#and only have agreed upon symbols and communication

[torchickentacos]

Having big thoughts on tone indicator discourse rn

[gnvrkhuroo]

insatiable desires pt. 1

leon s. kennedy x f. reader

warning: EXTREMELY DARK SMUT. NONCON, DUBCON, CNC. possessive behavior. praise & degradation. master-pet/slave relationship, size kink, corruption kink, jealousy, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, tummy bulge, dacryphilia, slight bdsm, hair pulling, slapping, spanking, brat taming, dumbification, manipulation, overstimulation, marking, love bites, branding scare.

this part is purely smut and i guess a bit of introduction to their relationship (?), the plot and story begin in part 2.

(not proofread & lowercase intended)

note: the following content contains explicit and adult-oriented language and themes. this piece is fictional and solely intended for the reader's satisfaction and imagination. the author does NOT condone or endorse any real-life activities that may be depicted. reader discretion is advised. mdni.

please bear with me for a bit, as i haven't written for a while. however, i intend to improve my writing with every part of this series.

you've tried everything. exploring every possibility in your relentless pursuit of pleasure, yet it remains unfulfilled. you want—no, you need the real thing — a real cock. not a cold silicone dildo or a vibrator but a genuine connection with a man who can satiate your deepest desires. someone who not only comprehends the hidden desires that you are yet to find in the corners of your mind, but also your current fantasies. a man of experience, confidence, and the ability to surpass your expectations, while respecting your boundaries and limitations.

driven by this longing, you made a bold decision one fateful day. you set your sights on a formidable individual, a man whose reputation precedes him. with unwavering determination, you sought to approach leon kennedy, a figure who held the key to unlocking your satisfaction, as they say.

and so, he invited you to his penthouse, seated comfortably behind his wide desk, he reclined his swivel chair. his piercing blue eyes alternated between the document resting before him and the person who stood before him—you.

leon smirks, leaning back further in his chair, his fingers steepled together. his piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, his voice smooth and confident. "let's go over the agreed-upon rules one last time." he reaches forward, picking up the paper and clearing his throat before reading out loud.

rule number one: you will address me as "master " at all times, without exception. disobedience will result in punishment.

rule number two: your body is mine to do as i please. you will obey any and all orders given to you immediately and without question. failure to do so will result in punishment.

rule number three: you are to be completely submissive and obedient at all times. any displays of resistance or defiance will be met with consequences.

rule number four: trust and honesty are crucial. you will communicate your desires, limits, and boundaries clearly and openly.

rule number five: "red" will be our safe word, a word that will signify the need for an immediate halt to any activities. and for situations when you cannot speak, a double tap from you shall serve as your signal for me to cease.

rule number six: consent is given and assumed between us. we have entered into this agreement willingly and with a clear understanding of the dynamics at play.

rule number seven: any physical marks or bruises left on your body will be solely at my discretion. i may use them as a reminder of your submission and my ownership.

rule number seven: you will wear the collar i have provided you with at all times when we are together. it symbolizes your submissive status.

rule number eight: aftercare is of utmost importance. i will provide care and comfort after each session, tending to your physical and emotional needs.

rule number nine: limits and hard boundaries will be respected. any acts or requests beyond those limits will not be entertained.

rule number ten: discretion is crucial. our arrangement and any activities that occur between us will remain strictly between us.

rule number eleven: i shall provide for you as long as our contract is in effect.

rule number twelve: communication is key. if at any time you have concerns, questions, or suggestions, you are to bring them to my attention.

rule number thirteen: exclusivity is expected. you will be mine and mine alone. you will not engage in any form of sexual activity with others without my explicit permission.

rule number fourteen: this agreement is subject to periodic review and amendments as we see fit, but any changes must be agreed upon by both parties.

rule number fifteen: above all, remember that your role is to serve and please me. your submission and obedience will be rewarded, but disobedience will not go unpunished."

leon finishes reading the rules and proceeds to enlighten you now with the punishments in order for disobedience and failure to follow the contract. the severity of the punishments depends on the nature of the transgression.

"for minor offenses, i may choose to administer a spanking, using my hand or other implements of your choosing. a whip, a belt, or even a paddle. the sting and the marks they leave will surely remind you of your place.

for more grave offenses, i might decide to deny you pleasure, subjecting you to a period of denial and frustration. teasing you, torturing you with pleasure until the brink, only to leave you unsatisfied.

for severe transgressions, humiliation. i will expose your deepest, darkest secrets, making you feel vulnerable and exposed. in front of me, or perhaps even in front of others, if i deem it necessary. the shame you feel will be a harsh reminder of your place.

another form of punishment i enjoy is forced orgasm. i will push you to your limits, overstimulating your body with pleasure until you are begging for mercy. but i will continue, without pause, until you are broken, trembling, and completely at my mercy."

and, of course, there is always the option of physical pain. whether it be through flogging, caning, or even more extreme methods, like branding.

the act of marking you permanently, etching my ownership into your very flesh. it would serve as a stark reminder of your place and your commitment to our contract. for the location, i have chosen the upper back, just below the neck. it is a prominent yet easily concealable area, allowing you to exhibit your mark when desired or to hide it under clothing when necessary."

"as for the design, a simple symbol of my choosing will suffice. an intricate "L" intertwined with a fierce dragon, symbolizing power, dominance, and the unbreakable bond between master and slave." leon's voice lowers, his gaze intensifying as he locks eyes with you.

"and now, the method. we shall proceed with scarification, using a heated branding iron. the sensation of searing pain, the sizzle of flesh meeting metal, will etch the memory of my ownership permanently into your being."

setting the paper back down on the desk and swiftly sliding it across the table towards you. he studies your face carefully, waiting for your response.

after thoroughly reviewing the contract and deeming it satisfactory, a surge of confidence coursed through your veins. without hesitation, you grabbed the pen from his desk, eager to finalize the deal with a flourish of your signature.

"done."

without wasting another precious moment, leon reached for his desk, deftly pulling open a drawer to reveal a thick and vibrant pink collar. with a determined gaze, he rose to his feet.

his fingers idly toying with the collar's texture as he approached you. then he pressed his lips tenderly against your forehead, a gesture filled with affection and a hint of dominance. it sent shivers down your spine, amplifying the anticipation that already hung in the air.

circling behind you, his hand delicately brushed your hair over your shoulder. with a confident yet gentle touch, he wrapped the collar around your neck, securing it in place. the buckle clicked, its snugness striking the perfect balance between leaving a mark and allowing you to breathe freely.

"who owns you, pretty thing? tell me,"

"you do, master. all for you."

"mmm, such sweet devotion," leon purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his hands trailed down your body, his touch both possessive and tender. he gripped your waist firmly, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to elicit a gasp from your lips.

leaning in, his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his voice a low, velvety whisper. "you belong to me now. your body, your pleasure, all for me." his words sent a jolt of desire coursing through your veins, your body growing more submissive under his commanding presence.

leon slowly guided you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body. he sat down on the edge, his gaze fixed on you with hunger in his eyes. "strip for me, pet. show me what's mine," he commanded, his voice laced with an intoxicating blend of authority and desire.

your hands shook slightly as you began to undress, the vulnerability and anticipation electrifying every movement. leon's eyes drank in the sight of you, his gaze washing over your exposed skin, appreciating every curve and contour. his lips curled into a wicked smile, his own arousal evident.

as you stood before him, bare and vulnerable, leon's hand snapped out, the sound of a sharp slap resounding through the room. a mixture of pain and pleasure ignited within you, your body responding to the delightful sting. "you've been such a good pet, haven't you?" he taunted, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "but we're just getting started."

without warning, his hand tangled in your hair, roughly pulling you towards him. his lips claimed yours in a fierce and possessive kiss, his tongue dominating yours as he explored the depths of your mouth. the taste of him consumed you, his taste lingering on your tongue as you gasped for breath.

breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "you're mine, and i'm going to make sure you never forget who you belong to," he growled, before pushing you back onto the bed, positioning himself above you.

leon's lips crashed into yours once again, the hunger and desire intensifying with each passing second. his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with a possessive grip. as your tongues danced together, the room filled with the sound of your muffled moans, consumed by your shared lust.

his fingers trailed down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. with a firm yet gentle grip, he squeezed your ass, the sting of the slap still lingering on your skin. "you like it rough, don't you? tell me," he demanded, his voice filled with a mix of dominance and eagerness.

a shuddering breath escaped your lips as you mustered the words, your voice a mere whisper. "y-yes, master. want it as rough as you want," you admitted, your submission fueling the fire within him.

in response, he threw you onto the bed. leon gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, holding them firmly in place. his kisses descended from your lips, trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of love bites and marks in his wake. the combination of pleasure and pain sent waves of electricity through your body, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

his hand slipped between your thighs, teasing your slick folds with his fingers. with a wicked smirk, he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "do you want me to claim you, pet? to make you mine in every way?" he murmured, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

desire surged through your veins as you nodded eagerly, your voice barely above a whisper. "y-yes, make me yours completely," you pleaded, your words punctuated by a moan as his fingers slipped inside you, expertly exploring your depths.

leon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt your wetness coating his fingers. he moved them in a slow and calculated manner, curling them to find that sweet spot that would elicit delicious moans from your lips. each movement of his hand was designed to bring you pleasure, to make you crave more.

keeping his eyes locked on yours, he pulled his fingers out, only to thrust them back in, setting a rhythm that matched the growing heat between you. each stroke was deliberate, leaving you on the precipice of pleasure, but never quite pushing you over.

his voice was a commanding whisper as he spoke, hot breath cascading over your ear. "so obedient and responsive," he growled, his voice dripping with authority. his fingers quickened their pace, plunging deep into your core, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

leon's smoldering eyes bore into yours, relishing in the sight of your submission. he pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit your most sensitive spot. your moans filled the room, echoing the pleasure that surged through your body like an electric current.

with a flick of his wrist, he removed his fingers from your dripping entrance, making you whimper in need. he brought them up to your lips, the scent of your arousal filling your nostrils as he traced your lips with his fingertips. "open," he commanded, his tone demanding your unquestioning obedience.

as your mouth opened, he slid his fingers inside, fully coating them with your taste. "suck them clean, pet," he ordered, his voice laced with the promise of retribution if you disobeyed. without hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, cleaning off every drop of your essence.

satisfied with your obedience, leon withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a glimmer of sadistic pleasure dancing in his eyes. "perfectly made just for me," he declared, his voice filled with lust and dominance.

a cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he unbuckled his belt, the sound of leather sliding through metal sending a shiver down your spine. holding the belt firmly in his hand, he let the leather coil against his palm before he loomed above you.

his strong hands gripped your hips, flipping you onto your stomach. "you're going to feel every strike of this belt," he warned, his voice filled with a mix of authority and sadistic pleasure. yet, he paused. "color."

"g-green."

without further delay, leon brought down the belt, the leather hitting the exposed skin of your backside with a resounding crack. the sting and burn left you breathless, each strike toeing the line between pleasure and pain. your moans filled the room as he continued his relentless assault, marking your skin with red welts that matched his voracious desire.

he leaned in closer, his voice husky and dominant. "such a good girl," he praised, his lips brushing against your ear. "you're already so wet for me, so eager and ready to get fucked rough."

he released his pulsing cock from his pants, his touch sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. his hand moved with a purpose, stroking his length firmly, the sight and sound of his hand gliding along his throbbing shaft filling the room.

leon's cock throbbed in his hand, the veins pulsating with anticipation. each stroke elicited a soft grunt of pleasure from his lips, his grip tightening around his shaft. it was a sight to behold, his arousal on full display.

with a teasing smirk, he pressed just the tip inside, relishing in the way you gasped and writhed beneath him. "you want it, don't you, pet? beg for it," he commanded, his voice a low growl of dominance.

an intense desire coursed through you, driving you to please him even further. "please, n-need you inside me, master," you pleaded, your voice dripping with desperation.

leon's dominance ignited within him. before you could prepare yourself, he shifted his body, his throbbing length pressing against your slick fold and without warning, he thrust himself inside you with a forceful intensity. pleasure mixed with pain as your body adjusted to his size, and a guttural growl escaped his throat. he set a rhythm, his movements powerful and relentless, his grip on your hips leaving bruises in his wake.

you gasped loudly, your hands gripping the bedsheets, nails digging into the fabric. "o-oh fuck, leon," you moaned breathlessly, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and surprise.

suddenly, leon's hand came down hard on your ass, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. the sting of the slap sent a jolt of pain and pleasure coursing through your body, a reminder of your place and the rules you should follow.

"address me properly, pet," he growled, his voice filled with a potent mix of warning and desire.

tears glistened in your eyes as the pain radiated through your ass, your skin tingling from the impact. "i-i'm sorry, master," you whimpered, your voice laced with both regret and desire. "please, forgive me."

leon's hand ghosted gently over the now reddened flesh, his touch contrasting the previous harshness. "you know better," he chided softly, his tone a twisted blend of affection and dominance.

with a shift of his hips, he resumed his forceful thrusts, his cock pounding into you with a relentless pace. each stroke brought a mix of sensations driving you further into submission. as your body trembled against him, you vowed to never forget his title again.

leon smirked, relishing in the sight of your desperate and needy state. "hm... you liked that, didn't you?" he taunted, his voice filled with a mix of sadistic pleasure and satisfaction. "of course you do, fucking slut."

with each forceful thrust, he drove himself deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he claimed you completely. his body moved with calculated precision, his hips meeting yours with an insatiable hunger for dominance.

the sound of skin slapping against skin resonated through the room, the bed creaking beneath you. your moans filled the air, mixing with his growls of satisfaction. his relentless pace pushed you to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure as you clung to the brink of release.

but leon wasn't done with you yet. with a sudden change in position, he flipped you onto your back. "now you're going to take it just how i want," he hissed, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

his free hand moved to your throat, hand gripping the collar firmly but not enough to cut off your oxygen. "look at me," he commanded, his eyes locked with yours. "i want to see you. look at me in the eyes as i claim you as mine. fill you up with my seed, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"y-yes!" you exclaim in ecstasy, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, on the brink of spilling over.

as your eyes met, he could see the hunger, the desperation reflected in your gaze. his hand traveled up to your face, his thumb brushing gently against the corner of your eye, capturing a tear. he brought his thumb to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he licked it clean, savoring the taste of your submission.

"there it is... such a beautiful sight," he murmured darkly, his voice filled with a mix of lust and superiority. your tears only spurred him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more frenzied.

leon's thumb found your clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive nub, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. the combination of his skilled fingers and the overwhelming pleasure he's forcing onto your body had you on the brink of release, your breaths coming in sharp gasps.

his hand released your throat and trailed down, his fingers tracing a path along your collarbone until they reached your pert breasts. with a firm grip, he kneaded them, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, relishing in the way they filled his hands.

with a smirk, he leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking on it with an irresistible intensity. his tongue swirled around your sensitive bud, creating delicious friction that made you arch your back in pleasure. he alternated between gentle and rough bites, leaving love bites in his wake. the mix of pain and pleasure sent shivers down your spine, igniting a primal need within you.

"m-more, master," unable to hold back any longer, you moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair, encouraging him to take more of you. the sensations were overwhelming, a perfect blend that brought you closer to the edge.

he couldn't resist the urge to give you a sharp bite, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of your breast which sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, earning a yelp from your trembling lips. his hot breath ghosted over the bite mark as he murmured, "beautiful."

his mouth left a trail of wet kisses and love bites along your chest, marking you as his possession. he could sense your desire building once again, your body begging for release under his touch.

with a sinful smirk, he released your breasts from his mouth. his fingers circling your nipples, tugging on them lightly before sliding down your body to grip your thigh. hoisting your leg over his shoulder to grant him deeper access and allow him to pound into you harder.

with half-lidded eyes, you gaze at leon, intrigued by his furrowed brows and the intensity of his gaze fixed on your lower region rather than your face. leon's thumb grazed against the bulge in your lower abdomen, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. his teasing caress only heightened your desire, leaving you yearning for more of his delicious domination.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered huskily, "seeing my cock bulge reminds me that you exist to serve me. you are mine, my plaything. every thrust, every swell of my cock inside you... it's a constant reminder of how deeply you've submitted to me."

with a swift motion, he thrust his hips forward, driving his bulging cock deeper into you, aching against every inch of your inner walls. the sensation was both pleasurable and torturous, a sweet torment that left you craving more of his merciless control.

"do you like feeling that bulge, my pet?" he asked, his voice laced with satisfaction. "does it make you feel owned, completely at my mercy? my cock stretching you, filling you, pushing you to your limits."

leon smirked at your trembling form, relishing the power he held over you. he firmly guided your hand to press against the bulge on your stomach, ensuring you felt every pulsation and throb of his cock as it filled you completely.

"such a good girl," he praised, his voice laced with wicked satisfaction. "feel that? feel how deeply i'm inside you? the proof of our connection lies right here."

he tightened his grip on your hand, making sure you couldn't pull away, as he thrust his hips forward, causing his cock to press even harder against your hand. every movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you, reinforcing the intoxicating control he had over your body.

"you'll take everything i give you, won't you? every drop of my seed belongs inside you, isn't that right?" he commanded, his voice filled with sadistic delight. "but not just yet, pet. you don't get to cum until i give you permission."

with that, leon withdrew his slightly, a sadistic smile crept across leon's lips as he held himself still, teasing you with just the tip of his hardened length. he savored the sight of your desperation, relishing in your need for him to fill you completely once more.

your whine of frustration and need only fueled his sadistic delight. with a cruel twist of his hips, he pushed himself deep into you once again, his length plunging into your eager depths. the sudden fullness made you gasp, a mixture of pleasure and relief flooding your senses.

but just as quickly as he had given you what you craved, he pulled back, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. a whimper escaped your lips, the anticipation and desire consuming your thoughts.

he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

he shifted his rhythm, alternating between deep, agonizing thrusts and shallow, teasing motions. the anticipation and frustration built within you, driving you to the brink of insanity. your body writhed beneath him, involuntarily seeking the release it so desperately needed.

leon began to thrust slowly, torturing you with every languid movement, pushing you to the edge of orgasm only to deny it. he wanted to see you quivering with need, desperate and helpless under his dominant control.

leon was merciless. he reveled in your torment, denying you the climax you longed for, pushing you to the edge and then pulling back. his eyes danced with sadistic delight as he watched the desperation and need etched on your face.

"master, please," you pleaded, your voice filled with desperation. "i'll do anything. please let me cum."

"no, pet," he sneered mockingly, his tone dripping with authority. "you do not get to cum until i allow it. and i must say, i'm quite enjoying watching you squirm and beg for it."

he continued his calculated torture, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each torturous stroke. your body trembled, juices dripping down your thighs as you teetered on the precipice of release.

submissively, you spread your legs wider, silently offering more of yourself to him. you desperately hoped that your actions would be enough to convince him. finally, when he deemed you had suffered enough, leon's rhythm shifted once more. his movements became rough and forceful, pushing you over the edge.

each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your walls tightening around his thick cock. you could feel him deep inside you, his size filling you to the brim.

as your body quivered beneath him, on the precipice of release, he continued his ruthless assault. your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tumbled over the edge into a mind-shattering orgasm. the waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath his dominating presence.

