#Same with malefactor

[4vlad]

My master

—summary: Alucard, the Vampire who proclaimed himself your servant, drinks your blood for the first time

—warnings: sexual content, master/servant relationship, non-consensual touching, dirty talk, blood drinking, human/vampire relationship

words: 1.468.

The day could not have been more exhausting, you had to work late because your boss didn't have more staff, it left you exhausted, very tired but you were finally able to get out of that hell, the bad thing is that it is very dark and cold at night, the London streets are eerily silent tonight.

"Scared dear?" He says a loud voice to which you scream and turn around throwing your bag towards the person behind you, the man catches the bag quickly "is this for me?" He laughs. "Ah! Alucard! You scared me, don't do that again!" You approach him and take his bag from him, "my sincere apologies, my master" you shudder at the dominant alias, Alucard is a vampire who had proclaimed himself as your servant months ago, you think he is crazy and you have certainly realized that he is, you were not a dominant person, much less someone of authority, you honestly don't know why he says you are his Mistress and you haven't asked him anyway. From the little you know about him is that he is a very strong, self-centered and prankster Vampire, you have even seen him in action a couple of times.

Alucard laughs at your ramblings while you both head to your apartment, even though the walk was long neither of them spoke much, as always Alucard only followed you because according to him it is to "protect you from danger" that you appreciated but you also don't want to abuse his goodness.

You enter your apartment and Alucard follows you by closing the door behind him "I must say that your area is very cozy Mistress" he takes off his hat and glasses before sitting on the sofa that he himself has claimed as "his", you Without giving it much importance go to your room and changes your clothes into more comfortable ones, minutes later You returns with the vampire "...I'm going to cook chicken and French fries, do you want?" You ask the vampire "No, dear human, I'm not a big fan of fried food." You thought for a moment whether to offer him a salad since he was a vampire, but he didn't seem to hate human food either, after all, he's eaten with you a few times, well, when you cook for him. .

You got down to work while the vampire just watched you as always, at first you were afraid of this monster, his energy was and is a little sinister, but over time you began to appreciate his company, he saved you a few times from some malefactors even, their presence still bothers you a little but you put up with it, Alucard has made it clear to you many times that he has no intention of harming you, that he is your servant and is here to obey your orders, whatever you ask of him. He's weird, you think.

In your rambling you get distracted and accidentally cut the skin on your hand, a sharp pain runs through you, thick blood falls from your hand to your elbow, you quickly turn off the stove "Ugh!" You groan in pain as you head towards the dishwasher to wash your wound.

The vampire, with his developed sense of smell, perceived a sweet and tempting aroma in the air, a fragrance that was familiar and irresistible at the same time. It was your smell of blood, a signal to his thirsty nature. However, there was something different about this smell, a subtle but unmistakable touch of sweetness, as if he belonged to a human being with a unique and exquisite blood. Alucard quickly stopped you, he appeared in front of you with a smile from ear to ear "Let me help you with that My Dear Mistress, it will be a pleasure to clean and heal your wound" you got a little scared, you were dripping blood with an extremely violent vampire, danger!

Alucard sensed your fear and quickly calmed you down or at least he tried to. "I won't bite you, I promise, you don't have to be scared, sweet human, I won't hurt you unless you give me those orders," he says with a deep but soft voice at the same time. While the vampire convinces you, he takes you to the couch and sits you on top of his legs. You are embarrassed but you still give in. You raise your hand to let the blood drip into your Vampire's mouth. Alucard opens his mouth, big as a beast, his fangs sharp, each one pointed, he sticks out his long, fat tongue, he is eager, salivating even before you will agree to feed him.

A heavy drop of blood falls on the vampire's tongue, his pupils dilate and his gaze becomes intense, the beautiful beast grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth, his tongue was cold, the sensation of the wet and heavy tongue of Alucard slightly relieves your pain, he tastes your entire hand and your fingers, from top to bottom from one side to the other, his tongue moves gently enjoying the taste of your blood, he simply knows that he has never tasted a taste as sweet as it. Yours, it's the first time he's tasted your blood, he knew you were as tasty as he imagined.

Shadow hands appear around you to caress you, his hands are everywhere! On your abdomen, legs and thighs! How disrespectful!

You get embarrassed and try to take his hand away but he is stronger, his grip is firm on his food.

Alucard's hands caress you gently, kneading your skin over your clothes, he wants to taste everything about you.

once he finishes his meal, his eyes are fixed on you, his irises a bright red color, he smiles at you softly but with a dominant expression, he lets out a deep laugh as he brings you even closer to him "my mistress... You are a virgin..." He says with a deep voice, you move your hands away and put it to your chest, your cheeks turn red because of Alucard's words, did he know it just by tasting your blood? What does it have to do with you being a virgin? What a dirty pervert!

"So what...?"

He just laughs, he knew you were shy but you were also sweet and kind, always gentle and ready for anything, he couldn't believe that a little thing as pretty as you was still a virgin, he couldn't believe that even though you was so beautiful, so tasty, no one has corrupted you, well...it's not like any human can properly teach you what carnal pleasures are.

He purred, the taste and your aroma were overwhelming, his Master is as tasty as she looks.

"Mmm...wouldn't you like to feel what sexual pleasure is like, little human?" He doesn't care if you were a virgin or not but now? Oh...he wanted to corrupt you in every way possible, the smell of your embarrassment and excitement from the dirty talk invaded the vampire's senses.

You felt your panties stick to your lips because of the humidity "..." You remained silent, is this how this creature addresses his master? Did you know that he was insolent, what good is he proclaiming himself your servant if he doesn't respect you as such? Your eyebrows knit together in an expression of anger and embarrassment. He laughs at your reaction.

"My master..." he says with a suggestive voice, almost like a whisper, "it's been a long time since I gave myself to a Human," you don't respond. "You know that I am all yours, your servant, I am here to please your needs, to please you my beloved master..." Again he begins to purr. Your heart beats hard as you feel the hardness in the Vampire's crotch.

He was a burlesque and a pervert but he knew how to seduce a woman, using dirty words but at the same time being a gentleman.

He has never given himself this way to a master, not even his previous masters, but you? How could you be so delicious? So cute? He was willing to please you if you wanted, he just waited for you to say the words.

"You...you are not my servant Alucard" you get up from the couch "And I don't want...I don't want to do that..."

Alucard sighs disappointed but accepts "even if you don't want to be my mistress, I want you to know that I am here if you need to satisfy your needs, dear," he smiles.

"Please forgive my insolence, no matter how much I want you, I have to earn your affection and I will do it appropriately" he rises to his height and bends down again to kiss your hand in an act of chivalry.

Sorry if there are spelling mistakes, English is not my first language, I hope you enjoyed! You are free to leave me ideas by the way. AO3: rosemary06 (click)

[celestialholz]

Be still made, my beloved crossbow (or 'let's talk about Durge's other other weapon... and maybe a bit about Stillmaker too')

You've read this post, friends. You know it's true, I know it's true. (And it's bloody beautiful by the way, lovely job @darkurgediaries.)

But wait, there's more.

Let's have a quick chat about the Hellfire Engine Crossbow, because if Stillmaker is Durge's blade from Gortash, this is Durge's side-bitch from him... or it was meant to be, anyway. Man never quite got around to piecing it all together.

Okay, let's start with er... I mean look at it. It's white, has a phoenix head on it - a creature that symbolises resurrection, rebirth and immortality, how very Durge, and is also associated with sun gods when Gortash is this easy to turn into a Lathanderan and that guy brings light to each new day - and it's also embossed with Gortash and the Steel Watch's black and gold motif.

And then you take a mechanical look at it and... hang on.

