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c0wb0yenthusiast · 6 months ago

Text

My Lady

Feyd Rautha x Fem!Reader

Word count : 6.5k

Warnings : SMUT! let me know in the comments if I’ve missed anything

Summary : You’re being married off to the mysterious Na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Feyd Rautha is a strange man, but his confusing mannerisms frustrate you throughout his stay in your planet. However, how do you supposed he feels about you?

Feyd Rautha is a leader.

Feyd Rautha is a prince.

He has a whole nation willing to submit to his every request. He does not have time to be waiting for his alleged ‘bride’.

So why is he standing in the hallway like a lost child? It only heightens his anger, his frustration.

You must be making him wait out of spite, since it’s so obvious you harbour no reason to appreciate this marital alliance. He’s already drafting up wicked ideas of what his witch for a wife will look like; clearly you haven’t shown yourself until the last moment to be spared from any chances of spending time with your new husband.

Of course, it’s no secret that the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program may seem ‘unfair’ to some. Like pairing such a worthy, well-bred prince such as Feyd with a young woman who hasn’t been raised right - this must only benefit the alliance of nations and different species.

His posture can only be described as perfection. His shoulders drawn and broad, hands tucked behind his back in an orderly manner to appear more powerful - after all, first impressions are important for alliances.

Even in thought, he cannot call this a marriage. The very thought of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he desires to get rid of as quickly as possible.

However, with perfection comes sacrifices. Since the moment he stepped foot onto your land - your territory - Feyd braced himself as if he were walking straight into an ambush and you were the enemy. His muscles strained against the plain, dark cloths he’d adorned today instead of his usual armour. He was vulnerable to his surroundings now, unshielded and alone.

He pays close attention to the hallway he finds himself dawdling in. It’s dim, built with smooth bricks that are cool to the touch. But that is no distraction for what is to come any moment now.

In mere moments, the two of you were to meet for the first time and officiate your marriage. You were to be his wife, provide him with children and continue the Harkonnen lineage. That is what a successful alliance was, as well as what was expected of by the Reverend Mothers who set up this marriage in the first place.

Feyd forces any kind of hesitation out of his mind, why should he be unwilling? All you needed to do was perform your marital duties and live with him. You don’t even need to be in the same room with him after that. It was simple enough for Feyd to understand after it had been instilled in his head ever since he’d been born.

Feyd was ready to commit to making this alliance work out for both of your nations. As for his own martial duties? It would be as easy as his fights in the arena, entertaining even. You’re just another enemy he needs to fight off in another way.

He doesn’t flinch when the door next to him opens slowly and your father comes out, inviting him in to meet his newly wed.

Then he saw you.

He cannot begin to explain the flood of unfamiliar emotions that crashed once he caught sight of you. He knew you wouldn’t look like his own kind - but this is something entirely different. You are unlike his Darlings back in Giedi Prime, unlike any kind of princess or woman who has come to witness his battles. His feelings towards you deviate from the usual ones he’s been indoctrinated to feel. You’re beautiful in a way that aches.

You are the beginning of his newfound hunger for something new, something he simply doesn’t want to understand.

Feyd Rautha is smitten. So profoundly smitten, it causes him pain that he doesn’t enjoy for once. It gnaws at his bones as he continues to glare at you while entering the room.

“Please, My Lord, have a seat.” You sound mostly unaffected, he isn’t able to piece together what is forming inside your mind. But he can already tell. You’ve probably studied him before this, obvious from your lack of surprise which surprisingly pains him. He wants to know what you’re thinking.

Deep down, he craves to know if you’re experiencing the same feelings as he is now.

Even if he can’t decipher them.

He opts to stand by the chair you’d gestured to, but it only brings a small hint of confusion as you rise out of your chair to greet him.

“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, you are a mighty warrior and prince. I am glad to become your wife and unite our nations.” You’re dressed for the occasion; your pure white gown flows while you move, practically making your face glow as if you were the only significant thing in the room. And you were to Feyd.

You were his bride.

You were his and that is what mattered to him. Having possession over the finest woman in all the land, it was like a blessing in his honour.

He ignores your suspiciously dull tone, overcome by the sheer beauty that he is currently facing instead.

“As am I.” Feyd struggles to force these words out, he could almost choke on them. His raspy tone seems to shock you, your eyes widen for a split second.

But then you relax just as quick, crossing your hands over one another as you look up at him to talk.

“In my culture, we commemorate marriage with rings. A symbol of our union. We took the time to forge a pair for the occasion.”

He’s too busy watching your lips to pay attention to the servant holding out the rings, but quickly takes one and entraps it inside his fist.

“My Lord? Will you not wear your ring now?”

He almost felt himself falter at the sight of your concern - it seems genuine. The gentle frown on your lips as you wait for an answer tugs at his chest. You wanted him to honour your nation, you wanted him to honour his own marriage.

Feyd doesn’t answer, only unclenching his fist slowly and then sliding the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, prompting him to examine it for a couple of moments before being interrupted by you again.

“I made sure to choose the most special designs for us. We both have a gem sacred to our culture in the centre of the ring. Look.” You guide your hand towards his cautiously, observing his reaction for any kind of surprise or aggression.

Feyd stays as still as a stone, allowing your tender hand to gesture to the gem encrusted in his wedding band. Although the jewel is a deep, crimson colour it has a small glint that catches his eye. It looks rather simple compared to his Harkonnen style ring, symbolising his lineage and loyalty to his own nation.

Now he had to balance two kinds of priorities: his marriage and his clan.

“When will the ceremony take place?” He finally manages to muster up something showing any kind of intelligence, but it doesn’t phase you. You’re probably already thinking about the rest of your life with a cold, barbaric sadist.

“Well, right now we have just officially married. This was represented by the rings. Tomorrow, we plan on hosting a dinner before I leave for Geidi Prime. Is that all?” Your question isn’t intimidating or full of anger, rather more curious. He’d like to think that you wanted to know more, but now Feyd is mentally batting this newfound want to please you, have you smile or praise him. He is too busy to consider what your true intentions could be.

“Yes. I want to be shown to my chambers.” He nods, placing his hands behind his back once more. To you it looks polite, whereas Feyd sees it as restraining himself. He can’t shake the urge to touch you, claim you properly as his own and see if you’re any different from his own kind. Is your skin softer? What does your hair feel like? All of these questions rush through his mind continuously, pushing his boundaries further and further.

You have no time to respond since Feyd has already left the room, practically charging out with a servant trailing behind him. He cannot bear to look at your face any longer.

It will only feed his delusions of the possibility of love in this alliance.

Feyd is no stranger to the nighttime, but the peace that comes with the loneliness is new to him. When he usually stalked the halls in Giedi Prime, tension was thick in the atmosphere, so thick it could’ve choked him. But that wouldn’t have deterred Feyd’s other senses. There was always some reason to have his guard up.

Yet, as he stared up at the moon from the courtyard, there was only the sound of his quiet, quick breaths. He was still dressed in his cloths from earlier, hesitant towards the idea of becoming any more vulnerable if he let himself adorn his nightclothes. The breeze presses against his face gently, gliding off of his skin and clothes as he absorbs the new sensation of the cool air. Your planet was almost as mysterious as you, so many things unexplained that he surprisingly cannot say a bad word about.

The soft patter of gentle footsteps on the cool stones disrupt his solace, prompting Feyd to whip his head in your direction. You’re making your way towards him slowly, holding up the hem of your nightgown to prevent it from getting any stains from the damp grass of the courtyard. His eyes glaze over your figure highlighted in the moonlight, but only more dramatised from the thin, white fabric of your gown. He quickly averts his gaze before you’re able to get close enough to notice, pretending that he hasn’t even bothered to look at you.

You don’t say anything as you approach. Your hands lie limply by your sides once you stand beside him, tilting your head up to look at the moon.

“Do you not have a moon in Geidi Prime?” It’s soft and cautious, as if you’re treading water and trying to see if you’ll sink.

“We do. It isn’t like your planet at all. Hardly anything is similar.” His sentences are short and unintentionally as sharp as his posture.

“That is why we’re married, is it not? To bring together two nations who could benefit from each other.”

He nods in agreement and watches you out of the corner of his eye; he can see the subtle curve of your lips and how it changes your entire face tremendously. Feyd can’t tear his attention away from you.

“I’m glad that you came to my planet, my lord. I’m sorry if this isn’t how a princess should speak… but it will help my people and that is my sworn duty. Thank you.” You add, bowing your head to him shortly. It’s an embarrassment for a princess to be acting so informally when unchaperoned, you scold yourself.

He nods again, and you can feel a hint of amusement bubbling within your chest.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you? Are all Harkonnens like this?” You’re trying not to faint at the possibility of getting shut down or even attacked, yet it hasn’t unnerved you entirely. You don’t know enough about your husband to know what to expect for your honeymoon in Giedi Prime - which can have consequences for the better or worse.

Finally, he tilts his head in your direction. His eyes linger on your face as his mouth opens to respond.

“No.”

You chuckle, putting a hand to your mouth as you smile and look up at him with those bright eyes that Feyd is beginning to grow some kinds of strange feelings for.

“One of my warriors was sent to Giedi Prime when I found out who I was to marry, so I could understand who I would spend my future with. He saw you fighting in the arena - you were much more talkative then.” Your tone is playful as you wait for an answer, shifting closer to him.

Feyd is biting his tongue, letting the molars press deep to the point he feels some kind of pain that brings pleasure. His usual way to cope with complex feelings.

But he’s not even sure of what these current feelings are.

Feyd usually categorises ‘complex’ as a mix of emotions he’s used to. As if it’s a formula. For example, anger and confusion can lead to frustration, which is something he’s been feeling a lot since he’s laid eyes on you.

But that is not the case this time. He is having an irregular formula that could lead to disaster.

One part of his mind is primal, downright carnal as his gaze flickers to the low neckline of your dress. The way your collarbone is illuminated in the moonlight, how little of your body is covered by this ‘gown’ as his eyes roam your shoulders and neck.

The other is unknown. He cannot piece together why you’re like this, why you’re doing these horrible things to his mind and body. What they could cause him to do if these games go on for too long.

“I am very excited on the battlefield. Like a little boy.” He scolds himself, crossing his arms as he reflects on his last time in the arena.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You are just enjoying yourself.”

“So you understand the pleasure of winning battle?”

You’re a taken aback at his direct question, almost shrinking as he peers deep into your eyes.

“I am not usually involved in warfare, but I do find there are other ways to seek this kind of pleasure you speak of.” You’re a little flushed now, nervous of where this topic of ‘pleasure’ could lead to. It’s midnight and you’re alone in the courtyard with your newly wedded husband - what could go wrong?

“I am no child. I understand what you speak of when using the term ‘other ways’.” He’s much closer now, glaring down at you with such an intensity that you feel as if he’s searing marks into your skin from his gaze.

“I am so sorry, Na-Baron. I- I should not have brought this topic up! It is very shameful, so I must depart now.” You turn to leave, about to grasp onto your nightgown when his sudden grip on your wrist makes you gasp.

“Why did you call me Na-Baron?” His tone is low, intimidating and sending sparks down your spine that shouldn’t be there.

“Because… because…” you find yourself at a loss for words, too nervous to attempt to form a response.

“You say that I am your lord, so you are my lady.” His voice comes out raspier, every word has an edge to it as he speaks. You cannot help but feel as if this is a command.

As you’re about to retort, state that he’s never called you ‘his lady’ so far, he leans in closer. His plump lips are parted, allowing his hot breath to fan over your skin. It spreads a sweet, hot sensation that brings up a fever in your mind. Suddenly, your judgement is a little more clouded, intoxicated by his presence.