"l-leon!" you cried out his name, your pleasure mingling with his dominance, creating a symphony of ecstasy.

as your body shuddered and twitched beneath him, leon continued his relentless rhythm, prolonging the blissful torture. with a groan, leon reached his peak. he buried himself deep within you, emptying his hot essence deep into your waiting womb. you felt the pulsations of his release, his thick, potent seed filling you completely.

his eyes boring into yours as he slowly pulled out, relishing the way your body clenched around him leaving you feeling empty and yearning for more. the mixture of his cum and your juices dripped down your ass, a reminder of the intensity of your encounter.

leon's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smile as he scooped up the small amount of leaked cum and pushed it back inside you. his finger slid in smoothly, the wetness mixing with your own arousal. "don't waste a single drop of your master's cum, pet," he whispered throatily, his voice filled with a possessive hunger. feeling the tightness of your walls around his digits, he slowly withdrew his fingers.

leaning in close, he gently wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of his hand, his touch both comforting and possessive. "mmm, such a good pet," he purred, his voice laced with mocking affection. "i can see it in your eyes, how eager you are to please me. those tears only make it more enticing. you crave my approval, don't you?"

he caressed your cheek with a gentle touch. "and you'll do anything for my praise, won't you, my little slave? you'll endure pain, pleasure, and humiliation just to hear those words of approval spill from my lips."

a smug grin on his face as he watched your teary, half-lidded eyes and obedient nod. he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

"mine."

[rockwgooglyeyes]

A beloved mutual said something that very much tickled my noodle, making me think on it.

This was on the heels of a thing about ivantill not being romantically requited in canon (which I agree with) but the original post was mostly focused on the fact that, at least I believe, Till didn't reciprocate Ivan's feelings. Which, I mean, they loved each other, but not necessarily in the same way. Now, a friend and mutual of mine (@alien-til-i-stage) actually makes the argument that it doesn't *matter* whether or not either of their feelings were romantic or platonic or whatever, because they loved each other and they had a monumental connection and that's what matters. Now, I love that to bits, that's so incredibly real, but at the same time I am nothing if not a dog with a bone so I actually want to talk about my thoughts on this.

Now, I don't think it's at all bad or wrong or even controversial to say that Ivan might not have had romantic feelings for Till. I think it's really fair to question whether or not Ivan really loved Till romantically, especially given that they were never taught about relationships and undoubtedly, their only real example for "romance" was Mizi and Sua. I would argue that Ivan actually does have a little bit more probability to know about romance due to his background (growing up on the streets) as well as his knowledge background (enjoying literature. While literature doesn't necessarily have romance in it, a lot of dramas do depict some kind of romantic relationship) but that's really neither here nor there.

I'll get down to the real point of this post, which is my thoughts on whether or not Ivan actually had romantic feelings for Till in the main, canon universe/timeline of ALNST, and I would say yes. I admittedly haven't really questioned whether or not Ivan's feelings were romantic or something else but when I do think about it, I would say that my answer is "I believe Ivan." I believe it's romantic because that's what he says it is.

As much shit as I give him for being an unreliable narrator, one of the few things that we can trust Ivan's thoughts on? Himself. Obviously disregarding the way that he thinks of himself as someone horrible and shallow and monstrous but like, he's self aware. He's introspective. While he never explicitly says that his feelings for Till are romantic, it's heavily implied with both his behavior (sweats in looking at the birthday kiss comic and the fact that apparently his excuse for asking about that was "kissing is popular in the garden rn" which is pretty flagrant in it being about mizisua) as well as the symbolism/allusions around him, the fact that he directly compares himself and Till to Mizisua, it's heavily heavily implied that he believes his love towards Till to be romantic, at least, in part.

(two images with extremely different vibes but basically, example of the symbolism/comparison and example of the behavior) (also "thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions" anybody??)

To give a little context, I am autistic and I'm on the aroace spectrum, two things I also headcanon Ivan to be, and so the fact that he believes his feelings to be romantic, if he thinks he knows what he's feeling, I am inclined very heavily to believe him. I find cataloguing and defining my feelings very difficult, especially in a way that allistic people understand, so I often end up using metaphors to communicate them because I am very rarely able to pinpoint my feelings and be like "oh yeah I am happy right now." This is especially true when it comes to my feelings about other people, because of how much I know about biases, perspective, first encounters, etc, I tend to get really, really in my head about stuff.

So basically, tl;dr, the reason I believe Ivan about his feelings for Till being romantic is that very rarely do I ever say "I have feelings for this person" without doubting myself and double checking and running it over in my mind for hours upon hours because I am neurotic as hell and I kind of feel like Ivan wouldn't be so certain on the Till thing if he hadn't thought about it a lot.

tagging @bluemoonscape per his request <3 love you pookie

[artist-issues]

you're fun to talk to about media so I've got something to ask.

what do you think of this trope where a lie or misconception becomes commonly accepted as truth by the characters in story? especially as a resolution.

example: in the finale of "Kubo and the two strings", the Moon King(main villain) loses his memory, so when he asks who he is, the townspeople lie to him and say he was a kind member of the community, rather than the dictator he really was.

I don't like it. I see a falsehood being widely accepted as a tragedy, and I'm just left imagining what happens if/when the characters find out the truth. I can't really take something as a happy ending when it's.. y'know, fake. I imagine you feel similarly.

but hey, I could have totally missed the point of the ending of KATTS, if you watched it, you might have seen something I didn't.

I haven’t seen Kubo in a really long time; I don’t think I was thinking critically about it the first time I watched it, so my opinion now is an afterthought. I’d have to see it again to be fair!

…But I do seem to remember that the villain is defeated with some importance placed on memory. And the identity of the monkey and that beetle warrior also have to do with the sacredness of memories. So, if that’s the case, then yeah, taking his memory away as a “good resolution” can kind of hamstring the whole theme of the movie. Unless you tilt your head and squint and go, “no, see, if all you have is bad memories, then it’s just as powerful to take those away—the point is, memories have power either way!” But even that feels a little half-baked, gymnastics-brainy.

Basically, I agree with you. A story that resolves with a character, or characters, accepting a lie as truth is always going to be a fumble of the whole story…unless it’s intended to be a tragedy, a cautionary tale. I can think of three where that’s super evident.

1 ) A Streetcar Named Desire

In this movie the main character, Blanche, is lying about who she is, for the whole story. She even has this great symbolism thing with light—she hates bright light, on the surface because she’s vain and doesn’t want anyone to see signs that she’s aging. But under the surface, the character is really an immoral, lust-filled, broken person who knows she can be cruel and isn’t deserving of love. She doesn’t want anyone to know that side of her. She hides it all under vainglory and pride. So she pretends to her sister, Stella, that she’s upright and moral and has simply fallen on hard times. But her sister’s brute of an abusive husband, Stanley, who is always 100% his authentic, awful self, sees through Blanche when she comes to stay with them. In the end, Stanley rapes Blanche and then carelessly shrugs her accusations off.

The main point of this example is that Stella, the wife of the rapist Stanley, has been portrayed the whole movie as sometimes-leaving her abusive husband…but only as far as the apartment above their own, literally right above him, so that she can easily go back to him. And at the end of the movie, when Blanche is being taken to a mental institution because she’s broken-down after being found-out as a fraud, then raped, Stella lets them take her away. And then Stella goes up to the apartment above, where she always “pretends” to leave Stanley. It’s such a halfhearted, lazy way to end a movie that’s all about desire-versus-truth. Because what it implies is that Stella is leaving Stanley for now, like she might believe that he raped her sister…but she’ll eventually go back to him. And in the meantime, Blanche goes off to the mental hospital, with this iconic line “I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers.” By which she means, “strangers don’t know what a two-faced monster I really am, so I can con them into thinking I’m a morally-upright woman fallen on hard times, and they’ll take pity on me—so sure, I’ll go with you, strange doctor I’ve never met.”

The central point of the movie is “as long as nobody looks the truth in the face, everyone can go on getting what they desire.”

Of course, that’s true. But the other truth is that, if Stella accepted what her sister and her husband really are—her sister is broken and her husband is a monster—then she could choose to rise above “animal desire.” She could choose to take care of Blanche, and Blanche would see that “someone seeing who I really am” doesn’t always have to lead to ruin and damnation. Stella could then, also, choose to really leave Stanley, for good, and be at peace, while Stanley’s “desire” would be rewarded with ruin.

But instead the opposite is what happens. Blanche goes away believing, in her broken mind, that her womanly wiles and faking will protect her from further injury, even though they never have—Stanley ends the movie exactly where he began it, screaming for Stella to come back and knowing that she will—and Stella, too, ends the movie going away from Stanley…just for a little while, until animal desire convinces her to just pretend Stanley isn’t really a monster, Blanche must be crazy, except this time, when she goes back, she’ll be carrying a child into that abusive lie.

All characters wholeheartedly embracing hurtful lies so they can keep riding their desires. I hate that movie. You could see it as a cautionary tale. Most don’t. Most see it as a movie with “hot Marlon Brando” who “really loves Stella—all the characters ‘really love each other,’ they just don’t know how to express it healthily!” 🙄

I think the worst part is that the movie behaves as if it is true that every time Blanche reveals her own brokenness or is vulnerable, the world STOMPS on her for it, nobody loves her despite her brokenness. That’s the real mistake this movie makes. It has an opportunity to show unconditional love and it leaves the audience thinking Blanche was right, and there’s no such THING as “unconditional” love, instead.

Anyway.

2) X-Men Origins: The Wolverine

This one is less thematic. But it’s just dumb because the whole movie the main character, Logan, Wolverine, is being taught that “Giving in to Bloodlust Makes You an Animal—Compassion For Those Weaker Than Yourself Makes You Human.”

So in that context, the whole narrative is centered around the exploration of “Who is Logan/Wolverine?”

…Which makes it really stupid that the movie ends with him losing his memory. So…the movie asks “Who Are You?” and right after the character figures it out, he forgets and ends it with the answer: “I don’t know who I am.”

That’s just a waste. That’s silly. It allows you to take the character to real, hearty, coming-of-age, hero-forged-in-fire, a man-born-of-tragedy places…and then just shrug all that stuff off at the end. “Never mind. But it was a fun ride, wasn’t it?”

Especially because they built it all around the dichotomy between Logan and his brother, who’s little more than an animal—and Logan and his wife, who could be an animal, but chooses compassion instead, and reminds him of his choice, too. —and then she dies, and it’s implied that maybe his brother does too, but who cares, cuz he forgets. Who cares? Not Logan. So why should the audience?

I get that they “needed” to do this so that the end of this movie sets up the beginning of the X-Men Movies, which already established that Logan can’t remember “his past.” But like…then don’t make the point of the movie “Who Am I?” just to end on “…Okay, So WHO AM I?”

It’s a fine movie up until that point.

They should’ve made the movie center around “Can’t Change What You’ve Done; But You Can Be Redeemed.” And then show his memory loss around a moment of self-sacrifice. So that it’s still tragic, but at least when he wakes up from the self-sacrificial act, he’s “a new man.” Then later, in the third X-Men movie, when Logan chooses that mutant kid over “learning the secrets of his past,” it all comes full circle, because his “self-sacrifice moment” can stay where the Old Logan died.

Anyway. You didn’t ask me to re-tell X-Men Origins: The Wolverine. But it’s the same basic premise—a movie ends with a character losing their memory, or believing a lie—whatever.

You know, actually, this one isn’t so much “believing a lie” as it is “going back to considering the lie (that he’s an animal) because all the work done to convince him of the truth has been stupidly erased”

3) The Dark Knight

Saved this for last because nobody would read all that if they saw me scratching up the beloved Christopher Nolan Masterpiece.

But The Dark Knight is a perfect example of what you’re actually talking about.

The movie is awesome until the end.

It’s not hard to guess what I’m going to say. Harvey Dent is supposed to be a shining example of a good guy, and the goodness, that Gotham is capable of. The Goodness that will ultimately defeat Evil. And Evil is represented as Chaos.

Bruce sees that and that’s why he’s willing to give everything to make Harvey succeed as the hero Gotham needs. Because if Gotham sees that evil can be conquered by doing things the right way, the orderly way, that will get Gotham out of it’s “Justice is Broken, Vengeance is The Only Form of Justice” cycle.

Then there’s the Joker. He doesn’t believe there’s any such thing as Good—it’s all just Chaos (which is evil.) And his big mission is to prove it. It’s ironic that he twists Harvey’s sense of “justice” around to this viewpoint—where Harvey uses “chance” as just another form of “retribution.”

Anyway. All of that’s interesting.

But the movie both perpetuates a lie and does so by having the characters end believing a lie.

The lie it perpetuates is “The Joker is right, there’s no such thing as Justice or Good—it’s all just chaos, but pretending it’s not can get you through the day.”

That’s the lie it perpetuates!

And how does it do that?

By having the “city of Gotham,” and Bruce himself, believe a lie.

They believe Harvey Dent really was a good guy who died a hero. Bruce believes Rachel died still waiting for him, which symbolized her supposed belief in the good of Bruce and capability of Bruce to let it all go.

And why was it important that they believe those lies? Because the supposed truth is too harsh—that there’s no Good, it’s all Chaos. And if they believe that supposed truth, they’ll all turn out like Harvey or Joker. If Bruce believes Rachel chose Harvey, he’ll supposedly give up on something important in himself.

Okay but the problem with that is you have characters believing a lie because of a truth—that isn’t the truth. It’s the same problem with Streetcar.

The people of Gotham, the worst people of Gotham, aren’t always going to choose evil. There is such a thing as justice and good. And Harvey turning into Two-Face doesn’t change that. The movie could’ve shown that. It started to, with the prisoners on the second boat choosing not to kill the civilians to save themselves.

But it chose not to make that the point of the movie. It chose to make “The Joker was Right, Good is a Comforting Lie, & the Closest You’ll Ever Get to Justice is Vengeance & Chaos” the point of the movie. By having Batman convince the whole city to believe the comforting lie, what you’re saying is, Bruce believes that the truth won’t set Gotham free, only wrap it in chains.

That’s the problem with these movies.

And that’s why I think Captain America: The Winter Soldier licks The Dark Knight hollow every time, and is all-in-all a better movie, hands down. In this continued essay—

[manzis-world]

I stood beside my uncle's coffin, my eyes fixed on his heart, my own heart heavy with grief. The funeral procession wound its way through the mist-crowded streets, the somber atmosphere mirroring my own sorrow.

As we entered the mansion, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. My father's eyes seemed to bore into me, his gaze cold and calculating. I knew what was coming.

The reading of Uncle Alfred's will only fueled my father's anger. "To my beloved nephew, Sirius Black, I leave my entire estate, including the legendary Yellow-Onyx Necklace."

Father's face twisted in rage, but he didn't say a word. As we returned to our mansion, I was summoned to his office. Regulus followed me, but he wasn't allowed to enter.

"Sirius, will you hand over that necklace to me?" Father demanded, his eyes blazing.

I stood firm, despite the fear clawing at my chest. "Uncle Alfred's wishes were clear. The necklace is mine."

I knew why my father wanted that necklace. It symbolized the head of the Black family, and with it came immense magical power – but only for those born into the Black family.

My father asked again, but I repeatedly said no. I wouldn't give him the necklace.

In anger, Father's face purpled, and he took his wand. Pain seared through me as the curse hit, and I felt my consciousness slipping.

As I crumpled to the floor, I realized james was right – our parents would never love me. They only cared about power and control.

Regulus' frantic voice echoed outside the office, but I knew he couldn't save me. Not this time.

Later, as I lay in my bed, Regulus' tears fell on my face. "Sirius, please don't leave me. Please stay alive. Please don't die."

I lay there, watching the ceiling, and realized we couldn't live in this house anymore. It was time to leave.

"Can you hear me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Regulus' eyes met mine, filled with concern. "Sirius, what do you need?"

I took a deep breath, my body screaming in protest. "We have to get out of here."

I was surprised. I had expected him to resist, to want to stay with our parents despite their abuse. But instead, he agreed.

I didn't voice my surprise. We didn't have time for explanations.

"Reg, take the trunk from under my bed. Pack my wand, the letter from the lawyer, and the key. Add anything you think necessary, but don't take anything from the house."

Regulus nodded and left. I watched him go, remembering the discovery I made while working on the Marauders' Map with James, remus and Peter.

We had stumbled upon a dark magic spell, one that revealed tracing charms on our belongings. I realized our parents had placed these charms to control us.

I had secretly replaced some of my items with duplicates, hiding the originals from our parents' prying eyes.

As Regulus packed, I slowly retrieved a magical mirror from under my pillow. James had made it for us to communicate in secret.

I called James' name three times, and his sleepy face appeared in the mirror. "What happened?" he asked, seeing my battered face.

I didn't have time to explain. "We're leaving our house and coming to you."

James nodded, already alert. "I'll be ready."

Regulus returned, kreature following closely behind. I raised an eyebrow, curious.

"What's going on, Reg?" I asked, my voice weak.

Regulus' expression turned serious. "I couldn't leave kreature behind. Mother will take her anger out on him when she can't find us in the morning."

I understood his concern, but I didn't have the strength to care for kreature right now.

"But Creature can't leave the house without Mother's permission," Regulus continued. "He's bound to her as his master."

Regulus looked at me, determination in his eyes. "I know a plan that will help kreature get free."

I nodded, intrigued. "Go on."

Regulus' voice dropped to a whisper. "We can use one of your old handkerchiefs to trick Mother into giving kreature clothing. It's a symbol of freedom for house-elves."

I nodded, a glimmer of hope rising. "Tell me more."

Regulus' eyes sparkled. "We'll place the handkerchief on Mother's table. When she gives it back to kreature, it will seem like she's giving him permission to leave.". I smiled weakly, proud of Regulus' quick thinking. "Let's do it."

I asked Regulus to retrieve the broom from under my bed, a gift from Uncle Alfred during my first year at Hogwarts."Fly me to the border, Reg. I don't have the energy."

Regulus nodded, understanding.

As we reached the border, I threw the trunk over to the other side. Regulus looked concerned.

"We can't cross the border without Father's permission," he whispered. "The protection magic won't let us pass."

I smiled, a plan forming in my mind. Although humans can't pass, but animals can."

Regulus' eyes widened as I transformed into a black grim dog.

"Don't be surprised, Reg. I'll explain later," I said.

I instructed Regulus to turn into his smallest size, utilizing the rare ability only a few Black family members possessed.

Regulus shrunk, and I gently took him into my mouth.

With Regulus secure, I bounded across the border, the protection magic powerless against animals.

As we reached the other side, I spit him out and collapsed in exhaustion. "Help," I whispered, my vision blurring.

Regulus grew back to normal, his face etched with worry. "Sirius, hold on!"

