#big pater

[ganglemanva]

guy gotta do what a guy gotta do, mile

https://twitter.com/randsiron/status/1843047128396173552

thanks  @scootusproductions8497  for hopping in as miles and indulging a bit where i purposefully got the joke wrong

[sickfreaksirkay]

?

[paterday]

I had a fallout themed nightmare. I’ve never even played fallout. Also there were dinosaurs cuz of course there were.

[fablepatron]

The marrow wip sculpt from today (left) vs yesterday (right)… still trying to figure out th features I like best

[cerastes]

I’m glad AC6 has a memorable cast.

Handler “on my mother’s name, this is about a FRIEND not me” Walter, Cinder “names her custom made AC parts after food” Carla (who can get her bitcoin keys stolen in a mission if you take too long), Snail the single most hateable man in the world, Pater who yells “YAY PROMOTION FOR ME!” if you kill his caring superior in front of him, Iguazu the malding Yamcha, Rusty Your Buddy, Michigan who somehow manages to be incredibly military and yet likable by virtue of being a funny G.I. Joe ass dude (who knows EVERYONE under him by name), and the menagerie of usual Armored Core crooks and freaks that inhabit the Arena, and let’s not forget the utterly suspect ALL MIND who keeps saying very concerning shit and sort of acknowledges you’re in ng+ and wants your help in creating an ethically* sourced, community built Nineball. Even the playable character is an identity thief and the world’s okayest lobotomite, who gets attacked specifically for stealing an identity AND for being an okay lobotomite, separately and in different situations.

And here’s where I make a special mention to Ayre, the girl living in your head, who is… A normal ass person for the most part and just sort of hangs out with you and wants to spend time together. There’s also the voices of the legion, but otherwise, she’s just A Person, and even feels bad asking you to do things if she can’t pay you. In the middle of the big corpo war, Ayre is like “Raven, did you know? There’s lore :) I hope that was interesting”. When the voice possessing your hollow bloodless head is the most normal and well adjusted person in the setting, you know you have something good going on.

[tigersharkapologist]

Septimius Geta and Septimius Caracalla Headcanons

headcanons for these dorks because if I dont put this out there I’ll explode, also some au things in here⊹ ࣪ ˖

TW: mentions of child abuse and murder 𓃦

Geta 𓃭

- oh the angst on this one

- He grew up very insecure about his complexion, namely his hair. Not many in Rome were born ginger. He’d get compared to the barbaric tribes they were taking over.

- A lot of the elders would whisper about he and his brother being a bad omen from the gods.

“The last time we had an emporer who bore a fire branded mane, Rome was burning while a fiddle played.”.. they would say..

- He and his brother heard the stories of such evil rulers as bed time stories told by their mother, Julia.

- It was tradition for every heir to the throne to hear these in hopes that it would scare them into growing, well, not evil.

- Yeah this just gave them nightmares, caracalla frequently sought his brother for solace, wailing that one of the “vile ones” (past not so great sadistic emperors) was under his bed.

- Geta’s favorite snack is Enkhytoi!

- He and his brother would frequently raid the Head Chef’s kitchen for the sweet pastries.

- They were seldom caught in action, but you could always tell it was them due to the lingering scent of honey and the obvious crumbs on their faces.

- Geta did not care for roughhousing, but he LOVED exploring the outskirts of Rome when Pater and Mamma werent looking.

- He would, of course, bring Caracalla with him on these little adventures, but he usually had to be the cautious one since Caracalla would frequently stray too close to something dangerous.

- Speaking of Pater, they would frequently avoid their father, Emperor Septimius, to the best of their ability. He was scary, mean, and had a temper that would rival mars’ if the twins so much as looked weak.

- Geta was frequently name called “Maculosus” by his peers, as it wasn’t uncommon for him to be riddled with bruises on his arms and chest.

- These bruises are large, not made by tiny fists. It was very clear to those that saw his bruises that they weren’t made by his twin.

- The earliest these marks appeared on Geta and his twin were the age of 9.

- The Praetorian saw these bruises, time after time without fail. They did not like it. Not one bit.

- Anyway! Geta and Caracalla were uneducated in arts, sciences and mathematics. Very strange for up and coming rulers. Mamma and Pater were very neglectful in this aspect (as well as many others).

- Geta and Caracalla grew up longing and seeking for relationships that would fill their mommy issues specifically. (you can see why none of them worked out). They both use indulgence as a way to cope.

- His favorite animals are lions, all big cats (known to Roman knowledge), really.

- He has a “pet” lion named Mel. Mel is an undefeated champion in the Colosseum. He’s constantly pampered and overfed. Kinda chunky but that’s how Geta likes him. Sometimes, when Caracalla allows it, Mel gets to sleep in their room.

- Geta was a peanut allergy kid but grew out of it.

Caracalla 𓃸

- oh the angst on THIS one.

- favorite animals are monkeys and apes. Hence, Dondas.

- neurodivergent

- Dondas was given to Caracalla at the age of 15 and has stuck with Caracalla his whole life.

- Dondas is a comfort creature for Caracalla. She can tell when Caracalla is entering or is in one of his episodes and her presence alone is enough to comfort her hurting owner.

- Caracalla feels immensely guilty and angry towards Geta for his sacrifices. Geta, almost every time their Pater entered one of his rampages, took the hits meant for him (this is canon so not really a headcanon but still)

- Caracalla feels like he owes Geta something and he hates it. Many times he wishes it was him that took the blows, not Geta.

- Due to the pressures of the time, being protected in such a way instead of receiving the strikes himself made him feel “less manly” and weaker than his brother. He came to resent Geta instead of their abusive father.

- if I didn’t list stockholm syndrome before—the stockholm syndrome on this one somebody help him

- To protect himself, Caracalla’s mind has completely forgot all of his childhood (except the beatings and the—albeit rare—good times. This led him associating the good times with the beatings, that they must have done something bad to deserve “discipline”. That their Pater was very loving and cared for them deeply. )

- He developed syphilis at the age of 18 and dimentia two years later.

- He started suffering from lead poisoning at the age of 22.

- He has frequent visits with the medicus and healers. They tended to feel like family the more he went. They genuinely cared about his wellbeing, how strange. This was nice.

- His favorite food is anything from the sea. Snapper, grouper, flounder, if it swims it’s fair game. He also loves shellfish! He has had every type Rome could offer,, except for shrimp, which he has an allergy to. He will refuse to eat anything raw, however. Not for safety precautions—he couldn’t care less—it’s just gross to him.

- Yes, he shares his seafood with Dondas.

- Caracalla takes very good care of his hair! He spends 30 minutes every day preening it. Unfortunately, his efforts are to no avail when it comes to bed heads. He wakes up? Every effort wasted. But at least his bed head is fluffy and not at all crusty. Think highland cow.

