#of course illuminati is *right after* but oh well !!

[genderqueer-karma]

brise (to me)

(alt version under the cut !!)

(the version where brise is loved by her peers)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Can you do prompt number 7 with Hannibal? Please?

Youtube Conspiracy Videos

Hannibal Lecter x plus size reader

Just a typical night in the Lecter household 

Warnings: pregnant!reader, Hannibal is just trying to be supportive, fluff, conspiracy theories about the end of the world, reader is on bedrest

WC: 515

Minors DNI

3000 Follower Celebration

“Did you just say the world was ending?” You huffed and with a great effort on your part, lifted your head from the throw pillow you had been resting on. You opened your eyes to glare at your husband.

“Yes, yes I did. Can you please keep up?” Hannibal smiled curiously at you as you settled back onto the couch. “Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, yes the world is ending. Soon too. You see there’s this ancient order…” You began to ramble again, your hands absentmindedly coming to rest on your swollen stomach. 

Hannibal was trying to listen, he really was. He respected your passion and adored the way you would obsess over these topics that went straight over his head. But when you looked so pretty like you were now, dressed in just an oversized sweater and fluffy socks (your legs over-heated very quickly apparently) with your pregnant belly on display, Hannibal couldn’t concentrate for the life of him.

The pregnancy was an accident, just one night where you both were a bit drunk and very frisky and didn’t bother with protection, but the baby was a blessing anyway. The house had been baby-proofed the week after you presented your husband with the positive pregnancy test and your little bean already had a wardrobe full of the most expensive and fanciest baby clothes you had ever seen. 

As you entered your final months of pregnancy, Hannibal had insisted on bedrest until the baby arrived. You fought him, of course, but your husband had convinced you with an evening of absolutely spoiling you. And it appears that you had discovered your own form of entertainment in your solitude.

The video paused on the television showed the exact topic you were animatedly discussing, as it had been for the past several hours. The theories were, in Hannibal’s opinion, outlandish but they kept you from losing your mind.

“… and so we have maybe a year left, max.”

“Well that’s upsetting considering we’re about to have a baby.” You paused, your eyebrows scrunching as if you were only just now remembering that little fact. 

“Oh, right. I guess we may have a little bit longer than a year, but not by much!” Hannibal just chuckled and slipped from his own chair. Carefully, he lifted your swollen legs and sat on the couch, placing them back onto his lap.

“Well that’s good, I would like to have some time with my girls before the world ends.” You sighed in relief as his fingers dug into the knotted muscles along your calves, sinking further into the luxurious couch cushions.

“I thought that we settled on them being a boy?” Hannibal shrugged.

“Just a feeling my darling. Now, why don’t you tell me more about this illuminati?” Your eyes lit up.

“I have so much to tell you!” The melodic sound of your voice settled over you both once more. Hannibal hoped that you would have more evenings like this in the future and hopefully soon, there would be another little voice joining yours.

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[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

In which Jensen tries to juggle investigating the bombing he just survived, his own team's possible suborning by the Illuminati, and the mysterious augs someone jammed into him. Read the whole SNAFU here.

Sedlak was with a customer when he entered Praha Dovoz: she brushed him off with convincing impatience. He asked after the bathroom, and she gave him the cover he needed, jerking an aggravated thumb at the back of the small building. He shut the door to the storefront behind him, then the door to the janitor’s closet, and scanned his card. The closet floor dropped slowly on its mechanism.

“Vega,” he radioed her, “I’m back in business. This whisper chip you gave me: it’s an easy plant?”

“Yeah, easy as it gets. There’ll be a data port on the NSN motherboard. Access it, and then just plug and play. Or plug and record, in this case.”

“Got it. Let you know when it’s done.”

He passed through the scanner and laser grid, recognized and welcomed by the artificial voice. It was nice to be the one with the secret lair for a change. The elevator hit bottom and he stepped out into the bustle of the Task Force in full swing.

To an extent, it resonated familiarly with his years in police bullpens—phones ringing, keyboards hammering, quiet voices speaking intently in cubicles. And it had the same round-the-clock, caffeine-fueled sense of temporal dislocation. Whatever time it was upstairs in the world, down here it was always go time. He felt harmonics from the SWAT ready room, as well: a couple of their Peacekeepers strolled around in fatigues, two in battle rattle followed a similarly-equipped agent back from some smaller op, and muffled gunfire coughed from the shooting range next to their outsized armory.

But even more than that, the place felt like spook country. Jensen had visited FBI field offices before, and the ones with a facilities budget had felt a little like this, all glass and steel and touchscreen displays mixed with the occasional holotable. Analyst chatter had a subtly different cadence from field agent chatter, a little less belligerent, a little more neurotic. He stood in the elevator’s mouth, soaking up the tenor of the place, and decided it was up a notch or two from baseline: the bombing had kicked the hornet’s nest.

Jensen mounted the stairs to the second-floor mezzanine, where Miller’s office overlooked the bullpen. Argento stopped him at the head of the stairs.

“Jensen! You’re here—you made it in. It’s good to see you’re okay.” She put a hand on his shoulder and peered up at his face as if to check.

“Yeah, it was a close call. I got lucky; a lot of people didn’t. Thought you’d be back in the States by now?”

“News of the bombing came in while I was in line to board—I bailed. My family… they understood. I’ll visit when things calm down a little more.” And of course she had to be seen giving a hundred and ten percent, if she wanted a field assignment. “It’s been chaos—phones ringing off the hook, you know how it is. But I’m sure it was worse right after. And to be at ground zero… when Miller told me you were there, I thought—”

“I’m all right.”

Whatever she saw in his face satisfied her. She rapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Only the metaphorical screws loose, huh? Good. But if you’re looking for him, he’s tied up right now. A meeting with Lyon, I think.”

“Really? He’s using the NSN right now?”

“Yeah, I just saw him go in. Oh, hey! That reminds me—new card for the shooting range. Chang changed all the codes this morning.”

“Again?” He handed over the old one. It was the second time this week.

“The bombing really freaked him out. Third one in six months, can you believe it? I just— I’m really glad you’re okay.”

She looked up at him soberly, and he tried to project a reassuring aura despite the knot in his gut over the mystery augs and the Collective’s whisper chip burning a hole in his pocket. While she’d never opened up to him, he knew she’d lost people back in the Corps, and some of them probably to explosives. “Thanks,” he said. “Me too. Guess I gotta wait on Miller.”

“Yeah, and I should get back downstairs, hand out the rest of these cards. See ya.”

He watched her go. Full armor again, and a glove over her augmented right hand—she wore twenty-five kilos of ceramic plate as easily as running gear. Ready to strap on a gun or five and hit the VTOL whenever Miller and MacReady signed off. And bolstered against anyone who disapproved of an Aug with a Nu-poz issue as an agent. No wonder she’d been awkward, dressed for dinner.

[creature-wizard]

Next in The Satan Seller, Mike claims that Sue invokes the blood and resurrection of Jesus to banish a demon that attacks Mike and allegedly throws him off of his bed. (Good thing the demon didn't decide to inflict more lethal damage, right?)

Then Mike soon gets sent off to Vietnam, and it's horrible, and it strains his faith. He comes home, undergoes therapy (which of course doesn't do much for him), gets back to religion (which of course does do something for him), and then for the first time he learns about baptism in the Holy Spirit. At first he resists the idea, but then he accepts it and prays for Jesus to give him the Holy Spirit.

(We're developing a bit of a pattern here - Mike Develops A Problem, Mike Discovers A New Jesus-y Solution, Mike's Problem Gets Solved.)

Also, it's More Misogyny Time:

“I LOVE YOU, honey!” I grabbed Sue around the waist and hugged her the next morning. “I forget whether I told you I loved you or not last night. I was so excited about receiving the Baptism in the Holy Spirit. But—gee, I wish you could have, too . . .” “But I did, Mike,” she said, squeezing me. “Oh, you're putting me on, baby. You didn’t say anything.” “It was your show, Mike. Anyway, one at a time.” She giggled. “But I received right beside you. And I spoke in unknown language, too.”

So Mike and his wife Sue both undergo a vital (according to this book) religious rite together, but it's just Mike's show??? Like, either...

He basically had his own wife convinced that he's the Christian Faith's Main Character, or

He's making up shit to position himself as the Christian Faith's Main Character.

Apparently a side effect of getting the Holy Spirit is wanting to speak out about the occult even more, which again, there is literally no evidence that Warnke was ever seriously involved in. Does he show some knowledge of the occult? Sure, yeah. But it's about as much as anyone might know from some casual dabbling. The rest is all conspiracy theory that has nothing to do with actual occult practice or belief except insofar as edgelords adopted some it after the ideas entered into the public consciousness. The conspiratorial designs he ascribes to his Satanic Illuminati are lifted straight from early modern witch hysteria and antisemitic conspiracy theories.