He dragged me to the main street, pulling out his wand. The knight bus appeared, thanks to the ticket collector's help. Regulus was able to help me board the bus. "Where to?" the collector asked.

"potter mansion Godric's Hollow," I replied.

As we settled into the bus, fear returned, and adrenaline vanished. We were both afraid of our father finding us before we reached James' house.

But as the older brother, I had to pretend to be stronger for Regulus, despite my weakened state.

As the bus moved, I drifted in and out of consciousness, Regulus' reassuring words echoing in my mind: "We will be alright, we will be alright."

Finally, we arrived at potter mansion, and James' family was waiting outside their home. Regulus helped me off the bus, but I collapsed into James' father's arms.

James held onto Regulus, concern etched on his face, as his father and mother rushed me inside.

James' mother tended to my wounds, her skilled hands gentle but firm. Regulus recounted our ordeal to James and his father, his voice shaking with emotion.

As I lay there, I saw the worry in James' eyes, the fear of almost losing his best friend. But I also saw the determination, the promise to stand by me no matter what.

With James' family's care, I slowly regained my strength, the warmth of their home and love a balm to my battered body and soul.

But even as I healed, I knew our journey was far from over. Our father's wrath still loomed, and we had to be prepared to face it together..

[averyaddamsromance]

Il rituale ("the ritual")

My last fill for my Card 3: Safe-word of @weylerwritingevents !

And with this my card is officially completed!

I dedicate this prompt to @slaanesh12 and @suchaladyy - I have 1000 + 1 reasons to do so, but mostly because last week was tough and they were there, as usual.

Post season 1 premise: the character of Laurel Gates did us the greatest favor, she died, maybe because of allergic reaction to hundreds of bee stings. For what we know she was an abuser and (probably) a rapist. Following her death, Tyler started a healing path (not without problems...) under the supervision of Wednesday and the Addams Family.

After one year, even though his master passed away, Tyler still feels himself under her control and her will.

Morticia claims she has found an Italian ritual to free him forever from the submission that makes him feel trapped and it helps to exclude the possibility that another will become his master.

Only problem: the ritual involves a sexual intercourse.

Tyler and Wednesday became closer but they still deny the feelings they have for each other.

However, Wednesday volunteers for this ritual as form of "kindness"; plus she believe she can experiment something nobody has done before.

Tyler accepts but since she is doing it for the cause, he insists that they must agree upon a safe word, in case she wants to stop the ritual any moment. They agree on the word "quad". Plus Wednesday decides "no kissing".

Morticia gives her all the details and the material: candles, crystals, symbols that need to be drawn on the ground, Italian spell that need to be pronounced, even the sex position.

Even the place must be a specific place and it's not in the USA.

The moment of the ritual arrives, all the tension that has been between them for days -if not months- explodes, and as soon as Wednesday sits on Tyler's lap and feels his erection she uses the safe word. Tyler stops immediately and they start to argue, accusing each other of not wanting it and digging up all the their past. Eventually, they decide to proceed with the ritual but Tyler finds difficult to start without kissing, so they do.

From the moment they kiss, the ritual is completely forgotten, at the beginning Wednesday tries to keep it up, pronouncing the spell etc... but Tyler's passion sweeps everything away and they lose into each other, forgetting position, spells, etc...

"Wait...we need to... we must say-wait Tyler! The ritual!"

"If you only knew...how much I wanted this"

They make love in the most sweet and passionate way, Tyler can't stop to tell Wednesday how amazing she feels and how he wanted her even when she rejected him after finding out he was the Hyde.

When they come back home at the Addams Mansion, Tyler is happy to communicate that he can feel that the bond with Laurel is definitely over... but Uncle Fester says Morticia made it all up, that the spells was invented by her and that submission Tyler felt to Laurel was probably psychological (because of the physical abuse), not real, since his master was dead already.

They will never know the truth but the only truth that matters is that they come back home as lovers.

[dailyanarchistposts]

A.3.9 What is anarcho-primitivism?

As discussed in section A.3.3, most anarchists would agree with Situationist Ken Knabb in arguing that “in a liberated world computers and other modern technologies could be used to eliminate dangerous or boring tasks, freeing everyone to concentrate on more interesting activities.” Obviously ”[c]ertain technologies — nuclear power is the most obvious example — are indeed so insanely dangerous that they will no doubt be brought to a prompt halt. Many other industries which produce absurd, obsolete or superfluous commodities will, of course, cease automatically with the disappearance of their commercial rationales. But many technologies …, however they may presently be misused, have few if any inherent drawbacks. It’s simply a matter of using them more sensibly, bringing them under popular control, introducing a few ecological improvements, and redesigning them for human rather than capitalistic ends.” [Public Secrets, p. 79 and p. 80] Thus most eco-anarchists see the use of appropriate technology as the means of creating a society which lives in balance with nature.

However, a small but vocal minority of self-proclaimed Green anarchists disagree. Writers such as John Zerzan, John Moore and David Watson have expounded a vision of anarchism which, they claim, aims to critique every form of power and oppression. This is often called “anarcho-primitivism,” which according to Moore, is simply “a shorthand term for a radical current that critiques the totality of civilisation from an anarchist perspective, and seeks to initiate a comprehensive transformation of human life.” [Primitivist Primer]

How this current expresses itself is diverse, with the most extreme elements seeking the end of all forms of technology, division of labour, domestication, “Progress”, industrialism, what they call “mass society” and, for some, even symbolic culture (i.e. numbers, language, time and art). They tend to call any system which includes these features “civilisation” and, consequently, aim for “the destruction of civilisation”. How far back they wish to go is a moot point. Some see the technological level that existed before the Industrial Revolution as acceptable, many go further and reject agriculture and all forms of technology beyond the most basic. For them, a return to the wild, to a hunter-gatherer mode of life, is the only way for anarchy is exist and dismiss out of hand the idea that appropriate technology can be used to create an anarchist society based on industrial production which minimises its impact on ecosystems.

Thus we find the primitivist magazine “Green Anarchy” arguing that those, like themselves, “who prioritise the values of personal autonomy or wild existence have reason to oppose and reject all large-scale organisations and societies on the grounds that they necessitate imperialism, slavery and hierarchy, regardless of the purposes they may be designed for.” They oppose capitalism as it is “civilisation’s current dominant manifestation.” However, they stress that it is “Civilisation, not capitalism per se, was the genesis of systemic authoritarianism, compulsory servitude and social isolation. Hence, an attack upon capitalism that fails to target civilisation can never abolish the institutionalised coercion that fuels society. To attempt to collectivise industry for the purpose of democratising it is to fail to recognise that all large-scale organisations adopt a direction and form that is independent of its members’ intentions.” Thus, they argue, genuine anarchists must oppose industry and technology for ”[h]ierarchical institutions, territorial expansion, and the mechanisation of life are all required for the administration and process of mass production to occur.” For primitivists, ”[o]nly small communities of self-sufficient individuals can coexist with other beings, human or not, without imposing their authority upon them.” Such communities would share essential features with tribal societies, ”[f]or over 99% of human history, humans lived within small and egalitarian extended family arrangements, while drawing their subsistence directly from the land.” [Against Mass Society]

While such tribal communities, which lived in harmony with nature and had little or no hierarchies, are seen as inspirational, primitivists look (to use the title of a John Zerzan book) forward to seeing the “Future Primitive.” As John Moore puts it, “the future envisioned by anarcho-primitivism … is without precedent. Although primitive cultures provide intimations of the future, and that future may well incorporate elements derived from those cultures, an anarcho-primitivist world would likely be quite different from previous forms of anarchy.” [Op. Cit.]

For the primitivist, other forms of anarchism are simply self-managed alienation within essentially the same basic system we now endure. Hence Moore’s comment that “classical anarchism” wants “to take over civilisation, rework its structures to some degree, and remove its worst abuses and oppressions. However, 99% of life in civilisation remains unchanged in their future scenarios, precisely because the aspects of civilisation they question are minimal … overall life patterns wouldn’t change too much.” Thus ”[f]rom the perspective of anarcho-primitivism, all other forms of radicalism appear as reformist, whether or not they regard themselves as revolutionary.” [Op. Cit.]

In reply, “classical anarchists” point out three things. Firstly, to claim that the “worst abuses and oppressions” account for 1% of capitalist society is simply nonsense and, moreover, something an apologist of that system would happily agree with. Secondly, it is obvious from reading any “classical” anarchist text that Moore’s assertions are nonsense. “Classical” anarchism aims to transform society radically from top to bottom, not tinker with minor aspects of it. Do primitivists really think that people who went to the effort to abolish capitalism would simply continue doing 99% of the same things they did before hand? Of course not. In other words, it is not enough to get rid of the boss, although this is a necessary first step! Thirdly, and most importantly, Moore’s argument ensures that his new society would be impossible to reach.

So, as can be seen, primitivism has little or no bearing to the traditional anarchist movement and its ideas. The visions of both are simply incompatible, with the ideas of the latter dismissed as authoritarian by the former and anarchists questioning whether primitivism is practical in the short term or even desirable in the long. While supporters of primitivism like to portray it as the most advanced and radical form of anarchism, others are less convinced. They consider it as a confused ideology which draws its followers into absurd positions and, moreover, is utterly impractical. They would agree with Ken Knabb that primitivism is rooted in “fantasies [which] contain so many obvious self-contradictions that it is hardly necessary to criticise them in any detail. They have questionable relevance to actual past societies and virtually no relevance to present possibilities. Even supposing that life was better in one or another previous era, we have to begin from where we are now. Modern technology is so interwoven with all aspects of our life that it could not be abruptly discontinued without causing a global chaos that would wipe out billions of people.” [Op. Cit., p. 79]

The reason for this is simply that we live in a highly industrialised and interconnected system in which most people do not have the skills required to live in a hunter-gatherer or even agricultural society. Moreover, it is extremely doubtful that six billion people could survive as hunter-gatherers even if they had the necessary skills. As Brian Morris notes, ”[t]he future we are told is ‘primitive.’ How this is to be achieved in a world that presently sustains almost six billion people (for evidence suggests that the hunter-gatherer lifestyle is only able to support 1 or 2 people per sq. mile)” primitivists like Zerzan do not tell us. [“Anthropology and Anarchism,” pp. 35–41, Anarchy: A Journal of Desire Armed, no. 45, p. 38] Most anarchists, therefore, agree with Chomsky’s summation that “I do not think that they are realising that what they are calling for is the mass genocide of millions of people because of the way society is now structured and organised … If you eliminate these structures everybody dies … And, unless one thinks through these things, it’s not really serious.” [Chomsky on Anarchism, p. 226]

Somewhat ironically, many proponents of primitivsm agree with its critics that the earth would be unable to support six billion living as a hunter-gatherers. This, critics argue, gives primitivism a key problem in that population levels will take time to fall and so any “primitivist” rebellion faces two options. Either it comes about via some kind of collapse of “civilisation” or it involves a lengthy transition period during which “civilisation” and its industrial legacies are decommissioned safely, population levels drop naturally to an appropriate level and people gain the necessary skills required for their new existence.

The problems with the first option should be obvious but, sadly, it is implied by many primitivist writers. Moore, for example, talks about “when civilisation collapses” (“through its own volition, through our efforts, or a combination of the two”). This implies an extremely speedy process which is confirmed when he talks about the need for “positive alternatives” to be built now as “the social disruption caused by collapse could easily create the psychological insecurity and social vacuum in which fascism and other totalitarian dictatorships could flourish.” [Op. Cit.] Social change based on “collapse,” “insecurity” and “social disruption” does not sound like a recipe for a successful revolution.

Then there are the anti-organisation dogmas expounded by primitivism. Moore is typical, asserting that ”[o]rganisations, for anarcho-primitivists, are just rackets, gangs for putting a particular ideology in power” and reiterates the point by saying primitivists stand for “the abolition of all power relations, including the State . .. and any kind of party or organisation.” [Op. Cit.] Yet without organisation, no modern society could function. There would be a total and instant collapse which would see not only mass starvation but also ecological destruction as nuclear power stations meltdown, industrial waste seeps into the surrounding environment, cities and towns decay and hordes of starving people fighting over what vegetables, fruits and animals they could find in the countryside. Clearly an anti-organisation dogma can only be reconciled with the idea of a near overnight “collapse” of civilisation, not with a steady progress towards a long term goal. Equally, how many “positive alternatives” could exist without organisation?

Moore dismissed any critique that points out that a collapse would cause mass destruction as “just smear tactics,” “weird fantasies spread by some commentators hostile to anarcho-primitivism who suggest that the population levels envisaged by anarcho-primitivists would have to be achieved by mass die-offs or nazi-style death camps.” The “commitment of anarcho-primitivists to the abolition of all power relations … means that such orchestrated slaughter remains an impossibility as well as just plain horrendous.” [Op. Cit.] Yet no critic is suggesting that primitivists desire such a die-off or seek to organise it. They simply point out that the collapse of civilisation would result in a mass die-off due to the fact that most people do not have the skills necessary to survive it nor could the Earth provide enough food for six billion people trying to live in a primitivist manner. Other primitivists have asserted that it can, stating ”[i]t is not possible for all six billion of the planet’s current inhabitants to survive as hunter-gatherers, but it is possible for those who can’t to grow their own food in significantly smaller spaces … as has been demonstrated by permaculture, organic gardening, and indigenous horticulture techniques.” [Against Mass Society] Unfortunately no evidence was provided to show the truth of this assertion nor that people could develop the necessary skills in time even if it were. It seems a slim hope to place the fate of billions on, so that humanity can be “wild” and free from such tyrannies as hospitals, books and electricity.

Faced with the horrors that such a “collapse” would entail, those primitivists who have thought the issue through end up accepting the need for a transition period. John Zerzan, for example, argues that it “seems evident that industrialisation and the factories could not be gotten rid of instantly, but equally clear that their liquidation must be pursued with all the vigour behind the rush of break-out.” Even the existence of cities is accepted, for ”[c]ultivation within the cities is another aspect of practical transition.” [On the Transition: Postscript to Future Primitive]

However, to accept the necessity of a transition period does little more than expose the contradictions within primitivism. Zerzan notes that “the means of reproducing the prevailing Death Ship (e.g. its technology) cannot be used to fashion a liberated world.” He ponders: “What would we keep? ‘Labour-saving devices?’ Unless they involve no division of labour (e.g. a lever or incline), this concept is a fiction; behind the ‘saving’ is hidden the congealed drudgery of many and the despoliation of the natural world.” How this is compatible with maintaining “industrialisation and the factories” for a (non-specified) period is unclear. Similarly, he argues that ”[i]nstead of the coercion of work — and how much of the present could continue without precisely that coercion? — an existence without constraints is an immediate, central objective.” [Op. Cit.] How that is compatible with the arguing that industry would be maintained for a time is left unasked, never mind unanswered. And if “work” continues, how is this compatible with the typical primitivist dismissal of “traditional” anarchism, namely that self-management is managing your own alienation and that no one will want to work in a factory or in a mine and, therefore, coercion will have to be used to make them do so? Does working in a self-managed workplace somehow become less alienating and authoritarian during a primitivist transition?

It is an obvious fact that the human population size cannot be reduced significantly by voluntary means in a short period of time. For primitivism to be viable, world population levels need to drop by something like 90%. This implies a drastic reduction of population will take decades, if not centuries, to achieve voluntarily. Given that it is unlikely that (almost) everyone on the planet will decide not to have children, this time scale will almost certainly be centuries and so agriculture and most industries will have to continue (and an exodus from the cities would be impossible immediately). Likewise, reliable contraceptives are a product of modern technology and, consequently, the means of producing them would have to maintained over that time — unless primitivists argue that along with refusing to have children, people will also refuse to have sex.

Then there is the legacy of industrial society, which simply cannot be left to decay on its own. To take just one obvious example, leaving nuclear power plants to melt down would hardly be eco-friendly. Moreover, it is doubtful that the ruling elite will just surrender its power without resistance and, consequently, any social revolution would need to defend itself against attempts to reintroduce hierarchy. Needless to say, a revolution which shunned all organisation and industry as inherently authoritarian would not be able to do this (it would have been impossible to produce the necessary military supplies to fight Franco’s fascist forces during the Spanish Revolution if the workers had not converted and used their workplaces to do so, to note another obvious example).

Then there is another, key, contradiction. For if you accept that there is a need for a transition from ‘here’ to ‘there’ then primitivism automatically excludes itself from the anarchist tradition. The reason is simple. Moore asserts that “mass society” involves “people working, living in artificial, technologised environments, and [being] subject to forms of coercion and control.” [Op. Cit.] So if what primitivists argue about technology, industry and mass society are all true, then any primitivist transition would, by definition, not be libertarian. This is because “mass society” will have to remain for some time (at the very least decades, more likely centuries) after a successful revolution and, consequently from a primitivist perspective, be based on “forms of coercion and control.” There is an ideology which proclaims the need for a transitional system which will be based on coercion, control and hierarchy which will, in time, disappear into a stateless society. It also, like primitivism, stresses that industry and large scale organisation is impossible without hierarchy and authority. That ideology is Marxism. Thus it seems ironic to “classical” anarchists to hear self-proclaimed anarchists repeating Engels arguments against Bakunin as arguments for “anarchy” (see section H.4 for a discussion of Engels claims that industry excludes autonomy).

So if, as seems likely, any transition will take centuries to achieve then the primivitist critique of “traditional” anarchism becomes little more than a joke — and a hindrance to meaningful anarchist practice and social change. It shows the contradiction at the heart of primitivism. While its advocates attack other anarchists for supporting technology, organisation, self-management of work, industrialisation and so on, they are themselves are dependent on the things they oppose as part of any humane transition to a primitivist society. And given the passion with which they attack other anarchists on these matters, unsurprisingly the whole notion of a primitivist transition period seems impossible to other anarchists. To denounce technology and industrialism as inherently authoritarian and then turn round and advocate their use after a revolution simply does not make sense from a logical or libertarian perspective.

Thus the key problem with primitivism can be seen. It offers no practical means of achieving its goals in a libertarian manner. As Knabb summarises, ”[w]hat begins as a valid questioning of excessive faith in science and technology ends up as a desperate and even less justified faith in the return of a primeval paradise, accompanied by a failure to engage the present system in any but an abstract, apocalyptical way.” To avoid this, it is necessary to take into account where we are now and, consequently, we will have to “seriously consider how we will deal with all the practical problems that will be posed in the interim.” [Op. Cit., p. 80 and p. 79] Sadly, primitivist ideology excludes this possibility by dismissing the starting point any real revolution would begin from as being inherently authoritarian. Moreover, they are blocking genuine social change by ensuring that no mass movement would ever be revolutionary enough to satisfy their criteria:

“Those who proudly proclaim their ‘total opposition’ to all compromise, all authority, all organisation, all theory, all technology, etc., usually turn out to have no revolutionary perspective whatsoever — no practical conception of how the present system might be overthrown or how a post-revolutionary society might work. Some even attempt to justify this lack by declaring that a mere revolution could never be radical enough to satisfy their eternal ontological rebelliousness. Such all-or-nothing bombast may temporarily impress a few spectators, but its ultimate effect is simply to make people blasé.” [Knabb, Op. Cit., pp. 31–32]

Then there is the question of the means suggested for achieving primitivism. Moore argues that the “kind of world envisaged by anarcho-primitivism is one unprecedented in human experience in terms of the degree and types of freedom anticipated ... so there can’t be any limits on the forms of resistance and insurgency that might develop.” [Op. Cit.] Non-primitivists reply by saying that this implies primitivists don’t know what they want nor how to get there. Equally, they stress that there must be limits on what are considered acceptable forms of resistance. This is because means shape the ends created and so authoritarian means will result in authoritarian ends. Tactics are not neutral and support for certain tactics betray an authoritarian perspective.