- Another insecurity? Acne. He’s extremely insecure about it and hates the way it looks and feels. It hurts sometimes.

- He’s had acne his whole adult life, it just won’t go away.

- Back to his hair, like Geta, he’s insecure about its color. Even when many women have insisted that they thought it was gorgeous, with its red and gold hues, he still didn’t feel any better about it.

- Caracalla and his brother like to wear extravagant and expensive clothing to distract from the hair. They often wear their laurels for the same purpose (also they just think it looks awesome—it does).

- On a side note, Caracalla and Geta are terrified of the Praetorian. Yes, their very sworn protectors that are here only to serve them. The guard does a pretty good job, and the twin emperors have used them when necessary (for example when they almost got shot by a stray arrow)! But they both just cant shake the feeling that the Praetorian have it out for them (they do not). Though they would never admit it, the two see themselves as some of the worst emperors Rome has seen (the worst they’ve done is spend millions in tax payer money to fund for their Golden Parties and daily extravaganzas, not to forget the gladiator fights), and the Praetorian are notorious for taking out such emperors.

- They’re literally not that bad, there have been LEAGUES worse than them.

- Caracalla often has staring contests with random Praetorians to like? assert dominance I guess? A sort of “hey!! Im not afraid of you!! yes I am someone hold me.” The guards dont get scared by it they just get immensely concerned and confused as to why one of their emperors is death staring them into oblivion. It actually freaks them out so I guess the staring works.?

- As you can see the two have major paranoia issues.

- He commissioned a local carpenter to make Dondas a mini palace. Yes, he paid with tax money 💀

- He wishes he could spend more time with Geta. He’s usually out partying and indulging, but Medicus’ orders have put a restriction on him recently.

- He has night terrors often, one specific night terror involved him slitting his brother’s neck with the help of a certain Macrinus. (STOP LET ME HAVE THIS IT WAS JUST A DREAM CARACALLA KILLED GETA IN A DREAM THERE IS NO SEVERED HEAD SHUT UP SHUT UP Cries Sobs Vomits Throws Up Pees My Pants)

- Caracalla wants a mom

- Caracalla can sing very well! It’s a talent that very few know of—even his brother doesn’t know

- Impatient with himself and others

- Was accused of being the murderer of his father (he is not and actually heard his father’s dying cries at the age of 16, he was a floor above the murder. He was heavily affected by said murder. Geta was not.)

- Deep fear of dogs and anything resembling canidae features. He tried to order the removal of any and all Capitoline Wolf statues but was denied due to it being an integral part of Roman culture.

- The two above are related

[rhyrhy]

Her bounty

Cw: angst!, death, grief, western Abby, she ties you up AHH

Chapter one: no more runnin’ (part 1/2)

Anderson is the best damn bounty hunter around, and you just so happen to have a pretty penny on your head. Get ready; she wasn’t too far behind you.

M.list

Before her hunting days

Grip tightened around the rough handle of the golf club, her knuckles white. Abigail hung over him, menacingly. Scowl etched onto her features months of tracking this man, the man who’d ripped her father away from her.

The auburn-haired woman sobbing at his side-Joel, she’d called him. She begged for his mercy.

Mercy? When had the world shown her heart any? her loss, her father, the pain that fueled her all the way here.

she raised the weapon high. But then, it hit her.

The pain and fear that stormed in the young woman’s eyes, was more familiar than she liked.

This wasn’t justice. It was vengeance.

Clank.

The metal handle bounced on the floor before laying flat to her feet. The golf club hit the ground. against the years of anger she had built her life around, Abby in this moment chose to break the cycle of devastation.

Mercy, She spared them. knowing it wouldn’t bring her father back.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she knew it was what her father would have wanted.

This, was no way to live.

Now

The year is 1908, and Abigail Anderson has now set out on a new path. She’s now the best damn bounty hunter around, living an honest yet, still dangerous life. tracking down criminals and delivering them to something she wishes the younger her would’ve gotten, justice. the bloodthirsty revenge that once swallowed her whole, had settled. Her father’s memory pushes her to stay the course, do some kind of good.

And then there’s you.

Your name is scrawled across a bounty poster, “KILLER” stamped in bold red letters beneath it. Unfortunately, That word makes Abby’s blood boil. She’s seen—lived what it means. the irreversible hurt it causes. Folks like you always got it the worst.

And you’d been escaping hunters left and right, huh? You were a challenge.

She loved those.

While on the run to settle in northernwesten Wyoming, yes, You’d managed to outrun or wear down other hunters in the past. Little did you know you were a sitting duck.

The abandoned hallowed out cabin you've holed up in provides hardly proper shelter but that is the least of your worries. You’d been trying to get some shut eye when— hooves?

From outside your make-shift shelter you hear the pater of hooves against the earth, above the whipping wind a gun clicks.

Oh.

"Woman! Get out here, now!" a harsh and raspy tone shouts.

Oh.

Abby had found you, showtime.

You had gotten wind that she might be after you, never in a million years did you think she’d actually be here. Kicking down the door of your temporary shelter.

In an unprepared panic you quickly moved behind a wooden half-wall waiting for her to get through. A half loaded gun in hand, hiding. You were usually much more prepared but she’d been watching you so silently you’d almost forgotten about her. You took a deep breath and prepared yourself to escape, looking around the cabin for possible routes.

A half opened window, a back door, and the front door.

The back door was too far, she’d grab you up before you got two feet. The front door was buckling under her heavy kicks with her heel. Probably not going to work.

The window wasn’t far, it was a small jump but you could work with that. Only thing is, you’d have to slide it up a few more inches to get out without stutter.

The old cabin door is reduced to splinters as Abby kicks down the door, her gun in hand. She scans the room, looking for her bounty, you. The cabin isn't very big. Yet, it takes her a cautious minute to scan over the room. Not much, but obviously lived in.

The slight was nothing but terrifying, 

Her heavy boots, hat tilted so you couldn’t see but definitely felt that sharp gaze, gun drawn. She circled the flooring, light steps echoing through the open, rundown space.

You felt your heart stop when her eyes settled on your figure. A huffed, mocking laugh at your hiding spot.

Abby’s eyes narrow at the way you gripped the gun tighter at the eye contact. She takes a daring step forward, keeping her gun trained in the direction of your face. before she spoke in a low tone that sent a shiver through your body.

"Don't you do anything stupid," she warns, her voice firm. Her voice was soft, but her words were absolutely commanding. 

“Aw, Anderson, c'mon now,” you said in a practiced sweet tone. Now that she’s seen you, it was time to pull out all the stops.