So anyway, here's what he claimed that he and a friend went around claiming about the occult:

“The problem is that too many people think witchcraft is fun and games—completely harmless but, it is not!” I told them.

“That’s right, Mike,” Dave said. “We discovered that occult practitioners open themselves to mental derangement, criminal tendencies and possible self-destruction or the destruction of other persons.”

“Yes, you're right,” I said in agreement. “I saw that first hand when I was involved in the occult.”

“You know, many witches say that only Satanists and black arts practitioners go off the deep end and kill people or commit other crimes,” Dave added. “But we researched eleven recent major criminal cases in this country which resulted in thirty nine deaths. Occult practices were directly or indirectly linked to each case. We discovered that these cases were not traceable just to Satanists but were linked to specific occult practices, such as tarot cards, astrology, witchcraft, reincarnation, astral projection, ESP, thought transfer, and mysticism.”

“Well, that certainly debunks the witches’ case,” Sue pointed out. “But which practices are considered occult and which are not?”

“In America, about eighty different occults are practiced. Some of the more popular ones are those we just mentioned, plus Ouija boards, spiritualism, table tipping, levitation, hypnosis, clairvoyance, numerology, reading tea leaves, phrenology, colorology, water divining, automatic writing, clairaudience, psychokinesis, pendulum healing, crystal gazing, dream analysis, person programming, mind control, fortune telling, materializations, voodoo, palmistry, meditation, white — magic, I Ching, telepathy, fetishes, talismans, seances . . . ”

So essentially, if you practice literally anything that isn't Pure Wholesome Christianity™, you're a murderer waiting to happen.

Literally all modern magical practitioner take note - it doesn't matter what you practice or not, it doesn't matter if all you're doing is tarot readings, the Satanic Panic targets you. Always has.

[jeff-from-marketing]

Hey I wanna talk games! This time a game that is so dead it’s actually sad, because the game was fucking awesome. But hey! Not tabletop this time! 

So the game I want to talk about is this little gem of a nugget called The Secret World, and it’s genuinely one of my favourite MMOs I’ve ever played. Short version of the premise is “hey, y’know every single myth, conspiracy, and legend you’ve ever heard of? well all that shit is real my guy.” And it fucking leaned into that shit real hard!

Your three player factions consisted of 1. the actual Illuminati, yes they’re real. Any conspiracy you can think of related to them is probably also true.  2. the Templars, no not the Knights Templar, they make sure to remind you that order died out centuries ago. These ones are more likely to hire a witch than burn them at the stake. 3. the Dragon, a society based entirely around the whims of chaos and the cycle thereof. 

So wait, the Illuminati is real? The Templars actually exist? Demons, the undead, the unfathomable, all of that is true? How have I never heard of that! Well, the orders that be wouldn’t be doing their job right if you knew. After all, this side of the world isn’t called The Secret World for nothing. This game absolutely revels in mystery, and I love it for that. 

So many of the quests you come across are puzzles to be solved in one way or another, you’re expected to investigate everything, take down notes, and research to find answers. The game came with its own web browser and it absolutely expected you to use it! And I absolutely loved that. Yeah you still had the option of your standard kill quests and quests to fetch seven boar asses, but those (for the most part) were options. The best quests are absolutely the ones that involved solving a mystery, and that was definitely a very solid chunk of them. Sure some of them were a little obtuse sometimes, but overall they breathed so much life into the game, especially if you were used to standard MMO quest design. And luckily, the main story quests were almost always this style of quest. They still stick with me even years afterwards. The one where I had to pull up a morse code translation sheet, or look up Bible verses to find relevant passages to a clue, or one where I had to die so I could speak to a ghost.

Of course, good story and storytelling can only go so far, was the game itself any fun? Oh fuck yeah my fellow beings. So to start with: no classes. There were 9 main weapons in the game, each with their own sets of skills and abilities, and you could pick any 2 weapons. From there, you’re free to mix and match active abilities from those two weapons as much as you’d like, and you can use passive abilities from any weapon. There was so much build variety and customisation available, build crafting was just one of my favourite things to do and I absolutely spent way too much time looking through abilities to create a new build. Group content was fun, world events were fun, it just a good time overall! The combat probably wasn’t the smoothest compared to a lot of modern MMOs, but it was still satisfying enough.

Unfortunately, all of that was apparently just too good. At some point, the company announced Secret World Legends: a reboot of The Secret World that was supposed to throw on a new coat of paint and refresh systems to de-jankify them I suppose. Wow it did not do that. What it did do however is kill everything unique about The Secret World. Those cool mystery quests that I still remember fondly today? Gone. A really indepth build system that allowed for huge amounts of customisation? Gone. Replaced with a really bad class system that doesn’t even begin to cover the same amount of depth. The perfectly serviceable even if not top-tier combat? Somehow they just made it worse. You get like, An Ability, maybe two. Oh and like every weapon’s gimmick is now all 100% RNG based. Yay.

I do miss this game. Last I checked, it’s technically still running if you owned a copy, but it’s no longer available to buy officially and it’s no longer supported. Last time I tried to play, it just kept crashing. Which is a shame, because I’d love for more people to be able to experience this gem of a game.

[marvalouslynerdish]

aww man he would, after all evil targeting to the youth demographic to join them is totally a villain thing to do, because evil is COOL~~~ right black hat~ (sits in his chair reading the paper saying nothing) right you are BH!

i felt for the guy, he was a smart kid just lacked certain qualities to tackle the martial arts monks with the magic items, always hoped he would have at least learned to fight hand to hand better to stand more of a chance with them but his whole thing was being a brilliant inventor just wish his inventions were more helpful to him. still smart stuff though.

in the interest of these other characters being in the black hat organization, i just thought of someone, for submission:

david xanatos; totally would be at the highest levels of the organization and they probably ask/pay him to do villain PSA's or seminars on how to be successful and stuff. plus he is a mother(bleeping) GOAT bad guy! smart, successful, and of course so awesome they named a trope after him, and even when it looks like he lost; does that get him down? NO! because even in lose there is something to gain and learn, he improves himself all the time. i can't sing he praises enough. heck asides from being in BH the dude is a part of another secret organization that has power and influence to change the world if they want/have to; the illuminati! how bad ass can you be, to not be not just in one, but two evil organizations. oh and he's rich and though his world doesn't have superhero's he's still dealt with supernatural magic stuff and super-science and stood his ground pretty well against them, even made it sometimes.

Jack Spicer Would Totally Be A Great Candidate For Joining The Black Hat Institute

He's already a full fledged villain in his own right, but on the other hand he still has a lot to learn and can be nurtured to become an even more competent villain. An orientation video aimed at kids could be dedicated to showing how even though currently he might be bumbling that in many future realities he has what it takes to rule the world. I totally see Flug trying to influence him and keep him from being persuaded to turn good since there were so many close calls where he almost considered joining the Xiaolin side. I do think like Flug he would be a target for bullies but retaliate with his inventions.

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

So... spoilery review of MoM after the cut (and you know me, it's going to get long).

I have like a thousand thoughts about this movie. My main concern was Stephen's characterization and that was fine, I liked it and they didn't ruin it which leaves me satisfied. But everything else? It felt like a punch in the gut.

So I have a lot of negative thoughts but let's start with the good ones first.

The Positives

Stephen's characterizarion is fine. He's snarky, he's kind, he's brave, he's so prepared to always help and be of assistance, he's such a diva with the way he left the wedding and changed into his robes mid-air, he's sweet and amazingly selfless (and I'm tired of no one ever acknowleding that in the movies, well, except America maybe). I love him dearly - and OMG that reverence to Wong? I had a huge smile on my face when he did that, that's my boy! (Come on, tell me again how arrogant he is).

I LOVED America. Every single scene she was in, oh she's absolutely wonderful. I really hope we'll see her again because she's fantastic. Her portals opening in the form of a star was pretty cute, too.

I'm happy they kept Wong as the Sorcerer Supreme, by the way. All hail Wong!

They mentioned Donna. They did. Oh boy, they did, I'm so happy. I was expecting a flashback or something but I would have probably shed tears so it's better that way.

Regarding the Illuminati, what a waste. Easily forgotten but this is the positive part of the post so I'll just say that I loved how Charles ignored everyone and showed some faith in Stephen (about damn time someone does!) and he said the line, he said the line™! (Not to be too nitpicky here but uh, Stephen didn't stumble and he didn't lose his way either so the line doesn't really make any sense since it doesn't apply to him but I'll let that slide because I LOVE that line).

And I'm going to put this in the positive side of things because I'm petty as all hell: I saw Peggy die after she said a bunch of words that DO NOT BELONG TO HER. And it was wonderful. I (silently) clapped in fact. Yes, I hate her. And yes, I was alone and no one saw me doing it lol

I suspect Charlize is Clea, right? I'm looking forward to that. Charlize Theron and Benedict Cumberbatch? YES PLEASE.

