gloves and a face mask. A white towel, slashed in three rectangular pieces lays on a table. Kalim is waving from his crib (how the hell did that even get there). In the end, Crowley is the one that changes the diaper with several imprecations.

Fully awake, Kalim wants to play - but only with Jamil because he slapped Crowley away. Pouty Crowley leaves the both to play in their pillow fort and to remind Divus to prepare the potion alongside Vil.

Jamil goes to the bathroom, but when he comes back, he sees Kalim almost swallowing a whole necklace. He screams NO! , taking the necklace away, and it makes Kalim cry all over again. This time nothing helps and when he is picked up by his descending-into-lunacy babysitter, he yells: "Ba Jam! Ba Jam!" (he probably means 'bad Jamil').

The rest of the afternoon passes, classes are let out, Jamil glares at every student who looks at him and Kalim (who does not want to budge from his big pillow and crying). Riddle pops up to see if there is any magical berserkness, but seeing that there is just a crying baby, leaves them the issued homework for the day. Pictures of his notes are taken with a quiet thanks from Jamil.

Vil and Professor Crewel arrive just as Riddle is leaving. The potion is placed in a milk bottle, then covered up with some milk, violently shaken until it just looks like milk, but Kalim is still crying.

"Discipline him." Crewel.

"How?" Jamil.

"Like this," to everyone's horror, the riding crop is slammed down on the pillow Kalim was crying on (missed the baby, at least). Said baby jumps up from shock, and still seeing the riding crop on the pillow, looks for Jamil and cries for him.

"I guess I'll have to do it again!"

"PROFESSOR, NO!"

Vil has to be led out by some students because he's laughing too hard.

Poor traumatized Kalim drinks up the antidote and snuggles his face to Jamil's hoodie so that he does not have to look at a bemused Professor Crewel. After being burped, Jamil places him in the bedroom and sleeps.

The next morning, Kalim wakes up to see an exhausted Jamil asleep on a lounge chair. Then the milk bottle near him. He recalls Malleus and is only left one conclusion.

"Hey, Jamil, did I turn into a baby this time?"

"Zzzzz."

[ire-mane]

 (This from a post I made a few months ago which contains information relevant to this blog.  Second of three.)

ASHERA - ASTARTE - ASTAROTH - ASHTAR

Many years ago, as a teenager, I began delving into what passed as "Magick" using whatever information I could find, which wasn't much.  This was before use of the internet was common and the only access to information available was through libraries and bookstores.

Living in Oklahoma, as I still do, it goes without saying that information was very limited.  Not everything was Christian, but even the available alternatives were essentially the same.  The ole New Age crystal gazing happy horseshit was about as "heretical" as people were willing to get.  But it was what it was, and I tried to find some value in it.  The only two books by Crowley I ever came across at that time were The Book of Lies and 777.  Being completely unfamiliar with Qabbalah, yoga, tantra, etc...I took one look at these books and dismissed them as gibberish.  (Though I was never able to get Crowley out of my head).

For the most part, I would buy magazines about UFOs and the paranormal (such as Fate) and then order whatever struck my interest from the various ads those magazines contained.  One of these was a pamphlet called "72 Mantras of Power".  Yes, yes, it's very obvious where this is going, but again, I knew next to nothing, and certainly had never even heard of the Goetia.  So hook-line-and-sinker went my dumbass.

The "mantra" that I was most attracted to, and the only one that I consistently used, was "Astaroth", meant to bestow "good fortune".  Long, and very dumb, story short, I'm pretty sure I was invoking this "demon" on a near daily basis, naive and unaware.  And at this time I began having dreams about a "woman in the clouds" which I also began to obsessively draw over and over again.  She would guide me through various "dream realms" and teach me things, most of which I couldn't remember upon awakening.  

This was usually as a discarnate voice rather than a literal presence, with two exceptions.  The first exception was her revealing herself as a vampire and testing me by seducing me, a test which I failed miserably.  The second was much more pleasant and involved three nights of my dreams being invaded by these large white animals, of which the ram and the ibis were the only I could identify or remember.  As soon as they would show up, my dream would become lucid, and I would hide from them.  I wasn't necessarily afraid, I just knew they didn't belong there, I recognized them as intruders and not products of my dream.

On the third night, they gathered together and began walking in an oval pattern.  Then I was immediately transported to a world of clouds and faced with a beautiful, loving woman who radiated an ever-changing array of color that left me in awe.  Rather than the vampire before, I felt nothing but love from her, and even remorse.  Most of what she said was forgotten, but it was something to do with the nature of time.  She then became very sad, said she was leaving me for a while and that she was very sorry.  I woke up in tears, and finding out who she is and how I can get her to return me became the primary motivation for my interest in Magick and Mysticism.

I made no connection between my chanting of Astaroth and my dreams of her, though the connection is obvious now.  After this final dream of her, I descended into abject lunacy.  I became fanatically drawn to the books of the so called "Ashtar Command", and, over time, became convinced that I was some sort of alien messiah.  An alien soul born of Ashtar into a human body destined to guide the world to the inevitable UFO rapture.  The word "batshit" comes to mind.  Again, I failed to make the now glaringly obvious connection.

This was then followed by YEARS of mental illness, alcoholism, and suicide attempts.  A positive outcome of this was that all that Ashtar/messiah nonsense was stripped from my head and I came back down to planet earth.

To this day, I cannot figure out exactly what happened or why or how.  My feelings toward Astarte are complicated to say the least, consisting of both love and terror, hatred and respect.  All I know is that she is very powerful, and very deceptive.  I have no idea what she's up to with this "Ashtar" bullshit, though certainly it is no good, considering the hollowed out shells that his channelers always become, having obviously been consumed from the inside out.

But I also cannot ignore her loving side either, as little as I may trust it.  I know at some point I will need to evoke her with the Goetia and finally "have it out" with her, so to speak, but considering my previous failure to resist her seduction, I am, of course, apprehensive.  I also do not as yet understand what makes "Astaroth" so unique among the demons of the Goetia.  Meaning, why does evoking him result in the evocation of Her, when, as far as I know, nothing similar occurs with any of the other Goetic demons?  I know she likes to appear as the Virgin Mary, and Ashtar, and even as a UFO itself.  Just what the hell is she and what is she up to?  Is she the next Demon King/Queen primed to rule over the next major world religion, which this New Age/UFO stuff is clearly becoming?

I don't know.  She's been present since the earliest days of the Aeon of Isis as Ashera, and has only become increasingly powerful, despite her "fall" as Astaroth.

[ruminativerabbi]

Vulnerability

Vulnerability has a bad rep in our world. In fact, what we all long for is precisely the opposite: to feel invulnerable, impervious to incoming danger, safe and secure not only when we hide under our beds in the dark of night but when we are out and about in the world. But we—speaking of society as a whole but also of us ourselves as individuals—we may have moved a bit quickly in that regard and not sufficiently thoughtfully. Being paralyzed with fear about dangers that are highly unlikely to come our way—that kind of vulnerability is definitely something negative that all who can should avoid. But owning up to the vulnerability that inheres in the human condition itself is in a different category entirely. As this last pandemic year has taught us all too well, it is only a sign of maturity and self-awareness to own up to the degree to which we can fall prey to a virus so tiny that you’d need an electron microscope to see it at all and to behave accordingly. And waving away that danger as fake news because you don’t choose to acknowledge your own vulnerability is not a sign of courage or valor, but of lunacy born of a witch’s brew of foolishness, naiveté, and arrogance.