“You have not said that I am your lady yet.” You whisper, exhaling shaky breaths as your eyes dart from his gaze to his lips. Then again. It’s a battle that you’re losing as you’re too focused on the subtle movement on his lips as he lets out shallow breaths.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, at the meal, I will make sure everyone knows you are mine. My lady.” He adds, letting go gently and backing away. His expression remains stern, but there is some kind of mischievous glint in his eyes. A warning of the true nature of this prince.

You try to make out any kind of smirk now spread across his lips, but he’s completely blank. You’re unable to figure out if he’s teasing you or genuinely took your word. You can only assume the best of your husband and what he seems to be planning as you trudge back to your room confused.

Your father knows how to celebrate - whether it is marriage, birthday, or even a funeral he has never failed to plan the most suitable occasions.

You are hitched into a tight, colourful gown that was made specially for you. This explains why you don’t complain when the strings are pulled in a slightly painful way, when the emergency embroidering needle pokes you a couple of times or even when you’re beginning to feel a little self conscious. What will Feyd think?

At that moment, you catch a glimpse of your reflection - why are you so concerned about him? At the beginning of the union, you were so well versed in how to be a good wife and princess that you had no time to consider your own feelings. You could only follow the schedule. Yet in such a short time he’s managed to chip you down into the scared little girl that you’ve always been and can never deny. It’s embarrassing. You’re embarrassed for yourself.

He’s given you too many different kinds of signals to allow you to consider his true motives, which completely throws you off after the short encounters from yesterday.

This morning, he greeted you swiftly before going to prepare as if last night never happened.

You scoff, looking down at your ring and brushing your thumb over the jewel now. He’s playing with your feelings. Clearly this is just a honeymoon stage for him: prepare you to continue the Harkonnen line, and then leave you in Giedi Prime to fend for yourself with a whole new nation awaiting you.

You’re just a prize to him.

“Your Royal Highness?”

You turn around hastily. Your handmaiden awaits with shoes in her hands, looking up at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” She continues, handing you the shoes gently.

“I am content. Why shouldn’t I be? I am married to the Na-Baron and joining our nations in the process, which will benefit everyone.” You can’t see how hasty your answer was, how automatic it seemed. It was the only feasible reason to marry the Na-Baron, since true love was not a possible idea anymore in the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program.

Your handmaiden nods feebly, allowing you to sit down and hand the shoes back to her. She’s slipping them onto your feet before a much more quieter question hastily escapes her mouth.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

You blink.

You’re about to open your mouth to speak, to try and organise your emotions with someone who isn’t your unpredictable newlywed.

The door opens and your father strides in cheerily, much to your frustration.

“Come on, dear. The table is set and everybody will be seated soon.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t do anything but what you’re told.

Right now, you just need to listen to your previous training and avoid Feyd Rautha. He’s only trying to follow his own rules too.

You walk with your father, arms linked firmly as the two of you approach the large dining hall. It has been decorated top to bottom in lavish jewels that shine, ribbons that wrap around the entire room and lanterns hanging in corners, feebly illuminating the already bright room. However, when it darkens, they will provide a dim light for a more relaxed atmosphere. You’re not phased by any of this, your father has been planning this ceremony since you could walk. Even though some believe your planet is more ‘backwards’, there is still one similar goal - providing heirs to the throne. You shouldn’t be standing alone once your reign starts, as believed by all the Reverend Mothers who have also instilled this idea into your father.

Along comes Feyd Rautha, the Na-Baron, looking for a suitable wife to continue the Harkonnen lineage and help him rule - it’s almost too perfect. The Reverend Mothers’ were onto this completely.

You only look around, a blank expression pasted onto your face. It’s clear as day how bored you are, which prompts a remark from your father.

“Has he said anything to you?” His tone is deep with suspicion. He eyes you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern.

“What?”

“The Na-Baron. Has he upset you, my dear?” You abruptly stop in your footsteps, meeting your father’s gaze.

“No, father. It’s fine. It’s nothing at all.” You shake your head dismissively, sighing and wringing your hands together now.

“You will get used to it - that’s the part that strengthens your marriage. Getting through the hardships and coming to face your situation with a heart of gold, the one that I’ve raised you to have.” He smiles at you fondly, pinching your cheek gently.

Although his words don’t seem to comfort you, you still smile back and nod goodbye as you walk down the long hall to reach your seat.

In the traditional manner of your nation, the bride and groom sit on opposite ends of the large, winding table that stretches from one end of the room to the other. This gives you plenty of time to enjoy the lack of the Na-Baron’s presence, as he seems to trick your mind everytime he is near you.

You take your seat, sitting upright in the grand, wooden chair. It’s hard to get comfortable, forcing you into position for the entirety of the dinner.

Feyd has now entered the room. His stride is intimidating, emitting solidity and power. He’s dressed in an all black uniform once more, but his ring is clear on his finger as he pulls his chair out from across the hall. You’re able to see the subtle glint, which almost makes you want to change your mind. Maybe you’re just assuming the worst.

However, you never knew what to expect with the Reverend Mothers and their underlying sinister motives. For now, you choose to avoid him and carry on with your marriage as calmly as possible. As if it were simply just a business negotiation.

He acknowledges you carefully, nodding towards you before settling himself in his own chair. You only nod back clumsily and cease all contact from there.

Guests arrive slowly. Friends from aristocratic families and governors are the majority, but there are still many people who were invited due to their hard work and contributions to society recorded recently. You make sure to greet them all grandly, smiling and allowing them to shower you with compliments. The Na-Baron stood beside you, watching you intently as you interact with everyone in sight. He doesn’t say a word, his jaw tense and teeth grind together as he watches with lidded eyes.

You falter under his gaze for a moment, but stiffen and keep your composure. If this is how he was going to play, then you were just going to trap him in your own game.

For the rest of the celebration, you avert your gaze away from the Na-Baron. Right now, your main focus is the people and celebrating your nation as well as the marriage.

The meal goes swimmingly - empty courses and platters of food now litter the grand table after such a long feast. So long that by the time you’d finished, the sun had set. You focus on swallowing oddly shaped lumps of food, trying not to choke on even the smallest crumb from the searing gaze of Feyd Rautha.

Although, even when you turn to the most obscure corners, seats and groups of people - Feyd’s eyes are glued to you. His dark eyes blend with his pupils, creating some kind of animalistic glint when the lights reflect in his enlarged pupils. You can almost feel two bruises forming into your back from the intensity of his glare.

Feyd isn’t hurt, he’s not injured or scratched - but he’s been cut deep. So deep that he’s been searching from the origin of this seething pain since this morning; he almost destroyed his room with the pure frustration bubbling within. He knows it has to do with you. You’re the only woman who’s managed to sway him so strongly that his defences have been drawn back in hopes of some sort of victory.

However, tonight is leaving him with anything but victory as he can’t psychically tear his eyes away from you without feeling tortured. Even if you seem to feel the opposite.

You’re so carefree; you talk to the guests with ease and float around the hall in your gorgeous gown that he just wants to rip to shreds. He can’t bear with his facade of yours.

That’s when he decides he’s going to end it. Right here, right now.

You’re in the middle of a conversation when, over the chatter and laughter, you hear it.

Charging footsteps across the hall. You cannot deny who it is, and you’re grasping for any idea of what to say when he now stands beside you.

“My wife.” He declares, unbothered by the concerning throttle filled charge from seconds ago. His voice is sudden, hoarse like usual and rough around the edges.

You’re at a loss for words, smiling timidly at the couple you were just talking to as he now takes your arm firmly and links it around his own. When you finally look up at him, he’s not smiling. He’s unreadable right now.

The cool fabric of his black cloths rub against your skin, barely covered by the sheer fabric of your sleeves.

“My husband.” You nod at the couple, who hastily bow to him.

For the rest of the night, he’s attached to you like a bodyguard. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t smile and does not look at you once. The only sense of security seems to be the arm still linked with yours.

“Why did you do that?”

He pauses when you tear your arm away from him, staying still in his position as you create distance between the two of you.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can- can give me so many different ideas about you? Is that okay? Is it, my lord?” Your voice trips and stumbles as you struggle to even consider what you’re saying as the words fall out of your mouth with no regard for the Na-Baron.

“I don’t understand you! I know it’s been such a short time- and you cannot seem to talk to me- but I just need to know what your intentions are! I am married to you! I deserve to know!” You continue, pausing to gasp for air and let your shaky breaths fill the large, empty room of yours.

The celebrations had died down and the Na-Baron had decided to walk you to your room. Yet on the way there, your tears seemed to form and burst the minute the two of you were locked away in your room.

“My lady..” he murmurs, approaching you slowly. You’re crying, sniffling and backing away with every step he takes.

You’re so desperate to get away from him, but at the same time you’re dying to just throw something at him.

With too many thoughts rushing through your head, the thought never occurs to you of where you were actually going with your unsteady backwards footsteps.

“My lady.” He’s much closer than you realised. You attempt to back up further, but meet resistance with your wardrobe. A strong arm now blocks your last method of escape, caging you against the wardrobe.

He has you cornered. His eyes watch you intently, plush lips parted slightly as he breathes hard.

“You have bewitched me, changed me for what I am. I am no longer a warrior, no longer the Na-Baron since the moment I saw you. I knew that I was to be your husband, but I also knew that as a woman so capable and beautiful - I did not deserve you.”

His face has contorted and twisted into something entirely different; jaw tense with anticipation, eyes soft and pleading as they look at you directly. He’s waiting for you to say something, anything.

You’re in utter shock. This must be the most words he’s said since meeting you, but you’re hanging on to every word. Looking up at him with so many emotions swimming through your eyes that it’s like a turbulent sea.

He exhales, before continuing to speak.

“But I want you. I want you to be mine - my wife.” He sucks in a breath after saying this, as if it pains him somehow to spill such a secret. His brow line furrows in frustration as he attempts to explain, “We barely know each other, but all I know is that there’s been something about you that I ache for. Do you understand? You play with my feelings, my lady. You confuse me, anger me and entice me all at once. A warrior like I shouldn’t feel this way, he shouldn’t let his guard down for a woman. But that is what I’m willing to do right now in order to make my intentions clear.”

As he whispers this, he offers a hand to you carefully. Feyd now watches you intently, waiting for your response.

The room is dim, slithers of moonlight drag across the room in strange rays, casting a glow on the Na-Baron. He’s utterly pitiful in this moment, the moon now bringing to light his vulnerability.

You let out a jagged breath, desperately searching for words to say. When you can’t seem to find any, you bring your hand to his slowly. Your fingers intertwine and clasp each other firmly - an invitation. His hand is cold, calloused and engulfs your own.

You look up to him only to find that another layer has seemed to vanish, his dark eyes now gaze at you longingly. They trail over your dress, and you can almost hear the cogs ticking in his mind.

You swallow thickly, before letting out a hushed murmur, “Are you attempting to undress me with your eyes, my Lord?” There’s a bit of humour to it as a ghost of a smile graces your lips, but it’s overcome by that suddenly dry feeling in your throat and newfound, carnal want for Feyd Rautha.

“If I wanted to, your dress would be in ruins by now, my Lady.” He may banter with you, but there’s also some concern hidden beneath. Do you want him to touch you? What if you don’t like it?

Yet, with a small shrug, you respond.

“I won’t stop you, if that seems to be what we both want.”

His eyes widen slightly, the rush of giddiness that he would usually feel after winning a battle seems to flood his senses. It’s shameful how he now lets go of your hand to run both of them down your waist. It’s deliberately slow. Teasing, even.