The Negatives

I had been tagging my posts for months with "Keep Waldron away from Stephen" for a damn reason. And I was right. At least there's a silver lining to it all: he didn't ruin Loki because he hated him, he ruined Loki because Waldron is a terrible writer.

First off, I will never forgive them for healing his hands.

(So as it turns out I was wrong about his hands and they didn't fix them which makes me very happy. What I wrote in this 1st part is removed now)

Second, I knew Waldron wouldn't understand his relationship with Christine. It's one of the BEST things about DS1, that they love each other so much but know they can't be together, it works in the origin movie because they arrive at a mutual understanding together - and they still keep that love for each other no matter what happens. But of course how the hell is Michael "kiss your fucking sister" Waldron going to understand platonic love? And friendship? Of course he doesn't! They spent the whole freaking movie linking Stephen's happiness to Christine which is so damn frustrating as if he couldn't find happiness in so many other ways, with any kind of relationship, through achievements, etc.

Especially when in the end they're not going to end up together anyway! What's the point, then? If you want to explore why Stephen isn't happy then do it, go back and truly dive deep into his life because the answer is right there. They mentioned Donna, and that's fine, but what about also talking about how that hurt him, changed him, shaped him, why he doesn't have any friends not even in Kamar-Taj, to the point of going to the wedding alone, not telling Wong about it either... you want to talk about his lack of happiness? That's awesome! But why is it that the only way Waldron refers to it is through (lack of) romance?

Third, the whole damn movie I kept thinking that Wanda was going through another WandaVision and Stephen was being given the Loki treatment. Wanda has no fucking arc whatsoever, she keeps saying "my boys" every 2 minutes when at the end of her series she understood what she had done was wrong and she has never wanted to hurt people willingly! Look, I really would love a chat with Waldron to explain to him the difference between morally grey vs villain because he doesn't get it. And at the end she's killed? Oh no, worse, she kills herself?

What's the point of her wanting to travel to the multiverse to her boys when she could just create another Hex with just her and her kids? And her descend to villainy is so sudden, as well. She left Westview accepting that she had been wrong, taking responsibility for it, apologizing for it, and she left to be alone with the Darkhold. And yes I know it corrupts people (I remember AoS and Aida) but still, Wanda was NEVER a villain. And if the point they wanted to make was that the book had corrupted her they could have done it so much better.

Also, I was under the impression Wanda was a Nexus being? I'm probably wrong but I was surprised there were variants of her in the multiverse.

And speaking of variants... Stephen's variants they're all evil, on the top of being arrogant of course, we shall never forget calling him that in every movie otherwise people might forget. And that chat with the Illuminati where they were basically telling him he's a piece of shit because the Stephen of their universe did something wrong... uh so are we blaming 616 Stephen for shit the 838 Stephen had done? It's the Loki series all over again!

Fourth, Peggy freaking Carter again. Look, it's a damn insult to Steve's character that they gave her his "I can do this all day". Shame on Feige, on Marvel, on Waldron, and anyone who had a say on that. How dare you give that line to a woman who willingly hired a nazi who had tortured and ruined Bucky's life to work for Shield and the American government. How dare you take that line from a man who spent his life fighting fascism and defending civil rights and protecting the weak and give it to someone who worked with nazis. Oh and they called her the first Avenger!

Fifth and last. Queer rep, huh? Absolutely non-existent. Well, America says she had two moms, that's what Disney and Marvel call representation. It's unacceptable that America Chavez, a character who has been a huge icon for the queers, has her sexuality completely erased in this movie. Not a damn word.

No wait, there's another, sixth. Stephen can read sanskrit but I'm supposed to believe he doesn't speak nor understand Spanish? Don't make me laugh.

There's probably more I haven't mentioned but this got long enough. Overall I'll give the movie a 5/10 only for not ruining Stephen's characterization + because I love America + both Christines were absolutely wonderful + Wong is still the Sorcerer Supreme. No more than 5 because Stephen is not the centre of the story and he's sidelined for the most part, and they turned Wanda into something she's not.

And one last thing that's not related to MoM but I feel like sharing: they showed the L&T teaser and the new Avatar trailer. The latter got a higher cheer than the former. Make of that what you wish...

[scarletxvision]

Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness: Spoiler Review

Right, let's get into it. I have actually seen this movie twice at this stage, and I still don't know if I have truly wrapped my head around what played out to be honest. I wouldn't go as far as to say I hated it, but I definitely didn't enjoy it either.

We'll start off with some positives. The cinematography was beautifully executed, the horror aspects were fresh and exciting and the use of magic got a much needed upgrade as well. Overall, it was a stunning film visually, and every single person gave the performance of their lives, particularly Elizabeth Olsen.

Moving on to the elephant in the room... Wanda's character and storyline. Oh boy, there is a lot to unpack here. Now I now there had been rumours circulating since the end of WandaVision that she was going to be the villain, but I had figured it was going to be clear cut that she was acting on instinct to protect her children, or even during my first watch, that she was merely being manipulated by the Darkhold.

However, what we got instead was a slightly OOC Wanda who has no problem in killing another child to be with her own. It doesn't sit right with me that after all of her speeches about being a mother, after her own experience as a young girl discovering powers she didn't fully understand and couldn't control, she unapologetically wanted to kill America, a girl in the same position that she had been in.

What bugged me the most was the lack of continuity following the ending of WandaVision. The whole heart of that show was Wanda getting through her grief, and by the end, she had pretty much come to terms with everything that happened and even felt remorseful for holding everyone in Westview. Of course she had never truly finished grieving, no one ever does, but her moving out to her little cabin for some peace and quiet showed promising signs of her overcoming the first few stages of grief.

The main thing I immediately noticed had been forgotten about or discarded was the whole "MOM! HELP!" end scene. It would have been more realistic for Wanda's character if she had reason to suspect Billy and Tommy were in some kind of danger and therefore would be safer with her as their mother. Having her blatantly try to take them away from her variant self simply because she wanted her happy ending with them seemed so off and untrue to Wanda's character, regardless of the influences of the Darkhold.

In fact, they completely missed the mark by not having her look for Vision at all. I mean, she hardly even mentions him! Look, in one way I understand she has had more time to get over his death - WandaVision told that story beautifully - and now she has a new wound to heal with the loss of her children, but come on, we got like three references to him in the whole movie! You can tell that she still loves him dearly with how hurt she sounded in her conversation with Strange about sacrifice, so why not use that and the ability to travel the multiverse to reunite with her husband?

I was actually expecting a mention of White Vision, but surprisingly there was nothing. I do understand that it is primarily a Doctor Strange film, but with the amount they dived into what happened in Westview, I was hoping for some hint of where he has gone and what his deal is.

On the other hand, I loved seeing the full might of Wanda's powers, and there was something strangely satisfying about watching her single handedly take down the Illuminati. I want to point out that Wanda was never defeated, in fact, no one was even close so *cough* strongest Avenger confirmed *cough*. She had some powerful lines and as I said before, Elizabeth really put her heart and soul into her performance.

Overall, villain Wanda is not the direction I wanted her character to go in, and the poor execution makes it even harder to swallow. It was the most detached I have ever felt from her, and Wanda has been my favourite since I watched Age of Ultron in the cinema - she practically got me into Marvel movies. It felt like I was watching a completely different character, like I was watching 'The Scarlet Witch' and not 'Wanda Maximoff', as if they are separate beings. Watching her sacrifice didn't mean much because we know the rule that if there's no body, she didn't die, but it's still nice knowing that as far gone as she was, she still turned around and did the right thing in the end.

Getting away from my feelings on Wanda, I wasn't sure about Doctor Strange's character arc and development. If anything, he just proved Wanda's point of "You break the rules, you become a hero. I do it, I become the enemy." The plot reeked of hypocrisy, and I couldn't pinpoint how Strange grew from the start of the movie to the end.

I don't even want to get into Christine's character, whose only use seems to be as Strange's tragic love. In fact, their whole story resembles Steve and Peggy (I won't get into how much I dislike them here, that deserves it's own essay) and it's disappointing that Christine never got to evolve past male lead's love interest.

I enjoyed the Illuminati cameos, especially John Krasinski as Reed Richards - I literally gasped so loud when the camera cut to him. I thought they would do more with the characters, but watching Wanda pick them off like it was child's play was quite entertaining, I won't lie.

I want to say that, for the record, I think the whole Doctor Strange's third eye thing is so freaky and I am not here for it, but the first end credit scene introducing Clea is exciting and I'm looking forward to learning more about her.

I'm going to wrap it up there for now, but I could go on and on about this movie for days. All in all, it wasn't completely horrible, but I definitely didn't like it and won't be rushing to watch it again. I have no idea where they are going to go from here with Wanda's character, so I guess I'll have to simply stand by and hope for the best.