This can be seen from the UK magazine “Green Anarchist,” part of the extreme end of “Primitivism.” Due to its inherent unattractiveness for most people, it could never come about by libertarian means (i.e. by the free choice of individuals who create it by their own acts) and so cannot be anarchist as very few people would actually voluntarily embrace such a situation. This led to “Green Anarchist” developing a form of eco-vanguardism in order, to use Rousseau’s expression, to “force people to be free.” This was expressed when the magazine supported the actions and ideas of the (non-anarchist) Unabomber and published an article (“The Irrationalists”) by one its editors stating that “the Oklahoma bombers had the right idea. The pity was that they did not blast any more government offices … The Tokyo sarin cult had the right idea. The pity was that in testing the gas a year prior to the attack they gave themselves away.” [Green Anarchist, no. 51, p. 11] A defence of these remarks was published in the next issue and a subsequent exchange of letters in the US-based Anarchy: A Journal of Desire Armed magazine (numbers 48 to 52) saw the other editor justify this sick, authoritarian nonsense as simply examples of “unmediated resistance” conducted “under conditions of extreme repression.” Whatever happened to the anarchist principle that means shape the ends? This means there are “limits” on tactics, as some tactics are not and can never be libertarian.

However, few primitivists take such an extreme position. Most “primitivist” anarchists rather than being anti-technology and anti-civilisation as such instead (to use David Watson’s expression) believe it is a case of the “affirmation of aboriginal lifeways” and of taking a far more critical approach to issues such as technology, rationality and progress than that associated with Social Ecology. These eco-anarchists reject “a dogmatic primitivism which claims we can return in some linear way to our primordial roots” just as much as the idea of “progress,” ”superseding both Enlightenment and Counter-Enlightenment” ideas and traditions. For them, Primitivism “reflects not only a glimpse at life before the rise of the state, but also a legitimate response to real conditions of life under civilisation” and so we should respect and learn from “palaeolithic and neolithic wisdom traditions” (such as those associated with Native American tribes and other aboriginal peoples). While we “cannot, and would not want to abandon secular modes of thinking and experiencing the world… we cannot reduce the experience of life, and the fundamental, inescapable questions why we live, and how we live, to secular terms… Moreover, the boundary between the spiritual and the secular is not so clear. A dialectical understanding that we are our history would affirm an inspirited reason that honours not only atheistic Spanish revolutionaries who died for el ideal, but also religious pacifist prisoners of conscience, Lakota ghost dancers, taoist hermits and executed sufi mystics.” [David Watson, Beyond Bookchin: Preface for a future social ecology, p. 240, p. 103, p. 240 and pp. 66–67]

Such “primitivist” anarchism is associated with a range of magazines, mostly US-based, like Fifth Estate. For example, on the question of technology, they argue that ”[w]hile market capitalism was a spark that set the fire, and remains at the centre of the complex, it is only part of something larger: the forced adaptation of organic human societies to an economic-instrumental civilisation and its mass technics, which are not only hierarchical and external but increasingly ‘cellular’ and internal. It makes no sense to layer the various elements of this process in a mechanistic hierarchy of first cause and secondary effects.” [Watson, Op. Cit., pp. 127–8] For this reason primitivists are more critical of all aspects of technology, including calls by social ecologists for the use of appropriate technology essential in order to liberate humanity and the planet:

“To speak of technological society is in fact to refer to the technics generated within capitalism, which in turn generate new forms of capital. The notion of a distinct realm of social relations that determine this technology is not only ahistorical and undialectical, it reflects a kind of simplistic base/superstructure schema.” [Watson, Op. Cit., p. 124]

Thus it is not a case of who uses technology which determines its effects, rather the effects of technology are determined to a large degree by the society that creates it. In other words, technology is selected which tends to re-enforce hierarchical power as it is those in power who generally select which technology is introduced within society (saying that, oppressed people have this excellent habit of turning technology against the powerful and technological change and social struggle are inter-related — see section D.10). Thus even the use of appropriate technology involves more than selecting from the range of available technology at hand, as these technologies have certain effects regardless of who uses them. Rather it is a question of critically evaluating all aspects of technology and modifying and rejecting it as required to maximise individual freedom, empowerment and happiness. Few Social Ecologists would disagree with this approach, though, and differences are usually a question of emphasis rather than a deep political point.

However, few anarchists are convinced by an ideology which, as Brian Morris notes, dismisses the “last eight thousand years or so of human history” as little more than a source “of tyranny, hierarchical control, mechanised routine devoid of any spontaneity. All those products of the human creative imagination — farming, art, philosophy, technology, science, urban living, symbolic culture — are viewed negatively by Zerzan — in a monolithic sense.” While there is no reason to worship progress, there is just as little need to dismiss all change and development out of hand as oppressive. Nor are they convinced by Zerzan’s “selective culling of the anthropological literature.” [Op. Cit., p. 38] Most anarchists would concurr with Murray Bookchin:

“The ecology movement will never gain any real influence or have any significant impact on society if it advances a message of despair rather than hope, of a regressive and impossible return to primordial human cultures, rather than a commitment to human progress and to a unique human empathy for life as a whole … We must recover the utopian impulses, the hopefulness, the appreciation of what is good, what is worth rescuing in yumn civilisation, as well as what must be rejected, if the ecology movement is to play a transformative and creative role in human affairs. For without changing society, we will not change the diastrous ecological direction in which capitalism is moving.” [The Ecology of Freedom, p. 63]

In addition, a position of “turning back the clock” is deeply flawed, for while some aboriginal societies are very anarchistic, not all are. As anarchist anthropologist David Graeber points out, “we know almost nothing about like in Palaeolithic, other than the sort of thing that can be gleaned from studying very old skulls … But what we see in the more recent ethnographic records is endless variety. There were hunter-gatherer societies with nobles and slaves, there are agrarian societies that are fiercely egalitarian. Even in … Amazonia, one finds some groups who can justly be described as anarchists, like the Piaroa, living alongside others (say, the warlike Sherentre, who are clearly anything but.” [Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology, pp. 53–4] Even if we speculate, like Zerzan, that if we go back far enough we would find all of humanity in anarchistic tribes, the fact remains that certain of these societies did develop into statist, propertarian ones implying that a future anarchist society that is predominantly inspired by and seek to reproduce key elements of prehistoric forms of anarchy is not the answer as “civilisation” may develop again due to the same social or environmental factors.

Primitivism confuses two radically different positions, namely support for a literal return to primitive lifeways and the use of examples from primitive life as a tool for social critique. Few anarchists would disagree with the second position as they recognise that current does not equal better and, consequently, past cultures and societies can have positive (as well as negative) aspects to them which can shed light on what a genuinely human society can be like. Similarly if “primitivism” simply involved questioning technology along with authority, few would disagree. However, this sensible position is, in the main, subsumed within the first one, the idea that an anarchist society would be a literal return to hunter-gatherer society. That this is the case can be seen from primitivist writings (some primitivists say that they are not suggesting the Stone Age as a model for their desired society nor a return to gathering and hunting, yet they seem to exclude any other options by their critique).

So to suggest that primitivism is simply a critique or some sort of “anarchist speculation” (to use John Moore’s term) seems incredulous. If you demonise technology, organisation, “mass society” and “civilisation” as inherently authoritarian, you cannot turn round and advocate their use in a transition period or even in a free society. As such, the critique points to a mode of action and a vision of a free society and to suggest otherwise is simply incredulous. Equally, if you praise foraging bands and shifting horticultural communities of past and present as examples of anarchy then critics are entitled to conclude that primitivists desire a similar system for the future. This is reinforced by the critiques of industry, technology, “mass society” and agriculture.

Until such time as “primitivists” clearly state which of the two forms of primitivism they subscribe to, other anarchists will not take their ideas that seriously. Given that they fail to answer such basic questions of how they plan to deactivate industry safely and avoid mass starvation without the workers’ control, international links and federal organisation they habitually dismiss out of hand as new forms of “governance,” other anarchists do not hold much hope that it will happen soon. Ultimately, we are faced with the fact that a revolution will start in society as it is. Anarchism recognises this and suggests a means of transforming it. Primitivism shies away from such minor problems and, consequently, has little to recommend it in most anarchists’ eyes.

This is not to suggest, of course, that non-primitivist anarchists think that everyone in a free society must have the same level of technology. Far from it. An anarchist society would be based on free experimentation. Different individuals and groups will pick the way of life that best suits them. Those who seek less technological ways of living will be free to do so as will those who want to apply the benefits of (appropriate) technologies. Similarly, all anarchists support the struggles of those in the developing world against the onslaught of (capitalist) civilisation and the demands of (capitalist) progress.

For more on “primitivist” anarchism see John Zerzan’s Future Primitive as well as David Watson’s Beyond Bookchin and Against the Mega-Machine. Ken Knabb’s essay The Poverty of Primitivism is an excellent critique of primitivism as is Brian Oliver Sheppard’s Anarchism vs. Primitivism.

[inksolate]

Debate 3: Opening & Closing Statements

Etoiles: "Aim for the stars, vote for Etoiles!"

Sometimes, you know, when you go on an island you can feel like everyone is dark and like you can't see the sun, you can't see the light. And you know, Etoiles in french means stars because when you are lost, when you don't feel anything, you can trust someone: someone who gives things, someone who gives resources, someone who gives an ear to listen to others. And sometimes I'm like, "Yeah, if you have one president, he can be corrupted" but I know who I am, I know where I'm from, I will never be a co-op. I will just be myself. I will be the star you need. And I think, like, if you want to vote for me, you will understand that the Code will be crying because he won't understand the solution. I know everything. I've got the weapons, I've got the heart, but having a vice president and having someone in the island will be a good idea to give me ideas, but I think I could be the voice to give the ideas to everyone. So aim for the stars, vote for me, have a good time, it's okay!!!

BBH: "A vote for me is a vote for the eggs, support the eggs!"

Look, I think Baghera, I think Cellbit, I think Foolish - well maybe not Foolish - but everybody has made really good points. I think everybody need to consider the fact that we've all been heavily divided by the Federation. But I think what we need to remember is the things we agree upon, right? The values that we all cherish and hold true, the fact that we all care about the eggs the fact that we all hate the federation except Foolish. Vote based on what you believe. And it's not just a question though of that - of whether we hate the federation, the survival of the eggs. It's also about, genuinely, can we trust one person with our collective wellbeing, okay? Because I think what we've seen is that any one person is open to corruption, kidnap, betrayal, and that's just a risk we all take when we elected a person. We have different philosophies: some of us think only one person should govern, some of us think it should go up for a council. And depending on what you think, you should vote based on your own beliefs. If you think one person is better, vote for an individual. Vote for that one person who's ideas you like the most. If you like the idea of power being distributed amongst a group of people and not one person having all of the authority, vote for that person and that proposal you agree with the most, okay? But that's the point, my proposal is I think that the eggs are the most trustworthy, innocent, and benevolent members of out community. And I think they are people that we hold in the highest regard. I will protect the eggs that will symbolize our future. Let us forge a better path together for all and create an eggtopia!!!

Baghera: "Hi, I am for uniting together and fighting the bad Federation, let's go!"

Well, I feel like I am repeating myself all over again, but I think you all know exactly what I want to do and it's always giving the voice to the people, it's always being secured and safe from the Federation, and I think we always forget this point and we are fighting for power that doesn't even exist, and I want you to remember and keep in mind that we are all one and we can unite together against it and not forget it.

Cellbit: "You should vote for insaneduo because we go crazy for you!"

This whole election was based on what it means to have responsibility to make the island better. But THE QUESTION IS: is the Federation actually giving us the power or manipulating us with it? Well everything that I have said in this last debate, on these past weeks, everything is true. Forever will actually fulfill those plans: add the new mods, create new events, and work nonstop to make the island better. If you guys want someone that will have the time, effort, and responsibility to make the island better, you should vote for Forever when the time comes so we are sure ElQuackity doesn't get to power because that's what the Federation wants. But me, I want freedom. I never wanted to become president. Everyone wonders what I would do if I become president but I guess we will never know.

Foolish: "KELP WILL HELP and with my newest product of Kelp cocaine, you can help yourself!!!"

Words, words, Kelp will help....Uh I will, to be fair to everyone, when I become Kelp I will make sure nobody has power but me! I'll use my power for mostly good but sometime bad if I deem necessary. COCAINE!!!

[mask131]

Magic the Gathering: Innistrad (Innistrad block)

My favorite Green cards

Werewolves are divided between Red and Green. Both are human beings afflicted with the curse of lycanthropy. What are the nuances for each color? It is... complicated. If you go on Wikipedia, they'll simply say "Green werewolves are hermits and outcasts ; Red werewolves are bandits and renegades". Seems a bit vague - we need to go to the Guide to Innistrad on Magic's official website to understand that the Red/Green divide rather operates on two deep fractures within the "werewolf species".

One fracture opposes the werewolf who, after their transformations, are filled with guilt and shame, falling into depression - a werewolf never fully remembers their time as a werewolf (because they were not in control or conscious at the time), but they have fragmentary, blurry memories that sometimes come to them in a flash, and they see the aftermath of the destruction they caused. These werewolves that revile their lives are the "repentants", who see themselves as the victims of an unjust curse. However, others are the "wantons", the savage werewolves who embrace the wild to abandon their humanity. They actively seek to turn into werewolves, and see themselves as, I quote, "glorious scions of nature trapped inside a cage of civilized lies".

The second fracture is between the werewolves who leave human communities to live in the wilds and the forests, either as lone wolves or entire packs ; and the werewolves who are too attached to their family or roots to leave their ancient lives, and thus exist hidden among regular folks. An existence which forms them into a state of constant paranoia, as they have to constantly hide their transformations, invent alibis and make sure to not attract attention upon themselves.

What causes lycanthropy? Nobody really knows. The Church of Avacyn claims that lycantrhopy is a kind of demonic possession - but exorcisms have very... debatable results. Most of the werewolves seem to have been born regular humans, and to have turned werewolf at some point - there are however tales of "child werewolves" born in remote areas. Are they real tales or just campfire stories? Similarly, the alchemists and wolfhunters believe that werewolves are sterile, and can only "reproduce" by passing the lycanthropy curse upon others ; but peasants and woodsmen have the folk-belief that werewolf can mate with their own kind... or with human beings.

One thing however everybody agrees on, is that the werewolf transformation is caused by the full moon. Which does not surprise anybody since in Innistrad, the moon is EVERYTHING. Literaly everything. Humanity's harvest patterns as well as the monsters' hunting patterns are based on the moon. The cycles of the moon push forward the wheel of the seasons. The moon is believed to be a blessed protectress: the silver that harms monsters when blessed is believed to come from the moon, and thus it became a strong motif of the Church of Avacyn, and a symbol of the Archangel herself (the head of the Church is called the Lunarch). But it is also believed to be a curse upon the land, as vampires flee the sun to shield themselves under the moon, and the moonlight reveals the werewolves' true nature. Good and bad, blessed and cursed, worshiped by monsters and humans alike, the moon is truly everything in Innistrad.

I said before that nobody knows the true source of lycantrhopy in Innistrad... But Magic the Gathering designers revealed to us the actual real story behind werewolves. In their Guide to Innistrad, they reveal that the true nature of the lycanthropy is a "supernatural curse". It causes the spiritual essence of the victim to become "mingled with the wild essence of nature", which in Innistrad is symbolized by the wolf - the wildest animal of the land. A lycantrhope can be seen as either having two souls merged within each other, or one sould split into to. All in all, the two essences constantly battle against each other, and the werewolf transformation occurs when the "wild wolf-essence triumphs". In fact, the reson werewolves hunt humans so often, is because the "wolf-essence" tries to symbolically destroy its human side, by brutally slaying all humans it comes across.

The curse is tansmitted when a person finds themselves, one night, called out by the howls of werewolves. If the person follows the howls, gives in to the temptation of the "silvery moon" and the "eyes glowing in the night", they will allow the wild essence to enter their body. And if they follow the werewolves during their hunt, if they share their feasts of raw meat, if they kill with them, the more they'll grow wolf characteristics - a bit more fur with each howl, sharper teeth with each piece of meat swallowed... When the transformation is completely, the "First Hunt" is done, and the human ended up cursed with lycanthropy. They will return to their human form, and they will have to deal with both the maddedning guilt of what they did/what they became, and the new battle within their soul against the wild wolf... A battle which, if they are not strong enough, will fail by next full moon...

There is no known cure to lycanthropy. The closest anyone ever came to such a discovery was Theodora Glick, an alchemist. Her tale is told in Magic's official "Guide to Innistrad": she was brought a werewolf by the name of Guthril that had been captured. For three moon cycles she kept Guthril in his human form, by a "complex ceremony involving mystic circles inlaid with the wolfsbane plant, a blanket woven with blessed silver thread, and a lightning storm". But after said three cycles the ritual failed - Guthril returned to being a werewolf, destroyed Theodora's laboratory and fled into the night.

If you are interested, the web pages of Magic's official Planeswalker's Guide to Innistrad" gives even more details about werewolves and how they function, but I will leave under the cut one particularly delightful passage, the description of a werewolf transformation:

The transformation process is harrowing for the lycanthrope and incredibly disturbing to any witnesses. The eyes change first, the whites darkening and the iris filling with color. The claws go next; the hands elongate, knifelike claws extend from the fingertips, and the thumb forms a claw back near the wrist. The muzzle thrusts forward out of the human's skull, and the teeth jut through the gums in sharp points. Bones crack as they rearrange. Marrow spills into the bloodstream as ribs and skull fracture and telescope. Thick, wiry fur pushes through the skin, often pushing out normal human hair. The tailbone elongates and becomes a shaggy wolf's tail. Metabolism speeds up, increasing blood flow, oxygen flow, and glandular production, creating cravings for protein and fat. Any clothing that was worn at the time of the change is generally torn to shreds and falls away. If a werewolf dies in beast form, it changes back to human form, a process called death reversion.