“The ties are in the back, Feyd.” You urge, prompting him to move his hands to your back and begin to remove your dress. He’s still lightheaded from the rush of sensations encapsulating his mind, but he’s able to force out his question.

With his arms wrapped around your waist to reach your back, his face is buried in the crook of your neck now. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as he speaks.

“Do you like this dress?” You can feel his lips against your neck now as he talks, but sense him holding back. He’s waiting for the right moment.

You shake your head.

He instantly rips the drawstring of your corset, it’s deliciously animalistic as he tugs it off and allows himself to get a good look at you. His eyes wander hungrily across your body, glancing up at your face as he searches for any reaction.

You’re completely frozen, overwhelmed by the different sensations rushing through your mind: the cold air on your bare skin, his warm, shallow breaths as they leave patches of heat on your body and his intense, unrelenting gaze.

“Do you want this?”

There’s a pause as you attempt to muster any words out of your dry throat. You finally swallow any anxiety, before answering in a whisper.

“Yes, I do.”

His lips are so soft as they push against yours, plush and comforting in contrast to his rough grip on your waist and back to pull you in as close as possible. You don’t retort, arching yourself into him and reaching a desperate arm to wrap around his neck. His hands are large, calloused and cool to the touch as they press into your skin hard. It only pushes you further into him, moaning into the kiss at the pleasurable pain.

Suddenly, you pull away to gasp for air only to be met with dark, pleading eyes that seem to beg you to stay.

“I.. I want to..” you’re a little out of breath, flushed and nervous as you place both hands on his firm chest. Your fingertips trace over the cloth lightly, but ultimately reach his buttons and claw at them hungrily. Your efforts are futile as you’re too enveloped by lust to register how to unbutton his clothes, leading him to place a hand on yours to guide you slowly. Button by button, he reveals himself to you.

His skin is pale, smooth as you run a tentative hand over his chest. His heartbeat is rapid, his breathing is strained as his gaze is fixed on you. He’s got a chiseled body, unscathed and untouched for a warrior. You can only let out a shaky breath as he begins to guide you to the bed, a hand cupping your face.

You’re not thinking straight, your mind finally coming to a halt when you realise your situation. He’s on top of you now, on both knees as he leans over to stroke your face, which has been frozen with shock.

“My lady..” Feyd murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you can feel is erection pressing against your stomach as he’s worshipping your beauty.

You squirm under his grip, strong hands gliding over your neck and shoulders attempting to make you wait. But you’re becoming greedy, you want him now.

A small whine escapes your lips as you try to create some kind of friction, which causes him to smile. It’s a smirk. Cocky and teasing as it spreads across his lips.

“You’re desperate, my lady, aren’t you?” His voice is still low, hoarse as he tries to not lose his focus from the slight tingles of pleasure the friction is providing him. He wants to engross himself in the moment before ravishing you, no woman has been so vulnerable in his grip like this before.

He leans in, his gaze trailing along your features as he searches his prey for weak spots. His mouth lands on your neck, sucking on the delicate skin hungrily. You can’t remember what he’d said before, plagued by the newfound sensation of his wet saliva cooling the hickey tainting your skin.

You don’t even want to answer, a sigh escaping your lips at the pop of his mouth as he pulls away from your neck. A small, desperate whisper is all you can force out before you try to move your hand down to your thighs. It’s grabbed by his own and pinned back into the mattress.

“Don’t over-exert yourself, my lady.” He’s still smirking as he begins to steady himself at your entrance, but is just as desperate as you are to get his fill.

Your thighs are pushed apart with his spare hand, allowing him to let out a satisfied groan at the sight of you. Without warning, his hand lets go of your wrist to find your clit. His fingers brush against it softly, caressing a soft moan out of you which only prompts him to continue much harsher. The sounds are obscene as he toys and teases you, only aiding his own pleasure as he watches you clench around nothing.

The tip of his dick presses against your entrance, forcing you to attempt to push out your hips in hopes of fulfilment. You’re unable to move properly, his cold hands tighten around your body. As you writhe in his grip, your gaze flickers up to meet his. There’s a suspicious glint in his dark pupils, paired with the subtle upturn of his parted lips.

Suddenly, sharp sensation erupts within your body, one that tries to push your thighs together to only have them wrap around his firm waist. You can feel the pleasurable stretch as Feyd only savours you inch by inch as he pushes himself in as far as he can. Your skin prickles with heat, spreading across your body like a rash as you find yourself flushed and gasping for air as he pulls out suddenly.

It’s not for long, pushing his dick inside quickly again just to hear your staggered cries. Your body seems to move on its own, rocking yourself against him as he pushes in and out. He’s intoxicating, altering your mind to primal instincts.

His movements become sloppier, his climax becoming more inevitable with every thrust. Feyd begins to lose composure, plump lips parted and panting as his thumb still rubs your clit forcefully. You’re both growing impatient, his begging now becoming audible as the words stumble out of his mouth.

“Please.. please…” you’d never known the Na-Baron to be the kind of warrior to say ‘please’, but you’d driven him over the edge.

You’re also growing louder, whimpering and whining for your climax to come quick and hard. You want it, and you want it now.

You’re the first to come, crying as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your back arches into him as an explosion of pleasure races through your body, tingling through your lower abdomen. However, as the waves of climax subside, you become increasingly more vulnerable to Feyd Rautha still pounding into you.

It only takes him a few more thrusts, but your arm is released from his grip as you cling onto his back. Your nails tear at his skin, the pangs of borderline pain bringing tears to your eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.

You hear his breath hitch in your ear, his mouth opens with a gasp as he buries himself inside you for his release. His cum is searing hot, filling your insides hastily as his chest rises up and down rapidly. Feyd doesn’t move for a moment, processing what just happened. But after a few seconds, when your hands loosen and droop down his spine as they’re overcome by fatigue, his arms wrap around you slowly.

He’s embracing you.

You’re both hot to touch, skin slick with sweat as your bodies press against each other. Yet, both of you don’t find any disgust in this. Instead, it’s replaced by a sense of comfort. The certainty that you’re his Lady, as he is your Lord.

#feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #austin butler #smut #dune 2 #dune 2024 #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

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💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x y/n

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reality-detective · 4 months ago

Text

It’s time for me to have another rant! 👇

Buckle up!!! ⚔️🛡️

The State of America:

I am angry. As an American, I am sick and tired of what this country has become. I do probably curse more than I should, but I am pissed off.

Our schools: Children are being indoctrinated by school teachers about sexual activity rather than things they should be learning about. You know, like civics, math, real history and science? What grown ass adult wants to discuss sexual intercourse with a minor? I’ll tell you, a social deviant fucking pervert. That’s who. I will not expose any child to that madness ever.

Our military: Our military is the weakest it has ever been. I have friends that are still in the military and they cannot wait to get out. Not because of their lack of service to this country, but the lack of leadership. The good ones are tired of getting slammed with “woke” PowerPoints on shit that doesn’t even matter to military readiness. It’s dumb. And our adversaries are laughing at us. I can’t even recommend someone to join the military until it is returned to its rightful place as the strongest military in the world.

Our southern border: The southern border is a dumpster fire. More illegal aliens and fentanyl are pouring through the border at record rates. The saddest part about this is the Democrats are wanting ILLEGALS to vote for any and all elections. Democrats only use their party for votes to continue their reign of power, while their own districts are literal shit-holes. Republicans are not safe from this and they really aren't much better. If they wanted the border shut down they would too. Always remember that Americans being murdered was never enough to shut the border down.

Joe Biden: I will never accept the thought that Joe Biden got 81 million votes. You cannot make me believe that the alleged President of the United States of America got the most votes in American history, then was kicked out from running by his own party. Give me a fucking break.

Kamala Harris: This Indian American woman locked up more black men than I have ever seen in my life. She doesn’t care about black people. Never has and never will. She just wants your vote.

Mainstream Media: These retards have been fed so much propaganda that they actually think Donald Trump will incite a civil war if he doesn’t win the 2024 election. You all have an extra chromosome if you truly believe that. There are some that are just gaslighting but a large portion of the population is too stupid to vote if they can’t decipher this.

Speaking of Donald Trump: This man has been given more bullshit to a public servant that I have ever seen in my life. For crying out loud, it has been over 2 weeks since the Deep State almost took his life and no one has been held truly accountable. They are all behind it until proven otherwise. Imagine if that was the other way around. Democrats would want to put the nation on lockdown like they did during COVID.

National debt: As of today the United States is at $35,000,000,000,000.00 in debt. How irresponsible of adults. I will never be gaslit to send money overseas anymore especially since Americans are struggling to put food on their table. How outrageously treasonous.

And to top all of this off. I am a white male that was in the military and now I'm considered a domestic terrorist by some. How unbelievable is this? The same ones that are backing the Military Industrial Complex. The same “elected leaders” that I served, don’t have our backs when we return home. The military are the ones that uphold and defend the Constitution, not them.

This is not what America should be about. This is not the country I served. Not anymore.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!! 🤔

God Bless America. 🇺🇸

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punkishtoxtricity · 4 months ago

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a comprehensive list of problems with lily orchards pokemon video

there is a point to where my criticisms just repeats so they’ll get different down the post

generation 1

-she claims that blue is a friendly rival when the whole point of him is that he’s a dumb kid. he’s a cocky 11 year old who thinks he’s better than you and grows to realize it’s not all about strong pokemon

-complains about length of dungeons such as lavender tower and silph co but for some reason likes rock tunnel??

-complains about other youtubers strategies for gyms that are usually meant for nuzlockes and challenge runs when she’s playing casual

-acts like she is so much better than everyone else for her strategy when it’s been done to a more extreme degree before

-acts like having butterfree on her team is some feat of strength

generation 2

-thinks silver is the worse character ever and all around a jerk

-complains about the ai of the game beating her when in reality her team just kinda. sucks

-complains about having bad pokemon and then doesn’t catch the good ones that the game literally hands to you

-straight up does not do kanto. has me thinking she just didn’t wanna fight red

generation 3

-this is the start of her being very weird about gardevoir. she calls ralts her child and then throughout the video has art of her being romantic with it which is. eugh. apparently she has incest accusations so i’m not that suprised

-calling magma and aqua the best teams of the series because “they don’t impede on the story”

-complains about the legendaries

-complains about the water routes and proceeds to throw out ideas that don’t make sense for an ocean

generation 4

-this is the start of her hacking in ralts as her starter. it’s very funny because it’s legitimately obtainable in every game she plays besides gen 5

-complains about parts of the game being too hard when she’s using ralts. which dies if it gets touched by a slight breeze

-whines about there being too much dialogue and then genuinely does not understand the story. common theme around all the story driven pokemon games

-she’s VERY annoying about the rivals. like they’re there for a reason

-the start of her acting like her calm mind strategy is the best thing ever. calls other youtubers stupid once again for their cynthia strategies. she can’t choose between gardevoir being the most broken pokemon and blaming ralts sucking on the game(the whole video is a big contrarian fest)

gen 5

oh boy. there’s a lot

-complains about there being too much story in the game and calls the game a peta reply. which is funny because peta is an american company and pokemon is japanese. (also the peta criticism of pokemon didn’t come around until AFTER black and white)

-compares a character who is a victim of abuse and has been indoctrinated by what is basically a cult to a podcast alpha male incel. looking at the allegations against her this also makes sense as to why she doesn’t like him

-whines more about there being too much reading. at this point i started believing she was straight up illiterate

-whines about the amount of rival fights and how it’s “impeding exploration” i don’t think she wants to play an actual video game she just want a pet sim

-misunderstands the whole moral of the game, being that not everything is black and white

generation 6

-complains about not being able to get gardevoirs megastone before the post game, so obviously she hacks it in.