What are you doing here, Lightning Arrow? The Steel Watch don't have Lightning Arrow, but you know who does have Lightning Arrow? Rangers - archery experts, usually - at level nine and up. And who can we consider that's on level nine and is really good at archery?

And who can we consider who might run out of lightning-basic magic in the heat of battle; who is white, and has a theme of rebirth either by rejecting Daddy Bhaal outright or embracing them anew, and knows a sun-coded Radiant guy, and may once have had business in the Foundry?

Well hello The Dark Urge Vanilla Edition, our old spicy friend. There's also the lovely addition of Reposition Malefactor - Lightning Arrow, grab, Stillmaker stab. Classic Baldurian efficiency.

You know what kills me about Gortash's Radiant coding and Durge's Lightning? The first thing you see of lightning is its flash, its brilliance, and the second thing you see is its destruction. The light isn't the part that hurts you, but it's inextricably linked to the thing itself, just as you can't have the destruction without the light. Symbiosis. Gortash could have been thunder-coded, but... no. Thunder isn't destructive, not usually. It doesn't happen at the same time in the storm.

It's not symbiotic... it's not equal.

... Yeah no, I'm fine, not emotional at all. No sir, could not be me. Despite being level nine too, Gortash doesn't have Lightning Arrow. Why would you need lightning, when your beloved has it in their veins, when you've made them a crossbow specifically for it? You just bring the 'light' part, don't you?

Symbiosis. Peace and love on planet Faerûn. Anyway...

If we must consider the application of Lightning Arrow as a helpful aid to the depleted Storm Sorceror, we should probably consider Stillmaker's equivalent.

Hold Person. Hold. Person. Which, yes - very useful bit of utility for our lovely Durge to have, 100% - but then you consider the fifteen separate dimensions of romantic overtones in Durgetash and you just can't help but feel: Hold Person. It's a bloody hug. It's support. He's made it easier for you to slaughter people, which at least used to be your favourite thing to do.

So Gortash has A. made your murdering life much more fun because you can savour the kill and B. made sure you can still kill from a distance if anyone else happens to be around and you're tired.

What a complete fucking simp. 🥺❤

On the subject of Stillmaker in fact, much as the Fabricated Arbalest to the Hellfire Engine, it's rather different to Durge's main dagger, Bloodthirst.

This is pure function. Made to please Papa in the most gruesome way possible, whichever hand you feel like using to wield it.

Whereas Stillmaker... it's got an attached hug. It's got a wavy blade, perfect for the task of slicing and dicing - one that's very difficult to forge, that must have taken time and care.

... Well. Must have taken a mortal time and care. Because lest we forget, it's not the only wavy blade Durge owns.

... Seriously, Larian. How are you going to make both of them wavy. I'm on your ceiling fans.

It's two separate dimensions to Durge's life, in two blades with the same nastiness to them - absolute utility, versus actual care.

This is literally more intricate than the thing presumably given by a god. That's going to tear like a bitch, truly. And it's even got Bhaal's delightful countenance up front and centre. What was that devnote, about convincing the child of a god that they're not a monster? Mm...

Oh, I don't know. It's almost like, for a while anyway, Durge's connection to Gortash was more important than the one to their father. Maybe they wrote something about that very thing, in fact. Imagine. 🥲

I'd like to take this opportunity to also note the very violent and Thunder-mentioning text attached to the Hellfire Engine...

... And the fact it's found in three parts, because y'know, Dead Three.

There's only one minor flaw in this whole thing, really. One teensy little tiny problematic detail.

Sorcerors, unlike Gortash, can't use Heavy Crossbows.

... But, then, they can't use shortswords either.

I'll let you be the judge, shall I?

[la-pheacienne]

So @faintingheroine said that Javert is more of a class traitor than Ηeathcliff because at least Heathcliff directs his cruelty towards upper class people. I think that, technically speaking, Javert's class traitor traits are indeed worse. I mean his life purpose is literally to extinguish people that have a background similar to his, which is the very definition of a class traitor. The peak of his brutality and inhumanity is the way he targeted a famished, sick prostitute, the way he treated her like an animal, terrorized her, prevented her from finally getting her daughter back and gloated while tearing down her last anchor in life. This deliberate, senseless cruelty against a person as weak, as helpless, as innocuous as Fantine is truly something that technically exceeds even Heathcliff's evil deeds. Heathcliff too targeted people who were weaker than him (Isabella, the children) but at the very least these people belonged to the privileged upper class and he still deep down felt inferior to them, so you can at least give him that.

And yet I feel Heathcliff is more "morally reprehensible" than Javert. Heathcliff's motivations are purely individualistic, he's a very selfish human being and above all, he wants revenge. Javert may be a textbook class traitor but he does have his principles, bigoted principles but principles nonetheless. He has a specific mission and he does his duty, following a specific set of rules. When he fails at his duty and violates this set of rules, he immediately applies to himself the exact same cruelty he applied to others, and this happens twice. The first time, when he thought that he had accused an innocent man and questioned an authority (double vice), he immediately demands his removal from the police. The second time, when he realizes he fucked up, he kills himself. Hugo is particularly respectful of his blind devotion to duty, even in Javert's most hateful moments. Ironically that can also be used against him because it gives him this inhumane, robotic quality. Heathcliff being a classic, egotistical villain who's after revenge gives his evil deeds a much more "relatable" vibe. We can all relate to the desire for revenge, whereas Javert's sterilized, distorted view of the world is particularly eery. But in my opinion this is precisely why he's a level above Heathcliff. Or at the very least their brand of antagonist is quite different.

Receipts:

"I have often been severe in the course of my life towards others. That is just. I have done well. Now, if I were not severe towards myself, all the justice that I have done would become injustice. Ought I to spare myself more than others? No! What! I should be good for nothing but to chastise others, and not myself! Why, I should be a blackguard! Those who say, ‘That blackguard of a Javert!’ would be in the right. [...] Mr. Mayor, I must treat myself as I would treat any other man. When I have subdued malefactors, when I have proceeded with vigor against rascals, I have often said to myself, ‘If you flinch, if I ever catch you in fault, you may rest at your ease!’ I have flinched, I have caught myself in a fault. So much the worse! Come, discharged, cashiered, expelled! [...] Mr. Mayor, the good of the service demands an example. I simply require the discharge of Inspector Javert.” All this was uttered in a proud, humble, despairing, yet convinced tone, which lent indescribable grandeur to this singular, honest man.

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

“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, but this must not be. A mayor does not offer his hand to a police spy.” He added between his teeth:— “A police spy, yes; from the moment when I have misused the police. I am no more than a police spy.”

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Probity, sincerity, candor, conviction, the sense of duty, are things which may become hideous when wrongly directed; but which, even when hideous, remain grand: their majesty, the majesty peculiar to the human conscience, clings to them in the midst of horror; they are virtues which have one vice,—error. The honest, pitiless joy of a fanatic in the full flood of his atrocity preserves a certain lugubriously venerable radiance. Without himself suspecting the fact, Javert in his formidable happiness was to be pitied, as is every ignorant man who triumphs. Nothing could be so poignant and so terrible as this face, wherein was displayed all that may be designated as the evil of the good.

He's still a piece of shit though, just to clarify.

[emblemxeno]

Chapter 13 of Fates Revelation is a writing highlight for me.

Corrin: What's going on? They're both blaming each other for this carnage.

Azura: Of course. Kingdoms at war will always twist things to benefit themselves.

Ryoma and Xander-representative of Hoshido and Nohr as a whole-uphold the conflict and status quo of the world they live in. Even if it makes no sense, they accept that they're enemies and an enemy must have done something awful to harm the peace.