As I prepared myself for surgery last week, I was feeling exceedingly vulnerable. I lay in bed at night talking to my heart, asking why it wasn’t just doing its thing properly on its own, why it was intent on betraying me after all these years of me not burdening it by smoking cigarettes or consuming huge quantities of trans fat. Didn’t I deserve better? I certainly thought I did! But now that the whole procedure is behind me and I’m feeling healthy and fortunate to live in an age of miracles (and if having a non-functioning valve in your heart replaced without them having to open your chest and then being sent home the next day to recuperate doesn’t qualify as a miracle, then what would?)—now that all that is behind me, I see that intense vulnerability that I was feeling in the days leading up to last Thursday in a much less negative light. Yes, there are people who live in terror of an asteroid colliding with the Earth. (For NASA’s own statement about the likelihood of that happening, click here. We’re apparently good for at least the next couple of centuries.) But that’s not the kind of slightly obsessive vulnerability I want to promote as healthy and sane, but rather the kind that speaks not to fantasy but to reality. To the fact that our hearts are not made of steel and that our bones really do crack quite easily. To the fact that, despite all we do to suggest that the opposite is true, we are mortal beings lucky to be gifted with a few score years to wander the earth, to do whatever good we can, to leave behind some sort of legacy for our descendants to contemplate positively once we ourselves are no longer around to be contemplated in person. Feeling vulnerable because the human condition is vulnerability itself—that isn’t craziness or obsessivity, just an honest appraisal of how things are in this world we all share for as long as we do.

These were the thoughts I had in mind as I read the report in the paper the other day about people coming to shul last Shabbat on 16th Avenue in Boro Park last week only to be greeted by men gathered in front of the synagogue screaming “Kill the Jews” and “Free Palestine.” Which kind of vulnerable did those people feel, I wonder—the silly kind (because there weren’t that many hooligans in front of the synagogue, because the cops showed up almost instantly, because the bad guys didn’t actually have guns with them or bombs, and because they fled the scene once they realized how completely outnumbered they were about to become) or the wise kind rooted in a fully rational appraisal of how things are in this world we share with so many who seem to feel entirely justified in their bigotry and prejudice and who appear mostly to have no problem putting both on full display for all to admire? (For an account of the Boro Park incident, click here.) I’m hardly an alarmist who sees a pogrom around every corner. But, of course, it’s hardly an example of alarmism to be alarmed when truly alarming things happen. Maybe I’ve read too many books about Germany in the 1930s. Or maybe not.

We have entered into a new stage, a dangerous and upsetting one. At first, the stories appeared random. A twenty-nine-year-old man wearing a kippah was beat up in Times Square as he tried to make his way to a pro-Israel rally. Then, a day or two later, a group of thugs wearing keffiyehs invaded a restaurant on 40th Street and started spitting on patrons they suspected of being Jewish. Next we heard about people being attacked in the Diamond District on 47th Street, where it isn’t ever hard to come across some Jewish businesspeople or shoppers.  Two days later we were back in Times Square, this time watching footage of a Jewish man being knocked to the ground and beaten in front of the TKTS buttke where they used to sell last-minute tickets to unsold-out Broadway shows when the theaters were open.  Nor is this just a New York thing: the police in L.A. are currently investigating an attack on outside diners at a Japanese restaurant as an anti-Semitic hate crime that occurred the same day that a family of four was terrorized in Bal Harbour, Florida, by a group of men threatening to rape the wife and daughter and yelling “Die Jews” and “Free Palestine” at them. I could go on. There have been similar incidents in New Jersey, Illinois, Utah, Arizona, and several other states. And although I’m focused here mostly on American incidents, the rise in this kind of hate crime is not specifically an American phenomenon: we’ve read of similar, even worse, incidents just lately in London, in Germany, and in Italy.

The question is how to respond, not whether we should. The fantasy that complaining only makes things worse needs to be laid to rest permanently and irrevocably. (The Jewish community could learn a good lesson in that regard from Black America, where it was once also imagined that responding publicly to racism would only make things worse. It’s hard to imagine any Black citizens putting that argument forth today, yet I hear it from Jewish Americans regularly.) Nor can we allow ourselves the luxury of imagining that this dramatic uptick in anti-Jewish violence is “about” Israel. Israel’s recent war with Hamas was, in my opinion, entirely justified. I can see how people might feel otherwise, and even strongly so. But I know too much history—and specifically too much Jewish history—to indulge in the fantasy that anti-Semitism is “about” anything other than the hatred of Jewish people, Judaism, and Jewishness itself. No matter how many shows an actor appears in, he’s the same person under all of the costumes he gets paid to wear on stage.

I myself have lived a blessed life. Born just eight and a half years after the Nazis were murdering up to twelve thousand people a day at Auschwitz, I have hardly ever encountered real anti-Semitism directed directly at me personally. (And I speak as someone who spent several years living in Germany in the 1980s.) Nonetheless, sensitivity to anti-Jewish rhetoric and violence is the hallmark of my Jewishness, the foundation upon which my eager willingness to live my life as a public, fully-identified, and unambiguously-identifiable Jewish person rests. And that is why I am disinclined to wave away the latest series of anti-Semitic incidents in New York and elsewhere as a random set of creepy one-time events—nor would anyone describe that way who has ever read a book about the history of anti-Judaism or anti-Semitism. For people eager to dine at my table, I recommend Walter Laqueurs’s The Changing Face of Anti-Semitism: From Ancient Times to the Present Day  as your appetizer, Léon Poliakov’s four-volume History of Anti-Semitism as your main course with a side serving of David Nirenberg’s Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition. For dessert, I  recommend Deborah Lipstadt’s Antisemitism: Here and Now. I can promise you that you won’t be hungry when you’re done.

There have been encouraging signs too, of course. President Biden has spoken out sharply and strongly against the uptick in anti-Semitic incidents, calling them despicable and condemning them unequivocally as “hateful behavior.” We have heard similarly supportive rhetoric from Governor Cuomo, Mayor Di Blasio, Senators Schumer and Gillibrand. So that’s good. But will any of the actual sonim out to harm Jews hold back because of a presidential tweet or a senatorial press release?  On the other hand, there were seventeen thousand tweets disseminated by Twitter last week that contained some version of the words “Hitler was right.” Just wait until they find out that the President considers them despicable!

I don’t mean to sound unhappy that supportive, unambiguous language denouncing anti-Semitism has emanated from the highest offices in the land. Just to the contrary, I am thrilled that our leadership has spoken out so boldly and clearly. But I also don’t imagine it will matter until it is deemed just as unacceptable to speak disparagingly about Jews in public as it is—at least in all places that decent people gather and live—to espouse hate-fueled violence against Black people or Asian-Americans, or any other American minority. And that will take—at least in some quarters—a sea change of attitude that can only be accomplished through the kind of ongoing educative process capable of moving society forward. How to do that, I’m not sure. But I am sure that that is the challenge the new normal has laid at our feet. And I am as sure about that as I am that these recent incidents, for all they come dressed up as part of the Israeli-Palestinian controversy, have nothing at all to do with Middle Eastern politics and everything to do with the unique place anti-Jewishness continues to occupy in Western culture as the one remaining version of bigotry to which otherwise normal and nice people can still openly subscribe without suffering much for their views. Or at all.

[runswith]

Travel notes: Italy (Rome). Entry 8 - March 6, 2003

Back in Madrid, on a beautiful springlike Thursday. Processing this last trip.