-goes on a tangent about shiny pokemon and how their community is stupid, misunderstanding that people just do it FOR FUN

-also complains about something she calls “damage inflation” with the opponents being able to 1 shot ralts. this is all actually because ralts has god awful defenses, which she ignores.

-loses to what is one of the easiest gyms in the entire series. not really anything wrong with this i just honestly think she sucks at the game(skill issue)

-says x and y are the best games because there’s not much dialogue

gen 7

-once again spends the whole hour complaining about the amount of talking and then doesn’t analyze what the characters are actually saying. still believe she can’t read

-compares gladion to a hitler youth which is??? he’s hawaiian and light skinned but he’s still just an abused kid trying to find his way in lofe(doubt she actually read his dialogue)

-complains about team skill being “an unfunny joke” when the whole point of the team is that guzma was an abused kid who took in those in need and just formed a group of thugs

-still complains about “damage inflation” instead of actually changing her strategy or stepping out of her comfort zone pokemon wise because ralts sucks against the water trial

-goes on a tangent about how lillie should have been the main character while still choosing to mash through her dialogue

generation 8

-whines about dexit and calls dynamax the worst mechanic when it is in fact loved by vgc players

-calls milo a twunk (she doesn’t know what that means)

-a lot of the same problems of the previous gens, can’t read and doesn’t understand the story

-she’s also weird about gardevoir in this one. i think she just REALLY wants to fuck it

generation 9

-whines about dialogue some more

-literally all of the complaints at this point are the same. she can’t form an actual opinion of it bc she can’t FUCKING PAY ATTENTION TO WHAG THEYRE SAYING

overall

-she’s a racist creep to japanese folk outside of the video so hmmm

-has apparently assaulted someone so i see why she has no sympathy for the characters that are victims of abuse

-the weirdest about the pokemon and the characters. compares them to nazis a bunch

-is unfunny

anyway thanks for reading all the way through. the vid made me loose 200 brain cells and i will never stop hating

#lily orchard #lily orchard critical #incest mentioni #she’s overall a creep #she’ll prob see this bc she’s chronically online #they howl #he howls #rant #pokemon #i know more about it than her #that is 6 hours of my life i will NEVER get back #anyways how was yalls day

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tizeline · 11 months ago

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The Sep AU is super interesting, like it grabbed my brain and does not want to let go-

I find it interesting how from the Drax Trios innitial perspective everything Donnie is just justifies their opinion more-

Donnies dark aesthetic, murderous humor, dangerous machines, deadpan attitude and lack of liking of magic combined with his alleged backstory and being friends with a human? U could really argue he got indoctrinated into being a villainous mad scientist or smth. They don't know that that's just him, Donnie TM. I can absolutely see them being worried that "Long lost brother" got brainwashed so badly and how annoying that could be for Donnie himself lol

I'm also curious on Donnies relationship with Splinter. Is it better than in canon or similar to Canon or worse? Since in Canon Donnie is craving parental approval, does he still here?

Thank u for (potentially) answering :)

First of all, "Drax Trio", thank you, I needed an easier way to refer to specifically Raph, Leo and Mikey in this AU so I'm gonna steal that

Second, yeah, Donnie acting like a cartoon villain is really just cementing the Drax Trio's idea that he's been corrupted by humans. You know Draxum's villain song in the show? I can totally see Donnie putting on a perfomance like that XD Speaking of Draxum, to be fair he's very alike Donnie in the way that he's fully embracing the whole Evil Scientist aesthetic, but in that case his sons would just excuse it with "oh haha dad's just a bit silly goofy don't worry about it it's not like he's actually evil!"

Anyway, you know how Mikey basically forced Draxum into having a redemtion arc in the show? He'd try to do the same with Donnie in this AU. I've been thinking about this for a while so I'm defintiely gonna draw it, but he's constantly going full Dr. Feelings mode trying to teach Donnie how to be a "good person" and such and Donnie finds it INCREDIBLY annoying!

And Splinter! Being a single parent taking care of a child who was created to be a super soldier while living in the sewers is HARD, but not nearly as hard as taking care four of them at the same time under the same conditions. So while Splinter is still dealing with depression and burn out in this AU, he's doing better than what he is in canon. For years Splinter and Donnie would literally only have each other, so they'd end up growing closer as a result. That being said, because Donnie didn't have any siblings to spend time with, he'd end up demanding a lot more attention from Splinter. Which he didn't always recieve, because his dad is still very much dealing with a lot of emotional baggage. To summarize, Splinter is still a flawed parent, but he's not terrible by any means, he and Donnie are close, but Donnie is also a lot more lonely (especially before meeting April).

#Tiz Sep AU #tizel talk #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au

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creature-wizard · 2 months ago

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So, I just read It's Not Impossible: Healing from Ritual Abuse and Mind Control by Svali.

For those who don't know, Svali is a conspiracy theorist who popped up in the early 2000s claiming to be a former Illuminati/New World Order programmer. Her claims are based on the stuff put out by the likes of Mark Phillips/Cathy O'Brien and Fritz Springmeier/Cisco Wheeler, which in turn derives from stuff like The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, blood libel, witch panic, Michelle Remembers, and Alexander Hislop's anti-Catholic conspiracy theories. It's full of your typical Project Monarch psychological pseudoscience that can effectively be used to blame literally any symptom or behavior on programmed DID, whether or not someone actually has DID at all. It's got all the usual stuff about an alleged global cult that practices the most absurdly complicated, messy, and risky forms of mind control instead of just using the regular ol' indoctrination and manipulation tactics that work just fine for your more typical authoritarian assholes.

She is regarded as a ritual abuse/alter programming expert by people such as Ellen Lacter and Alison Miller, and if you search through the citations on many ritual abuse/RAMCOA websites, you'll often find her name. If you didn't have any familiarity with Svali's outlandish claims before, I think after reading this you'll agree that no sensible person should ever be citing her as an authority on anything. Here are some of the weird and ridiculous claims she makes in this book:

Fetuses are tortured and programmed in the womb. They are capable of making choices presented to them in-utero. (Yes, according to Svali, fetuses can fully understand language and process questions.)

Children can be forced to forget things by threatening them with death if they don't. (Literally not how memory works. If anything, death threats would make it harder to forget.)

Toddlers are trained as assassins and sent to kill wealthy targets, because wealthy people tend to have, shall we say, a predilection for children. (Yes, some wealthy people are child molesters. But claiming they're all into this as a group is absurd. It's also two antisemitic conspiracy theory tropes with the serial numbers filed off.)

Alice In Wonderland programming includes games of croquet where the balls are the decapitated heads of children. (Always with the absurdly over-the-top programming methods.)

The conspiracy programs people from birth to have a visceral fear and hatred of Christianity. (The function of this claim is to deny the traumatic impact of Christian religious abuse.)

"Many occultic groups" hate Israel and aim to destroy its national security through infiltration. (Of course we're going to get Christian Zionism in this conspiracy theory.)

"Higher occultic groups" round up Christians "from prisons and camps in third world countries under oppressive regimes" to torture and crucify them. (Typical oppression fantasy of white American Christian conservatives.)

Genetically enhanced individuals were first produced in the 1940s. (Quite unlikely, given that DNA's role in inheritance wasn't even determined until 1943.)

Claims that "The Light of The World" is an occultic painting that depicts the Antichrist. (Actually, it just depicts Christ.)

Theta systems are trained to psychically kill from the time they're in the womb. Theta assassins have sex with the target, then use the resulting soul tie to demonically kill them. (You know you're into some deep far right shit when they're talking about "soul ties" like this.)

Chi is a demonic power. (Always with the racism.)

Kabbalah is used to open portals to install demons. (And of course, the antisemitism.)

Druids can shapeshift into animals and trees. (This is how druids work in modern RPGs.)

Mages can shapeshift into various animals. (So many occultists WISH this was true!)

Cult children are genetically enhanced for intelligence. (Meanwhile in the real world, not a single alleged survivor has ever demonstrated said intelligence.)

Saturn, Prometheus, and Vulcan are demonic deities. (Pure religious bigotry here.)

Mothers of genetically enhanced fetuses are brutally tortured and gradually dismembered throughout the entire pregnancy. Supposedly, miscarriage is prevented with the cult's "state-of-the-art technology" that's "at least 50-75 years ahead of what's publicly known."

Supposedly, "all videos, CDs, computer games and other digital media now have subliminals embedded, that are fed at 0.03 microseconds." She claims that you can't pause the video to see the message because the images will be blurry, as they're only visible when the media moves. How very convenient, Svali. (By the way, conspiracy theorists have been claiming media is full of dangerous subliminal messages for years, programming children to turn into mass murderers and whatnot. So far there is zero evidence that rock music turns you into a killer.)

Direct quote, "It is amazing how desensitized our population has become to sex, violence and the occult due to this mind control technology that sits in everyone's living room." (Literally your old-time Satanic Panic rhetoric.)

Direct quote, "I personally believe that we are very close to the “end times” of Revelations, and that the Occultic messiah (or antichrist) is alive." (Always with the End Times mythology with these people.)

Yeah, so this is one of the people that therapists pushing this idea that alter programming is a real thing regard as an authority. They're citing a far right conspiracy theorist who claims toddler assassins are sent to kill wealthy targets and that druids can actually turn themselves into trees.

I'd like to reiterate here that the type of alter programming people like Svali claim exist is not something there was ever any real evidence for, and the whole idea originated among conspiracy theorists. This was not a case of something that actually existed just being co-opted by bad faith actors. It is very literally a witch hunt, and one way we know this is that the early modern mythology of satanic witches and today's mythology of alter programming use many of the exact same tropes. And we also know that people can be coached into confabulating memories of events that never took place (you can see very obvious examples of this yourself here and here).

None of this is to say that human trafficking, sex abuse, religious abuse, institutional abuse, and so on aren't real; they very much are. But the kind of stuff that people like Svali push is not, and it's so full of pseudoscience and far right bigotry that it will harm survivors of extreme abuse even more. The function of this mythology, and the quack psychiatry that goes along with it, is to push people into hyperconservative Christianity and scapegoat the religious trauma it causes.

#svali #conspiracy theorists #conspiracy theorist #conspiracy theories #conspiracy theory #conspiracism #sra #ritual abuse #tbmc #trauma based mind control #ramcoa #ra #project monarch #monarch mind control #alter programming conspiracy theory #alter programming

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zwolfgames · 4 months ago

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Goblin camp overtake (drabble) Platonic!Yandere!BG3 x Teen!Reader

(Hopefully it's a bit accurate because ive only played the story twice for now so i dunno all the posibilities.)

Summary: Teen!reader and the squad go take defeat the goblins. Therefore meeting Halsin, and Minthara again.

Warnings: Death (obv), mentions of gore, Goblins

Other related BG3 by me: Intro, Gith creché

The sun was shining, the flowers in the forest were blooming... On days like this, kids like you had been tasked with commuting genocide on the local goblins.

Not that you really cared. They were little shitheads... Stole your laundry once back when you lived with your mom... before all this...

But getting closer to this alleged camp wasn't making you any more at ease. You could already imagine the stench of those sweaty creatures when you have to inevitably walk into that camp. Which you've heard is actually just an old temple.

You've noticed over time that people in your little group have gotten... well, friendlier. For example: Lae'zel was no longer throwing you glares, Shadowheart remembered your name, Astarion has indoctrinated you into his schemes... Yea, the three most hostile people had warmed up to you.