Even parts of their battle quotes and end of chapter dialogue emphasize this.

Ryoma: It doesn't matter, Kagero. Anyone who doesn't side with Hoshido is the enemy. What will you be?

Xander: Trust her? Don't be a fool. I won't listen to any more of your lies. You've chosen your side—opposite me. Prepare yourself, Camilla.

-

Xander: This isn't over! We'll fight to the very last man!

Ryoma: You won't see Hoshido waver! We'll fight until there's no one left!

Xander: Whoever retreats now admits defeat! Nohr will never lose to Hoshido.

Ryoma: This war will continue until we take our last breath!

They are unable to see any part of a conflict as something with them or against them. Nuance and rationality don't sit well in minds stubbornly steeped in years of animosity. War, hatred, and reinforcing the way things are is something both of them are willing to do, because they see no other path or choice for themselves.

Corrin and Azura meanwhile, actively disrupt their world views.

Corrin: ...You may be my brothers, but I won't go easy on you if you try to stop me! Come, everyone! ... Ryoma! Xander! Please, you both have to listen to me! We've defeated the real enemy—you don't need to fight each other now!

Azura: Ryoma, Xander... It wasn't Nohr or Hoshido who destroyed this town. It was done by the invisible forces that we just defeated. Now that they are gone, I will not allow any more senseless violence. I will sing my song as many times as necessary to restore peace. Do you still insist on fighting?

And it's not empty words or cries that fall on deaf ears. Corrin is strong. Her will is iron-clad, and she will ensure her vision of peace is made a reality, no matter who she makes an enemy of. Azura is strong as well. What she lacks in directing a path on her own, she makes up for with raw resilience and no qualms about using her song-something that risks her life-to end things on her terms.

They force their stubborn older brothers to look at things in a different perspective; to stop trying to hack and slash their lives away and consider a bigger threat to what and who they care about.

While they aren't swayed immediately, they're undoubtedly shaken. After that, it takes personal introspection and uncomfortable truths for each of them to swallow their pride and admit their ways are wrong, and to follow Corrin to end a senseless war.

And I love this exchange at the end as well:

Scarlet: Ryoma's talked my ears off about what happened to you as a kid. You sound like an idealistic brat to me. You want to bring peace to the world? Ha!

Corrin: There's nothing idealistic about ending this horrible war.

REJECT 👏🏽THE 👏🏽 STATUS 👏🏽 QUO 👏🏽!

Accusing others of being naive or idealistic for things like this, in my opinion, shows cowardice, or even ignorance; a life that's been beaten down by other upholders of a terrible state of the world until they agree.

Why is it naive to trust people? Why is it idealistic to want something like endless warring to stop?

We're fed a lie as children: "Life's unfair, you can't do anything about it." Says who!? Why accept that life is cruel and unyielding, when there's so much capacity for good in the world? Is life actually unchangeably unfair in its nature, or is it simply malefactors taking advantage of innocent people in order to rise up to slake their own greed?

Once terrible people get in power, they beat down any forms of resistance and feed this very same lie to them. Worse still, they can even convince the masses to discriminate, fight, and kill each other all so they can swoop in during the aftermath and reap the benefits. And people, at their lowest point, take solace in any explanation-no matter how untrue and no matter who it's coming from-in order to have some semblance of control or direction. That forms their new view of the world.

It takes people who haven't been exposed or raised to believe such nonsense (Corrin) and people who are wise enough to recognize the true problems of the world (Azura), to push against this normalized destruction between two innocent groups of people and direct their ire towards the actual oppressor (Anankos).

It's succint, but scathing. The word choice-in both JP and localization-is too deliberate to consider it a coincidence, I genuinely think it's a good criticism of how our modern world works as well. From a philisophical standpoint it is basic, but Fates as a whole also tackles issues of ignorance/discrimination, xenophobia, the boundaries and meanings of family, who defines justice, the belief of many versus the will of the few, embracing consequences instead of running away, and exploring the concept of leadership in general.

For a game this big, IMO, it meets the mark more often than not when considering the points it wants its audience to hear.

[protemporescitor]

Finishing the last of FFVII Rebirth's VR challenges. Just wrapped up "To be a Hero" a couple of days ago. Taking another stab at "Bonds of Friendship" tonight. Anyway, I just had a revelation of sorts: Both fights involve Cloud plus an "assistant" character with Sephy and Zack, respectively. Both gauntlets end with Odin, who, with all due respect, is a bit of a see-you-next-Tuesday of a boss fight... BUT I am now fairly convinced that the Lord of Frenzy's position at the head of this hellish and interminable 10-round boss rush is NOT a coincidence.

Think about it. Cloud Strife's animal motif is that of Fenrisúlfur (Fenrir), the deiform wolf destined to slay Odin, the ruler of the gods, during the battle of Ragnarök at the end of all things in Norse mythology. I know that Square ran that boring-ass "chocobo hair" joke into the ground with Rebirth, to the point where newcomers to the series might actually be fooled into thinking that it's his real animal motif (and not just some tedious dad joke that has long since worn out its welcome), but prior to the new Remake series, the developers kept giving Cloud strangely villainous motifs, such as associating him with Fenrir, ostensibly one of Norse mythology's worst malefactors, or gifting him bat wings in Kingdom Hearts (unambiguously Satanic imagery).

More basic takes on this character usually involve some combination of the terms "emo", "loser", "boifailure", etc. Monosyllabic linguistic butchery aside, some of these descriptions may be partially true, but they often miss the real point: Whatever else he may be, Cloud Strife is anything but a harmless softie. If anything, post-canon, he is a psychological ticking time-bomb, one whose mental state depends largely on the company he keeps. With good friends keeping him on the straight and narrow, he'd undoubtedly be the gentlest soul. In the wrong company, however? He could easily end up becoming far more unhinged and dangerous than even his greatest nemesis could aspire to. Kitase once described him as having "a real dark side", one that presumably has less to do with Sephiroth's mind games than his own struggles against the world, ones that have rendered him a near-misanthrope, and which almost certainly would have if not for his ties with his friends and found family (Aerith, Tifa, Barret, Yuffie, etc…).

We catch glimpses of this side of Cloud's character every so often, such as when Yazoo and Loz shoot him in the back near the end of Advent Children. His reaction is telling. His face betrays not the dejection of someone ready to give up the fight, but the sheer vitriol of someone ready to tear apart anything and anyone foolish enough to get in his way. The same goes for his final confrontation with Sephiroth at the Northern Crater during the original story's ending. Sephiroth falls back on his usual intimidation tactics, not realizing that his hated enemy has long since cut his strings, and that his attempts at terrorizing and gaslighting the "nobody" who humbled him at Nibelheim are destined to fail. Cloud, though initially shocked, does not shrink away. He narrows his gaze. He knows the fight is over before it's even begun, and proceeds to deliver his foe an absolutely merciless beatdown.

Amidst the relentless meta pookie-posting and metaphorical cheek-pinching, people forget that there's a lot of hidden rage within this character. It is not a side of his personality that he is proud of, per se. But it is clearly there. More enlightened fans will understand this implicitly. One does have to wonder what missed opportunities Square had after AC/DoC for further character development in this regard. Sadly, as of the failure of Dirge of Cerberus to meaningfully advance FFVII's story, and Square's subsequent overreliance on contentious backstory additions instead, we may never know. Still, hope remains that the fandom could help fill in the blanks from time to time.

"The wild still lingered in him, and the wolf in him merely slept." —Jack London, White Fang

[cliozaur]

Oh, so this is the chapter with Javert’s leather stock askew! I had a false memory that it happened in his “punish me, Monsieur le Maire” episode and was surprised not to find it there. It means that he came to Monsieur le Maire’s office unshaken and balanced, Inspector at his best. However, the mere possibility that he could have nearly missed Jean Valjean profoundly stressed him.