"Don't you try that with me," she snaps sharply, her gun still aimed at you. "You're comin' with me, whether you like it or not." 

Abby rolls her eyes at your half-assed pleading. 

 "Put the gun down, and put your hands up slowly." “Now.” She stalks forward, her boots echoing against the floorboard.

Oh shit, is all that’s replaying in your mind as she comes into full view? You’d only seen grainy or drawn images of this ruthless hunter. Now here she was, jaw clenched and barking orders at you. You stayed glued to your spot, initial panic starting to turn into survival mode. You knew it was testy, but you didn’t follow her orders. You had your reasons and weren’t going to rot in a cell for it. 

"Do. Not. Test me," she hisses. "Either you do what I say now, or I'll have to force you.“ Her face twists in anger as you refuse to drop your gun. She takes another heavy step closer, her gun unwavering.

You two exchanged more colorful words as you stood your ground. This was new for Abby; she was used to refusal but downright defiance when you had a gun poked between your eyebrows. That meant you were either very brave or very, very stupid. It sent an excited thrill through her fingertips to see how this played out. You’d done the unthinkable and had the audacity to not give the family you’d hurt justice? 

Oh, she was going to have fun with you. 

Especially now that she watched as you slowly shuffled towards the half-opened window behind you both. She’d warn you that things would get ugly if you kept pushing your luck, but you couldn’t and wouldn’t be turned in.

Her eyes narrow into slits as she watches you fumble with the window behind you. She knows you're trying to escape, and she's not about to let you get away.

"Don't even think about it," she warns, taking another menacing step towards you. "I will shoot you; don't doubt that for a damn second."

Once one foot was out the window, she gritted her teeth. How had you so slowly gotten halfway out the damn window. Why were you still testing her mercy.

And why did this push and pull, continue to excite her…Before she knew it, you’d hit the ground running.

“Shit!” She swore and quickly turned on her heels to follow you.

You ran.

that’s all you could do. Hell, that woman was six feet tall and jacked; you’d probably knock you flat on your ass if she had gotten any closer. You’d evaded hunters before, but you’d never been more intimidated by them than by her.

The image of the scowl on her face while she demanded things from you was terrifying.

The way her eyes scanned over your body, it was like she was imagining what she’d do to you as soon as you were tied up and begging to be let go.

But that wasn’t you. You weren’t evil, not a monster.

You were just a woman who’d been hurt by the world.Years ago when you were just a girl. A robbery gone wrong started that pain of losing your father and descent into this “outlaw” life. Show your surviving in the wilderness while being constantly pursued, making you feel like a cornered animal.

The man who held the weapon's face stayed burned into your mind, and as you grew from a girl to a woman, it only made your fist clench tighter.

You sat there holding his hand as he dropped to the cold floor of the bank. Frozen in place, little you was terrified and now lost the hand that held yours. Or checked for any monsters under the bed. Now glossy-eyed and a pool of red underneath.

So years later, when you found that man outside unguarded. You didn’t hesitate to pound your fist into his face.

He fought, screamed, and scratched, but it was no use. He was a dead man walking in your eyes.

That man wasn’t going anywhere but hell anyway; you sending him there didn’t make no difference. You knew what you did; you made a choice, and you’d been living in that choice ever since.

That is what fueled you to bob and weave through these large trees. Heartbeat faster than you ever heard it, you were running’.

Well, at least you were running. Suddenly the world was tilting, and the ground was coming closer to your face.

Thud

You smacked straight into the foliage. The dry leaves and dirt tickling the side of your cheek as your vision began to black.

There she was, above you, lasso in hand. The other end around your ankles. She had you tied up like a runaway cow. The combination of the wind being knocked out of you and shock sent you into a small slumber.

Now you only hoped when you woke up it wasn’t in a cell.

————————————-

All ima say is, it gets real crazy in the next one

[siriuslynettey]

PLATINUM

[The Lost Pater]

We Have To Be More Careful Nowadays

[Chapter 1]

September 12th, 1982

“Sirius, Remus,” came the soft, urgent voice, pulling the two weary men from their brooding thoughts. Their faces, lined with exhaustion from sleepless nights, turned toward the person calling them. It was Albus Dumbledore, his eyes filled with a sadness that matched the gravity of the moment. He moved swiftly, closing the door to his office with a muted click that seemed to echo in the heavy silence.

“It’s time.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look of profound sorrow, words failing them in the face of their grim task. Remus’s gaze fell to the tiny bundle nestled against Sirius’s shoulder, the baby, still so very young, barely a year old. Gently, Remus’s hand rested on the infant’s head, feeling the warmth and softness of the child’s uniquely coloured, short hair one last time.

Sirius, with an expression of barely contained grief, leaned closer to the baby’s ear, his breath warm and trembling. “It will be okay,” he promised, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I won’t let this be the last time we see each other.”

September 1st, 1993

“Phie, c’mon, we must get going, quickly!” Remus Lupin yelled from the kitchen in his tiny home.

Ophelia, the eleven year old girl in the next room, scrunched her face, waking up from her fathers yelling. Today marked her first day as a student at Hogwarts, and her father's inaugural day as a teacher.

“Ophelia, I’m not going to ask again.” Remus began knocking on the girl's door.

“mm…It’s too early.” She replied from behind the door, beginning to stretch herself. After knocking enough times, Remus opened the door in a last effort to awake his daughter.

“You’re not even out of bed?” Her platinum white hair, which contrasted sharply with the dark blue of her bedding layed messily across her face. He brushed her platinum locks out of her face and gently grabbed her arms to lift her up. “You’re not going to have time to pack Ophelia.”

“Packed last night.” She replied, pointing to her suitcase, a clear sign she was indeed her father's daughter.

“Alright well, you still need to eat breakfast and pack your things in the car, so let’s hurry.”

Ophelia finally opened her eyes, not without harshly rubbing them so she could see properly.

“Are you excited for your first day? Remus asked. His voice was always very soft in the morning, knowing his daughter wasn’t fond of mornings.

“I guess…just nervous,” she shrugged. “And what about you? Professor Lupin.” She teased her father, making both of them chuckle.

“I’m a bit nervous too. Remember, we’re both having our first day, it’ll be okay.” She nodded, leaning in for a hug, taking comfort in his words. The stubborn part of her hated that he was usually right. “But, right now it’s time to get ready, we have about an hour, so we have to hurry—no going back to sleep.”

Ophelia stood up as Remus left and stretched her body again. With her bags packed and her carefully picked outfit hanging on the wardrobe, she began to get ready.

Her black cat, Salem, layed on her bed, watching his owner mindlessly walk in circles as she brushed her teeth, trying to wake up. She had just adopted him from the Magical Menagerie a month prior. Remus had promised he would get her a cat for her first year, after declining to give her a sibling.