And the other have just... always been quite nice.

Well, Wyll still didn't seem to approve of you, a minor, coming along. But he didn't really have a choice as the others were not allowing him to take you back to the Emerald Grove. Guess they really do find you too funny to lose then.

"Ugh, the stench is disgusting." Karlach waves the air under her nose away.

"It is the smell of a goblin camp. What were you expecting? Tchk. And I myself find this odor quite thrilling. It promises of a good fight." Lae'zel slightly smirks. Clawed hands flexing around the handle of her greatsword.

"Of course you do... Tough the smell of blood has never scared me away." Astarion, in turn, chuckles in that weird posh way. You raise a brow.

"So you're sure you're not a vampire?" You question sarcastically. The pale elf gasps in mock offense.

"Of course not. I merely like the smell." He huffs. Right, so that time you saw him hunt down a boar must have been make belief.

The rest of the party didn't comment anymore as you made your way to the camp.

Gale had thrown his arm around your shoulder to keep you at the back. He excused that as 'magic users stay behind so they can asses the battlefield'. But he probably just didn't want to accidently get Lae'zels sword through his back.

This mission to save some druid calmed Halsin was looking like a total hassle. But hey, why not do side quests while the worm in your head is ready to kill you?

Whatever person lives in your head didn't take kindly to your remark as you heard the voice say they'd protect you.

Right, bullshit. You're just developing pshycosis. A hundred percent that.

"Y/N. If they target you, I want you to run, alright?" Wyll speaks calmly.

"Well, I mean, not that I don't want to but were kind of in this together -" You start nonchalantly.

"Don't listen to the human. It is unhonerable to run from a fight." Lae'zel scolds like a lecturing general.

Well, do you really care about your honor? It's not like you're trying to capture the Avatar here-

"Yea yea, got it, boss." You sigh. The slight stress makes its way to your head. It's just some goblins, right? Nothing a good magic missile can't solve... Right?

You take back your words quite quickly when Astarion smooth talks his way past the outside security to let your group pass. There's like... at least fifty goblins here!

You feel an arm slitter around your shoulders. Looking up, you can see Lae'zels warry face.

She's gripping that greatsword quite harshly, a bit scared, maybe? Tough you doubt it, it's Lae'zel..

You ignore the stink eyes these little creatures are throwing you and walk along with your group.

"My, what a festive place, no? Look, they even have booze." Astarion muses with his typical smug grin.

"We're not here to party." Gale groans. The wizard stares at the goblins in distaste. You note that everyone is on edge

A goblin child sticks her tingue out at you, so you do the same, blowing raspberries for good meassure. This action earns you a dissaproving look by Wyll.

"So where's this druid? I don't want to be here any longer then needed." Shadowheart complains with a little wave infront of her nose to showcase that she thinks this place stinks.. Wich it does.

"Let's ask!" Karlach offers her idea.

"You've got to be the most optimistic person I've met and we have a literal child in the group." Gale groans.

"You can't miss any of the chances you take." Karlach shrugs.

"Let's just gut all of them. I'm sure we can search for the druid in peace then." Astarion smirks.

"For once, I agree with the pale one." Lae'zel sneers.

You watch your group bicker a bit longer as you wander out of the grip you had been put in. Walking around the goblin camp instead.

Mhh, a clear booze tub. They're drunk. Quite ideal.

You scan around the area, a certain tall woman catches your eye, seeing as she isn't a goblin.

Wait a minute, you've met her before! She almost killed you on the beach when the Nautiloid crashed!

The nerve of that woman, she doesn't deserve the same hairstyle as your mother.

Astarion had snuk out of the argument your group of idiots was having right in the middle of the goblin camp. He stuck himself to your side, observing along with you.

"You seem... focussed. You have an idea, do you not?" The pale elf asks smoothly.

"An inkling. They're drinking, and Nettie gave us wyvern poison... I mean...?" You let your gaze travel to the booze tub. Astarions red eyed orbs follow along. You can see a sharp toothed grin spread across his face.

"I just know we're going to be great friends, Y/N.." He smirks and puts a cold hand on your shoulder.

You just smile in satisfaction that your plan is apparently good. Before you know it, Astarions snatched the poison out of Shadowhearts pocket. You watch the man go invisible to presumably go dunk the booze in poison. Or maybe he's gonna drink it... But he never seemed suicidal... So it should be fine.

"Y/N, c'mon, we're going into the temple, the druid should be there." Karlach waves you over.

You nod and join the group again. Getting tucked back under someone's shoulder.

The first leader of the Goblins you had met was a priestess. And oh boy, defenitly not your favourite... She wanted to brand you! Is she nuts!?

So anyways, Lae'zel chopped her head off... Uh... props to Wyll for covering your eyes.

Then there was Dror Ragzlin. Scary guy that one. Almost twice your size, mean face and doing necromancy. Yikes.

Unfortunatly, you did have to help in this fight. There were goblins storming in through the door and well just that beast of an orc.

So you you just started blasting spells at the incoming goblins. Fireball and Ice Knife were a nice combo, no? Make em slip and then steam the ice and do damage? Sounds logical to you. Was anyone else smelling barbeque or just you?

When that got taken care of, Karlach strapped a helmet to your head and lead you back to the group.

The last leader was the same woman that had tried to kill you. Minthara, apparently. You've never seen a real drow, so this was cool. Except for the part where she tried to kill all of you. That wasn't that cool...

Just before she was supposed to just die, Lae'zel had accidently hit one of the wooden beams in the room. The ceiling collapsed right infront of you.

Well, maybe she's dead? Atleast it's not your problem anymore?

After all the goblins inside had straight up been slayed, Astarion joined the group once more, seeming quite pleased with himself.

"Where have you been?" Gale asks sternly. Raising an eyebrow in suspiscion. It's still quite annoying that nobody really trusts anyone here..

"Let's just say the situation outside is taken care off." Astarion boasts proudly.

"Really? And you did that, alone?" Shadowheart states in a disbelieving tone. Gods forbid the fancy man does anything impressive.

"Yes! Is that so hard to believe?" Astarion scoffs and crosses his arms.

"Very." Shadowheart argues back.

"I'll believe it when I see it." Lae'zel adds.

Wyll and Karlach just exchange glances. Well you know that he did it. So there's no need for your input-

"Ahhh!" You eep in fear as a large man had appeared behind you. Wich is very scary considering every one in this temple was supposed to be dead.

"Calm down little cub, I mean no harm." The large man smiles reasuringly.

You stagger back to Lae'zels side. This man... Elf ears.. Brown hair. Ah, druid attire? Halsin, perhaps?

"And who are you?" Shadowheart asks for all of you.

"Halsin. You were sent here to come chack on me, or are you just lost adventurers?" Halsin asks with that same smile.

"Well, we found him. Back to the grove-" Gale starts walking off before Karlach grabs the rim of his robes to keep him in the group.

"We did come here for you. Have the goblins hurt you?" Wyll asks calmly. Halsin shakes his head.

"Nothing I can't handle. Why the cub?" Halsin tilts his head at you.

"They're actually an immortal being in the form of a child. Wiser then any of us." Astarion makes up.

Halsin raises a brow. Clearly not believing that.

"Right. But like your little wizard said, we should get back. I am sure the grove has missed me." Halsin hums.

"Don't think so, they're closing it off frol the outside world." You mention calmly.

"What." Halsin stops smiling. You just shrug, that's all you picked up from it.

Halsin frowns and starts walking out. What determination.

Your group eventually exits the dead silent temple after having taken any valuables. Can't leave without some loot, who knows if you're getting paid!

As you walk out the large door, the death Astarion had caused is quite visible, dead goblins everywhere. R.I.P, you won't be missed.

Now that that's taken care of, who knows what adventures await you thanks to this stupid worm in your brain!

Not the best, but it's something. Yan feelings gotta develop trough the story but I'm not fully there yet.

#oneshots #platonic yandere #gender neutral reader #bg3 #platonic bg3 #gn reader #xreader #yandere x reader #yandere #platonic yandere bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate gale #astarion #karlach #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #laezel #wyll

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osmanthusoolong · 4 months ago

Text

“Lia Hess, chair of the board of the Estonian Summer Camp Society, said in an emailed statement to CBC News that the monument was installed by Estonian war veterans who came to Canada as refugees in the 1940s and 1950s.

"The Estonian and Jewish communities share a common hatred and disgust of all totalitarian and oppressive regimes," Hess said in her statement.

"The Estonian summer camp does not now and has never honoured Nazi collaborators and our children have never been indoctrinated into worshipping Nazi leaders as alleged."

She added that the campers also commemorate Black Ribbon Day, which is formally recognized by the European Union and Canada as a day of remembrance for victims of Stalinism and Nazism.

"Flowers were placed in remembrance at the base of this plaque, like one who grieves at a grave. We are remembering those that died and the importance of defending our independent country, language, traditions and customs," Hess's statement says.”

So definitely not indoctrination of children into worshipping Nazi leaders, just placing flowers at their monuments and teaching them about how great they and their beliefs were. Totally a different thing.

“Eva Plach, an associate professor of history at Wilfrid Laurier University, said that when the Swords Monument was erected decades ago, Estonia was still a part of the Soviet Union and its people were fighting for independence.

"What always needs to be remembered in this region is that kind of active military resistance to the Soviet Union often meant collaboration with Nazi Germany," Plach said, explaining how Rebane and Riipalu could have once been celebrated within the Estonian community while also being a part of the Nazi military.”

I wonder if there’s a word for someone who allies themselves with Nazis and works alongside them to further their goals.

“”After the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) was formally dissolved as a sovereign state, Estonia, the Baltic States and other countries "were trying to rewrite or understand better" their Second World War histories, Plach said.

"They were looking for nationalist heroes. They were looking for feel-good nationalist stories, where it was really difficult to find those stories and it was complicated, too."”

That actually doesn’t seem very complicated at all. It in fact seems pretty straightforward that you’re not gonna look like anything but Nazis if you venerate your Nazi heritage.

Canada is full of shit like this. SS memorials in public cemeteries, summer camps where little kids can learn about their proud history as Nazi collaborators.

@allthecanadianpolitics

#cdnpoli #onpoli #Nazis #canada

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1moremilgram-enjoyer · 1 year ago

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is everyone in milgram just dead

Okay I'm making this post because while I'm not sure how much I believe this, it's a possibility that's been eating at my head for a while, so I gotta share it somewhere even if it's not the most solid theory in the world.

So anyways, hello members of the jury! Today I want to discuss the weirdly recurring theme of the prisoners in Milgram possibly being dead, and Milgram being some sort of afterlife thing. Given the fact it clearly has some supernatural elements, it certainly isn't impossible. So let's get into it!

CW Death, murder and suicide, abortion, child abuse, drowning, cults and indoctrination, waterboarding, gang violence

Yuno and the Allegations

The biggest hint that at least some of the prisoners might be dead is the in Yuno's second VD, Absolute Zero.

Yuno: Oh! Also, that reminds me, there was one thing I'm curious about. Es: What? Go ahead and say it. Y: Am I…really alive? E: That's…what do you…. Y: Hm…if you don't know, then it's fine. E: Yuno…. Y: Hey, it's time, right? E: Y-yes. Prisoner number 2, Yuno. Sing your sins.

Weird thing to say, really. So, presumably, she has some reason to believe she might be dead. Which is especially worrying because Yuno is one of the most intelligent and perceptive prisoners in Milgram, and might even have higher awareness of some of the more supernatural/meta elements of the series, as seen by images from both her cover songs appearing in Umbilical and Tear Drop.