Parting snapshots from Rome:

– Two evenings ago: walking down a narrow backstreet, a couple passed, going into a restaurant. Him: completely done up in black, from his extravagant pompador, to his fringed, silver-studded black leather jacket, to his baggy black vinyl pants, to his standard-issue black footwear.

– Yesterday a.m:. Sitting at a table on the sunny side of Piazza Barberini, watching the constant stream of pedestrians flowing by. In sitting there, I broke my own rule about never patronizing a bar/restaurant that advertises itself as American. But it was the only place around the entire goddamn piazza with tables/chairs. If I wanted to spend time enjoying sun and spring-like temperatures, I had to bite the bullet. In so doing, I bought the single most expensive cup of cappucino I've ever sipped. Which reinforced my theory about bars/restaurants of that ilk: they're tourist traps. Avoid ‘em.

– I sat watching people, reminded all over again about certain crimes being currently committed in the name of fashion. In this case, I refer to the faux cowboy-boot look that's in here this winter/spring. They're all over the place and they're mighty silly. Using the basic cowboy-boot template, then exaggerating the look in one way or another -- huge, high heels or pointy boot-toe that goes on and on and on (as if the footwear originally belonged to a cowboy clown) or wildly exaggerated angles, flaring outward from the heel to the balls of the foot, then sharply inward toward the toe. You get the idea. Many, many women in Rome and Florence wore ‘em, as do many women & men in Madrid. Not many Italian men, that I saw. For what that's worth.

– Took a bus route I'd never been on before to Rome's train station, doing it during the morning as a dry run, a rehearsal for later in the day when I'd be weighted down with luggage and not wanting to encounter any unexpected surprises. On the way back, the driver, perhaps post-one-too-many-espressos, went as fast as possible -- stopping and starting sharply, rattling around sharp corners at serious velocity, showing no quarter to other traffic. As he neared Piazza Barbieri, threading his way down a narrow street, he clipped a truck, his side mirror coming off with a loud noise, flying up into the air, landing hard on the sidewalk, everyone in the bus watching with eyes large as dinner plates. He pulled over at the next bus stop, sat there for a few moments before finally getting out and heading back to retrieve the pieces. Many passengers (including me) took the opportunity to exit the vehicle and slink quickly away.

– Thirty or forty minutes later, sitting at my little table in Piazza Barberini, the noise of a collision directly in front of where I sat announced another mishap, this one between a bus and a small blue car. The bus stopped where it was (traffic behind it honking indignantly), the car pulled over in front of the bus. The larger vehicle probably suffered little damage. The car's right rear corner, on the other hand, had been drastically altered. Both drivers got out, conferred. The woman studied her little blue buggy, apparently decided the damage had been her fault, got back in the car, drove off. All the passersby who had stopped to watch moved on, some looking a bit disappointed.

– Four Brits sat down at the table to my right, immediately stripping down to t-shirt and milk-white skin. Most of the locals who walked by kept their winter togs on and zipped up, looking as if the idea of removing them would be an act of lunacy.

– Went trawling for a likely lunch joint. Not a trattoria this time as my flight schedule didn't allow for the time that would involve. Looked around my hotel's neighborhood, found a hole-in-the-wall that dispensed cafeteria-style lunch food, took a chance. Ordered a sandwich, then asked about the pasta. The counterman conducted me to the other end of the shop where he shoveled a mountain of linguini in cream sauce and lemon onto a plate for me. Pretty close to bliss.

– On the nearly-empty train out to the airport, two 20-something Chinese women carried on loud, animated conversation, punctuated by near-constant laughter. One received a phone call, talking enthusiastically to whoever called, the other finding most everything she said hilarious.

– Leaving the city, the train passed apartment buildings whose roofs bristled with concentrations of television antennas, all sitting atop long, high masts. Also, bridges covered in colorful graffiti and patches of dense greenery, including stands of urban lemon trees.

– Checking in at the airport, the counter person told me the flight was already delayed by an hour. We found out why when we were finally in the air, nearing Madrid: major storms had swept through the area, were moving on east as we began to descend so that we moved between enormous, rolling white mountains of clouds, passing through vast airborne canyons.  An amazing display. As we rounded one towering bank of thunderheads, I saw long trailing streamers extended down toward the shadowed land below from the bottom of a cluster of dark clouds

To the west, Madrid glistened in evening sunlight, streets and sidewalks drying out.

On the Metro ride into town from the airport in Madrid: a young woman sat reading a translation of "I, Claudius." The title in Spanish? "Yo, Claudio."

Yo! Claudio!

[rosebloodcat]

Changeling Nelson Tethers

I’ve been playing and enjoying the game Nelson Tethers: Puzzle Agent but I can’t help noticing just how odd Nelson himself is. Like some of his antics, shown in his facebook page, seem a little bizzar for a normal person to do. I started wonder if, maybe, Nelson wasn’t as human as he thought he was. And I started writing his odd quirks in-game/universe and basically started puzzling it all out.

So here is my argument that Nelson might actually be a Changeling and not fully human. This got pretty long, so Imma put it under a Read More. Feel free to throw in your own ideas!

I feel like Nelson Tethers is kinda toeing the line between being a “normal” human and being distinctly “ab-normal”.  He’s saner and more down to earth than most of the people seen in Scoggins, but when back in DC he doesn’t quite seem as normal as everyone there.  I point out the little images and notes posted by Grickle on Nelson’s twitter and Facebook pages (and reposted on @majorpepperidge ‘s blog on Tumblr)

Nelson might not be a changeling himself, but he could be the descendant of one that was never discovered by their human “parents” and he grew up as a mix of human and a fae. He may even be completely unaware of his heritage.

His ability to out think people so often, to have such advanced critical thinking (for puzzles) and to be able to manipulate people’s uncontrolled “impulses” to his advantage could be seen as Fae or Changeling traits. And he seems to be more athletic, or at least more resilient, than most people.

But, at the same time, he doesn't seem to see himself as unusual. Despite doing a lot of odd, quirky things (like cover his office in post-its then trying to find patterns in them, and not leaving his office until he figured them out. Or releasing chickens into the vents and then finding and catching them again). He's very bright and intuitive as seen in his knowledge, understanding, and ability to solve puzzles. Especially at the level and complexity we see him have and solve in the game.

And he seems to understand people more than most believe. He's able to figure out the quirks and personalities of the people of Scoggins and then use them to his advantage when he has too. (Like when he's being held at gunpoint by the sheriff and is able to escape by tossing aside his unfinished crossword.)

Nelson also seems to be the sort to meddle when it isn't strictly needed. You could argue that it's related to his sense of Justice (like him going back to solve Isaac Danvers' disappearance) but that's not what I mean.

I'm actually referring to his habit of hunting down puzzles and solving them even when they have no relation to the case he's solving. Although his need to know everything and get into places he's not wanted seems very Fae-like to me.

Another thing that stands out is his encounters with the Hidden People. More specifically how obvious and often they happen.

One would assume that Hidden People were more equivalent to urban legend. Something the locals believe in but never actually see or have proof of. Yet Nelson, in just his first visit to Scoggins, has more run-ins with them than anyone would normally have as a resident of the town. And for a few, he meets more Hidden People at once than anyone else. Something especially strange when you consider that Nelson is basically an outsider. He's not from the forest or the town or even the state and yet he has more close-encounters than anyone else. (Except maybe the puzzle-crazed guy from the Inn, but that's debatable.)