In this chapter, Hugo attributes some of the most unforgettable characteristics to Javert. “Javert was a complete character, who never had a wrinkle in his duty or in his uniform; methodical with malefactors, rigid with the buttons of his coat.” And his belief system and all the things he is forever associated with are also here:

he, Javert, personified justice, light, and truth in their celestial function of crushing out evil. Behind him and around him, at an infinite distance, he had authority, reason, the case judged, the legal conscience, the public prosecution, all the stars; he was protecting order, he was causing the law to yield up its thunders, he was avenging society, he was lending a helping hand to the absolute, he was standing erect in the midst of a glory.

So, he is “avenging society” – the same society, most of us agree, is the main villain and culprit of “Les Misérables.” That’s very telling. Javert is triumphant, satisfied, “erect, haughty, brilliant,” but also very wrong.

I have just noticed that he is simultaneously likened to a demon and to the “monstrous Saint Michael” – while one is supposed to fight the other.

Javert is not the only intriguing figure in this chapter. How do you like the moment when the royalist court president was shocked to hear how Valjean said “the Emperor, not Bonaparte”? Valjean has pro-Napoleonic sympathies. That’s amusing, for it makes him akin to Marius in this respect.

My hero here is the counsel for the defence: this man really does his job well and effectively defends poor Champmathieu, despite the fact that the defendant is an obscure labourer. It seems to me that such counsels for the defence are the only positive aspects of the whole legal system of the early nineteenth century.

[oscarisaacasimov]

Francesca by Hozier

This is not a song about a girl from his past. Historical & literary figure Francesca da Rimini gives her own account. Beautiful on it's own, this song is inspired by and references Dante's Inferno.

The second circle of hell is for the lustful; their restless, unreasoning nature, results in a torment of souls cast about in a restless, unreasoning wind.

The infernal hurricane that never rests...unto such a torment The carnal malefactors were condemned, Who reason subjugate to appetite.

artist - Joseph Noel Paton

Francesca is the first soul in Hell proper to be given a substantive speaking role. None of the men interrupt her; Dante & Virgil listen, and her lover Paulo weeps in the background. She describes her lust/love as a compulsive force that cannot be resisted.

Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, That, as you see, it still does not desert me; Love has led us into one death.

artist - Marie Philippe Coupin de la Couperie

The story of Lancelot inspired wild lust in Francesca and Paulo; she calls the author her jailer. Now the story of Francesca as told by Hozier is imprisoning us in wild lust.

One day we reading were for our delight Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthral. Alone we were and without any fear. When as we read of the much-longed-for smile Being by such a noble lover kissed, This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided, Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.

That day no farther did we read therein.

artist - Amos Cassioli

At the end of Francesca's testimony, Dante is overcome with pity and faints, "fell as a dead body falls." He awakens in the third level of hell (gluttony).

Hozier said repeatedly that Eat Your Young features an unreliable narrator, with beliefs that the singer does not necessarily agree. This song is likely the same; Hozier like Dante is moved by Francesca's description of love, but does not agree that lust overpowers free will and agency.

Sources:

[froody]

youre very anti american until someone from another country says something bad about america. you do realise how hypocritical you are? (coming from an american)

First of all, I’m anti-America not anti-American. This country is wicked from its foundation, on an institutional level. Which I do lot deny and speak about honestly.

I like Americans, I know, crazy. We’re a resilient people, fundamental good resides in most of us. I believe that about all of humanity but Americans are who I know. I love my neighbors. I love my community. The people I love live here, mainly. I wish the best for all of us. I think we deserve to live lives without constant fear of violence and political unrest, with access to resources without discrimination. We are all done a disservice by this country, not in equal measures, mind you. I want to make this country a better place. I do not consider myself a patriot, not a nationalist, I swear fealty to the people and landscape around me.

You’re right, it is hypocrisy to lash out at people who speak negatively about the establishment I despise. It isn’t productive. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. It is extremely frustrating to see people from other countries, mainly Europeans, some Canadians, mock American society for problems that permeate their own government and culture that they refuse to address. Because it is easier to condemn stupid Americans than it is to begin to acknowledge that their country is built on the same white supremacist ideals, that the picturesque stately homes that dot their countryside largely would not exist if not for colonization and slavery. It is easier to imply that Americans deserve to live in constant fear of gun violence and homelessness for their own stupidity than it is to have a deeper compassion for the American people, than to admit that what is happening to us could possibly happen to them. They are not in any meaningful way helping us, they are not helping themselves, not their countrymen.

Europeans, if you think that the people of your country are smarter than Americans, are more enlightened, less bigoted, less violent, more rational, I beg you to look around. I beg you to witness Italy and it’s current slide back into fascism, I beg you to look at the antisemitism rising in Germany once more. I beg you to address the xenophobia in your own country, to look at the transphobia, the malefactors sneaking into your government to roll back your rights and resources.

Also if this is in response to me commenting on British food looking yucky, I want you to know I’m not walking that back. I think I’m in my right to have a little fun poking cheeky fun at British food since British people post about how shocking American food is so much of the time. That was in good faith. Not that deep.

[tobiasdrake]

I expected to be dead by now and that locked door is starting to make me curious. So I guess I'll just go jump on a timedrop.

Using made-up words for an openphrase is a pretty good idea, but I've been told it's best to include numbers and symbols too. Have you considered "stostorage roomoom five ampersand"?

See, that's why you should always change your openphrase away from the default. Now malefactors of unclear intent have complete access to this person's shed. I could be stealing their personal information to sell to the shoshop keepeeper right now and they'd have no idea.

But I'm not that wicked, so I'll just take whatever this is instead.

Length implies value. This seems more than valuable enough to burgle. I will take this and be on my way.

Let's see, what else do I want to do in town? Oh, right. The flower.

First time, I panicked, flung it at Mira for being a great team leader, and fled for my life.

Second time, I tried to use it to bury the hatchet with Bonnie and only succeeded in weirding them out and making things awkward.

This time. This time, I have a plan. I'm going to pry Isa's secret love confession out of him. Right in front of the Favor Tree. Where my Lemonfriend is stalking me. Hm.

...

CAUTION TO THE WIND!

Oh my god he's so goddamn precious

Yeah. I didn't spoil my appetite with pain du chocolat this time so I was ravenous and prepared!

Then I got up to refill my drink and suddenly I hear a sickening CRRRKKK and then the goddamn bread was broken in half. How!? How do you people always know that I'm watching for that!? Which one of you is temporally screwing with me!?

I feel like I'm losing my mind. This is literally worse than dying. I will find you, Breadripper.

But I gave you a pretty flower and everything. Come on, man. Find your nerve!

*sigh* I'm going back to sleep. Enjoy your face pillow.

Good night, Isa.

That feels like it's going to be important to remember for later. Typically, if trying to read it causes physical pain, it's probably some sort of horrifying eldritch text from beyond time and space. Which usually means it's definitely worth the effort to figure out how to read it! It might hold the secret to unlimited happiness.

It means a person of slim characterization and very limited expressiveness, designed to allow the audience to easily project themselves.

Our reality's principle form of violence is playing Rock-Paper-Scissors. What are you even supposed to do with a spear?

...I mean. I guess I have this knife I use to form Scissors. Mira's got a rapier for the same purpose. Isa gets Rock out of his punching gloves while Madame Odile's Tome makes Paper.