I'm curious to know what everyone else thought of the movie - do you agree with me or did you like the direction it took? I'd love to know! ❤💚

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Hidden Oracle: Chapter 20 (SPOILERS)

"Of course, the previous Oracle had been a withered corpse, so perhaps the bar was low." Yeah, that's... that's a pretty low bar. Is the Oracle a job you can really bring excitement and vigor to? Most of the time it's just going about your day and making sure you're prepared to be possessed at any moment, right? Sometimes getting prophetic visions (in Rachel's case, prophetic paintings) and the occasional prophecy poem?

"Miss Dare looked thinner and older . . . She was not the same person." Wow, I guess the capture of Delphi not only affects the Oracle spirit but also its host vessel? That, and she just came from the Clarion Ladies' Academy, which cannot be a fun experience.

"stale crackers from the Oracle's larder." LARDER (n.): a room or large cupboard for storing food

"[Millard and Herbert] arrived at my house badly wounded. They... they didn't make it." What killed the satyrs??? Did the Beast send someone or something after them to try to keep Rachel from getting to camp? Omg imagine being Rachel: the Oracle suddenly stops working, all prophecies stop working even after Gaea is gone, then in the middle of your miserable boarding school year, two satyrs arrive at your home bleeding to death and you come to camp hoping for answers only to find the god that's supposed to help you fix the prophecies has been turned human. Bad year. Anyway, neither of them were the satyr that was teaching the music class or announcing the death race, right? No, I looked it up. That was Woodrow.

"That is the building you described last summer . . . where you parleyed with the Romans." "how did the Romans take over such prime Manhattan real estate on such short notice?" WAIT THAT'S RIGHT. I always thought we were just supposed to suspend our disbelief on stuff like that, like how and where the Romans got enough cars to take them and all their stuff across the country or whoever Octavian bought those HOUSE-SIZED onager catapults from. I just assumed they had connections with demigods who made it out in the mortal world.

"The mother company is something called Triumvirate Holdings." That sounds very Roman. "a ruling council of three . . . in ancient Rome." "three shadowy figures stood talking together--men in business suits" Is this serious? Is the Big Bad of this series going to be a corporation? Is Apollo's task going to be to... Is Apollo going to have to take down capitalism? Is the Big Bad capitalism? LMAO prophecy and capitalism: the two themes of TOA (jkjkjk)

"Adult demigods? I can't imagine they would be Greek, but perhaps Roman?" PFFFT HAHAHA Yes, because CHB doesn't prepare their kids for life in the outside world; they just assume they won't live 'til twenty and if they do, they won't last out there for long! :D

"the weapons were paid for by Triumvirate Holdings." Oh, so they paid for it, but they still bought them from somewhere. WHO??? Who sells ancient Roman siege weapons? "Luke Castellan mentioned he had backers in the mortal world . . . enough money to buy a cruise ship, helicopters, weapons . . . mortal mercenaries." OH AND LUKE! This goes far back! And lol, yeah, cruise ship with mortals included. This goes deep...

"What if this company is the root cause of... well, everything?" What are they, the Illuminati? Did they cause the Great Stirring or at least profit off of it?

"Rachel sat up straight. 'Excuse me? Oracles plural?'" Lol Rachel, you should be familiar with the gods and their infidelity by now. Jkjk but it's funny to see her jealous of him having other Oracles even though Delphi is obviously his favorite.

So, a triumvirate is a leading group of three -- a trio. And it's implied that Triumvirate Holdings is run by three ancient Romans. But the Roman emperors quiz I took on the Read Riordan website had four possible results! (The words "YOU GOT CALIGULA!" will forever haunt me.) Let's just see how this goes, then.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[eclipsedbluemoon]

***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DOCTOR STRANGE IN THE MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS***

Im fresh out of watching the movie and all so please don't mind if I miss some fact or whatever but by supposedly "killing" Wanda in the end of MoM(which I didn't believe for a second btw and was shocked that people actually did cause she is literally the main character of the mcu rn) was anticlimactic for the story that was leading upto it. Cause even though incursions take place and universes are at stake and Strange is under the influence of the Darkhold, isn't it all null and void that she began the journey as a villain realised her mistake by the end of the film and kind of fixed her damage? Like yes I know there is other Multiversal stuff happening and all but as far as her journey is concerned...well, I guess it was only for the journey because the destination was not far from what was already happening even if the Multiverse. It is still going to be shambles because there are other factors managing and responsible for it (Like Loki and Sylvie). And as dumb as the Illuminati was for thinking that the Scarlet Witch is not gonna be a problem they were right when they said that Stephen fucks it up because in the end the Multiverse thing was still happening. And I mean I guess that's how movies work and everything is fixed and back to where it was or whatever but this felt different. Which doesn't mean it was not important to intervene with what she was doing but I guess intervening caused it to get worse? Oh my god I'm spiralling. Someone please tell me this makes sense or I'll cry.

But all that being sad, I was living for Wanda finally embracing her dark side being the villain in this. She has gone through hell and back and was not going to be in a very hero space of mind after what we've seen her go through in Wandavision and especially before that. It's great that they unapologetically acknowledged that and her true potential as the Scarlet Witch. And Doctor Strange on the other hand was great as well. We got to see more of what he is going through and how he basically adopts America. I want to see more focus on him next movie though and his childhood and of course the whole Darkhold thing. I need to see a grand end to the Multiverse storyline too cause its just that complicated and it shouldn't feel rushed. That's all.

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 15 - Siblings And Secret Sting Operations

[ DS ]

Sundays are reserved for church and phone calls with my family, so after mass and the church brunch, I make myself a cup of tea and grab my blanket, heading upstairs to curl up on the Adirondack chair on my private balcony. I take out my phone and call my brother Charlie.

He picks up on the second ring. “City morgue. You kill ‘em, we chill ‘em!” I almost choke on my sip of tea.

“Hey Charlie! That’s a new one, very funny. Almost killed me with it!”

“Aah killing with jokes is my specialty. Sorry sis! How’s it going over there on the main land?”

“We mere mortals manage to get by, always a little in awe of the Gods of the Cape. Hey can you see me?” I get up and wave across the bay to where I can picture him standing in front of his little cottage, waving back.

“I deign to gaze at the mere mortal waving like a crazy person, yeah! So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much, busy with school, the usual. How about you? How’s Pete? Did he get the promotion?” I can hear the smile in his voice at the mention of his boyfriend.

“Yeah he did, I’m insanely proud of the big-shot broker that I call mine!” Against all odds, they make a pretty great couple, the artist and the stock broker. “So, speaking of… how’s your love life? Seeing anyone?” He always asks me this and the answer’s pretty much the same every time, but today, I surprise him.

“Mhh yeah, there’s someone…” The gasp he gives is so loud, it almost carries across the bay.

“Shut up! What? Who? When? Are you really seeing someone?”

“No… not exactly. But… there is the dream of someone else….” I sigh into the phone, smiling at the mental image of Fox Mulder that pops into my head.

“You’re kidding. Who is he?” As I recount the moments that happened between the two of us, Charlie is practically jumping with glee.

“God, that’s so great, sis! So, what happens now? Why are you pining for him from afar instead of putting on the big-girl pants and ask him out on a date?” I shake my head.

“You know why, Charlie. I’m really scared I’ll screw this up and the fact that I care about his kid so much makes it even more difficult. Oh God, and can you imagine what Dad will have to say about him being divorced and a single parent?” Charlie groans into the phone in frustration.

“Not this again, Dana. You can’t live your life the way you think will get you dad’s stamp of approval, you deserve to be happy and from the sound of it, you’re pretty excited about this guy. I can tell you from experience, if I had chosen to chase dad’s approval, I’d still be so deep in the closet I’d need a map and a compass to find my way out. So, your other concerns are valid but you’ll never find out if he’s the one if you don’t try!”

“I know, I know, you’re right, just like you were right the other thousand times we’ve had this conversation. What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and ask him on a date? I can’t do that!” The thought alone sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“YES Dana, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do! We’re living in the 21st century, we’re not playing this stupid game where a boy has to ask a girl out, it’s okay if it’s the other way around!” I hang my head and sigh in resignation, he’s right, as always. I want to hate him a little for it.

“Alright, I’ll think about it, happy?” – “Overjoyed! So let me tell you about that art show that I’m putting on at the gallery!”

We chat for a little while longer, waving at each other again as we say our goodbyes.

----------

In the meantime, downstairs in the kitchen

The three other girls are sitting around the kitchen table having a very late breakfast, the smell of coffee and pancakes filling the house. They speak in hushed tones, not wanting to be overheard by the fourth friend upstairs.

“Girls … This Mr.Mulder- Dana situation is killing me. I just can’t take it anymore, they’re pining for each other so hard but they’re both too chicken to do something about it!”

“What are you saying, S?” Alex blows a cooling breath over her coffee cup.

“I’m saying that these two need a hefty kick in the butt!”