[tonydaddingham]

I mean, sometimes an oxrib *is* just an oxrib. Like to me! The oxrib's an oxrib not a sexual metaphor and almost any other response to looking for a receptive body could've been just *so* bad. 😆 Not mutually exclusive! 😁

mhm, and i completely agree!💕 right so im gonna take this a little seriously for a moment, because im a bit worried that i might have caused offence (tone reading is really not my strong suit).

look, im not at all disputing that the text is positing that the ox-rib scene is literally a depiction of a) aziraphale being tempted for the first time, b) that temptation being to enjoy an earthly pleasure (that pleasure being food), and c) it's the/at least one origin of one of the most compelling and identifiable aspects of aziraphale's characterisation as we know it in modern day. what the text says, alone, has multiple layers of symbolism, and i do think they bear their own weight without any sexual filter placed upon it. 100%, the ox-rib is quite literally, sometimes, just an ox-rib.

equally, what i am saying is that i think that there is a justifiable interpretation of sexual subtext in it, also. im not saying that's the only interpretation (like i said in the tags of the previous ask - not at all the only one) nor am i saying it's the correct one, but i think it's one that is persuasive on its own merit. so, when i joked about neil with his "just an ox-rib" tag, im saying whilst - yes - that may not be the text, he's clearly able to recognise innuendo/sexual subtones by nature of his avoidance of it for crowley's line in s1. hence, i simply found it funny that his response from that ox-rib ask, and the corresponding tag, implied that the subtone was not there at all in the job minisode.

i get why he might not confirm the sexual undertone, if he does in fact recognise that there is one. im literally just having a laugh about it, and i maybe thought that had been a bit more obvious than it was. in any case, well - maybe he didn't recognise that subtext, or thinks that particular interpretation is perhaps a bit contrived. maybe he did recognise it, but didn't want to confirm it as to not invalidate or dismiss anyone's - or any community's - interpretation of the scene/minisode as a whole (which i think is the more likely and imo, in all seriousness, is the best way to have responded to that ask to ensure all hcs/interpretations can be considered valid because... well, they are all valid). or maybe he's just fucking about in general because he can. any road, i do recognise the text of the scene without the sexual filter on it... i just thought the situation was funny 💕

[magicofsimplestories]

4. Fate and how it finds you

Cassandra liked it in Moonwood. Her every morning started from making breakfast and having it with Lou. 

Afterwards she either had her university online studies or headed to the local library to teach literature and language to the little wolflings, while Lou was hunting, fishing or making furniture. 

They spent afternoons together hiding from the hottest hours of the day at the Moonlake and exploring local cliffs at the sunset. 

During the first two weeks of her life in Moonwood Cassandra managed to research half of the ancient history section of the library but so far found nothing that could be useful either in tracking Bella or finding a cure to lycanthropy. Moreover, she kept stumbling upon some parts of the text written in weird symbols that, according to Wolfgang, were the Language of the Moon that only spellcasters and werewolves were able to read. 

That Sunday morning Cassandra woke up a bit later than usual. She would’ve slept longer but the sounds of a conversation coming from the kitchen made her open her eyes. She dressed up slowly and headed out of the room guessing whom Lou was talking to. 

“No way,” she hissed seeing a familiar tanned dark-haired young man sitting at the table with Lou. “What the hell is this traitor doing here?” She screamed at Lou. 

Jacob Volkov was faster to reply. He stood up and met her angry glare. 

“I came with peace, Cassie,” he said. “I ordered some furniture from Lou.”

“DO NOT Cassie me!! You’d better take your ass out of here, ‘cause if not, I do not guarantee that you leave in one piece!” Roared Cassandra making one aggressive stop forward. 

“Wow-wow, princess,” intervened Lou stepping in between Cassandra and Jacob. “I know you’re rightfully mad at Jacob but you’re one community now and you’d better learn to co-live.” 

“Or what?” Spitted Cassie crossing her arms on the chest. 

“My father doesn’t like conflicts,” responded Jacob and regretted it immediately. 

“Your father!” Fired Cassandra. “Does your father know that you attended the prom with me but f*cked another girl there? Your father!”

She wanted to rain upon Jacob’s head more angry swears but he was first to speak. 

“He knows,” he said making Cassandra freeze with the simplicity of his tone. 

“Fantastic,” she grumbled after a couple of tense moments.

“And he was disappointed,” added Jacob. “But he knows that I had a reason.”

“Oh, really?!” Bursted out Cassandra. “What the hell of a reason there could be for cheating?!”

“I will tell you if you agree to meet this afternoon and listen,” said Jacob. “Calmly and peacefully,” he added watching bitter fury flames in her brown eyes. 

She didn’t respond right away, burning Jacob with an angry meaningful glare. 

“Fine,” she said finally. “I am giving you a chance to explain.”

“I’m proud of you, Cassie,” said Lou after Jacob left. “Forgiveness is one of the most generous gestures of all.”

“I’ve not decided on forgiveness yet,” grumbled Cassandra heading to the kitchen but Lou smiled knowing that she actually has already decided. 

Jacob met her at the exit of the library right after her class with the wolflings and offered to hide from the afternoon heat in the soft shadow of the forest not far from Lou’s shack. They left the village center and crossed the noisy mountain river in silence with Jacob walking slightly behind Cassandra. He offered to have a seat at a lonely old wooden bench overlooking a gardening lawn and they sat in silence for a couple more minutes before Jacob finally spoke. 

“I owe you an explanation, Cassandra,” he said. 

“First of all, Volkov, you owe me an apology,” interrupted him Cassie narrowing her eyes. 

“Yes, this too,” he nodded. “I’m sorry I broke your heart. I should’ve listened to mine more carefully.”

Facing Cassandra’s questioning look he went on. 

“I mistook friendship for fate.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Jacob, stop talking in riddles,” said Cassandra impatiently. 

“I though you were my fated mate but I was wrong. Annie is my fate, and I’m hers. We realized it on the prom night, and we couldn’t help the attraction.”

“What does “fated mate” mean?” 

“Sorry, I should’ve explained it first. It’s a werewolf term. Every wolf is destined to have only one love of his life. Those who are lucky find this love. Those who are not spend their life alone. Annie and I were lucky. We married and she’s expecting now.”

He looked at Cassandra. Her expression was calm, and she was thoughtfully studying the soft sunlight coming down through the trees. 

“Is Annie a werewolf too?” She asked after a short moment of silence. 

“No, she’s still human.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for her to carry your child?”

“Well, I believe you know that my mother is a spellcaster. She will make sure Annie is fine.”

And yet she wasn’t that eager to help Lou’s mother at the time. I wonder why. Missis Volkov, I’m dying to meet you. 

There was another question swirling in her head now, and she looked at shack’s direction impatiently. 

“All right,” said Cassandra out loud. 

“All right?” Asked Jacob in confusion. 

“What else am I supposed to tell you, Jacob?” Replied Cassie giving the young man a serious look. “You broke my heart. You say you had a reason. All right. I take it.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Is it really that important to you?”

“Yes, we are one community now.”

“Fine. I forgive you, Jacob.”

“Can we stay friends?”

Cassie rolled her eyes irritably. 

“Let’s start from neighbors,” she shook her head. 

“Sure.”

“See you around, Jacob,” she said standing up from the bench and starting for the shack. 

“See you around, Cassie,” she heard Jacob’s response to her back. 

She found Lou at his woodworking table in the back garden. He smiled at her putting away the tape-measure. 

“Is Jacob alive?” He asked with a wide smile. 

“Your Jacob is fine,” snorted Cassie making Lou’s smile wider. “Is Rory your fated mate?”

He froze with a saw in his one hand and a piece of wood in another. 

“Wha… Where did you learn this term, Cassie?” He asked confusedly. 

“Jacob,” responded Cassandra shortly. “So is she?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Why of course? She’s an attractive person.”

“We grew up together, we are childhood buddies, best friends, but there has been no romance behind it. Never.” 

“Do you have a fated mate?” 

“Why do you ask?”

By Lou’s miserable expression she could understand that the conversation was bringing him a lot of uneasiness, and that was making Cassandra only firmer in the intention to learn the truth. 

“I like being inappropriate,” she responded. “So have you met your fated mate?” 

“Yes,” he breathed out after a moment on tense hesitation. 

“Is it a wolf?” 

“No.” 

“Is this person around?” 

He sighed again.

“She actually is.” 

“Do I know her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who is she?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Why?” 

He made another uneasy pause looking away. 

Come on, mister Howell. What else are you hiding?

“Cause I do not deserve her,” he said finally and his voice cracked.  

“What a nonsense!” She spitted.  

“Cassie, I don’t want to talk about it,” he cut her off putting the saw and the wood piece down loudly.

“Why?” 

“Cause I don’t!” He tried to sound irritated but she could clearly see sorrow in his eyes that he was hiding from her unsuccessfully. “And by the way, you’re being highly inappropriate!” He tried to counter attack but Cassandra smiled only.

“Inappropriate is my middle name.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out and without saying any other word headed to the shack, leaving Cassandra guess if the tickling feeling that has been bothering her was just curiosity or something else. Something that was making her follow his muscled silhouette dive into the waters of the lake in awe or her heart speed up feeling his warmth on the top of the local cliff.

[Part I] [Beginning] [Back] [Next]

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello, I am an ISFP. I was wondering if there was a way to stop feeling wary all the time. My ISTJ friend is usually nonexpressive and placid. For some reason I cannot help but think that whenever my friend is being uncharacteristically warm and loving to me, that she is wanting me to do something for her. In the past, I've found it surprising but sweet when she has this disposition, because it symbolized to me that we were close and that she isn't usually like this with other people. I usually never have a problem with hanging out and doing nice things for her, and I have always taken people’s cheery spirit at face value without suspecting anything.

We have been friends for a quite a while before any of this appeared. We have supported each other through everything in the past. But my friend has an agreed upon bad habit of gatekeeping (she is extremely smart and wants to get ahead in life, first being going to a good college). She makes a big show of gatekeeping resources and not telling us.

Lately however, whenever she acts warm she has been following it up with stuff she wants to share from her life, usually related to success which I always express happiness for, but whenever I share something from my life she doesn’t take as much interest into listening/processing it than I do. I feel like when I need help she purposefully witholds information/guidance that could help me or just does the “bare minimum” a lot but when she needs help I put all my effort into it.

I do not view friendship as doing favors for each other (I dislike that perspective,) I view friendship as when you both are happy and having fun hanging out with each other. It is just that I have been trying very hard to be there when she wants guidance but it is not being reciprocated fully, rather she in weaker forms and so it makes me feel like her outward affection is stemming from her wanting me to do things for her.

I just want to be able to feel happy that she is happy without having to worry if she is using me. How do I stop feeling this pit of uneasiness or bitterness whenever she is very outwardly cheery?

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

The first thing you need to understand is that negative feelings are not an enemy to be eliminated or vanquished. Feelings provide important messages about your mental health, as well as important guidance for moral behavior. In this situation, the feelings are telling you that there's something wrong with this relationship. Getting rid of your feelings isn't going to right the wrong. Feelings won't go away until you hear them and do what's right. It sounds like your approach to relationships might be a bit too passive or naive, meaning that you aren't willing to confront difficulties and complexities head on.

Have you discussed these issues with her in depth? The best way to handle relationship problems is good communication and establishing mutual understanding. If you lack the courage or confidence to speak up as you'd like to, perhaps it would help to improve your communication skills. You have to be able to discuss the problem in a way that focuses primarily on your needs and doesn't descend into accusations and personal attacks. You have to be able to hear every side of the story. You have to be able to negotiate a solution that everyone can accept. You have to be able to face up to the negative side of yourself and others and still feel empathy and compassion.

Yes, I agree that relationships should not be seen as "transactional". But the fact of the matter is that relationships can have serious problems that need solving, if they are to remain viable over the long term. There is well-established research about what constitutes healthy versus unhealthy relationship behavior. Generally speaking, healthy relationships should have a strong sense of: fairness, trust, kindness, emotional generosity. If any of these ingredients are missing, the relationship easily becomes unhealthy.

I'm only hearing your side of the story, so I have no choice but to accept what you say about her as true. Although, with high Se, I believe you're capable of having a decent grasp of the facts. Let's examine the facts: You don't have fairness because, overall, you give more than she does. You don't have trust because you don't believe she has your best interests at heart. You don't have kindness because she hoards information and views helping as a loss to herself. You don't have emotional generosity because she is stingy with care and unresponsive to your needs.

The conclusion I would draw based on these facts is that she isn't psychologically equipped to be a good friend or the kind of friend you're looking for. Her behavior indicates she cares about herself at the expense of others, which means she's not relationship-ready. If you speak up about how the relationship is not meeting your needs and she's apologetic and willing to work on herself, then you can continue in the relationship for awhile to see whether anything actually changes.

It takes the effort and commitment of both parties to make a relationship work. If she's unwilling to acknowledge problems and is resistant to changing her behavior, there's not much you can do to repair the relationship. At that point, you have a painful decision to make about how to proceed. Are you going to draw some boundaries and lower your expectations in order to keep the relationship going? Are you going to consider the idea that the relationship might have reached a natural expiry date?

Keep in mind that it's unnecessary to cast blame; it's better to simply accept the facts about people and the facts of the relationship, and make the most reasonable decision for the sake of your well-being. Unfortunately, relationship breakups are an unavoidable reality of life. To be clear, I'm not saying that this relationship needs to end; that's for you to decide. The main point is that it's not good to let relationship problems fester until you harbor too much resentment/anger and reach a point of no return. You have to speak up every time you encounter hurtful/toxic relationship behavior because it must be changed in order to maintain a healthy and positive social life.

[rabbitholessk]

SOULMARK AU

According to an outlandish urban legend, once you touch an object owned by your soulmate you will get a mark on your body. Only the old money families of Konoha knew about this stupid legend. Sakura had heard her great aunt tell her the stories. Yet when she asked her own mother, she admitted she had no mark on her body. Her mother had said it was a silly tale.

Sakura was running late, her car had taken forever to start and she had left her writing utensils in her passenger seat. Having run halfway across campus she makes it to her class with 30 seconds to spare. Upon arrival she realized she had nothing to write with. Searching frantically on the tables and under the chairs in her vicinity in the lecture hall she found a fountain pen. A bit extravagant for taking lecture notes, she thinks. She proceeds to uncap it and begin writing.

Feeling a twinge of pain on her upper back shoulder she rolls her shoulder thinking it to be a muscle spasm. The pain subsides shortly after. The pink haired goes about the rest of her class opting to keep the ornate fountain pen.

Sakura had agreed to go to the campus gym with her friend Ino that evening. Throwing on her workout clothes at her apartment she rushes over. They hit the treadmills and spot each other for weights.

“Forehead- you didn’t tell me you got a tattoo!” Ino spouts loudly as they are stretching on the communal mat post workout.

“Huh? I don’t have any tattoos, Pig! Your eyes are going bad.”

“Ha-ha, then explain that.” Ino says snidely and points to her upper shoulder. Sakura can’t see it when she tries to look. She stands and walks over to the mirrors, and turns around to look. The mark was something of a mix between a tattoo and a birthmark. Her eyes widen and she stares at her freckled shoulder for what felt like hours.

The mark was a familiar fan shape that Sakura was not able to place where she had seen before.

In a rush, she gives Ino a lame excuse to leave and go back to her apartment to examine the mark on her body in private. On the drive home from the gym, her anxiety gives her the shakes.

Was the legend true?

She is stopped at a red light in a busy intersection and looks around at the various buildings and high rises. The light turns as she spots the logo. One of the biggest and most competitive law firms in the city with a fan logo after their name Uchiha Law.

The car behind her beeps, jolting her to move from her stupor. Sakura makes a sudden turn to get a closer look at the building. She knows of the lawyers at Uchiha law from back when her fathers bakery had been bought out by a competitor, the Uchiha firm had mediated. Her father lost his life’s work and passion for a check, she thinks. Recalling how the light in her fathers eyes had since left, leaving behind the shell of the once happy man she knew.

The pink haired enters the building after parallel parking in an open spot out front. People are leaving in hoards going home from their work day. Why was she here? Why did she come in? This was stupid- a waste of time.

Her shoulder twinges in the spot where the new mark was. She grasps at it and falls to her knees onto the tiled entryway.

What the hell?

Her shoulder twinges again.

A dark haired man, around her age from what she can tell walks over to her. People walking all around her exiting through the grandiose glass door entrance.

This man offers her a hand. Before the world goes dark around her she speaks out.

“You…”

—-

Sakura smells the disinfectant before and knows exactly where she is. Sitting up she looks around the shared emergency room floor, hearing a variety of patients and finally landing upon the same dark haired man from earlier. He sits in a chair adjacent to her bed, her purse on the ground by his feet.

The man looks at her with a neutral expression.

“Did you cause this?” He rolls up his dress shirt and shows Sakura his inner left forearm, a Sakura blossom symbol in the direct center. She gasps and shifts slightly to show him her shoulder, lowering the sweatshirt she had thrown on after the gym. His eyes widen as he stares at the fan on her back.

“I thought my mother was loony when she told me that legend.” He states.

“My purse, can you hand it to me?” He reaches down and hands her the purse. She pulls out the fountain pen and hands it to him.

“Is this yours?”

The dark haired man takes the pen from her and examines it and nods.

“What now?”

“For starters you could…tell me your name?” The pink haired suggests.

“Sasuke Uchiha, you?”

“Sakura Haruno.” The Uchiha lets out a weird chuckle and looks down at his forearm.

“Fitting.”

[loominggaia]

ARJUKAM, FAITH IN HARMONY

OVERVIEW

Arjukam is an ancient religion that originated somewhere in the Midlands, likely in the First Age. It spread quickly, and today it is a popular religion throughout the entire continent of Serkel. It is not favored by any particular species, and is practiced by a diverse range of peoples. It is the most common religion among Matuzans.

Because it is so ancient, there are many different interpretations of this faith, and two different Arjukists may have slightly different beliefs and traditions from each other.

The Arjukam symbol represents the prophet Arjuk’s hands holding a divided world together.

CREATION THEORY

Mother Gaia created all peoples, then blessed a person named Arjuk as Her chosen one. Arjuk became the world’s first divine, an immortal being who could communicate directly with Gaia and the sacred celestials. He was tasked with bringing all the world’s peoples together and teaching them how to live in harmony; not only with each other, but with Gaia as well.

Arjuk prophesied that if Gaia’s peoples did not achieve harmony, there would one day be a great World War that would kill Gaia and all life upon Her. He traveled all over the world, preaching his prophesy to everyone he met. He was said to be a kind and helpful individual, using his divine powers to help the less fortunate and bring peace to every region he visited.

However, as time went on and civilizations began to advance, peoples became more resistant to Arjuk’s messages of harmony. The King of the Midlands saw Arjuk as a threat to his campaign to take over Serkel, so he made a deal with an evil sorcerer to assassinate him. The sorcerer used an enchanted weapon, the Divine Executioner, to destroy Arjuk and steal his divine powers for himself. This sorcerer later became known as the Divine of Hate.

Though Arjuk was gone, his message prevailed through all the peoples he had influenced. Arjukists practice their religion in his honor, and make it a point to never forget Gaia’s wish for peace.

HISTORY AND CULTURE

The details of Arjukam’s creation theory differ slightly by region and culture, and so do the interpretations of his teachings. What species Arjuk was, for example, is not agreed upon by all Arjukists. His age and exact place of origin are also debated.