Not sure how Mirabelle's doing Paper attacks with a sword, though. That's kind of weird. Mira, where are you getting the Paper from? Do you have a motivational brochure for the Change religion as a sidearm?

Oh my god she uses a rapier.

Mira's weapon is a blade made from thin folded steel. That's where the Paper comes from. That's genius. Mira, you're a goddamn genius.

Okay. I get it now. I understand how weaponcraft in our world of Jankenpon Combat works. So yes, this spear would be a Scissors weapon. But since it's a spear, you could also use it as a bo staff. Would it then qualify as Scissors/Rock?

Hmm....

I appreciate your pragmatism. Contextually speaking, in times of crisis, it's not stealing. It's requisitioning.

Now let's requisition whatever isn't nailed down.

Oh shit, that's the traditional Rider-Waite Eight of Pentacles.

The Pentacles sign typically pertains to commerce, labor, and material affairs. This particular card usually symbolizes slow and steady skill progression at a menial craft. The man depicted is practicing his trade, carrying out the repetitive but necessary task of crafting his wares - and in so doing, developing his skill and becoming more capable in the production of his craft.

It's not hard to see the relationship between this card and the timey-wimey mission we're on right now.

There it is. We've found the key with diagnosed and well understood gender dysphoria.

Just because the egg has cracked, that doesn't mean this key is necessarily comfortable with announcing itself yet. Cracking the egg and coming out are very different experiences. If the key doesn't feel safe or ready to do the latter then it's fine for it to remain in the drawer for however long it needs.

...

Or it would be fine except we need to unlock a door. So. Uh. We'll just ignore that for the purposes of the metaphor.

Do not force people out of their closet even if the world is in danger.

[uncannychange]

At twenty-one years of age, Norman Aaron Goddard was what some would call a “poor little rich boy” born to privilege. He took what he wanted when he wanted it and did not ask for a please or thank you for being heard and was nasty rude about it at the same time.

He was particularly egregious in how he treated women; in fact, it was his behavior in that regard that had gotten him kicked out of five colleges.

His parents, having had all they could take, sent him off to a military academy that, owing to its name, Fort Discipline, would be just the place.

So in went Norman, and that was all the Goddards heard of him for a solid six months because, you know… discipline.

Then, just before Thanksgiving, he was allowed one call.

“Hey, Mom.” said Norman, then he fell silent, not knowing just how to break the news that Fort Discipline was not really a “military” school as they thought, but something new called a “Conciliatory School” which by hook or by crook, including hypnosis and a dozen other things, saw to it the malefactors made amends for their grievances by walking much more than a mile in the shoes of the ones they had harmed.

As such, Norman had been put into a rather fancy pointed pair of those shoes, along with some other more extreme changes.

“Home for Christmas?” Norman ended his call after not really saying all that much. " No, I think I’ll stay at the school. I’ve still got a lot of adjusting to deal with.” With that, he hung up, relieved he could drop his attempt at deepening his voice and instead return to the natural mezzo-soprano speaking voice he now had.

[tomorrowusa]

China is joining Russia as part of an axis of misinformation in trying to influence American elections.

Rachel Maddow referenced this article in her report from the nonpartisan Foundation for Defense of Democracies (FDD). It's worth a look.

Much Ado About ‘Somethings’

Being a democracy can be a disadvantage in the digital age. Malefactors can easily manipulate information to attempt to achieve dubious goals.

We need to retaliate against China and Russia. But spamming such populations under totalitarian rule would not have the same impact that it does in democracies. But we could try to punch holes in the firewalls such countries erect around their own information infrastructure. Let the breeze of free information occasionally flow and permit Russians to know about Putin's war crimes in Ukraine and let Chinese see Xi's genocide against the Uygurs in Xinjiang.

What people can do here is get off of Twitter/X and urge others to do the same. Under megalomaniac billionaire Elon Musk, misleading information and hate speech have grown exponentially on the platform.

Old habits die hard and some people have a preternatural attachment to tweeting. But as we see in Rachel Maddow's piece and in the FDD article, Twitter/X is responsible for an inordinate amount of misinformation. It's time to starve the beast one account at a time.

[prolifeproliberty]

Good Friday - Part 7

”And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us. But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.

And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.“

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23‬:‭39‬-‭43‬ ‭KJV‬‬

[billetwoes]

It Has Begun! Billet Woes Part 1

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at fanfic. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, rudeness is not.

Word Count: 1,637

Synopsis: You are one of the volunteers scattered throughout Earth Realm and Outworld that have volunteered to billet MK1 protectors that assigned to you when necessary. You take this as the highest honour and are wholly committed to giving your all to being the best host to your temporary billet guest. However, will the guest assigned to you return the same courtesy?

**************

When Lord Liu Kang became the Wielder of the Hourglass, he had sworn to craft a timeline where all the Realms will get the opportunity to experience and therefore value peace. It had taken him aeons to craft a timeline with certain malefactors are neutralized in some individuals to keep evil ambitions and tendencies at bay, whereas certain opportunities to build better lives and relationships were given to others. Overall, it can be attested that it was one of the best timelines, first of its kind, created by the former Earth Realm Champion turned Fire God.

A mutual agreement between Earth Realm and Outworld was established and has been in effect for centuries. Warriors and protectors are temporarily housed and looked after when on active missions and during times where certain locations needed to be patrolled due to the likelihood of unauthorized portals that pose potential risks of invaders and troublemakers.

Few individuals scattered throughout the two realms who not only know of Lord Liu Kang’s and the current Outworld’s ruling monarch’s existence and but are supportive of their missions for peaceful co-existence. Volunteers have been approached by the Fire God himself regarding billeting arrangements, and all have usually been glad to volunteer, unless unexpected life events happen. Some are excited to learn about different realms and their cultures; some love to hear stories of adventures and victorious battles and life experiences while carousing, which can get interestingly hilarious; and some are being paired with certain individuals for, well, who knows what. These types of experiences tend to be like buying one of those plastic eggs from one of those $0.50 gumball machine and getting all excited to find out the contents of the egg that was randomly chosen for you. Sometimes the item’s exciting, sometimes it’s disappointing. Occasionally, it’s painfully amusing.

In the present day, people in your neck of the woods are going about your day-to-day life. You had just finished your shift at your office job and were sorting out stacks of paper to deal with the next day, and then proceeded to put on your camel coat and took your car keys out of your handbag as you positioned the straps on your shoulders and headed to the car.

After passing a few colleagues on your way to the car with pleasantries and well-wishes for the evening and stepped on a banana peel and nearly fell down the stairs, you finally reach your car, hopped in, and suffered the rush hour traffic but had an old CD with nostalgic music from high school playing to keep your sanity.

You finally made it home and settled your stuff in their homes and was greeted by a domestic shorthaired gray and white cat named Minou while the other one named Bijoux, who was an aloof calico cat, couldn’t give a damn; she was perched on top of a cat tree by one of the big windows of your two-bedroom apartment where you’re currently living in alone. You had just gotten settled when you heard a knock on the door. You go to answer it and were in shock as you were greeted by Lord Liu Kang. Your jaw must have dropped to the ground, as always, to which the Fire God responded with a polite smile.

“Greetings, Y/N,” he started, “I am here on billeting business.”

You opened the door wide and gestured for him to come in eagerly and then gave a respectful bow.

“Lord Liu Kang, it is an honour, as always,” you greeted back with a smile, “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be appreciated.”