If he was a Fae, it would make their openness to him understandable. It would mean that, despite being an outsider, he's "one of them" or least he was somewhat "like" them. Enough that they would decide there was no real reason to put a lot of effort into avoiding him. And it would even give enough wiggle room for some of them to decide to help him. (Which they do.)

Most of these examples are from the first game and from Nelson’s Facebook page, but more evidence of this theory (in my opinion) is seen in the second game where Nelson seems to show some superhuman/supernatural powers of his own.

Like being able to reach people in the grips of insanity/lunacy and bring the back (mostly?). The two puzzles where he’s “solving” the insanity that had been afflicted on two different people in Scoggins. Not only does he reach them, but he also is able to get somewhat coherent responses from them.

And when the Hidden People do use their powers on him, he’s able to recover from it on his own. And not just from the Hidden People, but from the Lunacy Ray too.

At that point, it seems like both things are supposed to be permanent. Once afflicted by either one, it’s implied the person is supposed to be gone for good. They’re not going to recover. But not Nelson. He returned to coherence after the whispers AND from the ray. He never stayed insane, unlike every other human affected.

It could mean that maybe, just maybe, his mind isn’t completely human. It doesn’t quite work the same as a human’s does and, therefore, can shake off outside forces trying to change it.

When he was running around in his skivvies in Scoggins he didn’t seem to be too affected by the cold. Most people would have frostbite of some kind from that. And he didn’t seem too beat-up when he came-to at the landing, surrounded by FBI agents. (That could be argued as hard to show in the artstyle, but still.) And that’s without bringing in the strength needed to lift, carry, and run with the Lunacy ray itself.

It all just seems like more than a (mostly) ordinary human man could do. So, maybe, he isn’t human. At least not fully. So I think either he, or someone further back in his family tree, might actually be a Changeling.

Changelings are a type of Faerie; specifically they’re a faerie child left to be raised in a human home.

The stories about Changelings vary, but the most common version is that a faerie stole a healthy/pretty, human baby and swapped it for their own sickly/ugly baby. Some stories also have them as an old fae that was dying and wanted to be well cared for before passing, and others have them actually being objects magically altered to look/act like a normal human baby before “dying”.

Versions of the stories say that they do it because they couldn’t raise their sick child and that they felt a human house would be able to give them a good life. So they made the swap to ensure their child could live a good life, however long or short it was.

Other versions say it’s because their child is too ugly for them to stand, and they wanted a pretty baby instead.

In some of the tales, the faery child always knew it wasn’t human and that their original parents had abandoned them and wouldn’t get along with their new family because of that. But some Changelings forget that they’re actually fae and spend their entire lives as mostly-normal humans, and have good relationships with their human families.

With all of this, I think Nelson might be the descendant of a Changeling that forgot they weren’t human or he’s one himself.

If he’s a descendant, maybe the reason he’s so odd by most people’s standards is due to his old fae genes being more active than the rest of his family. As if he was on the edge of being a Fae, but was still mostly human. And, maybe it would be possible to push him over that edge.

(Like, say, finally meeting and being exposed to the presence of other Fae? Like the Hidden People?)

I suppose the only question left is: Which type of Fae was Nelson/his ancestor?

[starswornoaths]

Darting shadows in the corner of your eye. Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging

64 sensory prompts - Accepting!

Tossing under the cut bc it got wordy and also polyamory. Thank you for your patience!!!

23. Darting shadows in the corner of your eye

Uthengentle felt the eyes of the murals on the walls follow him the deeper he descended into the ancient hideout. Even as he fought his muscles to stop trembling, he knew there was no wonder to the why of it; so deep in a completely separate temple filled with those both cursed and dead by the mad king’s hand, it was little wonder he felt as though the shadows themselves were alive.

“You alright?” Serella asked from behind him when his mageflame stuttered at a silhouette that scurried across their path.

“M’fine.” He affirmed, and put perhaps too much aether into the orb of light in his palm for how brightly it glowed. 

He ignored how hot it felt against his skin and persevered; its light stretched further into the tunnel and chased away those shadows that seemed to try to reach him, and that was just how he liked it, thank you.

“We’re well out of the Temple of Skalla now.” His sister mused. “The markings are all different. This is the Fist of Rhalgr, you said?”

“Sure is.” Uthengentle pointed to one of the pillars as they passed. “See that symbol up top? The hand with the lightning bolt?” At her affirmation he explained, “that used to be the symbol they used for hideouts and tunnels they used to move around the city without the king’s eyes on them.”

Serella gave a hum of acknowledgement, and they pressed on despite the tendrils of darkness seeking to close around them.

56.  Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging

It had been easier, Estinien had thought, to view himself a third wheel to Aymeric and Serella’s relationship. Tacked on. An extra piece that was not required. 

Then he had gotten it in his head that Serella only tolerated his presence in the relationship, despite her enthusiastic consent to bring him into it at all. Surely he was not wanted for more than what he could be used for; what had he to offer, save for stunted emotions and a haunted mind?

One night when Aymeric was working late, he reluctantly visited Serella’s home alone. Ignoring the significance of the key he used to get inside- his own copy, one she had made a point to give him before he had left again- he stepped in as though he were trying to steal into the home. As if he did not belong.

“Well, at least your job doesn’t require discretion.” He nearly jumped out of his skin when Serella greeted him from the kitchen. “Really, trying to sneak in armor? I heard you rattle up to the door. Welcome home, dear one.”

Dear one. A name she used for Aymeric first, but had now taken to using for him as well. Estinien knew not what to make of it. That she insisted this was his home now, too, left him all the more befuddled.

Something inside him snapped at that- and he was demanding to know why she had so readily welcomed him into her home, and into their lives. Why had she been so fine with Aymeric wanting to love them both, knowing how little he offered?

She scarcely had the chance to answer before he began to lay out his every trauma, the past he never spoke of, the village that was no more, the family that was some two decades ash and forgotten by all but him. He spoke of the shadow of Nidhogg that haunted him, even now, how he was forever changed for the way their souls had entwined. 

“What do I offer you, save for stealing time away from the man you love?” He asked helplessly, though even that was snarled to protect himself. “Am I not in the w-”

Her hands shoving him into the wall behind him startled him, though before his fight or flight instincts could take over her mouth covering his made his thoughts flee. She did not stop kissing him until he eased against her, until he had scarcely begun to reciprocate- because damn him, it hadn’t just been for Aymeric he had asked-

When she parted from him he gaped at her, eyes blinking slow. She gave him a triumphant grin.

“Oh good. You’ve stopped your raving lunacy.” She mused.

“I am not-”

“I already knew of your past. And after seeing you in action, I knew what had changed about you.” She shrugged, her hands softening against his chest. “I love you anyway. It wasn’t just for Aymeric I agreed to this arrangement, dear fool.”

“I love you differently than I love him-” He sputtered with every bit of foolishness he denied having.

“On that point, we can agree.” She mused with a kiss to his cheek. “Go on. Bed. We’re cuddling ‘till our man gets home.”

“And then?”

“He gets cuddled, too.”

No less befuddled for the turn of events but more at peace than when he had come in, he drifted up the stairs in a stupor.

[thecomicsnexus]

BATMAN: LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT #65-68 NOVEMBER 1994 - FEBRUARY 1995 BY JOHN MARC DEMATTEIS, JOE STATON, STEVE MITCHELL AND DIGITAL CHAMELEON

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

On a bright sunny February Saturday in the neighborhood of Park Ridge, the citizens of Gotham City are treated to a passing parade. The people are especially into a clown doing his tricks and gags as his fumbles his juggling balls on the ground. Oblivious to the spectators is that the clown is the Joker and the fumbled balls are explosives. The destruction leaves four dead and seventeen injured. Later that night, after foiling a robbery, Batman is on the scene investigating.