All this is to say, if Yuno has reason to believe she might be dead, we have reason to believe so as well.

There are two points of Yuno's story were I feel she could have died. One is during her abortion, given a question from Trial 2.

(T2) Q20: Did you hate the person you killed?

Y: It was too much of a pain to for me to think about anything.

So her abortion was painful, which likely means it wasn't done in a hospital, as professional abortions typically don't cause too much pain in the moment (source), even if they can cause cramping or discomfort in the recovery period. If it wasn't done professionally, and it hurt a lot, it's very possible she may have died while performing it.

However, because of a few things we'll talk about later, I'm not sure this is very likely. The answer I find more likely is that, unfortunately, she may have committed suicide by jumping off the staircase we see her standing on in her Undercover silhouette shot.

For one, because what the hell would this shot even be otherwise. I've seen people suggest infanticide as opposed to abortion, but that wouldn’t cause physical pain (you could argue that answer is about emotional pain, but I'm not sure how much that works), it doesn't match her kill-shot in Undercover, and she herself has claimed her "muder" was abortion (and I don't see reason for her to lie about that). It also doesn't seem likely she would get pregnant more than once, seeing this question:

(T2) Q10: If you could turn back time, would you commit the same murder once again?

Y: I'd make sure that I won't have to commit it. That's it.

So, then, what the hell is up with that Undercover shot? Usually they say something important about the prisoner or their crime, but it really doesn't seem to have anything to do with anything.

This is where I bring up that Yuno falls off a staircase at the end of Umbilical.

Like, obviously this is more meant to be metaphorical, as in Yuno "slipped up" and now has to avoid falling by grabbing the balloon, which ends up destroying the staircase which had previously been related to the mixing of DNA (long story). But... she still is falling from a staircase. That is what is happening in the video. This is a silly argument, but it does exist.

Now, there's a few other things which could imply this, but that will have to wait for a moment. So while there is very little evidence for now, I'd say this is the most likely reason for why Yuno believes she may be dead. Especially given she might have depression (check out this cool post by weather-cluddy), her comitting suicide is sort of the best guess we can make I feel.

Nevertheless, no matter the reason why, Yuno believes she may be dead, which opens the door to other characters, if not all of them, to be dead as well. Let's take a look at the other prisoner most likely to actually be dead in my opinion, and see if we can establish a pattern.

Haruka's Worrying Situation

I believe, even if no one else is dead, it is highly likely Haruka attempted suicide. I am not going to go too in-depth in here, because moibakadesu already made a really good post about it, which is where I got the theory from in the first place. In fact, the idea Haruka may have at least attempted suicide has existed ever since Trial 1, check out this cool post by Venus from thinkin-bout-milgram. Here's a summary of what the main points of the theory are:

-The repeated motif of water and drowning could indicate the way Haruka killed himself, especially since he lived in Naogaka, Niigata, known as the "city of water."

-Haruka repeatedly attacks and even strangles a younger version of himself in Weakness, in one occasion alongside the lyric "I've become a victim, I've become a victim."

-The young girl in Weakness might actually be a representation of the "ideal Haruka", as he's stated his mother wanted a daughter instead of a son (I don't actually agree with this part, I do think the girl is a literal girl Haruka killed, due to several lines from his VDs, such as him saying Amane "brings back bad memories." However, it's still a possibility)

-The nonchalance with which Haruka speaks of comitting suicide in his second MV, Metamorphosis of the Weak, could imply he's already done it once.

-The line "if with one click, and I can reset everything" in AKAA can be more directly translated to "if with the push of one button I could be reborn", which paired with butterflies being symbols of death and rebirth and being connected to Haruka because of the name of his second VD, could imply Haruka died and was reborn.

-Haruka standing on a chair in AKAA as his shadow lines up with the shadow of the bars in the window to create the ilusion he has a noose around his neck.

-At the end of AKAA, Haruka is surrounded in what looks to be formaldehyde, which is used to preserve the corpses of dead animals, while the aforementioned "I could be reborn" lyric plays.

As you can see, there's a lot here, which is why I think it is highly likely Haruka comitted suicide.

There is an issue with bringing this theory in, which is that part of the theory is that Haruka's silhouette in the Undercover shot doesn't have white noise, which separates him from the others and could imply he's a victim like Hinako and Mahiru's boyfriend, who similarly have no white noise. The problem for our purposes is that this theory assumes a lot of the other prisoners, such as Yuno, may have committed suicide as well, creating an inconsistency with this point. I don't have a good answer for this, beyond a really odd, Hamlet-esque "Haruka is a victim of his own madness" kind of thing which doesn't work very well, so unless any of you have another explanation, it's best for this theory to just sorta ignore the white noise thing.

So, now we have two prisoners who very likely died before Milgram. This vaguely establishes a possible pattern: what if all the prisoners were taken right as they died?

Muu’s Mysterious Memory Mishaps

Es: You said you wanted to go back home, right? And, "suppose" we did let you… Even if you were to leave this place, you'll then have a brush with the police, won't you? Muu: *Surprised* E: I mean, you've killed someone anyway, so are the police not making a move in regards to that? M: Well, I don't know. As of now, I don't have a clear memory of what happened after I did it. And then before I knew it, I was here. E: Is… that so? M: You guys should've known that, being the ones who brought me here after all.

This line from Muu’s first VD has always intrigued me. Muu doesn’t have a very good reason to be lying here when seen in full context, so she’s likely telling the truth. But, why? Why doesn’t Muu remember anything clearly after her crime, and why was she taken so quickly after committing it?

First idea is that perhaps all the prisoners are simply taken right after the murder they’re in Milgram for; even in the case of multiple murders, you can say Milgram just decided to take them for the last one exclusively.

However, Shidou serves as a counter example, because of the ending of Throw Down.

It’s a pretty simple logical progression. Shidou has no reason to kill after the flower person dies, so their death is after his last murder most likely, and yet he does remember it happening. Thus, Shidou has a memory of something which happened an undetermined amount of time after his final murder.

That means the "fuzzy memories" thing isn't universal. This can also be vaguely inferred by the attitudes certain prisoners have regarding their "murder(s)", like Kazui for example.

Now, you could argue Muu simply doesn't remember well because of the Trauma, and she just happened to get taken shortly after her murder. However, there is a chance now that there is a reason she was taken shortly after her murder.

You know what this post is about. You know what I'm about to imply. So I'll make the observation now:

In It's Not my Fault, one of Muu's shoes is off after she kills Rei. And we have seen this imagery of "one shoe off" to represent suicide before.

It's common in Japan to take both shoes off before comitting suicide, but if you want to read into only one of the shoes being off, you could argue it represents they're "half-suicides", as Milgram also considers them murders. In that sense, you (or Muu) could argue were Muu to commit suicide after killing Rei, then she would also become "Rei's victim", the same way Hinako and Mahiru's boyfriend are Kazui and Mahiru's victims.

This idea that Muu might still be a victim in the situation could also be implied by the lyrics here:

[It's Not my Fault] It’s not my fault after all, after all. Everyone wants me to be innocent. What a relief. Can’t be helped. I’m always meant to be pitied!

(Btw I'm using the fan translation in the wiki because the English subs in that video are... odd)

Yes that sentiment is repeated a lot during the song, but Muu does shout "I'm always meant to be pitied" ("I'm always the drama queen") at the top of her lungs here.

Now, the shoe thing isn't quite like that in After Pain, but we never actually see Muu's shoes in the real world, only in the blank inner world with the broken hourglass, and there are other inconsistencies with reality there, namely Rei's body's position.

You can see her right shoe is on there, but again, this scene isn't real.

The concerning thing is that apart from that, After Pain does not help Muu beat the suicide allegations.

In particular, look at the scene of the photo I put there. You can see there's a bunch of people judging Muu for her murder, as it's usually not considered a socially acceptable thing to do. But, hold on, didn't Muu say she didn't remember anything after her murder? Correct! That means she doesn't remember this "judgement" happening, but she imagined it would. Perhaps that's what the one line means:

[After Pain] Counterattack being a suicide note

Counterattacking Rei, killing her, is social suicide. For obvious reasons.

...

But it's still called a suicide note, which is not a good look. And yes, I do think the Japanese lyric explicitly references death, though take that with a lot of salt since that's just Google Translate and DeepL talking.

In fact, that entire set of lyrics is pretty odd.

[After Pain] Let’s meet up inside the pain, a place just for me Postmortem makeup to hide my heart, how to solve it is a secret The stabbing of the little devil’s voice, counterattack being a suicide note “I love YOU”

"Meeting up inside the pain" probably refers to hurting Rei, so now they're hurting together. The "stabbing of a little devil's voice" is probably referring to dangerous impulses, so murderous thoughts. "Counterattack being a suicide note", already explained. "I love YOU", because Muu is a girlkisser.

But the "postmortem makeup" is odd. You could argue the "death" which happened before the "makeup" was applied was the "death" of Muu's reputation, her old persona. Rei "killed" "that Muu", and now Muu is hiding her real feelings with "postmortem makeup."

But then, why would the method to solve it be a secret? Who is she keeping it secret from? Rei, and all of Muu's old 'friends', all know what lies beyond that makeup, they all saw what Muu was like before Rei stepped in.

That means there's another interpretation. If her real feelings are a secret, there's only one person they would be a secret from. Es (and us by extension). In a way, After Pain is hiding part of her heart, the less sympathetic parts shown in full in It's Not My Fault. Muu being a bully was already implied in After Pain, mind you, but it was still relatively "hidden", at least compared to It's Not my Fault.

And if that is the way we're meant to read that line, we run into the allegations again. If the makeup is for Milgram, and it's "postmortem" makeup, then Muu is already dead.

And that's without mentioning how much After Pain seems to imply suicidal tendencies in general.

[After Pain] If I was gone, If I had just disappeared I overheard, I found out How much I’m not needed There’s no special meaning, I got the short end of the stick I overheard, I found out How much I’m not needed

I don’t want tomorrow to come, I want to forget yesterday I was miserable, someone please help me

Maybe I’m done Just one more time before saying goodbye I’m just kidding, please forget I said that

The only lyric that doesn't seem to imply it is:

I want to feel “alive”, is it ok if I breathe?

But feeling alive and being alive isn't quite the same, right? You can be alive without feeling alive, and if someone doesn't feel alive, it's possible they're not a very good state of mind.

So, what could this all imply? If we're going with the idea of murder-suicide, it's possible Muu was very worried about how people would hate her after the murder, as implied by After Pain, decided she didn't want to deal with that, and unfortunately made the decision to kill herself.

One small thing which could serve as a counterpoint is her Trial 1 Voice Reveal distorted line.

Fufufu... It's your fault... for doing horrible things to me.

She seems pretty sure of herself here, and it's very likely this is after her murder. But it's perfectly possible she said this initially, then thought about the social consequences, and that's when she started to feel bad. It's also worth noting the only time in It's Not my Fault where Muu seems to hesitate is right after her murder.

[It's Not my Fault] Wait, wait, just as a hypothetical. What should I do if I’m actually a bad girl? Don’t ever hate me, and don’t look for what lies “after and from” the pain.

This is immediately after the murder, when she comes out of a caccoon, presumably her arriving at Milgram. So, she was initally confident, that's when she says "I’m always meant to be pitied!" in It's Not my Fault and presumably her Voice Reveal line, then hesitated and started to feel awful as we see in After Pain.