Both the kitties quickly rushed over to greet the new visitor, with choruses of meows and trills. Minou, the social butterfly of the two immediately busied herself circling and marking the Fire God’s booted feed and then flopped on her back to expose her belly while purring loudly. The Fire God has been marked as one of her favourites. On the other hand, once Bijoux had her fill of sniffing walked away a few feet before settling on staring at Liu Lang with wide and interested eyes. Liu Kang reached down to give the social kitty some pets and chuckled before the both of you met at the living room with you holding a tray of green tea in a tea pot and two sets of cups and saucers. You poured tea in one cup and handed it on the saucer to your very important visitor, which he received appreciatively.

As you went to sit down, you nearly sat on Bijoux who had snuck behind you to take your spot on the couch. You caught yourself on time when she gave a sharp yowl, scratched your butt twice, jumped behind the couch, hissed, and then disappeared into your bedroom.

You shrugged and gave a sheepish look before sitting down on the other couch that is perpendicular to the other one that Liu Kan sat on.

“I will not take too much of your time,” he began, taking a sip of tea.

“I understand I will be billeting someone again,” you nodded, interested to find out who you will be housing this time. You had billeted before and so far, the experiences had been interestingly wonderful. Like, you never thought that you would have a day where you were stuck in Costco for HOURS geeking out over every items with a lovely Outworld demon turned almost human named Ashra, who was fascinated with every samples being offered. Not to mention, she turned heads, partly due to her alluring and attractive appearance and partly due to her Kriss. In the end, both of you exited with $1,500 worth of food, snacks, and beverage items but in high spirits!

“Yes,” he replied, “There is a suspicious area outside your city where a portal has been spotted to materialize and disappear at random intervals. So far, no threats have come out of it, but we must always be vigilant. We are sending a small group to patrol and monitor the area to make sure that all threats, if any, will be neutralized.”

You nodded while listening attentively. The news made you anxious, as the proximity of this anomaly was so close to home. You were vaguely aware of conflicts relating to Earth Realm, Outworld, the Netherrealm, and other realms, though the outcome had always been positive as Liu Kang’s warriors, champions, and allies have always succeeded. Though you played no frontline roles (thank goodness!) in their affairs, you and many other willing volunteers played very important roles in providing support to the realms’ protectors, which is a huge honor in and of itself. Discussions were always had regarding matching a warrior’s schedule in the absence of emergencies with your family lives, schedules, jobs, and, most importantly, financials. Expectations on the billet families roles have always been clear and accommodations. Communication between hosts and guests are a must.

“Since you have been successful in your past billeting experiences, our arrangement continues, unless you no longer can continue,” Liu Kang said, taking another sip of tea. There was never any pressure to accept an arrangement before it began, but are expected to commit once agreed on.

“I’m sure I’m able to continue,” you replied eagerly, “How long am I expected to house a warrior?”

“Give it a month, more or less,” he replied, “I also understand that you enjoy cooking?” He looked at you knowingly with a smile.

“I do enjoy it very much, even though I’m no Master Chef,” you admitted humbly, “It’s more a hobby. I love to explore and try new recipes, and billeting has given me inspiration and drive to do so.”

Liu Kang nodded in confirmation, “Very well, then. I am pairing you with a warrior who is suitable and won’t be difficult to accommodate. He will be part of a group stationed in your city and the members will be on a rotation to patrol the suspicious. His shift is scheduled to coincide with yours as close as possible to minimize any disruption in your day-to-day activities. I understand that you have two jobs?”

“Yes,” Aside from your main job, you also run an Etsy shop, hence the second bedroom, which has become your workshop. So far, your business has been running steadily, that still allows you time to cook, clean and eat out with friends. However, it is mid-September and it tends to pick up as it heads towards the holiday season.

“Can you handle the financial burden of meals and transportation?”

“Yes. I have a fund dedicated to that, and it won’t cut into my day-to-day expenses.”

“Very well. Thank you for aiding us in our mission to keep all the realms safe. May you be blessed” Liu Kang stood up to leave.

“It is an honor, Lord Liu Kang,” You stood and bowed your head in reverence and respect.

He waved his arms in circular motions to summon a portal to what looked like a scenic and beautiful Japanese Garden with a pond in a centre and a beautifully carved wooden bridge over it. You can hear what sounded like warriors training in the background judging by the loud and controlled martial arts sounds.

Liu Kang stepped into the portal, and it quickly vanished.

“Wow! That was amazing,” you said under your breath, staring at a now blank wall. You were brought back to reality when you heard yowling. Startled, you saw Minou staring just as wide eyed at you with her hackles up and crouching as low to the ground as she can. You smiled reassuringly at your fur baby and then went to pick her up to cuddle and stroke her back.

“Looks like we’re gonna meet a new friend!” You cooed into the cat’s fur while giving her rapid kisses.

[theredhavendelegate]

Iss. 8:

Terror On The Block!

The city begins to settle, but something may be lurking beneath the calm surface. Rumors have begun to spread concerning the presence of members of The Eudax Peace Corps in Redhaven. Informed readers may know that The Peace Corps was a branch of The Eudax Covenant’s military that specialized in infiltration, assassination, and (some whisper) even torture.

Special agents with the occupation force claim that some of these spies may still exist within the city, lying in wait to strike out against Confederation forces and government officials alike. A Frontline investigator and counter-terrorism specialist has been searching for evidence of these malefactors for several weeks and claims to have neutralized one such individual already… ---

It rains.

For the first time since the transit, clouds form in the sky and water falls in drops. The rain tamps down the dust, washes away the blood and ash, and beats against the windows of a brick building near Gerhardt Square.

A man sits inside and listens as windows and doors open outside and people step out onto the streets. They hoot and revel, voices echoing between the buildings and into the uncaring sky. Some gather up rain in buckets, wells having just begun to run dry. With all the terror and instability gripping Redhaven, a threat as complete and incurable as the water issue had seemed like the shadow of a noose, and now it was simply solved.

“A miracle by any other name,” the man mutters, rubbing the short, rough hairs on his chin and cheeks.

He wears a white button-up, suspenders, and a pair of sensible cotton slacks. His hair is short and messy, and there are bags under his eyes so old they’ve started paying rent. His skin is tanned, rough, and wrinkled, and his desk is a mess of papers, photos, and unlabeled folders.

There is a placard on the corner of his work top embossed with the phrase ”Det. Frederick Boyd, FC 1st Special Unit”. It is covered in dust.

The rain turns into a background din as Frederick reorganizes his investigation files. He places an old photograph of a young man in uniform, with a square jaw and a shining smile, next to a newer one: the same man, wrinkled and dead-eyed.

A folder ends up beneath the photos and the rest of the material goes into a stack off to one side. The detective pinches the bridge of his nose and pulls a notepad out of his pocket. He flips to one page covered in smudged chicken-scratch and focuses in on the words, ‘hangs out at warehouse 9, block 3’.

“Peace Corps,” he grumbles, rolling the words around in his mouth like the shells of sunflower seeds, spitting them out with disgust. He flexes all four of the fingers remaining on his left hand, the ghost of an index finger pulling taut around nothing.

He takes a deep breath, rises to his feet, and shuffles his files away into a locked filing cabinet. He draws a revolver from the drawer beneath it, then he dawns a coat and hat. He stares out the widow, looking over the square as a group of children run around the statue at it’s center. One rascal jumps in a puddle and then kicks a wave onto the kid nearest, laughing all the while.

“It’s a terrible day for rain,” Fred murmurs. “But not for everyone.”

---

It rains.

A man stands on a street corner beneath a faded blue canopy, situated across the street from a towering brick building. He is wearing a coat and hat, and his gaze lingers on the end of the road.

A figure emerges from around a corner, another man, this one in his late middle-ages. He is well worn, his broad build and sagging shoulders suggesting lost strength. Fred ducks back into cover as the stranger hurries along the sidewalk with a suitcase, then stops in front of a door. The man glances around and pushes his way into the massive brick behemoth.