Knowing that the Batman is on his trail, the Joker, posing as a cab driver, kidnaps Councilwoman Elizabeth Kenner, who has been working late that night. He takes her to the Comedia Theater, where he subjects her to various comedic acts of the 1920's and 1930's. After seeing that the councilwoman is not laughing, he violently beats her.

Joker makes his presence known, mimicking the Bat Signal with a Joker Signal. Batman easily takes him down only to see that it's not him but a small time hood named Frank Maguire. Maguire gives Batman a map upstate to where Joker has Kenner. Joker's tactics begin to further furiate Batman. Batman takes his chopper upstate to a cabin in the woods, where Joker is holding Kenner at gunpoint. Without warning, Joker shoots Kenner, but it's just a blow up doll, as he had released her hours ago in the cold woods. Before Batman can take him down, Joker escapes via a trap door. Batman suddenly realizes from a clue that Joker gave him that the cabin is wired with explosives. Before he can act, Batman is caught in the explosion, leaving him half dead and half unmasked. Joker doesn't buy it, and demands Batman to get up. With no movement at all from Batman, Joker finally accepts that he's dead and dumps his body into a river and with a somewhat sad feeling watches as he floats away.

Joker returns to the Comedia Theater in Gotham and accepts that fact that since there is no more Batman, there is no need to continue with his run as the Joker. He blows up the theater and contemplates getting a job and doing something about his skin condition. Back upstate, two kids run to Dr. Lynn Eagles house and tell her they found a near dead man lying beside the river.

Three weeks have passed since the Joker kidnapped Councilwoman Elizabeth Kenner. Jim Gordon is in his office watching the news. Reports of a brutally beaten and strangled body being fished out of Gotham Bay are followed by Kenner making comments about Captain Gordon, taking him to task about not apprehending the Joker as well as the unknown fate of Batman. While looking at a picture of Joker on the Batcomputer, Alfred also wonders if indeed Joker killed him.

Joker has been living in an apartment in Park Ridge, the very same site as his bombing, since his last encounter with Batman. He has deluded himself into inventing a generic name for himself, Joseph Kerr, and that he just moved to Gotham City from someplace he cannot seem to remember. He has himself believe that he just lost his parents, his apartment paid for by an inheritance from their deaths, supposedly has a job working for an accounting firm, and is taking medication for his skin condition, living life as an average every day guy. He immediately bumps into a pretty young woman from across the hall named Rebecca Brown and the two are instantly attracted to one another.

Weeks pass and Alfred still wonders if indeed Batman is dead, while Gordon continues to hear Kenner's harsh comments towards him and Batman's fate as well as keeping the faith by having the Bat Signal lit. Joseph and Rebecca have become a happy couple who enjoy the same things such as old comedic reels and radio shows from the 1930's and 1940's. However, kinks start to appear in the sanity of Joseph as he suffers from horrible nightmares and comes across various links to his former life as Joker.

The body in the bay is identified as Dr. Elias Bruckner; a plastic surgeon who specialized in new faces for criminals. His being seen for the last time with the Joker right after the Comedia Theater was destroyed further fuels rumors of Joker still being at large in the city as well as Batman being dead. On the television news, tension between Gordon and Kenner become white hot, while Alfred tries his best to tend to the manor. Jospeh is watching this same newscast which causes him to become angry, almost hitting Rebecca in the process. He is able to stop himself from going through with it but runs out of the apartment and into the elevator, giving in a little to his former persona. Gordon finally turns off the Bat Signal one night.

More weeks pass and Rebecca wakes up to a room of flowers and a happy Joseph, who proposes marriage to her. An ecstatic Rebecca accepts his proposal. Unable to sleep Alfred descends down into the cave when suddenly a familiar voice calls his name. He turns to see Batman who proclaims his return.

Joseph and Rebecca find themselves outside the dilapidated Comedia Theater with Joseph telling her how he loved the place as a kid. Rebecca doesn't get it as she was told he just moved to the city less than a year ago. Joseph plays it off as a harmless josh. Batman begins again on his search for Joker nearby while various flashbacks of his missing time come to his mind. He recalls how Dr. Lynn Eagles, from the upstate little town of Accord, did emergency surgery on him for his various life threatening injuries. She comes to call Bruce "Lazarus" during his time there.

Batman appears to Jim Gordon in his office and assures him that he will find Joker and bring him to justice, while hiding his apparent ache from his still recuperating body. Batman confronts Dorothy Bruckner, the widow of recently deceased Dr. Elias Bruckner. A alcoholic and failed plastic surgeon, Dr. Bruckner, catered to criminals wanting new faces. Batman easily deduces from Dorothy's reaction that this is enough to confirm that Joker hired him to do something about his skin condition and killed him when the job was done.

Flashbacks take Bruce back to his down time in Accord. Bruce asks why Lynn would take him in like this, to which she replies that simple intuition says that he is a good man. The idyllic quiet life in Accord makes Bruce think of possibly giving up Batman, and finding peace within himself in such a town. Lynn tells Bruce that she once moved to Gotham City for a few months but eventually returned to Accord because she hated the big city scene. Bruce likewise tells her vague truths about his life in the city.

In the cave, Batman is still retraining his body to act as it once did, when it hits him. Councilwoman Elizabeth Kenner's comments that Joker made her watch old comedic films, spurs Batman to cross-check rentals of such films at local video stores. Seeing the name of Joseph Kerr makes Batman wonder why Joker would be so obvious in this deception.

In a flashback in Accord one night. Lynn confesses to Bruce that she did indeed love Gotham City, but one night she came upon an intruder in her apartment, held her at gunpoint, and proceeded to rape her. The tragedy led her back to Accord to heal. After a few years she returned to the city to spend the day there. On the way back to her hotel however she was confronted by a man with a knife. She reveals that this time she was saved by Batman, and that was the reason why she helped Bruce the whole time, and returns his costume him. Upon hearing this, Bruce returns to Gotham City.

Batman comes upon Joseph and Rebecca's apartment and sees a picture of them. Joseph's innocent look casts doubt in Batman that he is Joker. The super, Mikey Sansonia, tells Batman that Joseph and Rebecca went on vacation in Pennsylvania weeks ago and that they are to be married. This solidifies for Batman that this is a just a deception by Joker to throw him off the trail. In another part of town however, Joker reappears.

During a harsh thunderstorm in Gotham City, Batman comes face to face with Joker, who himself is once again holding Councilwoman Elizabeth Kenner hostage. This time Joker called the cops himself and demanded that Batman meet him upon a city rooftop. With a knife to Kenner's throat, Joker tries to blast Batman with a trick violin. Batman is able to get out of the way in time. Joker makes off in a one man jet pack. Batman uses his Batarang to grab onto him, but Joker cuts the line and heads out to sea.

A flashback shows Joseph Kerr and Rebecca Brown in a quaint little cottage in rural Pennsylvania. Joseph is so happy about Rebecca's acceptance of marriage that he keeps asking her over and over again. His happiness seems almost like lunacy to Rebecca. Once again he brushes it off as a harmless josh. The couple decide to go for a walk in the rain when they come upon a small brook. Joseph has a map that shows a footbridge somewhere, but when he goes to look for it some newspaper, he sees Batman's picture with the story proclaiming his return. Joseph proclaims his love for Rebeccca again, but asks her to stay put while he goes to look for the footbridge. Out of her sight, Joseph jumps into the small river which washes him downstream. When he comes out of the water, the Joker persona has once again taking him over completely.