... Well, there's also the way more uncharitable reading where Muu killed herself so people also pitied her instead of just hating her for killing Rei, but that's a bit too dark and in bad faith for my tastes. It is there, though.

So, yeah, Muu may be dead too. And she brings with her an interesting implication; the prisoners may not have clear memories of the events leading up to their death. So, even if some of them committed suicide, it's possible they simply don't remember ever taking the decision to do so, explaining their behavior in the prison.

And it also could explain away... one apparent contradiction. One which exists outside of this theory, but that this theory could explain.

Amane and the Voice Reveal Trailers

As most of you know, the Voice Reveal trailers for all these characters contain certain distorted phrases which in general seem closely linked to their murder. And as pointed out by blueepink07 in this post, it seems the First Trial Voice Reveals are things the prisoners said after their murder, while the Second Trial ones are showing a point before their murder. Check out Kazui's, for example.

(T1) "I'm so dumb... Why did I have to dream?"

(T2) "Hinako, I love you more than anything."

There's also Muu's, since I've already brought it up before.

(T1) "Fufufu... It's your fault... for doing horrible things to me."

(T2) "Hey..why don't you listen to me...? I'm telling you... Hey...HEY, I'M TALKING TO YOU"

The second being right before she killed Rei.

That works well enough for all the prisoners... except Amane.

(T1) "Ahh! I'm so sorry...! I'm sorry...! I'm sorry for breaking the rules!"

(T2) "Father is a very praiseworthy person. Once [my/his] virtue increases, he'll come back home, right? It's a little lonely, but I'm fine!"

In theory, Amane would have been punished before her murder, as we see happen after she heals the cat in the taser scene. Meanwhile, if she's lonely without her father, it could perhaps be because her mother is dead after Things Happened (yes I'm going with Mother!Victim theory on this one).

But that's not the case. Following the pattern, the line about her father coming home at some point is before her murder, and apparently, she was punished for breaking some kind of rule after her murder. The implication here, horrid as it is, could be that her father returned home after she killed her mother and punished her for doing so.

Thankfully, this is impossible. After all:

(T1) Q18: Do you regret your "murder"?

A: No. It was a natural obligation.

(T2) Q3: State the name of your victim.

A: There is no victim. Only the punished.

(Taking some liberties on the translation of Trial 2 since the questions are still coming out as I write this)

So Amane genuinely believes she was following her cult's principles to a T when she killed her mom. As much as that likely isn't the case (long story), if she had gotten punished for killing her mom, then she wouldn't think like this. If she had been punished for it, she wouldn't think her murder was a "natural obligation", but rather a mistake on her part.

What this implies is that Amane doesn't remember being punished by her father.

...

Amane... doesn't remember...

Fuck.

Yeah, remember when I said it was possible the prisoners don't have clear memories of the events leading up to their death? Going by the "T1 after - T2 before" logic the Voice Reveals seem to follow, we can infer Amane was likely punished for killing her mother, but we also know she can't remember it happening, otherwise she would regret it. And based on what we learnt from Muu, we do have a way to explain how that could happen. If Amane died while receiving the punishment the T1 Voice Reveal alludes to, she wouldn't have a clear memory of it.

And the thing is, it does seem likely Amane received this punishment. Think about it. Interrogation questions are one thing, since the creators don't fully control them, but why mention her father would possibly return home in the Voice Reveal trailer? Unless he did. Hell, you could argue we might know the exact moment he returned. Amane does look at the entrance of her apartment at the end of Purge March, though that could simply be for dramatic effect rather than being a literal thing which happened.

But there's more. Because if her father returned home, we might actually have an answer for another one of the mysteries surrounding Amane's situation. The Undercover prisoner card.

The image on her card seems to show a bathroom. It is widely assumed the images on these cards are the location the murders happened in, but to my knowledge, this isn't 100% confirmed. However, this creates a small issue with Amane. Just looking at the murder shot in Purge March is enough to confirm that.

I made a more detailed theory on her murder on this post, diagrams included (scroll to the bottom if you're only interested on the murder), but for now, there are two things to note here. One, there's a trail of water which seems to come out of the door with the light on, as the puddles are bigger the closer they get to it, implying that room is the bathroom. And two, the room the murder actually happened in seems to have a window/door behind a curtain, which isn't what Amane's bathroom looks like.

Adittionally, there isn't any blood outside of the murder room, implying the victim's body wasn't dragged there.

All this seems to imply Amane's victim didn't die in the bathroom, which is sorta a problem considering the previously mentioned commonly accepted theory. But this idea that Amane may have died while being punished, perhaps while being drowned as we know that's one of the accepted methods of punishment in her cult, brings up a different possibility.

What if the images in the prisoner cards aren't showing murder location? What if they show the last place the prisoner was seen in, the place they died?

Kotoko, Mikoto, and the Prisoner Cards

So, first, is there any indication either of these might be dead? For Mikoto, not really. Sure, there's the whole Death card at the end of MeMe thing, but that doesn't have to be taken so literally.

Kotoko has a very little potential hint in the fact she's shown alongside a wolf at the start of HARROW, but by the end the wolf is by itself. If the wolf represents a potential partner (long story), then maybe Kotoko died?

Though you can easily argue the wolf is slightly different and thus is meant to just represent Kotoko.

However, the reason I'm bringing them into this is because their prisoner cards are completely nonsensical under "murder location" theory for the images shown. Let's start with Kotoko.

It shows an alleyway, which at first seems like it makes sense. We do see her attacking a man in an alleyway. However, after that happens, one of the pieces of background text says this:

◆ A wanted thief was assaulted by an unknown assailant Early yesterday morning, a nearby shop employee reported hearing screaming and seeing a man lying on the ground. According to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, the man had lost consciousness after being beaten on his face, stomach, and other areas, and was taken to the hospital. The police are currently trying to identify the suspect. [...] According to previous investigations, the male victim was wanted throughout Tokyo for theft and assault charges and was identified as the suspect, Mikio Oshii.

(Translation by Maristelina)

Mikio Oshii is the name of the man Kotoko assaulted in the alleyway. It seems odd to me that we would learn he was taken to the hospital if he later died in it somehow, especially because Kotoko didn't want to kill him. We can clearly see this because of a crucial difference between her attack on him and her attack on the serial killer who likely is her victim.

She covers her face while attacking Oshii, because she doesn't want to be recognized. She is committing assault, after all. However, that only matters if she's planning to keep him alive. Conversely, she doesn't cover her face while attacking the serial killer, because she knows he won't be a witness. She went into that warehouse planning to kill.

Of course, she could have accidentally done too much damage, but the issue there is that she would probably express some remorse in that case. She doesn't, and the fact she only ever talks about one victim-

[TASK (T1 VD)] I did kill someone. [...] I don't have a single regret.

-it really seems like Oshii was able to survive her attack.

That creates an issue with her prisoner card. It shows an alleyway, but her only victim died in a warehouse. As confusing as that sequence is, he did die in the warehouse.

You know when we do see an alleyway again, though?

But she's not wearing her face covering. And if this was the alley with the one sign about a car accident that shows up over and over in HARROW, I'd imagine we'd see the sign, even if it was obscured in some way. So once again, a silhouette shot which seems to have nothing to do with her murder or her general situation.

So, is it possible she died in this alleyway? That's the only other reason I can imagine why it'd show up in her prisoner card, so. As for what exactly happened, I imagine she may have been murdered at the whim of her victim's father?

Shocking revelation: The heinous criminal behind the crime is the privileged son of a high-ranking official!

(Article referring to Kotoko's victim)

So, she got found out and immediately assassinated? It's a bit out there, but it would explain both her prisoner card and her attitude in the prison.

And then there's Mikoto.

As you can see, his card shows a street. The issue with Mikoto is one of format. The cards only ever show one location, but we know Mikoto has at least two victims.

[Text: To the right, the Subway Murder, which clearly has a ceiling. The murderer has blood on his right cheek, his left cheek is hidden. There's also the bathhtub scene, where the right cheek is hidden, but the left cheek has blood already trailing off, which doesn't quite fit what we see in the other murder if you think about the bath chronologically.

To the left, a murder out in the street, with an open sky. The murderer has blood on their left cheek, but not on their right. This is seen in both the crime and the shower scene]

So yeah, at least two. You could argue the bathtub murder is actually a third one, which... huh. Two things that absolutely exist and a Secret Third Thing, the existance of which is disputed? Trikoto vibes.

Point is, Mikoto has two different murder locations at least. The street, yes, but also the subway. This creates a problem with the "images in the prisoner cards are murder locations" idea, because it only shows one. You could try to gymnastics your way out of this by saying maybe Hostkoto committed the street murder while Orekoto killed the other victim(s), and because only Hostkoto is considered a prisoner by Milgram, only his murder is shown? But I feel that raises more questions than it answers.

Instead, if we assume the images to be death locations, the ambiguity disappears, because Mikoto as a system can only have one death location. The issue is you have to explain how Mikoto died in the middle of the street, which is a bit difficult.

The best guess I can give is related to the subway victim. It's been pointed out before that guy looks a lot like a stereotypical Japanese delinquent, which could imply he was part of a gang. If that's the case, it's possible the killer angered the wrong people by killing him, similar to Kotoko, and thus was later murdered himself. We know that street isn't very safe, on account of one of the alters getting away with murder there. It's a pretty large stretch, and has like zero evidence, but it's physically possible at least.

Let's take a quick look at the other prisoners and see if their images can also be explained by the "death image" theory.

We know Muu would share a death location with her victim if she really committed suicide as the theory states, so nothing weird there. Haruka's a bit more awkward, because it shows the forest he very likely killed the girl in, but I'm not entirely sure if the forests near Nagaoka has bodies of water deep enough to drown oneself. There is the Shinano river, which has... trees, around it.

This was taken from Google Street View in Nagaoka. Again, not sure how deep it is, but assuming it's deep enough to drown, it could work if you ignore the trees don't look too much like the ones irl. Maybe Haruka threw himself off the bridge?

Alternatively, Nagaoka borders the sea, and it seems like there's forest almost all the way up to it. So maybe that could work? Unsure.

Worst comes to worst, we can maybe change it to saying Haruka didn't drown himself, but killed himself in some other way in the forest. Point is, I think Haruka's isn't too big of an issue.

Fuuta, Mahiru and Kazui don't have a lot of evidence towards what the hell would have happened, but the best assumption I can make is they all committed suicide because of guilt. Fuuta in his room, Mahiru in the suicide forest (likely also where her boyfriend committed suicide), and Kazui by jumping off a building like Hinako. As for their evidence...

>Fuuta burns at the end of Backdraft, which is the same thing that happens to Killcheroy, so you could argue that's meant to show he's dying. It's not great, it absolutely is just meant to be metaphorical most likely, but it is there.

Additionally, he's also an outlier for the "muder location image" theory, since what one would consider his "murder location" is very ambiguous. Is it his room, where he sent online hate from? Is it Killcheroy's room, where she assumedly died? Wouldn't it be the front of Killcheroy's house, where Fuuta took the picture to dox her? Again, death location is less ambiguous.

Fuuta's attitude during Trial 1 could be seen as a bit weird if he was suicidal, but I'm not sure we can comfortably say that with the limited information we have.

>Mahiru in I Love You goes to sleep after seeing her boyfriend dead, which could be read as her committing suicide. You know, if you're insane like me.

Especially given this question from Trial 1:

(T1) Q20: What do you think about smoking?

M: I've never smoked before, but I might copy him if who I love smokes.

That, alongside a lot of the bg text from TIHTBILWY, implies Mahiru likes the idea of copying her lover. Not the greatest quality to have when your lover commits suicide.