Frederick waits, just for a minute, then crosses the street. The rain is thundering now and he’s soaked by the time he’s fully across. The door isn’t shut all the way, it’s cracked just a hair, and a shuffling sound echoes from deeper within.

The detective places his hand on the door and then stops himself from pushing it open. He glances up at the barest glint of light on glass, an empty bottle set on the top lip of the door. He pauses, takes a breath, then opens the door fully with one hand. The other snatches the bottle out of the air as it comes tumbling down and Frederick sets it on the sidewalk before allowing himself in.

The interior of the warehouse is cool. The air is damp and almost every surface is dusty or cob-webbed, clearly having been abandoned since before The Great Transit.

Fred moves slowly, the rubber soles of his shoes barely tapping as he works his way around a stack of crates to get a better view of the warehouse floor. The ground is strewn with detritus and the center of the space isn’t as dusty as the rest. The older man is working near the opposite wall, tossing pieces of broken palette wood into a barrel and pouring petrol in after. His suitcase is set to the side.

Frederick watches the man work for a moment longer, and then he lights the flame. The contents of the barely go up with a woosh that echoes around the warehouse and shakes the high glass windows, and Fred finally comes out from his cover.

He steps into the gloom, raising his revolver with his left hand, and clears his throat. “Step back and put your hands behind your head.”

The man turns around with his hands slightly raised. “What do you want,” he groans, his expression fearful. “I don’t have anything left to take.”

Fred answers, “I want to know what’s in the suitcase. It seems to me that you’re attempting to dispose of something.”

“Dispose of something?” the man whines. “People burn their trash all the time, toss things into ditches, who cares? It’s garbage, not a crime.” His demeanor has shifted slightly. The fear is giving way to something that’s harder to read, calmer.

Fred takes a few steps forward and says, “If it’s just trash, then you won’t mind if I take a look, just to make sure?”

The man doesn’t answer and the detective takes that as permission. He sidles over to the suitcase, keeping as wide a berth as he can from his target.

He places a hand on the suitcase, keeping the revolver raised with the other, and undoes the latches one at a time. He catches sight of a uniform as the lid swings open. Dark grey with dark green trim, and his eyes fall for just a second.

There is a crash, a heavy, metallic thunk-thud as the man throws the burn-barrel to the floor. Ash and debris blow out in a cloud and embers fly through the air, landing on every flammable thing in the space. Frederick raises his gun again but lowers it when ash lands in his eye and blinds him. By the time he can clear his vision and put his finger on the trigger again, the man is gone and the back door is swinging.

Fred takes off, across the room, through the door, and into the downpour, ash running off of his hat and coat as rivulets of clay.

He pounds down the alley and rounds a corner. His target is attempting to climb a fence. He pauses to aim. The man flounders. Frederick pulls the trigger with his middle finger and the shot rings out.

His quarry fumbles off of the fence and onto the ground.

The man clutches at his leg, dark, dark red seeping out and mixing with the rainwater beneath him. He watches the detective approach, old eyes sharp with pain, but mouth silent.

Fred doesn’t lower his gun as he approaches. At around ten feet, he stops. “Were you with The Peace Corps? Do you know about any other agents in the city? Have they really all been disbanded?”

The man coughs and shrugs. Fred pulls the trigger half way, engaging the hammer and drawing it partially back. The man slumps and says, “Yes, no, and I don’t know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The man grits his teeth, “First: I used to be, second: I don’t know of any others in the city, and third: I don’t know if they’ve been disbanded. They kicked me out several years ago, dishonorable discharge.”

Fred tilts his head slightly. “What for? Crack too many skulls?”

The man laughs at that, then winces. “No, but that’s a funny thing to say. Exact opposite, actually. I went soft, disobeyed orders, and you wouldn’t believe some of the orders they gave. They took everything from me and sent me packing. I didn’t turn into a good man, but…well…” He waits for a moment, something stirring on his face. He looks up again sorrowfully and finishes, “I could’ve been worse.”

The detective keeps his target sighted, but he pauses now. As he stares, realization grows on the his target’s face.

The wounded man asks, “What happened to your trigger finger, southpaw?”

Frederick lowers the gun slightly, tightens his lips, and mutters, “Lost it to the same folks.” The detective lowers his gun further and raises a sympathetic brow. He sticks his right hand out and says, “Look, whatever you did before, you might be able to make up for it. Why don’t you come with me, sort things out?”

The man’s eyes have gone dark, his shoulders slumped and his clothing soaked through with rain and blood. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I really am, but there are sins you can’t atone for, things that nobody can atone for.” He makes a sudden move, reaches behind himself and pulls up a dark object.

Frederick fires on reflex.

The object falls to the ground.

It’s an empty leather wallet. The detective stares at it, at the man, who seems to stare back with unblinking eyes. He can't tear his eyes away.

It’s a terrible day for rain.

---

First

Prev

Next

[warningsine]

The first crime scene in the new season of “True Detective” isn’t that of the seven gnarled, naked bodies we see piled on top of one another in the snow at the end of Episode 1, but of a more mundane violence. A woman tries to flee her physically abusive boyfriend, and he tracks her down at work. This time, he gets walloped, with a metal bucket, by his girlfriend’s co-worker, an older woman. The blow leaves his face a gory mess. The officer who arrives to escort the man off the premises, Evangeline Navarro (Kali Reis), asks the girlfriend whether she’ll press charges against her ex; the trooper doesn’t offer him the same choice before putting him in cuffs. The local chief of police, Liz Danvers (Jodie Foster), isn’t exactly complimentary when she later says that Navarro’s “got this thing about women who get hurt.” The arrest feels righteous, but the stench of the man’s menace lingers. Tidy endings are hard to come by, especially once blood has been spilled.

There’s a refusal to separate or elevate sensational brutality from the everyday sort in this latest installment of the HBO anthology drama—a feminist revision of a series best known for its macho poetry and its ogling eye. The show’s creator, Nic Pizzolatto, had his mostly male investigators contend with child murderers and pedophile rings; the QAnon-esque luridness of those crimes haunted the grizzled detectives for decades thereafter. The writer-director Issa López, who has taken over from Pizzolatto as showrunner, moves the action from sunbaked states to the fictional town of Ennis, Alaska, where, as of mid-December, daylight won’t return for several weeks. The uninterrupted Arctic dark lends the season its subtitle, “Night Country,” as well as its wintry, edge-of-civilization atmospherics. Watching the six-part season from under a blanket in California, I couldn’t get warm.

The dead men who form the chilly, Boschian tableau at the pilot’s conclusion are (or were) scientists at a research station on the outskirts of Ennis. With unknown funders and an improbable mission, the facility was shrouded in mystery even before its occupants turned up on the ice with their faces literally frozen in horror. But Navarro is hopeful that their bizarre fate will offer some clues in a homicide case that she and Danvers worked on years earlier—the unsolved murder of a Native woman named Annie Kowtok (Nivi Pedersen), who agitated against the mine that the town relies on for most of its jobs—when Annie’s severed tongue materializes, without explanation, in the scientists’ mess hall.

Here, the “True Detective” formula kicks in: Danvers and Navarro reunite as partners despite their mutual suspicion, and their rocky history eventually threatens their credibility on the new case. Conspiracies, hostile forces, and occult flourishes abound. The universe of the show is one in which the police—even the brilliant ones—are always failing. Danvers has long since reconciled herself to that reality: of the earlier cold case, she says, “This one was never gonna be solved. Ennis killed Annie.” She’s an outsider, unmoved by Navarro’s insistence that a white murder victim wouldn’t have been so readily forgotten. Nor is she particularly sensitive toward her stepdaughter, Leah (Isabella Star LaBlanc), whose newfound embrace of political activism—and of her Native heritage—she considers a needlessly risky attempt at teen-age rebellion. In Danvers’s view, there’s no ridding the world, or even her own squad, of shit-heels and malefactors; there’s only limiting the damage.