Meanwhile, Remus was in the kitchen throwing away another egg he had burned after turning his head for what he would call “one second”. Ophelia had just walked out of her room, walking in on Remus pushing his hair back in frustration.

“Toast is fine, dad.” She told him, trying to reassure him in his efforts. Remus gave a breathy chuckle at his daughter.

“I wanted to make you a big breakfast for your big day.” He replied, throwing his tea towel over his shoulder.

“Thank you, but it’s okay. Maybe it’s for the best anyways…I'm so nervous that I don't have a big appetite today, and I’ve been craving some marmalade toast.” She gave him her classy big smile that showed off the gap in her two upper teeth. Over the past couple years, the gap had started to close and Remus noticed it every time, it was a reminder each time she smiled that she was growing up.

“Marmalade toast it is.”

So they both sat and ate their toast. Remus began reviewing their schedule once more. He explained what to expect at King’s Cross Station, how to enter Platform 9¾, and what would happen during the sorting ceremony, trying to recall the details of his own first day. He made a big emphasis on listening to the teacher and not wandering off alone. Though this was his 5th time he’d gone over it this week, Ophelia listened attentively.

“It is always very important that you are always in sight of a Hogwarts staff member, no matter what, you have to promise me that you won’t wander off,” he urged, watching her nod, though he could tell she was growing tired of the repetition.

“I mean it, Phie, it’s not safe to be alone, not this year”

“What’s different about this year?” Ophelia asked, shoving her last piece of toast in her mouth.

“It’s just..the crime rate has been going up…since the seventies…it’s a much different world since I was in school. We have to be more careful nowadays” He stammered over his words. “You promise me you’ll listen? No pushing boundaries, please?”

“Of course I will, dad.” Remus stood, collected their empty plates, and pulled her into a quick hug before placing them in the sink. He usually avoided magic for chores, but with time running short, he used the Scourgify spell to clean up quickly.

“Oh, one more thing I don’t want you outside alone either, so wait for me before you pack your suitcase in the car.” Ophelia gave him a confused look, he was definitely a strict dad, always worrying about where she was, who she was around, but today, she felt he was strangely on edge. “Just a precaution.” He replied in response to her confused look.

Ophelia accepted her father’s strange demand, and went to her room to grab her suitcase.

“Alright Salem, time to go bud.” She grabbed the black cat and started to place him in his travel carrier. Remus had warned her that she would have to get the cat used to the carrier, before her first school day, but everytime she tried, she couldn’t bear to watch the cat meow in the carrier. Today, however, it felt like a real struggle. “Please, Salem, it’s only for today, please.”

Finally, after zipping up the cat carrier, she dragged her bags to the entryway, opening the door to put them on the veranda, while she waited for Remus.

Salem’s fighting began to increase, his little paws hitting the sides of the carrier.

“Okay, okay, you can come out until dad is ready, but then you have to go back in.” The young girl started to unzip the carrier, and before it was even a quarter of a way open, Salem leaped out and ran out the open front door. “Wait! Salem, no!!” Ophelia yelled at the cat who was now taking a leisurely stroll down the drive. Ophelia calmed down as she saw the cat come to a stop next to their car.

“I was trying to be nice Salem, now you’re going back in your crate for being naughty.” Salem started to loudly hiss across the street as she picked him up, which he had never done before. “Well, you shouldn’t have run away.” She replied to the cat.

Salem continued to hiss, still staring off into the distance. Ophelia followed the cat's line of vision to the bushes on the other side of the road. The bushes began to ruffle, despite the stillness of the air.

Suddenly, a large black dog emerged from the bushes. Salem’s hissing began to become more rampant and he began to squirm in Ophelia’s arms. The dog kept intense eye contact with Ophelia, slightly creeping forward, as Ophelia walked backwards. The dog disappeared back into the bushes before it could do anything else.

“Ophelia!” Remus shouted and walked out the front door. She jumped and whipped her head towards her dad

“What?” She yelled out, her fathers calling of her name coming out of nowhere and scaring her.

“I thought I told you to wait for me before you packed your bags.” He stepped closer to his daughter, seeing that her body was frozen in fear. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you see someone?” Panic crept into his voice as he scanned the surroundings.

“I-no-Salem got out and–I didn’t hear you coming–I’m sorry.” Remus softened at his daughter's explanation, feeling bad for scaring her.

“That’s alright, let’s go put Salem in his crate and put our suitcases in the car, then we’ll be on our way.”

They placed Salem in his carrier (much to his dismay) and Remus began putting their suitcases in the boot of the car. Ophelia opened the passenger door with Salem’s carrier in hand. ust then, a brown owl swooped down, landing on the roof of the car with a letter clutched in its beak. Both of them jumped, surprised by the sudden arrival.

“Another welcome letter?” Remus chuckled, not remembering as many greetings before his first year.

“Maybe,” Ophelia carefully grabbed the envelope from the bird's mouth and watched it fly away. “This one doesn't say Hogwarts though.” She said out loud, looking at both sides of the envelope, Remus furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

Ophelia,

Hogwarts is a place like no other. Dive in headfirst—learn everything you can, but remember to enjoy yourself too. This is a time for discovering not just spells and potions, but also for making friends who will stick with you for life. Cherish these friendships; they’re one of the most precious things you’ll gain from your time at Hogwarts.

Though, you must choose your friends wisely. Not everyone will have your best interests at heart, so trust your instincts and stick with those who are good and true. Protect the ones who are good.

Stay safe.

And a final note—listen to your dad. He has a lot of experience under his belt. His guidance will be invaluable, so take his advice to heart, even if you don’t always want to agree.

Best of luck.

“What does it say, Phie?” Remus asked, but Ophelia was still engrossed in the letter. “Ophelia, what does it say?” He began to grow impatient and walked over to his daughter, though he wanted to, he used his manners and didn’t grab the letter from the girl's hands.

“I think it’s just another welcoming letter, they must have just forgotten to add their seal.” She handed the piece of parchment to her dad.

As he read, Remus felt his chest tighten, folding the paper back into its envelope with urgency.

“Alright, time to go.” He hurried Ophelia into their car and shut the door behind her. Glancing at the surrounding houses, he quickly made his way to the driver’s seat.

“Is everything okay?” Ophelia asked her dad, observing his more frantic behaviour.

“Yes, all good.” He locked the door and clicked in his seatbelt. “Just excited for our first day, are you ready?” Ophelia accepted his explanation, as he had already seemed very worried for his first day of teaching.

“I guess.” Ophelia shrugged. Remus chuckled and ruffled his daughter's bright white hair affectionately.

“We’re going to have a great year.”