Present day, Joker now has Kenner on a boat, speaking to her as if they are lovers going on a honeymoon. Batman catches up to them in his own makeshift ski-boat. Joker proclaims that Batman will not take him down and will not take Rebecca away from him also, a statement that confuses himself. Batman tells Joker to give Kenner up onto a police helicopter circling the sea. At first he refuses, but suddenly sees Rebecca's face instead for a split second and finally gives her to the chopper. Joker has his boat wired to explode in thirty seconds and proceeds to split with his jet pack, but Batman grabs onto him. Unfortunately for both men, the jet pack runs out of gas, and the two are caught in the explosion. Batman is able to grab an unconscious Joker as well as a helicopter ladder, which takes them to safety.

Joseph Kerr is proclaimed missing and presumed dead with no body having ever been found, leaving Rebecca sad and grieving for the love of her life, Joker is locked up in Arkham Asylum, and in the small town of Accord, Dr. Lynn Eagles receives a thank you in the form of flowers from Batman.

REVIEW

This is a strange tale. As all Legends of the Dark Knight stories, they may or may not be canon, even at that time. I could see this story happening, but the fact that Accord or Doctor Eagle were never mentioned again, it makes me think it wasn’t. In any case, it doesn’t really matter. (Please let me know in the comments if some other writer ever used these characters again).

As a standalone story, it’s a bit too slow. Perhaps my problem is with the art that doesn’t allow me to feel in that place with the characters. As a result, I cannot really relate to the characters that much (it also doesn’t help that the three female characters are almost identical).

The one thing I think is really interesting about this story is how Batman thinks, and how a sane Joker would think. The moment Batman realizes where the Joker is he feels disappointed, but he is really afraid. In a way, both characters went through a death and resurrection ordeal in this story, but both come back as the same person they were before (so there is no character transformation). Perhaps the one thing that had a lasting effect in Batman, was Doctor Eagle and that “trip to his happy childhood” (let’s assume that is still happening in his mind in 1995).

I wouldn’t really recommend this story unless you like seeing the Joker as a regular person (for two issues).

I give this story a score of 6.

[thisiscomics]

With this Year One tale of Barry Allen, it seems many pieces that were wiped out with various Crisises and Rebirths are slowly getting put back onto the board, bringing us back the sort of speedster cast that made Mark Waid’s run on The Flash so memorable.

Here we seem to finally have an acknowledgement of the (more than) slightly ridiculous nature of the New 52 idea of trying to replace Wally West (who had been the Flash for years) with the once dead Barry Allen and then bringing in another Wally West who was similar in name only, and completely ignoring the rich history of the characters except to repeat the key points in slightly reheated ways, and so not really add anything new to the mix. When that didn’t seem to work out so well, they brought back the original Wally (in Rebirth), referred to the newer one as Wallace, changed his parentage, and tried to pass it off as totally not weird that Iris’s brothers gave their sons the same name. Here, there is at least a sense that Barry thinks that may be a little strange- no matter how great your great-grandfather is, are you really going to name all his male descendants after him? Are the male Wests utterly devoid of imagination? Were their wives unable to stop this insanity?

Anyway. Nothing against either Wally, there is space for many a speedster in the world of The Flash, but a slight nod to the apparent lunacy of the reboot attitude is welcome. Speaking of many speedsters, the following page has XS, Impulse, Jesse & Johnny Quick, Max Mercury and Jay Garrick, with a few shadowy figures as well (and Avery Ho, who I didn't recognise without a quick internet search as I've not read New Super-Man. Sorry.), many of whom I don’t think have been seen since Wally was wiped from history. It seems like his return is the DCU’s way of returning some things that were never actually broken back to the way they were- the legacy notion of the Flash, tied directly to the Speed Force concept, gave a great family feeling to the book, tracing family lines (both literal and metaphorical, some tied together by Speed Force rather than blood) from Quicksilver/Max through Jay to Barry then Wally and on to the 30th century and beyond descendants seen in Legion of Super-Heroes and The Flash (the Tornado Twins, Bart Allen, Jenni Ognats). It was one of the book’s great strengths, and the decision to effectively leave it all behind to let another Silver Age hero return to meet with the nostalgic demands of some older readers (or creators/editors?) never really sat right with me.

With Wally’s return, we are finally- slowly- getting some of this back, and the sight of all these speedsters suggests there is much more to come. With Wally’s memory returning, with other characters starting to remember existences before and after Flashpoint, it seems that this family is finally getting back together. The changes are slow, as though trying to avoid a hard reset of everything that the reboots wrought, which is a storytelling approach that I wish DC used more when they want to change things. An organic shift in the status quo, achieved purely through narrative, is so much more satisfying than the ‘BOOM! Superboy punch! Now Flash is a mermaid and Superman wears leather. How cool is that? Best crossover ever!‘ nonsense that has underpinned most reboots this side of Zero Hour. The book may never return to the same status quo as the 90s (and why should it?), but if the plan is to take the best of the continuity from then (and to my mind, The Flash was one of the best superhero books of that period) and integrate it with the revisionism that brought Barry back, that’s exactly what I would have wanted something like Rebirth to do, instead of fizzling out into ridiculously slow burning plots about Watchmen characters that just don’t belong in the DCU.

So just like in its past, it looks like The Flash might be one of the best books out there, embracing its legacy and its future fully, instead of worrying about convincing people that it’s new or reborn, because it knows family is what matters in the long run.

From The Flash 75, by Joshua Williamson, Howard Porter, Hi-Fi & Steve Wands

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Lunacy Fringe (Chapter 7)

AngstAngstAngst

I mean did you really think there wouldn't be any? Looool C'mon now, it's me :')

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

After clearing away the dishes, the pair sat on the couch. Zoey once again reading her book as Daryl just sat there enjoying the quiet. She kept glancing at him and he started to get nervous every time he felt her eyes on him. He wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn't bring himself to. The realisation of his feelings had made him feel nervous around her for some reason.

“Do you think we could sit on the porch for a bit?” she asked hesitantly, nibbling her lower lip as she looked at him. He turned to look at her with a quirked brow, eyes drifting to her lip. He didn’t know why seeing her do that did things to him.

“Feelin’ brave today huh?” he asked, a smile creeping onto his face. Despite his disappointment of it all, he did genuinely feel happy for her that she was feeling more at ease. She huffed a laugh, making him grin at her.

“In for a penny, in for a pound, or some other bullshit,” she snorted, rolling her eyes playfully. He couldn't help that laugh that escaped him, it made her beam at him. She’d never heard him laugh before and it was wonderful. Daryl shook his head with a grin as he stood up. It was nice to hear her humour, to hear her being herself. It was kind of like discovering a new layer to her.

She got up and followed him to the kitchen, where he took out two beers before going to the porch. They sat on the porch swing, watching as the sky grew dark in front of them. It was peaceful out here this late and she relaxed. She was with Daryl so she knew she was safe. He handed her the beer after opening it and she took a swig. The swing swayed lightly and she lay her head on his shoulder. It felt like it exploded with tingles that reverberated throughout his entire body. He didn't realise how much he’d missed being close to her and he felt that weird confusion again. She acted like she liked him, or at least wanted him around for some fucking reason. That didn't match up to his own thoughts about not being good enough for anything like that. Nothing made sense. But in that moment, he couldn't care less. She was there with him, lay on him, and he’d enjoy any fucking thing she wanted to give him. He felt fucking pathetic and needy.