Arjuk’s message was said to be recorded in a holy book called the “Marandu”. The Marandu has been copied, translated, and re-interpreted countless times since the original was written, and many different versions exist today. Though the details may differ, the core aspects of this faith have remained the same since its ancient beginnings.

CORE ARJUKIST BELIEFS

These beliefs are consistent among all Arjukists.

Mother Gaia is an intelligent, living being that created all peoples. She cares for each person individually and is a benevolent entity.

Arjuk was the world’s first divine and originated somewhere in Serkel.

All peoples should strive to live in harmony with each other and the environment.

Celestials are cosmic spirits that aid Gaia. They reward righteous people with a good afterlife and punish wicked people with a bad afterlife.

Divines are prophets chosen by Gaia to carry on Arjuk’s message of harmony. Some divines, however, rejected this responsibility to pursue selfish goals. They are considered heretics and should not be glorified for disrespecting Gaia.

The Divine of Hate gained his divine powers by stealing them from Arjuk, and is considered to be a “false divine”, as his divinity was not granted by Gaia.

SUBJECTIVE ARJUKIST BELIEFS

Most Arjukists share these beliefs, but how strictly they adhere to them varies drastically between individuals.

Allkind should obey the advice of nymphs.

It is the duty of men to protect and destroy, and the duty of women to create and nurture. Men and women are equal in the eyes of Gaia, but are best suited to different roles to promote a thriving society. Women should not engage in combat, and men should not rear children.

Divines who reject Arjuk’s message of harmony are heretics and should be rejected. Divines who preach Arjuk’s message should be glorified.

Elements of nature, including beasts, are pieces of Gaia’s body and should be respected as such. She offers them as gifts to Allkind as an act of love. Prayers of gratitude should be offered before reaping nature’s bounty, and large operations should be overseen by nymphs. Peoples should not take more from Gaia than they need.

Love and creativity are sacred gifts bestowed upon Allkind by Gaia. Romance, affection, art, and music are integral to a thriving society.

Monsters are abominations that have no place on Gaia, as they were created by heretical divines for greedy purposes. Divines who forge monsters are disrespecting Gaia and should be reviled.

ARJUKIST HOLIDAYS AND TRADITIONS

PROPHET’S DAY: Takes place in winter. This is believed to be the day Arjuk was granted divinity by Gaia. Arjukists celebrate by displaying effigies of Arjuk and making sure his message is not forgotten. This is usually done by performing public readings of the Marandu, holding parades, singing hymns, and creating art that symbolizes harmony. On this day, the goal is to make his message impossible for anyone to ignore. Cities with large Arjukist populations are often forced to shut down on this date due to the mass celebrations.

REVERENCE OF BLESSINGS: The Reverence of Blessings is a 3-day holy event that ends on the last day of spring. Its purpose is to remind Arjukists of the special gifts Gaia gave them.

On the first day, they celebrate the gift of creativity by going to an Arjukist House of Worship, where they enjoy a feast, a concert, and an art show. Non-Arjukists are encouraged to attend as well, and often do. This day represents birth and creation.

On the second day, they celebrate the gift of love by showing affection to their loved ones. Traditionally, this involves exchanging flowers between friends, family, and lovers. This is a popular day for Arjukists to propose marriage, conceive children, or ask their crush on a date. This day represents living and loving.

On the third day, Arjukists celebrate the gift of afterlife by gaining the favor of benevolent celestials. This is done by performing acts of goodwill, volunteering, donating to charity, and making amends with their enemies. It’s common for Arjukists to team up with the Order of Love and Light on this day to accomplish elaborate humanitarian goals. This day represents death and afterlife.

CONTROVERSY

Like most religions, Arjukam has been corrupted and used as a tool of oppression by powerful entities. Some followers tend to cherry-pick or misinterpret scriptures from the Marandu to justify their immoral behavior.

Some sects of Arjukam have a bad reputation for grifting, misogyny, and bigotry, among other things. Some Arjukists believe that women should not be permitted to work, and that men cannot be blamed for violence because they are destructive by nature. They may also believe that foreigners are rejecting harmony by not practicing the same customs they do, and therefore must be destroyed to bring peace to Gaia. Powerful leaders often use this interpretation as an excuse to wage war on others.

Such extremist beliefs are not common, however, and the majority of Arjukists today consider themselves casual followers of the faith.

SEE ALSO

Ask - Religion

Ask - Arjukam

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[saibugslegacy]

Chapter 3 - A First-Rate Hogsmeade Experience | Percival

A Mourning Warning Masterlist A Mourning Warning Tag Read it on AO3, read it on Wattpad

One charmed compass spell and trek through the castle later, Percival and Idris arrived at what Percival hoped was the Transfiguration classroom. Before they went in Percival took a moment to put his ear to the door, just to make sure they weren’t about to burst in on a class. There were voices coming from within but nowhere near as many as a class would have.

Idris shrugged and opened the door, leading the way inside. On the other side of the large classroom Professor Weasley was sitting at her desk talking to Deek while a goblin loitered next to the desk. Percival raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Idris.

I think it’s fine, Idris communicated without a word.

I hope so, Percival replied. 

“What about the Room, Professor?” Deek suggested.

“Precisely what I was thinking,” Professor Weasley agreed. ”Perhaps you could help.”

Deek glanced over and finally spotted the twins waiting by the door.

“Oh! Excuse Deek,” Deek apologized. Before Percival could tell him there was nothing to apologize for he snapped his fingers and disappeared. 

“Ah, there you are,” Professor Weasley stood up from her desk to greet them. “I trust your first classes went well?”

“They did indeed, Professor,” Percival answered. “Idris did amazing in Defense Against the Dark Arts especially.”

“He’s glossing over him learning a charm first try and mastering it in one class,” Idris sighed and shook their head exasperatedly. “Typical.”

“There’s someone I wished for you to meet,” Weasley waved forward the goblin from next to her desk. “This is Gladik, a liaison for Gringotts. These are the Valley twins, Idris and Percival.”

“Lovely to meet you both,” Gladik nodded. “We received an owl from a Professor Fig that you were in need of funds to replace supplies. After your last visit to Gringotts, delivering them personally is the least we could do. Here you are.”

Gladik rummaged around in his pocket until he pulled out a key that looked oddly similar to the Portkey except for the Ancient Magic symbol. Though Percival couldn’t help noticing the top of the handle did still have a shape reminiscent of a flame. 

“What is it?” Percival questioned.

“The key to your vault,” Gladik answered. Percival tilted his head at the goblin while Idris’ eyebrows nearly disappeared into their curls.

“Uh, we don’t have a vault,” Idris explained. “Last night was the first time we’d ever been to Gringotts.”

“Perhaps, but it is the vault you inherited,” Gladik explained. “You are the children of Thomas Morganach, correct?”

Percival’s blood turned to ice. Did he mean Dad? Dad had a vault at Gringotts? And now it was theirs. He didn’t know which piece was worse, the fact their father’s will was being carried out so casually or the reminder of how much he’d hidden from them. Both of them felt like punches to the gut. 

“Yes,” Percival tried to answer but his voice came out a little strangled. He forcefully cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, sir, yes we are.”

“The conditions of this vault were very specific,” Gladik told them. “You were only to receive this key upon your father’s death if you attended Hogwarts. Here you are, so here is your key.”

Idris’ hand shook as they reached out and took the key. They held it so tightly it had to be cutting into their palm. The goblin also pulled out a small pouch that jingled as he handed it to Percival.

“At Professor Weasley’s request, we also took out a small deposit in order to replace your supplies.”

“This is a small deposit?” Percival eyes widened as he opened the pouch and stared at the glittering gold, silver, and bronze coins. 

“The Morganachs are a particularly old Wizarding family,” Weasley told them. “Your family name goes back hundreds of years. Whether you take it is not a decision you need to worry about today, but it is an option should you so choose.”

Percival felt like he was going to throw up. He’d thought today would be less overwhelming, but so far it was anything but. All he had to deal with yesterday was dragons, goblins, and Portkeys. It would be easier to fight a thousand dragons than try to reconcile with the truth in all the lies they’d been told. His grip on the pouch kept tightening and tightening and in his free hand he was digging his thumbnail into another of his fingers just to give himself something to focus on other than screaming or crying or hitting something.

“Thank you Gladik,” Idris nodded to the goblin. As soon as the goblin nodded back and headed for the door Idris slid closer to Percival so their shoulders were pressed together. Percival managed to take a deep breath and though his grip on the bag didn’t loosen he was able to stop the stabbing sensation. “Professor, you mentioned a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“I did,” Professor Weasley agreed. “I’ve conferred with Deek and was informed that all of your things that could be found and saved were returned to your dorms. Many of your supplies survived however it seems your seeds, potion recipes, and spellcrafts were, ah, singed.”

“You can say ‘burned to a crisp’, Professor,” Percival replied with a dry chuckle. 

“I’m afraid that would be accurate,” Professor Weasley admitted. “There are certainly much more exciting reasons for this trip, however. For instance, finding the perfect wand. You managed your classes well with a borrowed wand. But you’ll find the magic you cast with your own wand to be far superior.”

“I’ve been looking forward to that for weeks,” Percival admitted. 

“He’s been reading about wand woods and memorizing wand cores like he’s going to be tested on them,” Idris informed her.

“And you kept asking me questions about them!” Percival retorted. “Don’t act like you’re not interested.”

“Casually yeah but you-”

“I’m sure Mr. Ollivander will be impressed with both your knowledge and your curiosity,” Weasley cut off their bickering quickly before it could escalate any further. Both the twins muttered apologies. “Professor Ronen is waiting for you in the courtyard to give you an additional assignment while I arrange for you to make your first visit to the village with a classmate or two. Help you get your bearings. Perhaps Natsai Onai and Sebastian Sallow? I was told you spent time with them in your classes today.”

“If by spent time with them you mean kicked their as-” Percival quickly elbowed Idris to shut them up.

“Yes, Professor, we did,” Percival nodded. “They’d be perfectly welcome.”

“Glad to hear it,” Professor Weasley said. “Both Mr. Sallow and Ms. Onai are capable young wizards, and they each know the area well. They’ll keep you well clear of any of Victor Rookwood’s undesirables en route.”

“Victor Rookwood?” Percival questioned.

“A rather unsavory local,” Professor Weasley answered, a tone in her voice Percival would describe as disgusted. “Best to avoid him and his associates—including his ‘right hand’ of sorts, Theophilus Harlow—if you can.”

“Stay clear of the unsavory locals, got it,” Idris promised. Percival narrowed his eyes at them for a split second to warn them they were indeed actually staying clear of Rookwood and they had the audacity to pout as soon as Weasley looked away.

“I will have your friends meet you at the castle’s doors,” Professor Weasley told them. “In the meantime you should complete Professor Ronen’s assignment. No time to waste.”

“We’re on it,” Percival said. “And thank you Professor.”

“Happy to help,” Weasley gave that warm smile again before returning to her desk.

The twins left and sure enough found Professor Ronen playfully levitating origami birds to look as if they were flying. After a quick conversation about the assignments they’d be given to help them learn and master new spells they’d missed, Professor Ronen walked them through casting Reparo. He blasted a few statues and fixtures in the courtyard to bits and let Percival and Idris practice putting them back together. The spell was remarkable. It fixed the damage without imperfection, and the amount of damage it could fix was especially impressive.

“Oh this is definitely going to be useful,” Idris had laughed. Percival wasn’t sure if they meant about their clothes or the amount of things that seemed to break in Idris’ presence.

Once Professor Ronen was satisfied with their mastery of the charm, he sent them off. They quickly got lost and had to use the charmed compass again but eventually they made it to the front doors where Sebastian and Natty stood talking to each other. 

“It’s quite the theory,” Natty was saying as they approached.

“I’m hoping Professor Sharp will let me- ah!” Sebastian noticed them first, playfully nodding his head in a small bow. “If it isn’t our new charges.”

“Apparently you two are to keep us clear of ‘unsavory locals’,” Idris pouted.

“Victor Rookwood, I assume?” Natty said.

“That’s the name Professor Weasley told us,” Idris nodded. 

“I’m sure we can handle it,” Sebastian claimed. “Professor Weasley said you needed supplies?”

“Well when our carriage was eaten by a dragon, most of our belongings were too,” Percival pointed out. “So yes, supplies.”

“I had no idea about your belongings,” Natty put a hand to her chest. “I’m very sorry.”

“It’s okay, apparently more of our things survived than we thought,” Percival replied. “I suppose we’ll find out when we get back.”

“I’m just glad my sketchbook made it,” Idris sighed.

“Sketchbook? Are you an artist?” Natty asked.

“More sketching than art,” Idris shrugged. “I’m a bit of an amateur clothing designer.”

“Really?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Percival wanted to say he was impressed but Sebastian was hard to read. “You should show me sometime. I’m not much of a designer but I’ve been known to mend and make some things now and again.”

“You got it,” Idris beamed like the sun as they bounced on their toes.

“Shall we set off then?” Natty said. “I intend to make sure you have a first-rate Hogsmeade experience.

In their mad dash into the castle after sunset, the twins hadn’t gotten much of a chance to see the grounds. But now they were laid out at their feet and Percival found a grin to rival Idris’ on his face. Every time he saw something new it hit him all over again that he was actually here. He’d never admit it, but he was so grateful to Idris for changing his mind. To think he’d almost stayed at Rosewood. Now he was on his way to get his own wand, he’d spent the day learning the intricacies of magic, and had actually made friends.

“Thank you two for accompanying us by the way,” Percival said.

“I was glad Professor Weasly asked us to show you the village,” Sebastian replied. 

“You were?” Idris said. 

“Of course,” Sebastian shrugged. “Idris is the only one who’s ever bested me in a duel. The way I see it, I’d be wise to keep an eye on you.”

“You certainly should,” Natsai agreed. “If Idris’ performance in this duel was anywhere near Percival’s in charms, they may just surpass you entirely.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sebastian laughed. “But they may get close.”

“I was happy to join you as well,” Natsai told them. “I was actually planning to extend an invitation to Hogsmeade anyway. I thought you’d enjoy the chance to explore the village, so I’m glad Weasley trusted me enough to guide you.”

“I’m still surprised a Professor would entrust me with anything,” Sebastian confessed. “Considering my detention record.”

“Spend a lot of time in detention, huh?” Idris laughed.

“Just enough to make me well-rounded,” Sebastian returned their laugh with his own.

“Well you probably won’t be alone,” Idris sighed. “I spent a lot of time in detention back home, I doubt Hogwarts will be any different.”

“Treasure free air while it lasts,” Sebastian said.

“The fresh air is quite nice,” Natty agreed. “Especially after being cooped up in Ancient Runes. Grave mistake to take it as an elective class, believe me.”

Idris immediately doubled over in laughter because they were a complete traitor and Percival considered shoving them off the bridge they were crossing. Percival had indeed signed up for Ancient Runes, along with Arithmancy, Magic Theory, and Divination. At least Idris would be with him in Divination.

“What's so funny?” Sebastian questioned. 

“Percy signed up for Ancient Runes,” Idris explained.

“I’m sure it’s only because my mother selected the class for me,” Natty attempted to reassure him. “It’s rather monotonous and involves a great understanding of languages and culture.”

“Percival looooves languages and culture,” Idris was still snickering.

“Idris Pollux I swear I will hex you,” Percy threatened.

“You don’t know any hexes.”

“I will find a way to learn hexes.”

“There’s always the Restricted Section,” Sebastian suggested and Idris gasped like they’d just been horribly betrayed. “But you’ll probably want to be on good terms with Madam Scribner the librarian. I, however, am not.”

“How come?” Idris wondered.

“I suspect it’s a matter of differing opinions,” Sebastian said. “She thinks I shouldn’t be allowed in the Restricted Section, and I, on the other hand, am inclined to disagree.”

“Why are the books restricted?” Percival asked.

“Plenty of reasons,” Natty answered. “Some books are particularly rare and cannot be trusted to any student who happens to pick it up. Some are enchanted and unsafe to keep around students. Some are too advanced and inappropriate for the younger students. And some-”

“Have spells that aren’t taught at Hogwarts at all,” Sebastian finished. 

An entire section of books dedicated entirely to ‘forbidden’ knowledge. Knowledge not taught to students. The answers to questions normally avoided. Percival was silent for a few minutes as the conversation went on without him. What was in those books? How many breakthroughs and discoveries? Just the thought nearly drove him mad. He wasn’t sure how he’d convince someone to let him in but he had to try.

“Hey look! From the forest!” Idris nudged him and pointed towards the woods where a pair of magnificent beasts were flying out from the canopy. “Those are hippogriffs, right?”

“They are,” Sebastian replied. “That’s not a sight you see every day.”

“I wonder if something startled them,” Natty said.

As they approached another bridge they passed a group of students talking about the hippogriffs and a girl named Poppy, including Idris’ mortal enemy, Leander. It was obvious even to Percival that they were making fun of this Poppy girl, and he barely knew when people were teasing him. Idris scoffed as they passed.

“Oh shove a sock in it, Prewett,” Idris told him and when he started to say something Idris just raised a certain finger and kept walking without a care in the world.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun this year,” Sebastian snickered. 

“The woods the hippogriffs came out of on the left is the Forbidden Forest,” Natty told them. “It is forbidden to all students.”

“Hence the name,” Percival nodded. 

“They think it’s too dangerous,” Sebastian explained. “I think they need to have more confidence in our defensive abilities.”

“Well, some of our defensive abilities,” Idris corrected him with a smirk.

“We get it, you’re good at defensive magic,” Percival sighed. 

“Have you had much chance to explore the castle?” Sebastian asked.

“A little,” Percival said. “It’s positively enormous.”

“I would spend all my time exploring if I could,” Natty sighed happily. “We learn a great deal in class and in the castle, but I will say much can be gleaned outside the castle walls.”

“Have you spent much time outside the castle?” Sebastian wondered. 

“As much as I possibly can,” Natty answered. “You?”

“You could say that,” Sebastian replied. “I’m from a little hamlet just on the other side of the mountain, Feldcroft.”

They all stepped to the side of the road as another thestral-drawn carriage passed them by. Just like before that cold deathly feeling washed over him, making him shiver. 

“I’ve always thought Thestrals pulling a carriage a bit grim,” Sebastian muttered. “Though I suppose most people don’t actually see them at all.”

“You sound like you can,” Percival raised an eyebrow. Sebastian hesitated, as if he was considering his words.

“Yes, I can,” Sebastian stated eventually.

“As can I,” Natty confessed.

“I guess we’ve all seen some horrible things,” Idris muttered.

Silence fell over the group and Percival tried to pretend it was the normal silence to follow a conversation, but it was much too heavy for that.

“How are you settling in?” Natty spoke up suddenly, thankfully changing the subject. “I remember the weeks following my arrival feeling quite strange.”

“Strange is…a word for it,” Percival said, mind immediately going to all it took just to get to the castle and the other things they’d surely have to deal with if Idris had a say. “But we’re getting used to it. I’d like to say we made a few friends and classes are obviously going alright.”