See Next Chapter Here!

[blasteffect]

James Webb Telescope's stunning image of Jupiter !

NASA scientists have also released new shots of the solar system's biggest planet, describing the results as "quite incredible".

The James Webb Telescope took the photos back in July, capturing unprecedented views of Jupiter’s northern and southern lights, and swirling polar haze. Jupiter's Great Red Spot, a storm big enough to swallow Earth, stands out brightly alongside countless smaller storms.

One wide-field picture is particularly dramatic, showing the faint rings around the planet, as well as two tiny moons against a glittering background of galaxies.

"We’ve never seen Jupiter like this. It’s all quite incredible," said planetary astronomer Imke de Pater, of the University of California, Berkeley, who helped lead the observations.

"We hadn’t really expected it to be this good, to be honest," she added in a statement.

The infrared images were artificially coloured in blue, white, green, yellow, and orange, according to the US-French research team, to make the features stand out.

AP/NASA

[just-1-scorpio]

Reading Asterion by Alessa Thron, so you don't have to. Prologue, and chapter one.

So let's start with the positives.

-I liked how the prologue had "Sing O' Muse" in it.

-The world building has some nice ideas, but I have a lot of questions.

-I like how Minos was called "pater" (father in Greek) by Ariadne.

-I like how there are some words such "chiton", and "pithos", alongside with "pater". apeard.

Wow so many positives. Now let's get to everything else.

So Ariadne is a assasin, who just killed someone. A bisnise man called Botsaris. And her sister is also mentiond.

And her sisters's name is Lia. Okey. I gues. But why did she made up a sister? Ariadne had sisters in mythology. Xenodice for exemple, but there is veary little source about her, and there are two other figures who have the same name in Greek mythology. Acacallis, there are not much writen of her, but the defrent sources agree that Minos is her father, and eather had a romance with Hermes, or Apollo. There is also her most well known sister Phaedra, who I think needs no introduction. So I don't get why she had to make one up?

And I don't know why, but for some reason this screan rubs me the wrong way. I don't know why. And I'm the only one who doas not really like this writing style?

Anyway. So after this Ariadne goas back to her apartmant, and goas to sleep. Then the next moring she goas to Minos, who is her boss, not her father. Who lives in a mension, that is also a temple, and a school for assasins, all of who work for him. By the way so far we don't know which god's temple it is. All the assasins have code names. Minos and Ariadne here a conversetion, about the last kill. Ariadne clearly hates him. Here is a part of the conversetion.

So one question. Why would people take it as evidenc that that was the reason why he was killed? Was it a public knowlige? Or I'm just stupid?

Also we also learn that in this Minos's surname is Karros. I don't know why he was given a surname.

So anyway. Ariadne recives her sister's ashes from Minos, then she goas home, and meets with her landlady, and recives a packige. She goas up to her apartmant, then this happands.

I looked up, and pithos is a type of jar. By the way.

And then there is the world building.

So aperently it eather takes place in an alternative timeline, or in the future. Or both.

This is from the prologue.

Agein, when doas this take place? Antient Corinth is already ruins. So agein when doas this take place? There are trains, cars, mobile phones, internet, and skyscrapers. I looked up, and found two Corinths. One is the ancient one, and the another one is the city's sucsesor. So did the writer mean the second one, or? Also why is it named Styx?

Also hy is Medusa working for him? Why?

Also also Hellas District? Isn't Hellas literally mean Greece?

And the rich district is named after Diogenes. I know that naming things like streets is a thing. After all here in Hungary we have streets named after Petőfi Sándor (one of our most well known poets). But naming the rich eria after Diogenes, that is full of banks, luxury shops, ect? Didn't he lived in the market place in a wine jar? I know that Alexander the Great was a big fan of him, but I'm the only one who thinks, that this naming doas not make sense. Wouldn't switching the names of the two eria make more sense? Or I'm just nickpicking, or something?

I'm to harsh?

Edit: I was wrong. "pater" is not Latin, but Greek word.

[yinandyanglifestyle]

I went to Sydney for Alphonse Mucha

by: Icie

One thing to know about me, I was an interior design major back in my home country. I absolutely sucked at it, but I fell in love with Art History. In that minor, our professors taught us about different art styles through the ages and bit by bit I saw the progress of art through the ages. I loved the OG Gothic Style, Romanesque, was disillusioned with Baroque and Rococo from the west... It was too Western focused and it didn't interest me as much (because I was an Asian kid) until we got towards the end of the 19th century where the grandparents of weebs (of which I am a part of) hailed from and Japonisme was a thing. Japonisme inspired so much beautiful art and it triggered a domino effect that ultimately led to Art Nouveau where Alphonse Mucha was a main character.

This was it. My favourite art style! I can never go back to loving other art styles after discovering Art Nouveau. It spoke to me about how feminine it was and it awakened something from my mostly masculine soul. I wanted to see more of these beautiful girls surrounded by flowers and stars, wearing kimono-inspired clothes in pretty pastels. The macaroni hair only added to the romanticism of it all. This is what love is like, but in art form!

Fast forward to 2024, The Mucha Foundation collaborated with the Art Gallery of New South Wales to host over 200 of this master's works which was "the most comprehensive exhibition ever seen in Australia of this visionary artist's work". I had to see it. I needed to see it! I am a big fan of Mucha and Art Nouveau, and one of my dreams was to go to Paris, Brussels, and Prague for all of the beautiful swirly-whirlies. Being a Brisbanite, I was exited. Please come to my city! Please, please, please! But AGNSW said "sorry, it's exclusive to Sydney."

Dammit. It's off to Sydney I go. I donned my Sailor Moon dress, packed my bag for a 3 day trip with my partner just so I could see this legend's works and boy, I was not disappointed. I learned to love Mucha and his works even more. We landed in Sydney, didn't check in our hotel, and went straight to the main quest:

Outside, they had this big banner of Mucha's name. Inside was this glorious area that showcased Summer (left) and Rose (right). Oh wait, the exhibit is next door. So we went to the more modern building, down two floors, bought tickets, and enjoyed the art.

In the newer building next door, I was treated to pre-art nouveau Mucha. We learned about what his life was like before his popularity. He designed some clothes for a theatre, hung out with everyone's buddy Paul Gaugin, Ludek Marold and Annah the Javanese. The tour guide said, "if he wasn't a painter, he would've been a great photographer".

Then we were treated to the meat of the exhibit: the Sarah Bernhardt stuff, his lithographs, his sketches, but what struck me most were his concept art to reality. (Excuse my phone's shadow. For some reason, AGNSW decided to put these works on a 45° angle under bright lights. The girl beside me even said "fucking glare!" and I wholeheartedly agreed.)