“Ooooh I get it now!” Holly bounces in her seat excitedly. “We’ll be the trusty matchmakers for these love-birds!”

“The two of you are out of your minds. She’ll see right through it, you know she will! We’ve talked about it with her Friday after Friday but nothing has happened! And he’s not making a move either.”

“Yeah… we can’t just go up to him and ask him if he’s blind or stupid or both and tell him that he should get his ass in gear and ask her out already!” Sarah spears a piece of pancake with her fork, twirling it thoughtfully.

“What if we enlist the help of his kid?”

“Holly, no, we can’t do that! He’s six for god’s sakes. Besides, I think they have another thing coming with him when they actually dostart dating. You know how kids lash out when their parent starts dating again, and he loves D to pieces. No, we need a more subtle plan.”

“How about we spike her drink at the birthday party with some hard stuff? You know, lower the inhibitions and all that” Sarah waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Holly gapes at her friend. “Sarah! We can’t drug our friend into sleeping with him! It’s not right and she’ll have our heads for it if she ever found out, rightfully so! What about the Halloween fair, they’re both working there, but D doesn’t know that he got roped into it?”

Realization dawns in Sarah’s eyes and her mind works out a plan. The other two nod enthusiastically when she tells them about it.

“Oh this is so exciting! We need to talk to Miss Hannigan and some other people but I think it’s a good start to push them closer together! Now that we’ve got a plan, we just need to figure out how to keep it all from D. We live together, so she’s bound to overhear us talking about it at some point.” Holly and Alex nod in unison.

“We’ll go all secret sting operation on their ass, codenames and all. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Codenames, S?”

“Yes codenames, come on it’ll be so much fun, like a secret society, Illuminati-style!”

Alex laughs: “Alright, what are our codenames for these two?”

They all think hard about this. “Well their real names are out, of course. Middle names too. Red and brown?” – “No, hair color’s too obvious, A!” – “Mom and Dad?” They share a laugh, shaking their heads. “That’s weird. Can we do something with the first letters of their names? F and D? S and M?” Holly bursts out giggling. “Okay maybe not S and M! … M and S? Can we do something with that?”

A slow smile spreads over Sarah’s face. “I’ve got it! A thunder of jets in an open sky, a streak of grey and a cheerful “HI!” – BOOM - a loop, a whirl and a vertical climb and once again you’ll know it’s time for the adventures oooof…?”

Holly jumps out of her chair and yells out excitedly: “Moose and Squirrel! Sarah that’s brilliant!!” Alex nods her agreement, grinning.

“We’ll call it Operation: Bullwinkle!”

“Man, Squirrel’s so gonna kick our asses…”

[overlyimmersed]

Nightmares and Daydreams

A Gravity Falls AU.

Hi @verysorrytobother​ Stanticore anon, revealing my true identity to share this with you! I wasn’t sure how a post this long would go over as an ask, so I decided to do it this way. I hope this is ok.

I’ve been working on this for a while and I hope it goes over well enough. The artwork took me the most time.

As a car crash victim is slowly dying, her mental self panics in the mindscape. She's offered a deal to save her life. Let the game begin.

(Content warnings: Blood. Descriptions of serious injuries.)

"What..." she whispered to herself, staring at the other in disbelief.

"Yep!" he confirms, in a high-pitched, grating, inappropriately upbeat tone, "Dead as a doornail, kid!- Well technically you still have a few more seconds till you brain totally ceases to function. Better make up your mind while you still have one!"

She's still staring dumbly at him. How can he be this nonchalant about it?! A half second ago she was sitting in the front seat of the family truck, a totally routine trip to the store- she never liked trucks but her dad's a carpenter so they need the hauling space. At least it's a pretty shade of blue- and the next she's here, laying face down in a black void with this prick this- this...All Seeing Eye? He's like the Illuminati symbol, but with arms and legs and a top hat. Caution sign yellow and talking to her- or at her. Bill. Freaking. Cipher. Every time he 'speaks' he flashes with light- no mouth so does it really count as speaking? More like his voice is being projected right into her mind- ... And he's telling her that she freakin died! Can't he see how messed up this is?! Can't he sympathize at all!? Then again, it's Bill. She ought to know better.

She ought to know better. She's seen this show a hundred times, she knows nothing good comes from dealing with Cipher. But she doesn't have time to be careful, she doesn't have the luxury of weighing options.

"Tick-tock, Car Wreck!" The obnoxious voice insists again, forcing her out of her stupor, his outstretched hand now alight with blue fire.

Her face scrunches up in a loud cringe, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, and she swings her hand till it lands solidly in his. Crazed cackling resounds as the deal is struck, but it falls to simple soundtrack as her senses try to sort out what's going on.

She'd expected the blue fire to burn, or at least feel like something, but it didn't. Instead her entire being is flung into a...whirl? Free fall? Something that makes her stomach jump into her throat, and gives her vertigo.

The sensation stops suddenly, only to be replaced by a cacophony of new perceptions. She isn't sure which strikes her first, the sounds or the smell. Shrieks of agony and terror make up the next track of this bizarre playlist, punctuated by the reek of burnt hair. When her eyes fly open to try and make sense of it all, they have no luck. The sight that meets her is a sky of surreal, swirling, bastardized ribbons of every hue, like being inside a filthy bubble. Floating strewn about the space are pockmarked asteroids, and little else.

"So what'd ya think?" The grating voice rejoins the discord, drawing her shell-shocked gaze. "Home-sweet-home, huh? Well don't worry, you won't be here for very long. A deal's a deal, Car Wreck." With that que, and a snap of his fingers, she's falling again. This time untethered and unaccompanied. It takes her a moment to realize the scream ripping though the void is coming from her own throat. Once it hits her, so does something else, and the world goes black.

She wakes some time later, maybe moments maybe days. She has no way of knowing. She pushes herself onto her hands and knees, groggy and disoriented. It takes her a moment to notice the texture under her hands and focus her vision on it. It's grass. She sits up and looks around. "oh..." she says to herself, taking in the scenery. It's lovely, a grassy, sun soaked field. The sky made of churning colors like the last place she'd been, but they're pastel and much prettier. A warm breeze brushes past her face and she takes a deep breath of it, it smells sweet and warm, heavy with the scent of growing things, and for the first time since this started she finds some peace. Peace which is quickly shattered by a familiar, grating voice.

She jumps and whirls around so quick she falls onto her butt. There, floating just inches from where her head had been, is Bill. Laughing at her of course.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you there, Car Wreck!" he claims, moving through the air to look around, then turning back around to look at her. "So how do you like the new digs?"

There's a beat of silence where she just stares at him again, but quickly she shakes off the shock and tries to respond. "Uh...It's nice." She lets her eyes roam around for a second, before returning to Bill, "Where are we?"

"This is the Realm of Daydreams! Your new HQ!" he answers, floating around behind her and making a grand gesture with his arms.

She turns her head to follow him, "Daydreams? HQ?"

"Yep! This is where you'll hang out when you're not puppeting your little pawns." He turns around to look at the scenery more himself. "Kinda dull if you ask me. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh you know, some pillars of anguish, an alter of unholy fire, maybe a blood fountain or a couple of-" he gestures with each suggestion, like a landscaper creating a vision, until she cuts him off.

"No I mean," she finally pushes herself to a stand, teetering a little till she finds her balance. "Pawns?"

He turns back to her, "Oh yeah, which ones do you want anyway?" he waits a beat for an answer, but she just stares back at him, clearly not following. "Ugh, our deal?"

He hadn't really told her what the deal was, just mentioned a game and a second chance. "Uhh, I don't think you-"

"Oh right, you flesh bags need everything explained to you." he groans, rolling his eye, "Alright, here's the deal. We're gonna play a little game," he holds out his hand and a little hologram like projection appears showing an aerial view of a town. "and the people of this hick town are gonna be the pieces." ten little blue stick figures appear in the center of town, each with a little symbol above it's head. "If you win, you rejoin the land of the living!" a little magenta stick figure pops into existence next to the others and they all do a little happy dance. "If I win..." suddenly the whole projection goes up in flames, and she jerks her head back instinctively, "You burn with rest of those worthless mortals!" He bursts into a fit of maniacal laughter, which actually gives her some times to recover.

After a second of shocked staring, she blinks a few times then puts on as neutral an expression as she can. "Ok. So what are the rules?"

"Simple!" he answers, cutting off his laughter "We can't directly manipulate each other's pawns, and we can't interfere with the other's powers."

"That's it?"

"Yep. Everything else is fair game"

"Ok...What are my powers?"

"Same as mine! Except you don't have to wait till someone falls asleep to get in their head."

"I see..." her eyes wander to the ground as she contemplates the information, and her hand reaches for the longest of her three necklaces to idly play with the spiked pendant. "So you can talk to them in dreams, and I can talk to them in daydreams."

"Bingo!"

She scrunches her nose a little, thinking of a few ways that could end up being annoying. "Alright, anything else I need to know?"