Whereas Pizzolatto’s iteration of the show had few female characters of substance, the new season delights in the complexities of its women protagonists. The chief’s no-nonsense veneer allows her to insult her subordinates, including her shiftless deputy Hank (John Hawkes), without it feeling all that personal. But she’s got a maternal side—one that she indulges with Hank’s son, Peter (Finn Bennett), a junior officer—as well as a penchant for affairs with married men that’s made her persona non grata among many women in town.

Foster has spent much of the past decade and a half behind the camera, as a director, but she’s lost none of the cerebral confidence that has underpinned her distinctive sex appeal. It’s no shock that she’s compulsively watchable. It is a pleasant surprise that her nearly unknown co-star is just as compelling, with a refreshingly naturalistic screen presence. Reis, a professional boxer turned actor with cheek piercings where her dimples might be, looks so solid from the neck down that her body is like one long, taut muscle, but her character has a habit of picking fights she’s unlikely to win. Navarro’s volatility masks deep-seated vulnerabilities. Her unstable mother died before sharing Navarro’s Inupiaq name with her, leaving her painfully disconnected from her culture. She lives in fear that her sister, Julia (Aka Niviâna), who’s already been institutionalized once, may slip through the cracks if she continues to resist treatment—and that Julia isn’t the only member of the family who inherited their mother’s hallucinations. Not everyone finds the apparitions the siblings struggle to shake off so unnatural. “Ennis is where the fabric of all things is coming apart at the seams,” Navarro’s friend Rose (Fiona Shaw) says; she routinely sees her deceased lover roaming the tundra. “This is Ennis, man,” another character says simply. “You see people who are gone sometimes. It’s a long fucking night. Even the dead get bored.”

In the prestige-TV era, the police procedural has grasped for cachet through social critique (“The Wire”) or cool vibes (“Fargo”). Some achieve both—“Top of the Lake” is an easy example—but, in less adept hands, the former can feel like homework and the latter a shallow exercise in style. (In the most recent season of “Fargo,” self-serious kitsch and punishing sincerity layered irritation on irritation.) Pizzolatto’s “True Detective,” which last aired five years ago, ran largely on vibes, too, and when sleaze and nihilism couldn’t sustain its overcomplicated plotting, the mysteries sagged.

López has accomplished the uncommon feat of resuscitating a franchise that didn’t deserve saving. She first broke out with “Tigers Are Not Afraid,” a 2017 film that blended human horrors and magical realism, and her season of “True Detective” pulls off the same balancing act. Although Danvers, like the show’s original protagonist (played by Matthew McConaughey), obsesses over “asking the right questions,” López isn’t always interested in furnishing answers, and the series mostly benefits from her willingness to dwell in ambiguity. Are Julia’s visions a by-product of schizophrenia, as her doctors suggest, or rooted in spiritual truth? The matter is never fully litigated. López’s dialogue is more pedestrian than her predecessor’s, but she has an instinct for imagery that’s both genuinely frightening and strangely inviting, amplifying the scripts’ thematic heft. “Night Country” plays with the gendered expectations behind certain TV-cop tropes: it’s Danvers, not Hank, who models self-destructive workaholism for Peter, downing vodka alone and poring over case files before pulling him away from his family on Christmas Eve. The season is similarly probing about the moral authority that can be reflexively assigned to women over men in our fantasies of female vengeance for male aggression. Through it all, meditations on the unknowability of the cosmos are offset by close observations of relationships—however contingent or dysfunctional they may be. By grounding her supernatural whodunnit in more intimate, interpersonal dramas, López transforms “True Detective” from a lot of mystical mumbling into a show with something to say. ♦

[princeescaluswords]

CAN DO NO WRONG

I have a favorite character -- it's not hard to find out who -- and the most prominent complaint I've heard from a hostile fandom is that "everyone treats Scott as perfect!" and "the show acts as if Scott can do no wrong." And it's always been perplexing to me how people can say that. The show had this character frequently being wrong, being punished for being wrong, being humiliated for being wrong, and nearly being killed for being wrong. In the fifth season, my favorite character walked around for six episodes (out of twenty) with a non-healing chest wound the size of a softball because he got tricked by one of the season's villains. Now, supernatural healing was one of his major abilities, so it was a big deal, and the key for him overcoming it was making up for the mistakes he made. And they still argue that everyone treats him as if he "can do no wrong."

Now, part of it -- as I've explained in depth -- is racism. Certain members of the fandom wanted any of a number of white male characters to be the lead protagonist, and because they weren't, they looked for reasons to hate the Latino heroic protagonist. The accusation of him never being punished or being held accountable for his actions is a favorite, and somehow, no matter how many times Scott faced consequences or punishment in the show and how many times fans of the show point it out, it's never enough. Of course, this is because the only consequence this racist fandom would accept is him not being the lead protagonist.

But I feel there's another reason as well. Every week, I see someone defend the right to be a fan of villains. And they're right! It's wonderful to find a villain who speaks to you on a visceral level. it's thrilling to identify with the urge to toss away the restrictions we find ourselves burdened with every day. However, when you emotionally connect with such a character that strongly, there is the urge to see that character succeed.

In my particular show, the villains often do succeed to an extent. Peter Hale, the villain of the first and fourth seasons, was a manipulative serial killer who ambushed and murdered his own family and mutilated and violated children, yet he walked around for 38 episodes free and unmolested after his first murder spree, and he ended the series with his liberty and his millions in tact with a new family. And yet, his fans act as if he was the most persecuted person in the cast.

I can't help but think that there is a lack of awareness that the antagonist they are so fond of can't succeed completely: they're the villain after all! This isn't "useless" moralizing. Aristotle called phenomena such as this a universal in his Poetics, a central requirement of good storytelling. A villain can only triumph in a tale of nihilistic and/or dystopian horror, because no one, not even the most macho libertarian sociopath, truly wants to exist in the despotic world that successful villains would create. No one with any sense of dignity or self-preservation wants to imagine a world where brutality and manipulation are virtues and compassion and honesty are vices. No reader or character prefers savagery over civilization, or wants the strong to freely prey on the weak. Not even the villains themselves.

Those who create understand this; the triumph of the villain who remains a villain is inherently unsatisfying. Those who enjoy art understand this; they instinctively react to a story where the wrongdoer's victory is treated as a triumph with either horror at the creator's vision or disdain for the creator's immaturity. The only way for the villain's conquest to satisfy is for the villain to stop being the villain, and the easiest way for the audience to achieve that state is to undermine the hero.

That's why heroic protagonists are attacked as being full of flaws and flawless at the same time. Why characters who are set up in opposition to malefactors are labeled as either hypocritical White Knights or naive Don Quixotes. Why organizations portrayed as good in their fictions and targeted for destruction by the villains -- such as the Jedi from the Star Wars stories -- are suddenly dismissed as unrealistic or recontextualized as the "real" villains. When we look at the media -- the actual media -- are we really supposed to think that Scott McCall is a moron tyrant? That the Jedi are arrogant, brain-washing baby-nappers?

The essence of this universal is simply too powerful: the only way for them to truly and freely enjoy stanning the villain is to make every other character worse and by fandom alchemy render the label villain inconsequential. Unfortunately for them, the essentials of storytelling run counter to this, and so heroic protagonists who struggle but ultimately triumph must be criticized because they can do no wrong.