Almost a week went by and Zoey was doing better. She still didn’t talk to anyone other than Daryl, Rick or Carol, but if people came over, she wasn't a complete mess. She’d just stay quiet and not look at them. Daryl was able to leave the house now for a few hours at a time, something that Rick was quite pleased about. He was able to help around the community and even take some short guard shifts. They hadn’t passed the hurdle of him leaving Alexandria, but they didn’t want to push too far too soon and ruin all the progress she had made.

Daryl wasn’t sure when she would suddenly decide he wasn’t worthy of her time anymore, so he just tried to enjoy the time he had with her like it could be his last. He felt like it had already started. They hadn’t had any physical contact since the night on the porch swing. Without his need to soothe her, to hold her hand or stroke her hair, it felt like she was floating away from him. The one thing he did have though was that she still slept on his floor. He was fucking clinging to those moments before she woke, where he could openly admire her like his life depended on it.

Zoey paced at the front door anxiously. Daryl was on guard duty and she had been working up the courage to leave the house by herself for the first time. Not only that, but to talk to someone she hadn’t spoken to yet. She’d heard from Carol how strong and fierce Michonne was, she wanted to ask the woman to help train her. She had defended herself well before the group, before the horror her life turned into. But she was rusty, and by no means that good. She wanted to ask Daryl but she didn't want to ask too much of him. So instead she decided to push herself out of her comfort zone. She’d done well so far, she hoped it would continue. She took a deep breath before opening the door.

She glanced around, noticing people milling about, some glancing and waving at her. She’d been venturing out for walks around with Daryl at night, and people didn’t see her as a threat anymore. Most of them probably thought she was weak after all they’d heard about her. She forced her feet to move towards Ricks house. She looked at the guard tower and saw Daryl's form watching out, smiling to herself. It gave her a wave of calm that she desperately needed to be able to see him. She saw Michonne stood near her porch and she approached nervously.

“Hey, Michonne?” she asked hesitantly. The woman in question turned to look at her and her eyes widened a little, not expecting to see Zoey out of the house, let alone actually talking to her. She was pleased though, she liked the girl. She too, just like Carol, knew she was much stronger than anyone would think. She’d spoken a lot to Rick about the girl.

“Zoey, hi,” she smiled warmly at her, the kindness from the fierce woman eased Zoey's nerves a little.

“I...Uh...I…” she couldn't find the words and she huffed in frustration, she’d come so far, she couldn't do this now. Michonne waited patiently, knowing she needed to gather herself.

“Carols told me a lot about you, and...I was wondering if maybe...You could help me learn some things. How to fight, defend myself?” she asked, giving the woman a hopeful look. Michonne grinned at her, she was happy the girl wanted to learn these things and depend on herself, but she also felt wary about Daryl. She knew he wouldn’t handle it well that he hadn't been asked to help her himself.

“What about Daryl?” she asked cautiously, not trying to sound too presumptuous. Everyone knew something was going on, yet the pair seemed either oblivious to it or confused. Michonne couldn't help but think they liked one another but didn't think the other returned the sentiment. Zoey blew out a breath, her eyes glancing over at Daryl who still hadn't noticed her.

“I just, I feel like I ask too much of him, you know? I don’t want him thinking I’m taking advantage,” she admitted softly. Michonne didn't miss how her eyes drifted to the hunter, and she knew then without a doubt she was right, the girl liked him, a lot.

“I don’t think he’d feel that way. I think maybe you should ask him. But if he says no, I’d be more than happy to help,” she smiled warmly. Zoey's face fell a little, she was unsure why it seemed like a big deal for her to help her, that Daryl had to do it.

“Okay,” she nodded softly.

Abraham climbed up the ladder to relieve Daryl of his guard duty. As much as Daryl was glad to be back doing things and occupying his mind from his feelings, he always felt like he was going out of his mind when he was away from her.

“Looks like your girl is doing better,” Abe chuckled as he passed him, patting Daryl on the back. Daryl looked confused for a minute before he looked out, seeing Zoey talking to Michonne. His heart felt like it dropped and fell right out of his ass. She was out of the house without him, talking to someone new. It was a tough pill to swallow and his feelings started to morph into anger and jealousy. He was jealous, of fucking Michonne. He knew it was stupid but he couldn't help it.

“Ain’t my girl,” he snapped as he went to descend the ladder. He didn't know why he was so angry. He knew he should have felt honoured that Abe would even think they were a couple, like Daryl could get a girl like her. But his feelings were out of control.

“Whatever you say buddy,” Abraham snorted a little, shaking his head. Daryl stopped before he got to the ladder and tilted his head, his chest starting to heave.

“The fuck does that mean?” he growled, causing Abe to raise a brow at him like he was amused.

“I’m not blind, everyone can see it. If she's not your girl then she should be. You look at her like she’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. And she looks at you like you hung the damn moon. All I’m saying is, if you like each other, just go for it. Life’s too short man,” with that Abe turned to watch outside of the walls, leaving Daryl working his jaw. Asshole don’t even know what he’s talkin’ about. Like she’d be interested in trash like me. He huffed and descended the ladder, jumping down and missing the last few steps.

He made his way over to the women, Zoeys face lighting up when she saw him. He didn’t look happy though, not one bit, and Michonne quirked a brow at him.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked gruffly, glancing between the two women.

“I was just asking Michonne if she could help train me,” Zoey said softly, feeling his anger for whatever reason. She didn’t know what happened but she didn’t like it. He grunted a little and scratched the scruff on his chin.

“Yeah, but I said it would be best if you did it,” Michonne clarified, trying to catch Daryl's eye so she could gauge what was going on in his head.

“Why the fuck would I do it?” he huffed, scowling before walking off. Zoey blinked and furrowed her brow, looking at his retreating form. Michonne was even shocked by his outburst and when she looked at how sad Zoey looked, she felt bad.

“Hey, don’t worry about him. Someone must have pissed him off. Ask him again when he’s calmed down,” she smiled reassuringly. Zoey nodded before heading off back home. She’d never seen Daryl act this way towards her before. She’d seen him moody with others, even scream at them when they upset her, but never to her. She couldn’t figure out what she could have done to make him act like this. She’d been doing so well, pushing herself even when she wasn't comfortable, just for him. To make his life easier.

When she got in, Daryl was stood in the kitchen chugging a bottle of water, glancing at her and then looking away. He still looked mad and Zoey didn't know why he’d spoken to her that way.

“Are you mad at me?” she frowned. Her stupid sad face only got Daryl more angry, it was like all his feelings turned into rage just because he couldn't cope with the fact she was starting to not need him anymore.

“Why would I be mad at ya? Don’t give a shit,” he snapped as he walked passed her to sit down on the couch. His words stung her and she blinked a little before walking in front of him, causing an irritated sigh from his lips. He couldn’t get the fuck away from her, from his thoughts. He couldn’t get a reign on himself.

“What did I do? Why are you acting like this?” she asked sadly. He glared at her, his gaze felt like it was slicing through her skin. He chuckled darkly, and even though he knew he needed to shut the fuck up, his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate with his brain and the words kept coming out.

“Why? Maybe because ya just can't seem to want rid of me fast enough. What? I ain’t good enough for ya now? Huh?! Now ya fuckin’ gettin’ better ya don't give a shit about the redneck trash that helped ya so much?!” he yelled, standing up and crowding her a little, making her take a step back as she stared at him with wide eyes. And for the first time ever, she felt scared of him. His nostrils were flaring and his chest heaving as he glared down at her.