>Kazui has this:

Where the smoke of his cigarette turns into a noose. Of course, that's meant to represent self-destruction in general, but it could also be taken more literally. He... doesn't have much else.

Thus, everyone else vaguely fits the idea of "death image"... except him.

Our favorite headache inducing doctor strikes again! His card shows a hospital room, which is a very strange death location, but perfectly fits his murders. You could argue he runs into the same issue as Mikoto, but it's actually possible Shidou just killed all his victims in the same room, so.

Yeah, Shidou's probably the biggest counterargument for this theory. Because while it's possible he died in a hospital, there is zero evidence for it, beyond the image itself. Hell, neither Throw Down or Triage ever seems to imply he died in the first place, which is an issue. This theory's already heavily dependant on the extremely flawed "you can't disprove it" argument, but at least most of the other ones have some kind of logical progression which gets you to how they died.

So, to complete the theory, we have to make the pretty big jump that Shidou died inside a hospital room, without knowing how that happened.

... Wait, inside the room?

Wait wait wait, show me Fuuta's and Amane's again.

Hmmm... 0308... hmmmm... 0308... I totally didn't just do this to put the two together... hm...

Yeah, same thing. They both show the inside of a room. Which, along with Shidou's, shows that these images can show the inside of buildings, right?

But, then... why is Yuno's outside?

That very clearly isn't the inside of a building. But this generates a problem for the "murder location image" theory, because Yuno's "murder" was abortion. Even if it wasn't done professionally, she would have still done it inside, presumably. This creates an inconsistency with Fuuta, Amane and Shidou. If their murder locations are shown from inside, why is Yuno different?

However, this inconsistency disappears if we assume the images to be death locations. I previously established if Yuno died, she likely committed suicide by jumping off a staircase, which does vaguely fit this image. It's similar to Kazui's in that way.

Now, I don't want to get too ahead of myself here. Murder location is still absolutely the more straightforward answer, but it does come with its issues. As stated, Fuuta's image would face some ambiguity, Mikoto's would face extreme ambiguity, Amane's seems to contradict the evidence we're shown in Purge March, Yuno's is wildly inconsistent with the other images, and Kotoko's is straight up nonsensical.

Meanwhile, death locations physically work with all the cases, even if Shidou's case is extremely weird, but it requires huge assumptions and stretches. It relies heavily on how impossible it is to disprove, which is not a good sign. Russell's Teapot, and all that.

Summary of the Theory

>Everyone in Milgram is dead, and their prisoner cards in Undercover show the place where they died.

>Prisoner's memories of the events leading up to their deaths are extremely fuzzy, explaining why only Yuno seems to even suspect it.

+Haruka: Committed suicide by drowning himself, possibly in the Shinano river or the sea. [Most likely to be dead]

+Yuno: Committed suicide by jumping off the staircase we see her standing in on her Undercover silhouette shot. [Most likely to be dead]

+Fuuta: Committed suicide in his room out of guilt. [Very little evidence]

+Muu: Murder-suicide, she committed suicide after killing Rei. [A bit more evidence than others]

+Shidou: Died in a hospital room [???]

+Mahiru: "Copied" her boyfriend by killing herself in the suicide forest. [Very little evidence]

+Kazui: Jumped off a building, like Hinako. [Very little evidence]

+Amane: Drowned by her father as "punishment" for her murder. [Unfortunately, sorta likely]

+Mikoto: Murdered by one of the members of Subway Victim's gang. [Sort of filling in the blanks here]

+Kotoko: Murdered at the order of her victim's father. [Very little evidence]

Conclusion

Do I believe this theory? Honestly, I don't know. It makes a few too many assumptions for me to fully believe it, but I do think it's a decent possibility, so I wanted to share it with you all. In any case, that's all I have to say for now. If you have any thoughts about any of this, feel free to share! Also I didn't even touch on Es but you can try to fit them in somehow if you feel like it.

Anyways, if you made it this far, you deserve a hug, this post was depressing. Take care!

#milgram #milgram project #milgram theory #fuuta kajiyama #amane momose #mikoto kayano #shidou kirisaki #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #muu kusunoki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #kotoko yuzuhira

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odinsblog · 7 months ago

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Dear President Shafik,

We write as Jewish faculty of Columbia and Barnard in anticipation of your appearance before the House Committee on Education and the Workforce on April 17, where you are expected to answer questions about antisemitism on campus. Based on the committee’s previous hearings, we are gravely concerned about the false narratives that frame these proceedings to entrap witnesses. We urge you, as the University president, to defend our shared commitment to universities as sites of learning, critical thinking, and knowledge production against this new McCarthyism.

Rather than being concerned with the safety and well-being of Jewish students on campuses, the committee is leveraging antisemitism in a wider effort to caricature and demonize universities as hotbeds of “woke indoctrination.” Its opportunistic use of antisemitism in a moment of crisis is expanding and strengthening longstanding efforts to undermine educational institutions. After launching attacks on public universities from Florida to South Dakota, this campaign has opened a new front against private institutions.

The prospect of Rep. Elise Stefanik, a member of congress with a history of espousing white nationalist politics, calling university presidents to account for alleged antisemitism on their campuses reveals these proceedings as disingenuous political theater.

In the face of these coordinated attacks on higher education, universities must insist on their freedom to research and teach inconvenient truths. This includes historical injustices and the contemporary structures that perpetuate them, regardless of whether these facts are politically inexpedient for certain interest groups.

To be sure, antisemitism is a grave concern that should be scrutinized alongside racism, sexism, Islamophobia, homophobia, and all other forms of hate. These hateful ideologies exist everywhere and we would be ignorant to believe that they don’t exist at Columbia. When antisemitism rears its head, it should be swiftly denounced, and its perpetrators held to account. However, it is absurd to claim that antisemitism—“discrimination, prejudice, hostility or violence against Jews as Jews,” according to the Jerusalem Declaration’s definition—is rampant on Columbia’s campus. To argue that taking a stand against Israel’s war on Gaza is antisemitic is to pervert the meaning of the term.

Labeling pro-Palestinian expression as anti-Jewish hate speech requires a dangerous and false conflation of Zionism with Jewishness, of political ideology with identity. This conflation betrays a woefully inaccurate understanding—and disingenuous misrepresentation—of Jewish history, identity, and politics. It erases more than a century of debates among Jews themselves about the nature of a Jewish homeland in the biblical Land of Israel, including Israel’s status as a Jewish nation-state. It dismisses the experiences of the post-Zionist, non-Zionist, and anti-Zionist Jews who work, study, and live on our campus.

The political passions that arise from conflict in the Middle East may deeply unsettle students, faculty, and staff with opposing views. But feeling uncomfortable is not the same thing as being threatened or discriminated against. Free expression, which is fundamental to both academic inquiry and democracy, necessarily entails exposure to views that may be deeply disconcerting. We can support students who feel real and valid discomfort toward protests advocating for Palestinian liberation while also stating clearly and firmly that this discomfort is not an issue of safety.

As faculty, we dedicate ourselves and our classrooms to keeping every student safe from real harm, harassment, and discrimination. We commit to helping them learn to experience discomfort and even confrontation as part of the process of skill and knowledge acquisition—and to help them realize that ideas we oppose can be contested without being suppressed.

By exacting discipline, inviting police presence, and broadly surveilling its students for minor offenses, the University is betraying its educational mission. It has pursued drastic measures against students, including disciplinary proceedings and probation, for infractions like allegedly attending an unauthorized protest, or moving barricades to drape a flag on a statue. Real harassment and physical intimidation and violence on campus must be confronted seriously and its perpetrators held accountable. At the same time, the University should refrain whenever possible from using discipline and surveillance as means of addressing less serious harms, and should never use punitive measures to address conflicts over ideas and the feelings of discomfort that result. Where the University once embraced and defended students’ political expression, it now suppresses and disciplines it.

The University’s recent policies represent a dramatic change from historical practice, and the consequences are ruinous to our community and its principles. In the past, Columbia has periodically confronted attacks against pro-Palestinian speech, ranging from the vile slanders against Professor Edward Said to the reckless accusations from the David Project. But where for decades the University stood firm against smear campaigns targeting its professors, it has now voluntarily accepted the job of censoring its faculty in and outside the classroom.

Columbia’s commitment to free inquiry and robust disagreement is what makes it a world-class institution. Limiting academic freedom when it comes to questions of Israel and Palestine paves the way for limitations on other contested topics, from climate science to the history of slavery. What’s more, students must have the freedom to dissent, to make mistakes, to offend without intent, and to learn to repair harm done if necessary. Free expression is not only crucial to student development and education outside the classroom; the tradition of student protest has also played a vital role in American democracy. Columbia should be proud of having participated in nationwide student organizing that helped secure civil rights and reproductive rights and helped bring an end to the Vietnam War and apartheid in South Africa.

We express our support for the University and for higher education against the attacks likely to be leveled against them at the upcoming congressional hearing. We object to the weaponization of antisemitism. And we advocate for a campus where all students, Jewish, Palestinian, and all others, can learn and thrive in a climate of open, honest inquiry and rigorous debate.

Many members of our University community share our perspective, but they have not yet been heard. Columbia students, staff, alumni, and faculty can sign here to show your support for this letter’s message.

—Jewish faculty reject the weaponization of antisemitism

The 23 authors of this letter are Jewish faculty members of Barnard College and Columbia University. This letter derives from a much longer one by these same 23 faculty sent to President Shafik on April 5.

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soon-palestine · 8 months ago

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JVL Introduction

The Presidents of three leading US universities were falsely accused of condoning anti-Semitism on their campuses in a highly partisan ambush in front of US congressional hearing in December. Now the Columbia President, Minouche Shafik, is being summoned and 23 of her Jewish faculty are urging her not to give in to attempts to equate anti-Zionism with antisemitism and to defend academic freedom at her campus.

They strongly contest assertions that antisemitism is rife at Columbia. They accept that many students are unsettled by the intensity of debate around the Gaza catastrophe but being uncomfortable is far from being discriminated against or threatened.

They deplore the recent actions of the University’s management to use disciplinary processes to clamp down on protest and see this as an abandonment of Columbia’s record of confronting smears and slanders levelled against staff and students and committing to free inquiry and robust disagreement.

This article was originally published by Columbia Spectator on Wed 10 Apr 2024. Read the original here. Jewish faculty reject the weaponization of antisemitism

by 23 Columbia and Barnard faculty, Columbia Spectator

Dear President Shafik,

Sincerely,Debbie Becher, Barnard College Helen Benedict, Columbia Journalism School Susan Bernofsky, School of the Arts Elizabeth Bernstein, Barnard College Nina Berman, Columbia Journalism School Amy Chazkel, Faculty of Arts & Sciences Yinon Cohen, Faculty of Arts & Sciences Nora Gross, Barnard College Keith Gessen, Columbia Journalism School Jack Halberstam, Faculty of Arts & Sciences Sarah Haley, Faculty of Arts & Sciences Michael Harris, Faculty of Arts & Sciences Jennifer S. Hirsch, Mailman School of Public Health Marianne Hirsch, Faculty of Arts & Sciences (Emerita) Joseph A. Howley, Faculty of Arts & Sciences David Lurie, Faculty of Arts & Sciences Nara Milanich, Barnard College D. Max Moerman, Barnard College Manijeh Moradian, Barnard College Sheldon Pollock, Faculty of Arts & Sciences (Emeritus) Bruce Robbins, Faculty of Arts & Sciences James Schamus, School of the Arts Alisa Solomon, Columbia Journalism School

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #columbia university

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