“It’ll definitely be easier now that we have, you know, things,” Idris added. “But I think exploring might be fun, I plan to give that a try.”

“If you ever have need of a companion I would be happy to join you,” Natty said.

“I'll keep that in mind, thank you,” Idris smiled at her.

They approached another bridge, this one covered by a wooden canopy. A painted sign hung from the archway, indicating they had indeed arrived in Hogsmeade. The first word that came to mind was cozy. It wasn't small, but it did seem very warm. There was an energy and liveliness in the air that immediately made you feel comfortable and at home. It wasn't nearly as gaudy or bright as wizards could tend to make things. In fact if not for the occasional floating instrument and the wares in shop windows, it would look a lot like any normal village. 

“Here we are!” Natty announced. “It's hard to choose where to start.”

“The Three Broomsticks is the place for butterbeer,” Sebastian told them. “Honeydukes has every sweet you can think of. Then of course there's Zonkos, and a bunch more. There's always something to do or see here.”

“I could not choose a favorite shop,” Natty agreed. “It changes with every visit.”

“So, how would you like to do this?” Sebastian asked. “Weasley mentioned you had a list of things to get—your wands and some other bits?”

“Seeds, spellcrafts, potion recipes,” Idris listed, counting on their fingers as they went. 

“I’m keen to see what you two can do with wands of your own,” Sebastian chuckled. “I just have to pop into a shop to find something for my sister. I can meet up with you all in the town circle when you’re finished.”

“Actually, with a short list you should have plenty of time to explore the village,” Natty pointed out. “You should experience the village at your own pace, and we can all meet in the town square later.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sebastian nodded and before he wandered off. Natty gave them a smile before doing the same.

“We should probably get our supplies before our wands,” Percival said and immediately got a groan from Idris. “Oh shush, I’m excited about it too, but we should be responsible.”

“Why are you no fun?” Idris pouted. “Fine, fine, let’s get the actually important things. The field guide has a map of Hogsmeade so let’s look at that.”

“Oh you’re right, I forgot about it,” Percival realized. He pulled out his Field Guide and quickly checked the index of the map which conveniently had each shop's main wares. The shop for spellcrafts was right across the street from them. “Let’s start there.”

Getting the other three things was surprisingly easy. Professor Weasley had already sent word ahead to each of the shops on their list, so everything they needed was ready for them. They were in and out of each shop, but while in J. Pippins’ Percival took note the place sold potion ingredients in addition to potions and recipes. He had a feeling that would come in handy for him. Idris’ building excitement with each shop was visible and Percival had to admit he was feeling the same way, even if he didn’t show it as much. Finally Percival tucked their dittany seeds into their bags and Idris grabbed his hand and dragged him to the Ollivander’s they’d passed multiple times. 

The store was small, specifically narrow, but that was because every inch of the walls were lined with shelves, stuffed full with long narrow boxes that seemed to hold wands. As soon as they stepped over the threshold Percival felt that very familiar tugging he’d felt at Gringotts. Except…no that wasn’t it. The Ancient Magic had felt like a hook behind his ribs dragging him forward. This was different. Rather than dragging, it was like a warm hand on his shoulder guiding him to where he needed to go. He tried to follow the feeling, letting it nudge him until he was staring at a purple wand box in a locked case behind the counter. He was snapped out of it though when he heard the ringing of a bell and turned to see Idris standing at the counter rocking on their feet.

“I’ll be right with- ah!” A short man with oddly pointy gray hair popped out from around the corner holding an armful of wand boxes. “It’s you! Um, just a moment please.”

There was a concerning amount of crash from the back of the shop before the man, presumably Mr. Ollivander, came back to the counter. 

“We’re looking for-” Percival tried to say. 

“For new wands, yes,” Ollivander cut him off. “It’s about time.”

“Excuse me?” Percival said.

“Well you’re our new fifth-year students, are you not?” Ollivander raised an eyebrow at them. “Oh what am I saying, of course you are. You first, Gryffindor, come come!”

Ollivander came across the counter and used his wand to try levitating a box down for Idris to try. But before he could pull the box all the way from the shelf Idris stepped forward. As soon as they did, a box shot out of the bottom shelf behind Ollivander. It hit the ground hard enough that it bursted open, the wand falling out and landing at Idris’ feet. It was a warm color wood, though Percival couldn’t place it at a glance. He didn’t make a habit of staring at and identifying woods. It curled around itself halfway through the wand then came to a stop at a handle of what looked almost like white marble, the bottom and top trimmed with gold, with a curling teal carving under the gold. There wasn’t anything particularly special about it but Ollivander still made a curious hum as he looked between Idris and the wand.

“Let’s try that one then, shall we?” Ollivander clapped his hands excitedly. Idris glanced at Percival but leaned down and picked up the wand. As soon as they did they gasped. Percival’s anxiety spiked into pure panic at the sound but he didn’t need to act at all. Idris grinned as they lifted the wand. A blue light started from the wand and covered their whole body. He’d never seen Idris smile so brightly in his life.

“Curious, curious indeed,” Ollivander hummed. “That right there is a yew wand, a fairly rare wood, especially when paired with its thestral hair core.”

“Yew wood?” Percival remembered that one from when he was, yes, studying the wand woods. It fascinated him how different woods called to different wizards and were better for different purposes, okay? Yew wood was particularly selective, never choosing a mediocre or timid wizard, or mage in this case. More notably was that a yew wand supposedly gave the mage power over life and death. Paired with the thestral core…Percival looked at Idris just slightly more warily than before.

“Yes, quite powerful, quite the reputation,” Ollivander waved his wand and the empty box flew to the back of the shop. “Now, my fellow ravenclaw, let’s find you the perfect match, shall we?”

Ollivander started scanning the shelves, muttering to himself the whole way about woods and cores, but Percival’s eyes kept being drawn back to that purple box. 

“You might do,” Ollivander muttered and pulled out a green box. “Here, give this one a try.”

It was pretty, a reddish wood with a gold spiral around the outside, but when he swished it as instructed it only sparked for a second before leaping from his hand into the air to shoot off fireworks in every direction. 

“Perhaps you need something rare, like your sibling,” Ollivander said. He grabbed another green box from a lower shelf, once again presenting the box to Idris. 

Somehow Percival knew this wand also wouldn’t be the one. When Idris had picked up their wand the reaction was immediate, but when Percival picked up the wand he’d felt nothing. Except that guiding hand at his shoulder again, still trying to push him toward that purple box in the back. He half-heartedly swished the wand and it literally teleported out of his hand and back into the box. 

“Not that one then,” Ollivander declared, much too cheerfully in Percival’s opinion. “This is proving to be trickier than I had anticipated. How perplexing.”

Ollivander returned to the shelves once more but by now the calling had increased exponentially until he could focus on nothing else. 

“Mr. Ollivander?” Percival prompted.

“Yes?”

“What about that one?” 

Ollivander looked up at him and he gestured to the wand in the back. Ollivander froze where he stood, still half hunched over, and just looking back and forth between Percival and the wand. Percy couldn’t tell if his expression was one of fear or awe. It may have been both.

“You can feel it?” Ollivander asked.

“Uh, I feel something,” Percival attempted to clarify. “And whatever it is, it’s pulling me toward that wand.”

“Perplexing, perplexing indeed,” Ollivander whispered. 

He hesitated, staring at Percival for a very uncomfortable amount of time, then went over and unlocked the case. He held the book reverently as he presented it to Percival.

It was a dark wood, almost black. It was a tight spiral that took up the entire top half of the wand. The bottom was a dark blue decorated in golden patterns of stars, and ending with what looked oddly like an astrolabe. The feeling was all encompassing now, wrapping around him entirely. His hand as he took the wand. He felt it. It was like a static shock, only throughout his whole body. It was like it was in his veins. It was acceptance, finality, comfort. It was right. The guiding feeling was gone, because he no longer needed it. He had his wand. He swished it and…

Nothing happened.

Literally nothing. There wasn’t even a bad reaction, just completely nothing. He may as well have been holding a regular stick.

“I don’t understand,” Percival muttered. 

“It’s alright, sometimes these things happen,” Ollivander sighed, as if he was also disappointed. “Let’s find you the right wand then.”

Percival put the wand back in the box and Ollivander turned away to take the box back to the case. But when he tried to close the box on the wand something started happening. Percival could hear the box shaking. Then something shot at him at breakneck speed. He wasn’t sure how he knew what to do but he did. He held out his hand and the thing flew into his grip perfectly. The wand. A grin broke across his face like the sunrise on the horizon. Finally, something that felt right.

“Well I’ll be…” Ollivander muttered. “I was beginning to think no one would match with that wand.”

“What is it?” Percival wondered, still studying the wand. 

“Phoenix feather core,” Ollivander said. “And Elder wood.”

Percival’s head whipped up to stare at the wand maker. No wonder it was locked up. Elder wands were powerful, but extremely picky. Other wands could be used secondhand or borrowed but an Elder wand would work for no one but its master. It was the rarest wand wood in the world. Partly because it was so hard to match with a mage, but also because of its horrible reputation. The pickiness of an elder wand meant if its master stopped performing to the wand’s standards it would betray them, sometimes with deadly consequences.

“No pressure?” Idris tried but it came out as a question.

They paid for their wands and left, both silent for once as they tried to reconcile with what just happened in the wand shop. 

“Why do I feel like that’s going to come back to bite us?” Idris sighed.

“Because at this point everything does,” Percival groaned. “We both got death wands, how could that not come back to bite us?”

“Maybe we’re going to finally kill each other,” Idris snickered, shocking a laugh out of Percival. “Oh come on I know you’ve thought about it.”

“Only once or twice,” Percival replied. “A week. My whole life.”

“Aw, you’re the best brother ever.”

“I better be, keeping you alive is not an easy job.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am very responsible.”

“Yeah you’re responsible in the same universe where I’m a Gryffindor.”

“I think you’d make a great Gryffindor.”

“If I didn’t kill the whole house. Or jump out the tower.”

“....yeah okay you got me there.”

Percival held out his arm and Idris put their hand in the crook of Percival’s elbow, just like their Mom had drilled into them both when they were kids. Their mom had had a lot to learn when it came to manners in English society so she’d made sure Idris and Percival knew everything they could ever possibly need, and that included walking together in public. Ironically, it was Idris escorting Percival when they first learned, until they got older and revealed who they really were and their poor mother had to scramble to re-teach them things. 

They made it to the town square with slightly cheerier spirits, or at least lighter ones, and saw Natty and Sebastian already waiting for them.

“We officially have all our supplies,” Idris declared. “Did you both get everything you needed?”

“We did,” Sebastian replied.

“We should walk around a bit more,” Natty said. “We have plenty of time before we should head back to the castle. Perhaps the Three Broomsticks? I think you would enjoy butterbeer.”

“Three Broomsticks it is” Percival agreed.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

All four of them exchanged glances with each other as the thunderous sounds got closer. The ground shook beneath them hard enough Percy had to shift his weight to not be knocked over. Even the buildings were shaking. Most chilling was the shriek of fear in the distance. 

The cacophony crescendoed and around a building came a hulking beast that looked as though a chunk of a mountain had come to life. It was hideous, there was no other word to describe it. It roared and brandished the club in its hand. It wore armor, armor glowing the same red as Ranrok back at Gringotts and the collar of the dragon.

“Idris,” Percival whispered.

“I know,” They replied, hand clutching their wand.

Percival quickly pulled his out too as the residents of Hogsmeade sent spells flying. The creature stormed at a witch standing on the sidelines and Idris casted Stupefy at the troll to grab its attention which was simply great because now they had a very angry troll after them.

Before the troll could charge them another spell came from behind it, the caster being a woman in some sort of law enforcement uniform. Aurors, Percival thought they were called. 

“Lead it away from the buildings!” The auror cried to the witches next to her. “Away from the village!”

The witches ran off away from the four of them, pelting the troll with spells to keep it angry and following them. They got the troll away from the square and for a second things were quiet. Then another roar and an explosion rang out behind them. They turned around just in time to witness the trolls smashing through a building. 

“What do we do?!” Percival cried.

“We can’t let it destroy the village!” Natty exclaimed. 

She threw the first spell out, immediately angering the troll and drawing its attention. What was it with Gryffindors and pissing off monsters? The troll roared and lifted its club, shaking the village once more.

“Incoming!” Sebastian yelled. “Scatter!”

They all dove in different directions in the nick of time, avoiding the club that smashed down right where they were all standing only moments ago. Percival ripped off his robes and tossed it aside so the thing wouldn’t get in his way. Idris came up from their roll already on their feet and casting spells with deadly accuracy. Every single one hit its mark but the troll only got more pissed. If anything it seemed to target Idris. The other three tried to get its attention with spells, yelling, insults—mainly from Sebastian—but nothing worked. 

“Are we even weakening it?!” Percival said.

“We just have to wear it down!” Natty declared

Every near miss from the troll’s club and feet made Percival’s heart rate spike. Then, his worst nightmare. In their fervent dance with the troll Idris must have lost track of where they were. They ended up trapped in a corner against a stone wall just too high for them to jump. The troll roared and raised its club and this time Idris had nowhere to run.

“IDRIS!” Percival screamed as the troll swung.

“PROTEGO!” Idris yelled. It was nothing more than a desperate cry. All of them knew there was no way a simple shield charm would withstand such a powerful attack. But not only did the charm hold, it sent the troll flying backwards with an explosion of energy. The energy swirled around Idris as they flung out their wand and yanked forward, sending a giant boulder from the rubble of the building right at the troll with enough force the stone shattered.

“How…how did you do that?!” Percival demanded, but Idris looked just as confused as he was.

“Who cares, just do it again!” Sebastian laughed with glee.

Percival dove to the side to avoid a particularly haphazard swing and ended up next to Idris.

“I think I used…the thing,” Idris told him quietly, glancing at Sebastian and Natty to make sure they were occupied with the troll. They suddenly looked much more tired than before, panting heavily and holding the shoulder of their wand hand. “There was this tug on my hand and I felt something snap into place then I just threw it. I bet you can do it too if you try.”

Percival closed his eyes and searched for that hooking feeling in his chest. It immediately found his attention like it had been waiting for him. He forced the hook to his wand instead of his ribs. Something tugged his arm up and just like Idris said it was like the rope went taught. Percival pulled his wand over his shoulder like he was throwing it at the troll and a large crate soared over his head and hit the troll in the chest, knocking it over.

“Hell yeah!” Idris cheered. 

Apparently the troll did not appreciate their tricks as it picked up a boulder of its own. Idris threw up another shield charm, this time around them both. As soon as the boulder hit it Idris repeated the actions with the very bould the troll threw.

“How long is this thing going to keep standing?” Idris groaned.

“We can’t do this forever,” Sebastian agreed. 

He switched his wand to his other hand so he could shake out his wand hand. A bruise was forming across his cheek and his arm seemed sore if not also injured. Poor Natty was breathing hard and limping just slightly. Idris was hurt too, and Percival’s dragon bite injury was not appreciating this fight.

But there was something else around the pain. The connection was still there. This time it was like it was between his chest and his hand. Something in his chest and something in his wand had connected and were screaming for his attention.

“Okay,” Percival muttered and rolled his neck. “Let’s try this.”

He stepped forward and pulled his wand back, letting the energy in his center flow down and out. It wanted to explode out of him but instead gathered in his hands. He pulled his hand to his wand, forcing the magic in the wand and in his body to combine. Then when he threw his wand forward the magic exploded, swarming the troll and literally turning it to ashes.

“Woah…” Idris whispered into the now empty street.

“That was brilliant!” Natty cheered as she ran over to Percival. “Are you alright?”

“Yes I’m, I’m fine,” Percival assured her. He suddenly felt sapped of his energy and despite the breakfast a house elf had brought him that morning before he left his dorm, he felt like he hadn’t eaten in days. Idris looked like they had an interrogation’s worth of questions before they could ask them the witches from earlier returned, the woman in the officer’s uniform approaching them immediately.

“Goodness! A second troll?” The officer gasped. “Did you four take on a fully grown troll by yourselves?”

“I suppose we did,” Sebastian shrugged. 

“It wasn’t too bad,” Idris assured her. “Just some bumps and bruises. We just…outnumbered it I guess.”

“Merlin’s beard,” The officer shook her head. “Well, I appreciate the help, though help may be a bit of an understatement. Nerve like that? The makings of some future aurors if you ask me. Officer Ruth Singer.”

She held out her hand and each of them shook it, repeating the favor by introducing themselves.

“You’re sure nothing strange happened?” Singer checked and Percival nodded. He noticed Idris inching closer to him but couldn’t possibly fathom why. “Very well. Why don’t you kids get yourselves somewhere with less rubble, and preferably try to avoid fighting any more trolls in the future.”

They all murmured their promises and wandered off. As the adrenaline faded Percival could feel his energy level lowering with the sun on the horizon. The Ancient Magic feeling had disappeared, leaving just with a very angry dragon bite that may have reopened and a really sore wand arm. He really hoped the thing hadn’t reopened, or at least that it hadn’t gotten on his corset. Idris hadn’t gotten the chance to make him a second one yet so he wouldn’t have it until they could.

Percival rolled his shoulder as he walked and hissed in pain as the motion tugged at the bite. He tried to get a glance at the wound but it was too far on the back of his shoulder.

“Dris I didn’t reopen it did I?” Percival asked. Idris moved to walk behind him and looked over his shoulder.

“Can’t tell for sure but I don’t think so,” Idris told him.

“Well that’s one stroke of good luck,” Percival supposed. “Where should we-”

“In here!” Someone called from inside a large purple building with mannequins in the window. The sign said ‘Gladrags Wizardwear’. “I have something for you!”

“We are so going,” Idris decided and quickly disappeared into the shop.

“I suppose we should see what he wants,” Natty chuckled. 

They stepped inside and found a cozy little shop with multiple mannequins and displays, each sporting some sort of wizarding fashion, which Percival was still getting used to. There was a counter a few meters away and another a few steps down on their right, which looked to mainly be for tailoring and custom orders considering the various sewing equipment around it. There wasn’t anyone there but there was a man with pointed hair in a smart red suit at the cash register who Idris was already chatting with excitedly. 

“Ah, there you are!” The man said as they came in. “Allow me to introduce myself: Augustus Hill, clothier extraordinaire.”

“He knows all sorts of things I didn’t know!” Idris was grinning again as they bounced. “There’s so much more you can do with magic, stuff I didn’t even think of!”

“Your sibling is quite talented,” Mr. Hill told them. Idris’ sketchbook was resting open on the counter as Mr. Hill flipped through it. “Their sketches are fascinating.”

“Thank you sir,” Idris was now biting his lip, in a way that indicated they were trying not to screech.

“I should also like to thank you four for your remarkable bravery in fighting those trolls,” Mr. Hill said. 

“We were happy to help,” Idris replied. Percival slightly disagreed but he let it slide. 