We were treated to so many wonderful works and I cried when I saw parts of Le Pater. I'm an atheist but this made me think that maybe there is a god. Maybe. But still, beautiful artwork that left me speechless.

I got to stand next to my favourite work of his: White Star. Joy!

At the end of the exhibit, the tour guide talked about how Mucha who was somewhat influenced by Japan, now influenced Japan. Now we come full circle with anime and manga characters depicted in art nouveau styled paintings and posters. Oh boy, we had our Lord Yoshitaka Amano's works in the gallery as well. I was so lucky to see works of my two favourite artists in one day!

It was almost 2PM by the time we finished the tour. We spent at least 4 hours in the gallery after landing just because I fangirled and was willing to spend money on Mucha. Yeah, I bought stuff. A reproduction of Alphonse Mucha's original "Documents Decoratifs" which focused more on his industrial design work (jewellery, cutlery, furniture etc) which I rarely see on the internet, a set of badges and make-up from Japanese brand MilleFée.

I went to Sydney for Alphonse Mucha and it was worth it. I end this rabid fangirling with the parting words of the Art Gallery of New South Wales' tour guide: Mucha's style has never been as well loved and as well represented as it is in Japan.

[wish-for-fish-s]

-Chiron walks into the big house-

Leo: papá

Piper: papa

Frank: 爸爸

Hazel: pere

Jason: pater

Nico: papà

Thalia: Μπαμπάς

Grover: ♩ ♫ ♩ ♪

Annabeth: -.. .- -..

Percy: neigh

Chiron: -sigh- gods help me

[average-transdalorian]

My thoughts on the Redguns and the Vespers!

G7 Hakra: quite frankly, I’d forgotten you existed until I checked the wiki to make sure I got everyone. Congrats on dying before 621 even makes planetfall, I guess? There IS an interesting AU concept in 621 taking your license, though!

G6 Red: apparently you can be fought in the story? Seems I missed that lmao. Anyways, I Rather Dislike how enthusiastic you are in every single goddamn briefing, PLEASE stop trying to be like G1 Michigan, he can only get away with it because he provably has the skills to get away with it

G5 Iguazu: a hater the likes of which is only seen rarely, truly a character in the vein of Zeta Gundam’s Jerrid. You suck awfulstyle, but I’d probably be much the same if I was one of G1 Michigan’s subordinates, so I can’t blame you too badly for that. There is some tasteful tragedy with you, though; you had the potential to be Raven, but circumstances made it so that by the time you’d found your motivation, you were stuck forever playing catch-up to 621, and never quite making it. Very fun to think about!

G4 Volta: sucks that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time twice; getting Got by G1 Michigan AND being forced to attempt to scale the Wall? That’s rough, guy. At least you didn’t have to see G5 Iguazu keep spiraling, I guess?

G3 Wu Huahai: a decently similar deal to G4 Volta, what with getting caught by G2 Nile and all, but your luck on the second wrong place and time was even WORSE! You were In 621’s Way, and that’s pretty much a death sentence. Props to you for realizing that Balam was fucked, sorry you realized it just in time to have God’s Okayest Hound set upon you. I do wonder why you were paired with V.VI Maeterlinck specifically, though…..

G2 Nile: I can see how Michigan always escaped you back before he was G1. I think the two of you should have a very intimate working, I think it’d be great stress relief for you. Honestly you’re kinda unremarkable outside of him, though, that sucks for you

G1 Michigan: the big man himself! I’d HATE working under you, what with how you act all like a drill sergeant or what-have-you, but you are truly an exceptional pilot, and an adept commander to boot; one of the few pilots on Rubicon who recognizes the sheer extent of 621’s skill. I have great respect for you as a peer, I just couldn’t be your subordinate

V.VIII Pater: you were always incredibly professional, and I greatly appreciated you wishing 621 luck and happy hunting, as well as your silly little Rusty impression. I also like how you seemed VERY attached to V.V Hawkins <-(gay gay homosexual gay), to the point that even while you acted like a purely selfish bastard in order to cope with his death, it was rather clear (to me, at least) that you were holding onto his number as a way to hold onto him, and that using that number to make your way up the ranks would seem like a great way of honoring him to you. LOTS of fun!

V.VII Swinburne: I’m gonna be honest, I killed you WAAAAAAY too quickly to pay attention to what you had to say. But looking at your dialogue, it kinda seems like you suck a little bit as a person. Ah, well, I suppose it’s alright that I always killed you, even if I’ll have to decline next time so I can FINALLY fight Rokumonsen

V.VI Maeterlinck: alongside G3 Wu Huahai, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your arena profile points towards you being more of a strategist and commander than a duelist, and the way you interact with 621 (immediately understanding that you’re outmatched and calling for backup) aligns with that. I’ve no beef with you, and it really is a shame that you had to die. A tragedy, even

V.V Hawkins: the older man of V.VIII Pater’s dreams. You’re decently competent, and have NOTABLY good humor, on top of being genuinely affectionate with V.VIII Pater. I like you, but, well. The mission is what the mission is

V.IV Rusty: MY GIRRRRRRRRRL YOU’RE SO HOT AND COOL AND AWESOME AND I’M SO GLAD YOU SURVIVE ALEA IACTA EST! You are a transfem butch to me, because of those comics, and I think you in particular would take quite well to being Mandalorian. You’re just. So cool

V.III O’Keefe: Tbh, I killed you too quickly to actually get all of your dialogue. However, like me, you quite enjoy Rusty! Unlike me, you don’t find the idea of having a machine body kickass. Sad! You were just on the wrong planet for all that, I’m afraid. Transhumanism shouldn’t be forced on anyone, so I’m glad you got to escape it at least, but like. Party pooper

V.II Snail: FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. EAT PISS SHIT BLOOD AND DIE IN A HOLE. I HATE YOU AND HOPE YOU ARE FOREVER SUFFERING. I’M SO GLAD I GOT TO KILL YOU SO MANY TIMES. I HATE YOU TOO MUCH TO EVEN REALLY DO COHERENT ANALYSIS HERE. YOU ARE THE SINGULAR MOST ANNOYING FUCKER ON RUBICON. YOU GOT EVERY SINGLE AUGMENTATION YOU COULD BUT IT STILL DIDN’T MAKE YOU BETTER THAN 621. YOU HAD TO WAIT FOR 621 TO BEAT THE CEL 240 BEFORE YOU EVEN TRIED ENGAGING THEM, AND EVEN THEN YOU WERE A COWARD ABOUT IT AND WENT FOR AN AC SHUTDOWN WITH THE NEEDLE LAUNCHER. YOU THINK OF YOURSELF AS ARQUEBUS? YOU AREN’T EVEN THE CORN IN THEIR CHOWDER.