"Hmm, nope! That just about covers it. All that's left is to pick our pawns, I'll even let you go first!" And with that ten, glowing, blue symbols appear between them. She looks them over carefully, she knows who each symbol corresponds to- supposing the cartoon from her world is accurate. She considers the six-fingered hand, if she takes him out of Bill's control from the start that derails his whole plan as she knows it. But, then she'll have no clue what's up to at all, at least by letting Bill have the pawns she's familiar with she has a chance at guessing his moves. She reaches forward and touches the shooting star, it turns magenta and floats to hover closer to her.

"Interesting." Bill comments, though his tone doesn't sound very interested, as he makes a simple motion with his eye and the six-fingered hand settles beside him. She chooses the fish looking symbol next, and Bill's second choice in the pine tree. They go back and forth till they have five symbols each, Bill having the the six-fingered hand, the pine tree, the llama, the stitched heart, and the pentagram. While she has the shooting star, the fish, the bag of ice, the spectacles, and the question mark.

"Welp, that settles that. Nice picks you made there, lets hope they work out for ya, Car Wreck"

"Could you not call me that?" though it hardly sounds like a request.

"And what else should I call you?" Bill asks, collecting his symbols into one hand and placing the other on his...hip?

"How about my name? It's Maranwe."

"But Car Wreck fits you so much better! Just take a look!" he quips, snapping a full-length mirror into existence. Maranwe turns to look and gasps in horror. Bill breaks out into more cackling, "Well my work here is done! I'll let you get cleaned up, see ya around Car Wreck!" And with that he fades from existence.

Maranwe just stares, even as Bill disappears from 'her' realm, she can only stare at her destroyed refection. Her hair is messy- and she almost laughs that that's what her brain zeros in on first-, It's also dirty, some of the mess is actual dirt but several spots are matted with half-dry blood. Her face is in a similar condition, smeared with dirt and blood but she can see the wounds there. Scrapes and still oozing cuts, bruises forming on one cheek bone and under her eyes. Her nose isn't quite right...broken probably. Her vision skims over her whole body for a second, making note of similar injuries where tears in her clothes reveal them. It's not as bad as she would expect a car crash victim to look- "except for that" Her mind screams suddenly while all her mouth can do is gasp, as her attention lands dizzyingly on her neck. It's...purple, but also red? There's no spilled blood but it still looks ugly, and the worst part is the...bump. It's not hard to figure out that it's a misaligned bone. Without the pain to tell her she never would have noticed, her neck is broken. Very broken. How is she holding her head up right... Probably because this isn't actually a physical body. She wonders if this is what killed her, or if there's something inside, something she can't see, that did the trick.

Whatever it is, she can't be seen like this. And she really really doesn't want to look like this for her own sake. Bill said she could 'clean herself up'? How exactly... She thinks about how Bill's powers tend to work and tries to concentrate on a cleaner, less beat up mental image of herself. She lifts her hand to her cheek and grazes her finger tips across it, a trail of sparkles follow the touch and the skin underneath returns to normal. She relaxes a little, watching the disaster wipe off her face like cheap make-up. She keeps the image in her mind and closes her eyes, cupping her hands in front of herself and imagining the sparkles pooling in them. Then she splashes the sparkles over he face, like a girl in a face wash commercial, and imagines the glittering dust washing over her entire body, cleaning away the mess and injuries. And when she opens her eyes, that's exactly what's happened. Her reflection shows her whole and unwounded, even her clothes are fixed.

The next thing she does is smooth her hair down, mostly an instinct since it's still messy, and the sparkles trail after her hands, tidying the strands as if she'd just brushed them. She watches her reflection's mouth quirk up a little in a small smirk. So she can just change what she looks like by imagining it? That figures, this is a place of daydreams that's kind of how they work. She knows exactly what to do with this, she's known since she was a kid what she's change if she could. She places the backs of her hands next to her ears and flicks up, sparkles spray up with the motion and her normal human ears, turn to wolf ears the fur the same chocolate brown as her hair. Her smirk blooms into a full blown smile, and she tilts her head to get a better look at them, watching them move as she tests them. It's like they're real! Next is the tail of course, it's mostly brown, with some silver down the top and a black tip. Then she looks down, and taps the toe of each of her shoes against the ground in turn, as she does they become the compressed paws of her own design.

"That's insane..." she laughs to herself. She's actually turning herself into something else, her own made up alien species. And she just can! With the big changes out of the way she works out the details; pupil shape, fang length, and straightens out a few asymmetries and insecurities she's always had about her body- after all why not? When she's done, she can't help admiring herself a little, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, her perfect image of herself. Well- almost perfect. She snaps her fingers and in the same dusting of glitter, her shirt changes. What was before a loose grey t-shirt with the word "nope" written across it in cursive, as been replaced by a cropped sweater, banded in 3 colors; white at the top, then light blue, then dark blue. She lifts it to look at the crop top under neither, it's just plain white. She decides she doesn't like it that way, so it changes to a cropped version of the t-shirt she'd had before. With that taken care of she lifts her arm so the over-sized sleeve falls down and she can see her forearm, which is covered by a light blue arm warmer with white lace around the edges. Perfect. At least for now. She can change later if she decides she doesn't like the arm warmers.

She giggles to herself, invigorated by the makeover and the sense of control she has now. She turns from the mirror and skips a few feet across the grass, the symbols she'd chosen follow her, floating loosely like beads suspended in gel. She laughs a little as she watches them, and idly reaches for her necklace again, but this time her hand just meets the soft knit of her sweater. She'd forgotten to add them into this new look, so she just wills them into place; three different necklaces of three different lengths. Her hand finds the middle length first, the pendant is designed to spin so she plays with it while her mind starts to wander. She starts thinking of plans for winning this game, what she might say to each other 'pawns' and who to use where and how, even letter her thoughts wonder about the new life she'll have. Cipher's hologram suggested she'll stay in Gravity Falls, which would be cool but what about-

The sound of screeching tires and twisting metal cuts her thoughts off clean and she whips around to find the source of the noise, but her fear turns to confusion when she sees...nothing. She stands stock still, her mind running over only vague impressions of thoughts relating to what she just heard, until another loud sound whips her back around. This time she actually sees something, like a huge firework in the pastel oil-slick sky, accompanied by Bill's obnoxious voice echoing through the space.

"Let the game begin!"

[spiritualgateway]

The crisis virus

written by Steven Black:

While you look around and get the impression that the whole world has gone crazy and is going nuts, you have to realize: This is all perfectly normal and has happened over and over again. With the pest plague, the cholera and the Spanish flu – people reacted with unreasonableness, resentment and rebellion, against ordered measures.

With the plague, people selectively believed that bad winds, an unfavorable constellation of Mars, Jupiter and Saturn or the contaminated water were to blame because the Jews were poisoning the wells. As a logical consequence of such thinking, persecution of Jews throughout Europe occurred. Entire Jewish quarters were burned down and their inhabitants murdered.

Oh yes, a punishment by God was also possible. Even then, in the early 14th century, quarantine and isolation were ordered – as a very late measure.

In the case of cholera, 1831, quarantine and isolation were also applied. From the chronicle of the german city Stettin of this time, one learns:

„The burial of the deceased, buried in a special newly built churchyard […] aroused fear and horror, especially among the lower classes of the inhabitants. These precautions were made even worse by the complete blockade of traffic, which deprived a large part of the inhabitants of their livelihoods and probably also their means of subsistence. The lower classes could not bear this state of affairs and, believing the most absurd rumors, saw in the precautions taken only the means to their perdition.

„The prolonged duration of the cordoning off increased the bitterness, the excitement grew with each passing day, so that the workers most affected were finally inclined to use force to overturn the hated coercive rules.

„…because the agitated crowd, misled by some troublemakers, was under the delusion that cholera and security measures were only being used „to exterminate the common rabble.

The Spanish Flu, 1918 – 1919, rolled over the globe in three successive waves and claimed millions of lives. Conjecture and conspiracy theories arose among the most diverse peoples. Some saw the disease as the devil’s work of German agents, and Germany was suspected of either using insidious biological weapons or poisoning aspirin tablets from the pharmaceutical manufacturer Bayer in order to win the world war. Another theory, widespread at the time, was that the flu had been imported from Spain in tins, which had been poisoned by the Germans who had brought the Spanish canneries under their control. Or it was oraculated that the cause was consequential damages of the war by poison gas missions, which were caused by the exhalations from the mountains of corpses of the battlefields. And of course there was also the evergreen that it was a punishment from God …

First with the second wave, the danger was really recognized and flu alarm systems were introduced, quarantines were imposed over ports and railroad stations, isolation stations in hospitals were set up. „Social Distancing“ was ordered, mass gatherings were prohibited. Schools, theaters, markets and churches were closed. The use of face masks and disinfectants was recommended and in some areas made mandatory by law.