��What are you talking about?” she asked sounding slightly panicked. Daryl would have picked up on the tone right away, how her breathing was becoming ragged, but he was too consumed by his own fucking problems to see what was right in front of him.

“What, ya fuckin’ stupid now?! Askin’ Michonne to help ya when ya know damn well I’d fuckin’ do it! Swannin’ around the place now ya don’t need me there, talkin’ to fuckin’ anyone who takes yer fancy!” he knew, he fucking knew he was being ridiculous and acting like a child throwing a tantrum. To be so mean to her just because she was doing well and making friends. But his brain wasn’t working. She furrowed her brow more, not understanding why he was so mad that she was making an effort. Her eyes stung with tears as she tried to get a hold of herself.

“I didn’t ask you because I feel like I ask too much of you!” she yelled back, tears falling down her pale cheeks. It was like the words physically smacked some sense into him, and he took a step back with wide eyes, realising he was towering over her like that and yelling in her face.

Seeing her tears, her wide eyes looking at him like that, it felt like a punch to the gut. She looked terrified and upset all rolled into one and he felt the shame seeping in. How he’d got in her face like that, fucking screamed at her. Zoey was so confused, she didn’t understand why the hell he was being like this and saying these things when she’d done all this for him.

“Zoey..I-”

“Fuck you Daryl! The only reason I pushed myself this far is because I don’t want to drag you down with me!” she shouted, wiping her eyes angrily. He wiped a hand over his face, guilt and shame setting in deep in his bones. Her words like a knife slicing through him, cutting him in half. She’d done all this for him. He felt a lump forming in his throat as he tried to speak, but no words came out. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to make this situation better. He’d fucked it all up. She shook her head, the look of disappointment on her face made him want to crawl in a hole and die. She pushed past him and stormed upstairs, slamming her bedroom door for good measure.

She sat on her bed, crying and wiping her eyes in anger. She didn’t understand. Why had he said those things like it was a bad thing, that she was getting better, talking to people? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Daryl sat downstairs on the couch with his head in his hands. His heart ached terribly in his chest and he didn’t know what to do. He decided to go up and talk to her, he needed to fucking apologise at the very least. He knocked on her door softly but she didn’t answer. He decided to just let himself in. He saw her hugging her knees on her bed, sniffling as she looked up and glared at him.

“What?” she sneered, making his heart clench. He chewed his lower lip and he slowly made his way over, sitting on the end of the bed far away from her. He rested his elbows on his knees and glared at the floor.

“M’sorry,” he said softly, knowing it wasn’t fucking enough but he was at a loss. She huffed a little as she looked at him.

“Why would you say those things Daryl? Like its a bad thing I‘m getting better?” she asked, hurt lacing each word that killed him. He started worrying his thumb as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“It ain’t a bad thing ya gettin’ better,” he all but whispered, shaking his head.

“Seems like it,” she huffed, frowning to herself. He got up and started pacing, getting angry again. But it wasn’t at her this time, it was at himself. He hadn't been able to contain himself and now he had to explain the shit he’d said, without coming across like a selfish asshole.

“It’s not...I’m glad ya gettin’ better...It’s just….Fuck!” he tugged at his hair frustrated and Zoey watched him carefully from the bed.

“When ya asked Michonne to help...I just got...I got fuckin’ jealous alright?! Fuck! I don’t...I’ve been the one to help ya, ya needed me...and now ya don’t and I don’t know how to fuckin’...” he couldn’t get his thoughts out properly, his mind was going a million miles a second.

Zoey furrowed her brow confused. He thought she didn't need him anymore and that made him...sad? She slowly moved off the bed, grabbing his wrist to stop him from pacing. She startled him, he hadn’t even seen her get up. He looked at her shocked and then pained, glancing at the floor.

“But I do need you Daryl,” she said softly, her sad eyes boring into him. He shrugged her off and took a step back.

“Ya don’t. Ya fuckin’...leavin’ the house without me...talkin’ to new people. Ya ain’t a mess around people now and ya don’t need me by ya side...And it’s great, I know it is...I just…” he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his breathing. He was unravelling in front of her. How could he get his point across without telling her he felt something for her? Suddenly he was shoved and his eyes flew open, her eyes were blazing and he’d never seen her like that before. He looked like he was about to get his ass kicked by the tiny little thing, and he would have found it amusing if it weren't for the current circumstances.

“Don’t you dare! You don’t know what I need Daryl! Just because I’m doing all these things doesn't mean I don't need you!” she shouted, tears threatening to fall. He looked at her confused, he didn't understand.

“And what ya need me for huh? Ain’t like I make ya feel safe anymore!” he snapped, clenching his jaw and shaking his head. She growled and took a step away from him, pacing a little, it was like looking into a fucking mirror.

“You don't get it! All of this, I’m doing it for you! Because I don't want to drag you down with me anymore. I don't want you to feel like a fucking caretaker because I'm weak and pathetic! I want to prove to you that it was worth saving me! To be able to fend for myself if I need to! To earn my fucking place here! I wanted to make you proud of me!” she yelled as the tears fell freely.

He felt like his chest caved in as each word sunk in, making him feel like a bigger asshole by the second. She did it all for him because she felt like a burden to him. He felt his eyes sting and he turned away, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the onslaught of tears that wanted to break free. He couldn't believe he messed this up so badly, fucked up the only good thing he had in his life.

“I am proud of ya,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion as he faced away from her, trying to fucking get a hold of himself. He heard her scoff and he turned around to look at her. She wasn't expecting to see him looking tearful.

“I don’t think yer a burden alright? I want ya to get better, but when I think about ya not needin’ me anymore...it fuckin’ hurts,” he admitted, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. She stopped pacing and looked at him confused. This whole thing didn't make any sense.

“But I do need you Daryl! Jesus Christ! You don't just feel safe to me...You… you feel like home,” she said softly, her chest heaving as her glassy eyes looked at him. He stilled completely, furrowing his brow like her words were a different language. He couldn't quite grasp what she was trying to say. He knew what it sounded like. He knew because that's exactly how he felt about her and he couldn't have worded it better himself, but he couldn't believe it was possibly true.

“I care about you Daryl, okay? And I know it’s stupid and you'd never care the same way, but there it is. You make me feel things I’ve never felt, and I might not be a mess anymore when you aren't here, but it feels like a gaping hole in my chest when I’m away from you,” she admitted, her cheeks burning bright at having to tell him such a thing. She shook her head, angry at the whole situation before storming out of the room. He heard the front door slam and it made his heart ache inside of his chest, that she'd walked out just to get away from him.

Daryl stood there, his jaw slack as his mind went over and over the words she just told him, like his brain couldn't quite fathom them. She cared about him, she actually fucking cared about him, and she thought he didn't feel the same. And it was no wonder after how he'd just acted. Like a huge fucking asshole, making her cry. He sat on the bed, shoulders slumped as he tried to figure out what the fuck to do, he needed to tell her he felt the same. But had he ruined it now? He couldn't even believe she liked him in the first place, and now he had to fuck it up. He'd never been interested in a girl like this before, and a girl like Zoey...Abe wasn't wrong when he said he looked at her like she was the most precious thing he'd ever laid eyes on, because to Daryl, she was. She was amazing, like a rare bird, and he never thought in his wildest dreams she would feel anything for him. And now he’d gone and pushed her away. He didn't know what the fuck to do, he needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to Carol.

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