V.I Freud: omg hiiiii!!! You’re in it for love of the game, and one of the best damn pilots on Rubicon despite having ZERO augmentations. I love how you disobey V.II Snail (fuck that guy), and I love how you, like the player, are just having a good time and don’t want the fun to stop! You’re a fun fight, and fun to think about! King shit, to be entirely honest. Although you DO have my condolences for the name, Sigmund Freud kinda sucked lmao

[paterday]

I also. Need to figure out how I would actually get peoples info to ship these…

[fryktheciller]

with you, though

anderperry + charlie being a slut

summary: neil freaking out at the flower shop

Wind through the hair, sunlight on the face, and sunglasses sitting proudly on the nose—that’s definitely not Neil, at least not now. That's, most definitely, Charlie Dalton, driving a car that wasn't his, without a license, and with Knox's clothes. He's so cunty one might actually think he owns both the car and the clothes and has the right to drive. 

Neil’s poor soul is tortured and has been for quite a while. He had asked Todd out, and the interaction went a little like this:

–Todd, listen… would you like...i mean, if you want to of course, to hang out- I mean, go out? Next...next week, perhaps? After the latin test?

The blonde blushed at the request and the eloquence it was made with. He replies in one breath and with anxiety:

–Yes, I mean... It would be great. Saturday's good. Sure

Neil noticed, other than the embarrassment the roommate replied with, a glint in his eyes, bright and sparkling, perhaps even more than the light that was kissing his face and brown locks. That light—that's what tortures him ever so sweetly; it has bewitched him completely. 

With Charlie, he had to get flowers—not really because he wanted to, but rather because of Charlie himself, who claims to know everything about dating. They get out of the car (alive and well, against every expectation) and get into the tiny little flower shop, filled with bright and intense-smelling blooms.

 –Whatcha getting him?

–Have no clue, honestly.

–Now that's the spirit!– and Dalton smiles, patting Neil on the shoulder. –I'll be over there with the short brunette; call me if you need anything. 

Perry nods, without even listening, and watches him leave. He had thought about everything but the flowers and blames himself for that, partially because he doesn't have a clue about what flowers Todd likes and because he doesn't really know if he wants flowers in the first place.

He starts wandering slowly between the big, black buckets filled with seasonal blossoms. Pretty much everything blooms in that period; if there were fewer flowers, it could have been easier, Neil swore. 

Asking Charlie isn't an option. "He'll make me get some roses and end it there. I adore Charlie, but for pity's sake.” He thinks, reading the Latin names written on some wooden signs inside the buckets. 

“Which nouns were irregular? Uuh… mater, matris; pater patris, and then what? The flowers, god."

Some wild roses had something mischievous in the way they stood proud, with open petals and straight stems. “It's a Goethe reference, you silly!” they looked like they were saying.

Neil falls for that a little and bends down to look at them better: florid yet so young, sweet and wild, and a rosy color that was so elegant and bright at the same time. 

“Like when he comes out of the shower and into the room, all flushed with wet hair,” and blames himself for thinking such things in a public place.

He gets up and walks away, over to a table filled with green and smaller buckets. There were tulips, standing like they were about to wither, even though sunlight was over them entirely. 

“Tulipa sylvestris… Tulipa is from the first declination; Sylvestris is from... Sylvester, perhaps?

Did he write something about them? Did I read something? 

No, no, no, he said his mother loved them.” 

And he moves on, walking over to the hyacinths, the purple ones. They stood proud, almost stern, in the shadow. 

“They mean joy... or I’m proud of you? Don't remember.It would be cute, though; I give him the flowers and go, “I got these for you because I'm proud of you,”” and he smiles stupidly, like only a fool who’s in love does.

He sees clearly now. Looks over at Charlie, who turns around and flashes one of his iconic grins. “I love Charlie; like, look at him” and smiles again.

He moves on, now with an actual idea in mind. 

“Philadelphus coronarius, both from the second declination. Oh, so pretty,” and smiles once again. “They look like orange blooms. That’s what that poem was about; where did he even see these?” and he looks at them, white and canid. Petals so thin they were almost transparent; the faintly colored pistil; the thin stems, somehow so resistant to hold 8 to even 12 buds of flowers; and then the leaves, so dark and intense, almost to compensate for the purity and innocence the petals transmitted. He moves his attention to Charlie’s coarse and vibrant laughter and the girl’s sweeter one. “He's taking her to bed tonight.”.

There was a tiny ant breaking the flower’s fairness, walking expertly between petals and blooms.

“He wanted to spend a summer in Greece or Italy; that’s what he told me. They have such a faint, bitter scent, too.” and he bent down, his gaze still following the ant. 

“The light in his eyes when he told me that...” and he smiled foolishly. 

A second later, he’s looking at a blondie, wrapping up a sprig of mock oranges and a couple of wild roses that begged him so much to choose them in a light brown paper. “How did Calvino’s story go? Je voyage en amour? Perhaps.” That’s not really his case: traveling for love, but he felt the same way. The blondie’s delicate hands were now tying a fine white lace around the small bouquet. 

Charlie reaches him, holding the flowers as Neil paid for them. Once done, he turns around and smiles faintly, to which Charlie replies with a much sweeter grin than usual. "Homosexuals,” he thought, with irony and fondness, as if he weren't bisexual himself. 

–Think he’ll like them?

–Of course, trust me. 

Neil smiles at him, a weird feeling in his stomach and dizziness seizing him again. He got in the car, followed by Charlie.

–The short brunette wanted to get to know you, told her you were taken.

Charlie blurts out with a chuckle; the other laughs heartily and smiles sarcastically, turning at him.

–Yes, Charlie. Thank you.

***

With a heavy breath and the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, Todd wakes up abruptly and sits up on the bed. The room's dark, the air stale and hot. He takes off the light wool blanket from his knees and gets up, opening the tiny window and moving a thin curtain. April’s moonlight enters shyly into the room, lighting a messy bed with undone sheets and a perfect one: sheets tight and covers straight. 

“It was a dream; I was dreaming,” the blonde whispers to himself, in front of the window, all cold from the night's humidity. The knot in his throat tightens, his limbs are numb, and something like butterflies starts to move in his stomach. His eyes burn with tears that start to fall, hot and slowly, one by one, wetting the pajama shirt or making a slight plop on the wooden floor. 

–I did want to go to Italy or Greece. With you, though. 

The blonde goes back to bed, body heavy and mind numb. The thought of the next day’s classes makes it hard to breathe. His head hurts,his lips contort downwards, eyebrows furrowed and it hurts to keep that expression on; there’s nothing he can do anyway, tears steaming uglily and wetting the messy flannel sheets, his arms wrapped around his stomach, in a fetal position under the blanket, freezing and sweating at the same time, as the cool wind moved slightly the curtain. 