Those who refused to wear face masks were fined. By the way, later studies proved that the prohibition of mass events and the requirement to wear a mouth-and-nose mask reduced the death rate in American cities by up to 50 percent. Where it was not prescribed by law, i.e. only announced as a recommendation, there were many more deaths. The same thing is currently happening in Sweden.

The Corona Virus – today

100 years after the Spanish flu, a new medical crisis is entering the global stage. And just as with the plague, cholera and Spanish flu, where fear and uncertainty accompanied the daily events, the most colorful rumors and theories are flourishing. There seems to be a lid for every pot.

Some political party sees the Corona virus as an obvious foreigner epidemic. Logically, migrants must be to blame for it too. Within the extreme right groups the old perennial argument is active that the Jews are to blame for Corona.

Many vaccination critics freak out at the name Bill Gates, who allegedly wants to decimate humanity and enslave it with microchips. He has the WHO, the media and Angela Merkel personally in his pocket. Then there are people who believe that the new 5 G technology is the real cause of the Corona virus. The Qanon community believes that the virus is merely an excuse for Donald Trump to free thousands of poor, tortured children from underground tunnels.

There are an ever increasing number of people who believe that the virus is nothing more than a normal flu. There is also the idea that this Corona virus does not exist – it would all be just an excuse to get rid of cash and have a controlled financial crash. The usual suspects also know exactly from whom and why – of course to enforce the infamous New World Order, either by the „Deep State“, the „Kabale“ or the „Illuminati“.

A few fundamentalist church officials also took up the same cause:

In a text entitled „A Call for the Church and for the World – to Catholics and all people of good will“, signed among others by the German Cardinal Gerhard Ludwig Müller and initiated by Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, former Pontifical Ambassador to the USA, the Corona measures were sharply criticized. The signatories had previously spoken out against bans on worship because of the corona virus and they are all arch-conservative opponents of the current pope. The text stated: „It is a fact that under the pretext of the Covid 19 epidemic, in many cases inalienable rights of citizens have been violated and their fundamental freedoms have been disproportionately and unjustifiably restricted, including the right to freedom of religion, freedom of expression and freedom of movement.

It was further stated that there is reason to believe „that there are forces that are interested in creating panic among the population. Their goal is to permanently enforce „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom and the associated control over persons and the persecution of all their movements“. „These illiberal attempts at control are the disturbing prelude to the creation of a world government that eludes all control“.

Personal note: By the way – dear church idiots: What about the „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom“ of my mind, by your religious doctrine? Or „the associated control over persons“, where you let people slide around on their knees and establish a sense of sacrifice by having a figure nailed to a cross worshiped? But a „God’s world government“ would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?  

Anyway, I don’t really expect an answer to that. But what else you should know – the signatories represent an arch-conservative, right-wing current within the Catholic Church. They fervently hate the current pope because he accepts homosexuality and divorce as facts of life and is open to pro-migration and capitalism-critical positions. It is also no coincidence that these clerics of all people are waving their fear of a „new world order“ around. The whole thing is organized by a notorious ultra-right-wing populist – namely Steve Bannon. The man who brought Donald Trump to power through tons of fake news and conspiracy theories.

By the way, there are strong indications that the art product „QAnon“, a fictitious Internet personality, is a product of Steve Bannon. He is the thinking head and mastermind of the so-called new right.

The American government, led by Donald Trump, sees itself as the victim of a Chinese conspiracy initiated either by a mysterious „Deep State“ or preferably by the Democrats – which is one and the same thing in his case. Evangelical clerics see the Corona virus as a punishment from God for homosexuality. A handful of doctors contradict the official statements and believe that the Corona virus is little more than a common flu. The population would get scared over nothing and wearing masks would be very unhealthy. And in the chest tone of conviction, many an empathy-free idiot rambles that it would only affect pre-existing patients who would have died soon anyway.  You know, just collateral damage …

In the USA, the president himself is the main accelerator of emotional states. There were protests against the curfews in several US cities and about 3000 demonstrators, some of them armed and wearing Trump campaign caps and flags, took to the streets in Michigan. Encouraged by Donald, who tweeted „Free Michigan,“ dozens of gunmen entered the parliament building in the city of Lansing.

In Germany and Austria, people suddenly took to the streets and demonstrated against the corona measures of their government. Against an alleged panic-mongering, against an allegedly intended compulsory vaccination, against the curtailment of their basic rights, against an allegedly threatened freedom of opinion, against the obligation to wear masks, against an alleged „Corona dictatorship“, against a „New World Order“ by Bill Gates and much more. What one would not have thought possible before, happened now:

People who call themselves „leftists“, right-wing conservatives, neo-Nazis, people of the freeman movement, spiritual people, and also people who had never been involved with any of the groups mentioned before, stood together in a public square and chanted „We are the people“. And of course they did not wear masks, and of course they did not keep a „minimum distance“. With righteous indignation they held flyers in their hands where „The Basic Law“ is written on them and lamented a loss of it. Although the basic right to personal liberties was only limited due to the situation and receded into the background in favor of the basic right to personal integrity of EVERYONE, suddenly not only the Corona virus seemed to mutate.

A wide range of people suddenly mutated into virus specialists and health experts, legal luminaries and political insiders. It was not at all helpful if individual physicians and virologists publicly held different views, which are not in accordance with the scientific consensus. These people were suddenly elevated to „heroes of „truth“ and made anti-witnesses of the establishment.      

Like moths to a flame, all the discontented, angry opponents of the system, critics of capitalism, right-wing populists pouring oil on the fire, bawling bald-headed people and „Merkel must go“ yellers flocked together and mingled with yoga practitioners, meditators, as well as people who simply wanted a „better system“. Emotional fire accelerators like KenFM, Sven Liebich, Lügenstöckl, NPD offshoots and various AFD supporters moderated the „happening“ and it did not take long until this situation led to the foundation of a new party – called „Resistance 2020“. Founded by Victoria Hamm, the Sinsheim swindle doctor Bodo Schiffmann and the Leipzig lawyer Ralf Ludwig.

The appeal of „Resistance 2020“ continued as long as Covid 19 and the restrictions imposed by governments were highly active. In the meantime this has abated. First the chairwoman Victoria Hamm stepped down from the party (because of internal differences of opinion), her replacement, the chairwoman of the supervisory board of „Humanimity“, Sandra Wesolek, also threw in the towel soon after. And now also the founder and vice-chairman of the party, Bodo Schiffmann, has left Resistance 2020. Only Ralf Ludwig remains, who keeps the coma patient „Resistance 2020“ alive.

In conclusion – it will not yet be completely silent about the topic Covid – 19, but it slowly fades in its importance. At least for the moment. If we are lucky and there will be no 2nd or third wave, it will stay that way.      

Crisis intensification

Another topic has now captured the attention of the world, people and media – a topic that has never been completely absent: racism and police brutality in the USA.

The violent death of the African-American George Floyd, after a police operation, was followed by peaceful protests in the USA, but there were also riots and looting. And as in dealing with the corona virus, Donald Trump shifts to denial of the structural problem, puts the blame on others and does just about anything to pour even more fire into the heated atmosphere.

Under the hashtag #blackllivesmatter, which has been known since 2013 and is a name for an African-American civil rights movement, people are gathering again to demonstrate against state arbitrariness, police brutality and unfair treatment of dark-skinned people. Previous slogans of the movement, such as „Hands up, don’t shoot“, „White silence is violence“, „No justice, no peace“, „Is my son next?“ are being used again, including the now popular „I can’t breathe“ and „BlackOutTuesday“.

It is no longer just a movement of the „black community“. Within just a few days, numerous politicians, celebrities and large companies have raised their voices and spoken out in favor of the BlackLivesMatter movement. More and more representatives of the video game industry are also joining in. Sony, for example, has refrained from presenting the new Playstation 5 due to the current situation. But also companies like Microsoft, Activision, EA, Massive Entertainment, Square Enix, Bethesda, Naughty Dog, Disney, Marvel, Warner Bros, and many other global big players made clear statements against racism and expressed their solidarity. Over 50 influential companies have donated large sums of money to the movement.

Yes, Soros‘ Open Society Foundation is one of them (about $33 million), but is rather outdone by all others, especially FORD Foundation and Borealis Philanthropy (about $100 million). Also worthy of mention are the Hill-Snowden Foundation, Solidaire, the NoVo Foundation, the Association of Black Foundation Executives, the Neighborhood Funders Group-Funders for Justice, Anonymous Donors, and many more.  

It is already becoming apparent that this issue could potentially break Donald Trump’s neck and prevent his re-election. „Poor Donald“, after his mismanagement in the Corona crisis became visible to everyone, now police brutality and racism challenge him. And here again he reacts headlessly and impulse-driven instead of showing presidential leadership. Instead he meets the problem in the familiar perpetrator-victim reversal tactic.