“Frankly, every one of you deserves an Order of Merlin!” Hill declared. Percival made a mental note to ask someone what that was.”But I can offer you something much more useful.”

He futzed behind the counter for a moment before pulling out four sets of Hogwarts robes, one Ravenclaw, two Gryffindor, and one Slytherin.

“As the owner of Gladrags Wizardwear, I am proud to tell you about part of the inventory,” Hill said. “These unique items afford certain protections as it were. Life-saving protections.”

“You can weave spells into fabric,” Idris gasped. “I need to learn how to do that yesterday.”

“I’d like to offer each of you a set of robes in thanks for what you did today,” Hill offered. “In case this turns out to not be your last dangerous encounter.”

“Thank you for the generous gifts Mr. Hill but we could not possibly-” Natty tried to say but Idris cut her off.

“We’ll take them, thank you so much!” Idris grabbed the robes off the counter and passed them out to their matching students.

Percival sighed and rolled his eyes but knew there was no changing his sibling’s mind so he shrugged the robes on, knowing his old ones were lost somewhere by now. The other three with still intact robes folded them and gave them to Mr. Hill in exchange who happily took them and waved as they left.

“Well, I’d say we earned ourselves a butterbeer or two,” Sebastian said. 

“And food,” Percival groaned. 

“We can find both at the three broomsticks,” Natty assured him. “This way.”

Natty and Sebastian lead the way, under an archway and down more of Hogsmeade’s cobbled streets. Percival was rolling his shoulder again only for Sebastian to curse and yank Percival behind a building by his good arm.

“Ow!” Percival protested but got immediately shushed by Sebastian and even Natty who was on the other side of an alleyway crouching with Idris.

“Why are we whispering?” Idris asked, lowering their voice to match their friends’.

“Rookwood,” Natty explained. “That is him down the alley.”

Sebastian shifted so Percival could peek around the corner. He had to cover his own mouth with his hand to keep from gasping. Rookwood must have been the man in the long coat and top hat. But he wasn’t the only one down that alley.

“You said you could get to the children when they came to Hogsmeade,” Ranrok grumbled. “That all you needed was a distraction. I gave you a distraction!”

“I just watched a student take down your ‘distraction’,” Rookwood argued. Ranrok’s face shifted and Rookwood caught it, though Percival wasn’t sure what he saw. “Who are these children? What are you not telling me?”

“All you need to know is that if you cannot get to the twins, then you have no value to me,” Ranrok growled. Idris and Percival exchanged glances of alarm. When they turned back Ranrok was glancing up the stairs right at them.

“Go!” Percival whispered. 

They all dashed down the street, not slowing down until they were over a block away.

“Did they see us?” Sebastian panted.

“I don’t think so,” Percival shook his head.

“Why is Ranrok working with Rookwood?!” Idris hissed.

“Ranrok?” Natty realized. “The goblin from the Daily Prophet?”

Sebastian grabbed Idris by the arm as he spotted something over their shoulder. Percival glanced up the stairs and saw Rookwood emerging from the alley.

“Quickly, let’s get inside the Three Broomsticks,” Sebastian suggested.

They all ducked inside the pub, trying to not look like they were running from something. They didn’t exactly succeed seeing as they were all panting and kept glancing over their shoulders. Waiting for Rookwood to appear. Thankfully he didn’t. Natty guided them over to the bar of the cozy and warm pub where a woman in an apron was talking to a goblin.

“It’s a treat to see you, Lodgok,” The woman said. “I shall let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thank you, Sirona,” The goblin replied.

“You be well.”

The four Hogwarts students each claimed a stool at the bar, Natty on the far left, Percival next to her, then Idris, then Sebastian. Sirona brushed off her hands and came over to them.

“Now, what can I- oh,” Sirona cut herself off. “There are two faces I haven’t seen before.”

“It’s our first time,” Idris chuckled while Percival was still watching the door.

“Welcome!” Sirona greeted them and took out her wand, giving it a twirl. “Butterbeer on me.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian replied as four mugs of butterbeer floated in front of them. Percival tried it and was honestly pleasantly surprised. It reminded him of a warm apple cider but more sweet, like caramel. 

“Heard about the attack,” Sirona sighed. “I shall be looking in on the other shopkeepers and residents shortly. Glad to see you four seem alright.”

“Thanks to these two,” Sebastian tilted his head towards the twins.

“I don’t know about that,” Percival shook his head.

“Sebastian is right,” Natty disagreed. “You single handedly took down a troll! Or I suppose double handedly.”

“Is that right? Well done,” Sirona said. I will say, trolls? In hogsmeade? That’s never happened before. Something’s not right. The only brutes we usually have to deal with.”

The door flew open behind them and Percival cursed as Rookwood sauntered in, flanked by a rather stocky man who looked even meaner than Rookwood. Presumably Theophilus Harlow, the other man Professor Weasley had mentioned. Percival reached for Idris and found his twin already doing the same. For now they tried to simply seem inconspicuous. Sebastian reached for his wand but Idris grabbed his hand before he could pull it out. 

“How timely,” Sirona hummed. 

Sirona rounded the bar to stand firmly between the two men and the four students. She wasn’t aggressive but she certainly seemed determined not to give an inch to Rookwood.

“Was that Lodgok I saw leaving just now?” Rookwood sneered. Your clientele’s not what it used to be, Sirona.”

“Not to worry Victor,” Sirona chuckled. “Once the two of you leave, the calibre of my clientele will greatly improve.”

Harlow grabbed for his wand but Sirona just sighed.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Theophilus” Sirona warned.

“Come now, no need for theatrics,” Rookwood drawled. “I’m only here for these two anyway.”

Rookwood pointed right at them and Percival’s grip on Idris’ hand tightened. Natty got to her feet between the twins and Rookwood and the three of them quickly followed. No one grabbed for their wands yet but it was obvious they were prepared to.

“My friend is enjoying a well-earned Butterbeer,” Sirona informed him.

“Only want a quick word,” Rookwood waved her off. 

He stepped forward and tried to grab Percival but Natty jumped in front of him, whipping her wand out. At the same time, every patron in the three Broomsticks followed her lead, standing and pulling out their wands, each pointed at Rookwood and Harlow. Harlow pulled out his wand too but Rookwood hesitated.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Sirona chirped. “I said my friend is busy.”

“ONe would think you’d all had enough bloodshed for one day,” Rookwood grumbled. “Come Theophilus. The Three Broomsticks isn’t what it used to be. Let’s take our Galleons elsewhere.”

With one last glare at the twins, he and Harlow begrudgingly left the Three Broomsticks. Sirona followed them a few steps but came back over to the students once she was sure the men were gone. 

“Seems you made an unfortunate enemy,” Sirone warned them. “Watch your back. Rookwood and Harlow are worse than any troll you might encounter.”

“Trolls, Ranrok, and Rookwood?” Sebastian shook his head. “What are you not telling us?”

“We’ll tell you everything I promise,” Idris replied as they glanced around, on the same thought train as Percy. 

“But not here,” Percival finished.

Sebastian looked like he wanted to argue but Natty spoke up before he could.

“I understand,” Natty replied. “Perhaps we should head back to the castle. I’m certain Professor Weasley would have heard about the troll attack by now. She will want to check on you.”

The twins followed their friends to the nearest floo flames and quickly ended up in Hogwarts Central Hall. Sure enough, Professor Weasley was waiting by the fountain despite the empty hall.

“Ah! There you are,” Weasley sighed in relief. “I’m grateful you’re alright. I heard of the troll attack, were any of you hurt?”

“We’re going to be sore in the morning,” Sebastian answered. “But we’re alright I think.”

“Thank you for waiting up for us, Professor,” Percival said. 

“You are my students, therefore it is my responsibility to keep you safe,” Weasley replied. “But it seems you’ve kept each other safe instead. Well done. Ten points for each of you.”

“So unfair,” Sebastian mumbled as Idris and Natty high fived.

“Now get to bed, all of you, it’s late,” Professor Weasley shooed them off.

They responded with a chorus of ‘Yes Professor’ and Sebastian split off for the Slytherin dorms. But when they got to the stairs of Ravenclaw tower Idris grabbed Percy’s hand to stop him.

“Natty you go ahead,” Idris said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Is everything alright?” Natty checked. Percy was so glad Idris had befriended her. 

“Yeah, I just want to talk to Percy,” Idris promised. Natty hesitated but eventually nodded and left down the corridor. Once she was around the corner Idris pulled Percival into a nearby alcove. “How did you do that?”

“How did I do what?” Percival tilted his head. There were a lot of new things he’d done that day.

“How did you disintegrate a troll?!”

“I don’t know! I threw the crate like you told me how to do, then the feeling just stayed so I channeled it into my wand. It did the disintegration thing on its own.”

“What feeling?”

“You know, the Ancient Magic feeling. In your ribs? The pulling?”

“I don’t get a feeling.”

“What?”

“I can’t feel Ancient Magic. I just felt a connection to something like with accio but stronger. What do you mean you can feel it in your chest.”

“Whenever there’s ancient magic I can feel it, like a hook in my ribs pulling me to it. You can’t feel it?”

Idris leaned against the wall and ran a hand through their hair.

“No, I can’t,” Idris muttered. “So I probably can’t do that, that thing. I can’t use the Ancient Magic.”

“Yet, maybe it’s like charms and it’ll just take you a minute,” Percival tried to assure them.

“Yeah, because I can always do the things you can,” Idris rolled their eyes. Percival halted.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Percival asked slowly but Idris just shook their head. 

“Nothing,” Idris said. “Good night Percival.”

And on that happy note Idris rushed down the corridor before Percival could stop them, leaving them with nothing to do other than head to his dorm and try to sleep.

[bye-bye-firefly]

Goood evening!! What’re your thoughts on dream sequences?

Welllllll you know meeee.........i write a lot of dream sequences. if im not writing dream sequences the character is falling in and out of sleep. BUT i do understand how that can get annoying. overall dream sequences should be able to convey something to the reader, that there is something going on in this character's psyche that they cannot face in the narrative right now or ever. what can you gather from a dream? and at this point i fall off the deep end soooo. more under the cut

they can be very important to the story Ya Know. most of the time im having a character confront some kind of mental block or real life issue in a dream. dreams communicate fears. dreams communicate mounting pressure- dreams can BE that mounting pressure. dreams can also communicate acceptance. dreams can be characters in and of themselves!! but dreams have to consistently represent something. i would suggest like. maintaining one or two different meanings for dreams but this generally goes for ALL symbols. telling a story is inherently enforcing some kind of narrative. joan didion's belief was that writing was a hostile act, describing it almost as if it was violating the reader. to be specific, she said:

In many ways writing is the act of saying I, of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It's an aggressive, even a hostile act. You can disguise its qualifiers and tentative subjunctives, with ellipses and evasions —with the whole manner of intimating rather than claiming, of alluding rather than stating—but there's no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writer's sensibility on the reader's most private space.

do i necessarily completely agree with joan didion? No. but i do think she was getting at something and it was something very important about writing. when you are telling a story, whether it be fiction or non-fiction, there is some underlying narrative going on there. there will always be some hidden meaning because people dont walk around without them. even the nihilists have a hidden meaning they want to share with you: there is NO meaning. writing is a philosophical experience and a deeply self-analytical one, which didion also believed was part of the reason why she wrote if not the sole reason she was a writer. she described it like she didn't know what she was thinking until she wrote it down. she didn't know what was happening with her mental state until she wrote it down. i dont believe she did that expressly to impose a narrative upon a reader, to persuade them necessarily, but YES there is a part of every writer that wants to make you see it OUR way.

but this feeling is not specific to authors. other forms of art find themselves trying to make you see what they see, whether it be simply through their own memories of an event or a scene, or quite literally an artists interpretation of politics and history. an artist trying to convey to you what an event did to them through their medium of choice. a piece i love so much is félix gonzález-torres' 175 pound piles of candy that guests are encouraged to take from, forcing them to participate in the art piece. not only do you get to view it, but to get the full experience, you must participate and pick up a candy and eat from it, the representation of félix's and his lover's body, both taken away by aids. the horror of it is forced on you and that visceral emotional reaction feels like an invader suddenly entering your body. everything about it hits you like a freight train while you're eating a cellophane-wrapped candy. what can you get from that? what exactly can you interpret from it? what thought does the author have? can you feel it being forced on you?

i mentioned this before in a note but i said that at the time, i was following the oscar wilde method of writing, which was to write without communicating a moral to the audience. while i still identify with this- in no way am i trying to teach you some kind of lesson when you read nameless- there is a mix here that i think is important when talking about what you choose to write and what you choose to symbolise. dreams are not just a gateway into a character's mind but YOUR mind and what you associate with certain things. writing is displaying art and because of that, people can interpret your art in any way they want and there is no wrong way to view it in my personal opinion. even if you put it out there with a vision and a goal, people can choose to make it personal to themselves and there is NOTHING you can do about that. this is part of the medium. you dont control how people interpret it if they feel deeply about it.

a good example of that is sun yuan and peng yu's "can't help myself." you probably already know about it: a machine that sweeps up liquid that looks like blood. sun yuan and peng yu intended for this to be a more political piece, trying to evoke imagery of war, surveillance, and land disputes. these concepts were not just randomly chosen for a random exhibition; the guggenheim museum specifically sought out yuan and yu for the "tales of our time" exhibition, which had a focus on locations and geography. where the artists lived, their idea of utopia, an interpretation of modern borders. even the title was a play on lu xun's book "old tales retold," which, as it says on the tin, retold old tales but in a way that critiqued society and highlighted issues specific to the era. so, when "can't help myself" was created, it was an interpretation of the state of border politics.

looking at it with this perspective, the "blood" the machine cleans up leaves red streaks across the floor as the only evidence it was ever there. the machine gets little breaks and dances and interacts with the audience like a nation's figurehead on tour, waving to citizens in the audience before immediately returning to the bloodshed. and when the blood gets too much, they dont have as much time to appease the crowd or to do a little dance or wave. theres too much to mop up, and then the blood becomes the centrepiece. no matter how much the robot sweeps up, there is always more. and the machine sweeps up blood until it cant anymore, and then the blood is left to sit for everyone to see. its the inevitable end of empires. it is what war will do to a nation. when the power struggle that leads to wars that leads to death en masse become too much, people will be unable to ignore the bloodshed and there is no amount of dancing or waving a nation can do to save them from their demise. the machine lays down and dies. the empire falls.

or...or its exemplary of a country trying to control immigration. it pulls the blood back in, but there are streaks left of it on the floor- people still get out and they never come back. blood gets spattered on the walls and is, therefore, unable to be swept back up. what is a nation without its people? and that is why borders and the inherent function of the machine is important. the machine is not leaking the fluid; the fluid has been poured into the space and the machine sweeps it into an arbitrary border. when it flows outside that border, its sensors go off and drag the fluid back in. that brings in the idea of mass surveillance. bringing those who step out of line back in. its an orwellian image of a machine dancing and waving to the audience, putting on a jovial performance, before punishing its subject for stepping out of its contrived boundary in front of its company.

the art piece briefly fell out of public knowledge before being discovered again through what little video we have of it while it was being shown. and some of the people who found it were not given the context of the guggenheim exhibit, nor did they get to view it during the time it was in action. some were not residents of china, yuan and yu's home country and the area-specific politics "can't help myself" was reflecting on. because of these holes in knowledge, people began to interpret it as a rat race sort of commentary. the fluid representing money, or the machine's life force, or joy flowing out of the machine and trying to be gathered back up by this anthropromorphised version that was created. it dances and waves and puts on a brave face, all while fighting to maintain these important things. some people interpretted it as people pleasing, where the machine would dance and then go right back to struggling to stay alive, perhaps struggling with depression or other kinds of mental illness. it would wave to make people happy and interact with the audience, all while bleeding out on the floor. people felt for it and identified with it.

and while you could argue these interpretations are "tainted" because they don't know what the piece is actually about, it doesn't make any other interpretation any better. in fact, my interpretations of "can't help myself"- even with the assistance of context from the guggenheim website or my limited knowledge on chinese policy and history or the assistance of the artists themselves, articles from people that saw it in person, what few translated articles i could stumble across in my early search- is tainted by the fact that i have only ever lived in the west. i don't truly know what chinese immigration policy looks like or what the chinese government is telling its citizens, what narrative is trying to be pushed. i only know what narrative my country is pushing. i am assuming that, maybe, the chinese government is saying the same things as the west, but i don't truly know and i won't know until i meet someone who lives or lived there, but i haven't. as logical as my interpretation is, there are likely holes because of my view on the government which has been shaped by living where i do, just as this piece is shaped by sun yuan and peng yu living in china.

and even if they don't know the context, that doesn't make their interpretations any less evocative. there is something to be said about the performance the machine puts on because its an important part of the piece. there's something to be said about how you are an observer peering into a glass box at the spectacle that is happening. you can stand there and have blood flung at you because of the work the machine is putting into maintaining its borders. there is something to be said about the way the machine appears to be bleeding, even if that's not what's actually happening. these are amazing things to think about and the fact that people think about it at all is amazing! i think thats fucking beautiful!!

and you want to know why that's so amazing? because art like this is MEANT to be provacative. it's MEANT to spark a reaction. it could be reactions in the political sense, like inspiring people to be activists or to question their governments and representatives, or reactions in the emotional sense, like fear or intrigue or sadness. "can't help myself" is poking at you and begging for a reaction. the machine dances and waves and tries to entertain you between sweeps as if it's begging for you to look at it, to analyse it, to figure out what it's doing and why it's doing it, and why you are trapped behind the glass, stuck watching it. regarding "can't help myself," sun yuan told artsy, "we see how the robot and the liquid finish by torturing each other."

with this, we return to didion and her belief that writing was a hostile act. sun yuan and peng yu went into this project hoping to communicate a strong political message that was essential to the museum that commissioned them. the museum wanted the view they could provide. from the start, this is about politics and geography and borders and immigration- so how did people end up seeing themselves in that machine? its a matter of the artists releasing the ability to maintain context. even with people learning the context of the piece, there are still those that identify with it because their interpretation means so much to them. this piece has a life of its own outside of what the artists intended for it and this inevitably happens to every piece of art. those who care about it will interpret it in a way that relates to them. if they are politically minded, they might interpret it in a political way, and for those who aren't, the piece becomes deeply emotional.

i might try to insert a piece of myself into every piece of writing i do, but there is nothing i can do to stop people from interpretting my art however they please. i find IMMENSE joy in this because its so interesting to see what i wrote and finding different versions of it inside the people it touches. dream sequences can be deeply personal for the character, but you will never know because you will never be them. for the simplest of dream sequences, the most straightforward, the most complicated, the strangest, there is an interpretation out there that blows my expectations out of the water. im constantly searching for different interpretations of stories ive read in the hopes i will find a deeper understanding of it, which is really all this post is about. dream sequences are good and people's interpretations of them make them even better and IN FACT every single piece of writing is made better by being able to turn to other people and ask them what they thought of it. understanding a piece is understanding the people around you and how the art affects them, not what the artist specifically intended by making the work.