One second later, he’s awoken by the loud halls and the sun lighting up the room. His face is still sticky from the tears; a sense of tiredness in every inch of his body only made him want to cry more, but he’s just too tired of the swamp of pain he’s been in for almost 6 months. Images of spring are still running through his mind, as if nothing happened: long afternoons spent studying in the sunlight and coming back into the dorm rooms when the sun starts peaking.

Spring is when everything is reborn—everything, but Todd.

notes: hi!! i want to start by apologizing, i have no right to write such outrageous things; with that being said, this has been sitting in a corner of my google docs page for like months, and after editing for weeks it still feels really off but i cant tell if its just me or the whole idea is completely mad ok

[christian-dubuis-santini]

Des effets de la déliquescence du langage sur la réalité sociale, l’escamotage du réel de la différence sexuelle, l’evacuation des noms-du-père, l’avènement de Big Mother...

«Qu’y renonce [à la pratique analytique] donc plutôt celui qui ne peut rejoindre à son horizon la subjectivité de son époque. Car comment pourrait-il faire de son être l’axe de tant de vies, celui qui ne saurait rien de la dialectique qui l’engage avec ces vies dans un mouvement symbolique. Qu’il connaisse bien la spire où son époque l’entraîne dans l’œuvre continuée de Babel, et qu’il sache sa fonction d’interprète dans la discorde des langages […].» (Jacques Lacan – Fonction et champ de la parole et du langage [1953], Écrits, Paris, Seuil, 1966, p.321)

Notre époque du capitalisme "numérique" apparaît comme porteuse d’un changement de paradigme inquiétant que le philosophe Peter Sloterdijk évoque en ces termes: «Notre société est incapable d’assurer et d’assumer la transmission du savoir et de l’expérience depuis qu’elle a fait de la rupture le moteur de la modernité. Refuser tout héritage, faire table rase du passé, mépriser les modèles et les filiations, rompre systématiquement avec le père: ce geste “moderne” qui nous englue dans le présent mène aux pires des catastrophes, humaines, politiques, économiques.» (Après nous le déluge – 2016)

Comment s’est amorcé ce changement?

En France en 1970, le Code civil entérine la substitution du syntagme "autorité parentale" à celui d’autorité paternelle, qui donnera naissance au "concept" de parentalité.

Le terme "parentalité" fait son entrée dans le dictionnaire en 1985, suivi en 1997 par celui d’ "homoparentalité", qui apparaît dès lors comme superfétatoire puisque la parentalité, s’appliquant indifféremment au père et à la mère, fait d’eux des éducateurs égalitairement "neutralisés" quant à la différence des sexes...

C’est ainsi que la notion de parentalité dénie le réel de la différence sexuelle (ce qui échappe aux règlements, aux contrats, aux accords...) alors que dans l’imaginaire social séculaire (depuis l’Antiquité), le terme de parenté impliquait nécessairement un rapport d’alliance entre les deux sexes, une union sexuelle entre un homme et une femme, avec ce que cela comporte d’asymétrie constitutive (mater certa, pater semper incertus), de mystère et d’impossible, un écart à propos duquel la loi avait, depuis les origines Grecques de la civilisation occidentale, accordé une prévalence au père en consacrant l’autorité paternelle, au sens extensif du concept d’auteur (cf. L’Orestie d’Eschyle et ses conséquences sur le Droit et l’organisation des sociétés...)

Ce changement de paradigme qui caractérise notre époque — et qui semble irréversible — comment pourrait-il constituer un progrès pour ce qui s’appelle "l’humanité"? On en voit les ravages chaque jour.

Pourquoi aujourd’hui la "réussite" elle-même, ramenée aux seuls critères du discours dominant (richesse matérielle, reconnaissance sociale, célébrité...) n’est-elle qu’une forme — peut-être la plus pathétique — de l’échec? Comme le dit Lacan dans L’agressivité en psychanalyse (Écrits): «Chez l'homme "affranchi" de la société moderne, voici que ce déchirement révèle jusqu’au fond de l’être sa formidable lézarde. C’est la névrose d’auto-punition, avec les symptômes hystérico-hypocondriaques de ses inhibitions fonctionnelles, avec les formes psychasthéniques de ses déréalisations de l’autrui et du monde, avec ses séquences sociales d’échec et de crime. C’est cette victime émouvante, évadée d’ailleurs irresponsable en rupture de ban qui voue l’homme moderne à la plus formidable galère sociale, que nous recueillons quand elle vient à nous, c’est à cet être de néant que notre tâche quotidienne est d’ouvrir à nouveau la voie de son sens dans une fraternité discrète à la mesure de laquelle nous sommes toujours trop inégaux.»

Conforté dans un "narcissisme pathologique", le sujet infantilisé du Discours Capitaliste ne veut connaître du monde que les "règles du jeu social", règles pour réussir, règles pour l'accommodation, qui lui permettent de manipuler les autres tout en se tenant à l'écart d'un véritable engagement sérieux, tant politique qu'amoureux.

Cependant, cet effondrement de l'idéal du moi au profit du moi-idéal n'entraîne-t-il pas le surgissement d'une loi beaucoup plus folle et féroce, un "surmoi maternel" qui n'interdit pas mais inflige la jouissance, l'obligation de jouir, en punissant l'échec social? Ce "surmoi maternel", par-delà toute identification possible, est ce qu'il y a de plus régressif, et Lacan lui-même l'évoque dans le séminaire sur les formations de l'inconscient comme "le surmoi maternel plus archaïque que le surmoi classique décrit à la fin de l'Œdipe" : "Est-ce qu'il n'y a pas derrière le surmoi paternel, ce surmoi maternel, encore plus exigeant, encore plus ravageant, encore plus insistant dans la névrose que le surmoi paternel?"

N'est ce pas ça l'obscène brutalité du fascisme qui s'annonce sous le vernis des "bonnes intentions" du soi-disant "anti-fascisme" de la "tolérance", de l’injonction obscène "prenez soin les uns des autres"?

Dans l'ensemble des discours et réflexions de Martin Luther King, il n'est PAS MENTIONNÉ UNE SEULE FOIS LE TERME DE "TOLÉRANCE", ce n'est pas d'être "tolérés" qu'il réclamait pour ses "frères noirs ou blancs", mais bien la possibilité de vivre ensemble sur un véritable pied d'égalité DE DROITS.

Cela n'a rien à voir avec la "tolérance", ce que ce terme même de "tolérance" en vérité bafoue: pose-toi la question : et toi, as-tu envie d'être "toléré"?