Incidentally, the same thing happens as in the Covid 19 demonstrations in Austria and Germany – extreme right-wing „withe supremacy“ agitators mingle with the demonstrators. They incite people and loot, start brawls and set fire to buildings. Incited by Donald Trump, who simply claimed that it was „the ANTIFA“ that was firing up the demonstrations, his followers do everything in their power to discredit the movement and make it look bad in the eyes of the public.

In a series of messages, a Twitter account called „Antifa US“ had called on protesters to march into neighborhoods and „take what is ours“. Twitter itself had cleared up the fact that behind this account „American Identity Movement“ is the extreme right-wing formerly known as „Identity Evropa“, that was behind the protest and deleted the account.

Blacklivesmatter is a movement that I wholeheartedly endorse. What I find less good about it is that this conglomeration of people is happening on the streets while the corona virus is still highly active in the  world. There is also no question of keeping a distance, a large majority can be seen wearing masks during the protests, but not all of them. I fear that this will have some unpleasant consequences. But the German demonstrations against a „Corona dictatorship“ and against police arbitrariness and brutality by blacklivesmatter could not be more different.

The sense of demonstrating against a world domination by Bill Gates and an alleged forced chippings or because one is forced to wear a mask temporarily stinks against blacklivesmatter. This is about addressing really important issues of the human species. The core statement of „Blacklivesmatter“ is – “ stop treating us like shit!“

It did not take long, of course, for the rumor mill to start bubbling on this topic as well and the „usual suspects“ went peddling „THE truth“ about it to everyone. You know, from „it’s all a government diversion“ to George Floyd wouldn’t be dead. It would all be a false flag operation and George Soros would be behind the protests. Xavier Naidoo also tells his followers about it and although the man from Mannheim had his own experiences with racism, he is not too stupid to devalue the blacklivesmatter movement. He described the demonstrators who are now taking to the streets against racism and police violence as hypocrites. And ends with a whataboutism rant – „anyone who comes up with an organization called Black lives matter is a divider“.

Naidoo justified his statement by saying that for him all lives count. Sounds plausible on the surface but clearly demonstrates that he did not understand the fundamental problem at all. Naidoo parrots something he has probably read or heard from Alex Jones or another opponent from the disinformation movement. The blacklivesmatter movement has been struggling with such whataboutism arguments from the beginning, since 2013. Not surprisingly, „All Lives Matter“ is often used as a counter-argument by the racist „white supremacy“ groups.

Barack Obama found good words for this: „I think the reason why the organizers use the term „Black Lives Matter“ was not because they wanted to imply that other lives do not matter. They are saying that there is a specific problem in the African American community that does not exist in other communities. This is a legitimate problem that we need to address.

Sounds logical, right? It is. Let’s say you broke your arm and you go to the doctor. He won’t tell you – „all bones count“, but will turn to the current problem. The bone that is just broken. If your house is on fire, the fire department will not tell you “ all houses caunt“ – they will simply put out the fire.  

If you come to blacklivesmatter with alllivesmatter, you are part of the problem not the solution. This tries to ignore or disguise the problem by directing the criticism behind it to another topic.

It is definitely crisis – and virus time

A virus form that is completely unknown to most people is going around and is at least as infectious as Covid 19. They are mental and emotional viruses. Positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. Created by humans every day and they influence all humans, more or less.

We are usually not used to accept the idea that our thoughts as well as our feelings and the words we utter have substantial meanings. Substantial is literally meant here – both thoughts, emotions and words contain substances that act as carriers of their expression. Through which the respective content of thoughts, feelings/emotions and words is transported, which always involves an „inaudible“, complex bundling of frequencies and takes on form, sound and tones. We do not „just think“, we generate a thought form for it, depending on the intensity of our respective thoughts – a kind of „pale being“.

And we do not „just feel“, we generate emotional signatures that can be perceived, „read“, felt and recognized by other people, consciously or unconsciously. We do not „just talk“, our words always convey a large context of mental and emotional content. Whoever listens carefully can often discover contradictions in the words, because the transported feelings are not in harmony with them.

As the person we are, we resemble a piano. We are a musical instrument with many keys and tones, with which the most diverse vibration frequencies can be expressed. Depending on how well we have learned to handle our instrument and how the individual tones are tuned, it will decide how harmonious or disharmonious our personal sound, our own melody, is. Everything we think, feel, say or do sounds through us and creates sounds that are received by others.

The more sensitive a person is or the better he can listen, the more contents of his counterpart he will be able to perceive. How aware someone is or is not of these levels, however, is basically irrelevant. The thought forms, emotional content, sounds and frequencies of other people are also perceived unconsciously. Basically, we all speak through individualized codes – the spoken or written words mean nothing in themselves. The linear arrangement of symbols (letters) that form words has a meaning for us because they are charged with emotional and mental sounds that form a kind of overall picture. We all encode such images on a daily basis and send them out from us. And we all decode every day a huge accumulation of sent consciousness images – which we have either seen, heard or read.

How much we are influenced by the opinions of other people or media – their generated images – depends to a large extent on our own identity structure. And on the respective topics that are founded in it.

Our exchange of information and images becomes a virus – either constructive or destructive – when it spreads in wide circles and becomes more and more emotionally charged. Our thoughts, emotions and the words we speak not only influence ourselves, but also other people. This means we infect other people with our ideas. And other people infect us with their ideas. If an idea or assertion fascinates, impresses, captivates or outrages us, it can go so far that we forget the origin and, spurred on by the charge of an idea, run amok with it.

All of us together are embedded in a collective frequency field, which is reflected in personal, national and global situations. None of us is virtually „an island“, we all manipulate and influence each other. We can hardly escape this, unless we have no contact to other people anymore. But even then it would probably be difficult to escape the collective astral field.

The collective field contains positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. We encounter emotional and mental viruses all the time, but nowhere in such a concentrated form as in the „social media“. In this respect, the Internet is a single, gigantic virus slingshot. And all of us who make use of it cannot get away with it.

The opinion of others

The technical development of the Internet has made it possible for us to be exposed to a storm of opinions and views on a daily basis in a way that has never been possible before. About 22,510 GB of data are fed into the Internet every second. That is about 2 billion GB per day (exactly 1,944,864.00 GB [2015]). YouTube has a monthly data volume of about 16 Exabyte (Exabyte = 1018 Byte). About 3 million videos per hour are consumed on YouTube. There are 1. 012 315 000 websites on the net. About 16 million of these websites are hacked annually.

About 4 million new blog entries are written every day, 80 million photos are uploaded to Instagram, 618 million „tweets“ are posted – that is 7130 tweets per second. Facebook processes 2.5 billion pieces of content, 2.7 billion likes and 300 million photos every day. All in all, this adds up to a daily data volume of more than 500 terabytes, just for FB alone. About 4 billion search queries are made daily via Google and 10 billion videos are viewed on YouTube. And these numbers will increase, the rush on our inner senses will become more and more intense.

One drama after the other is being chased through the internet every day. An ever-increasing number of bloggers and websites vie for our daily attention. And hardly anybody takes the time to ask themselves, is it really true what I hear or read? What is it really about? And what would be even more important: Does it really have anything to do with ME? Is this really MINE? Or did I just get infected with an emotional virus that is related to a personal topic?

Although we humans generally assume that we have reasonable opinions and justifiable arguments, or that we see the world with clear eyes – this is rarely the case. Each of us lives in our own reality and we all believe that the world is as we secretly assume it to be. The perspective of how we see the world is largely based on the filter of our own beliefs.

One of the effects that has come through the Internet is the amazing development that many people have become aware of how the mainstream press often reports manipulatively or at least with omission – and sometimes doesn’t present the whole picture. By the way, this is not the fault of the press. Nobody can cover all sides of a story, and certainly not in a single article. If you want to know halfway exactly what’s going on, you have to make an effort yourself and look at different perspectives. But the same people then believe every shit that somebody says on YouTube. Actually, many people today don’t believe anything anymore.

But „alternative facts“ to the corona crisis, you believe them. Doctors who are not virologists or virologists who have not been up to date in this field for a long time, we listen to them more than to the top specialists.

We believe that a statesman who uses victim reversal as a means of perpetration. People who lament with a chest sound of the conviction that the Basic Law is in danger – we let ourselves be influenced by that. We reject a black civil rights movement because we allow ourselves to be persuaded that this means that not all lives count. One encounters „BlackLivesMatter“ with WhiteLivesMatter or „AllLivesMatter. Or if someone once again complains – „you’re not allowed to say all this anymore“ – we agree with indignation. Not realizing that he/she has just said it on Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, blogs, etc. Which of course leads the statement ad absurdum, but somehow we don’t really notice it anymore.

A youth movement for environmental awareness, „Friday for future“, is met with „Friday for poverty in old age“. Renewable forms of energy, such as wind turbines that generate renewable electricity, are met with „but they kill innocent insects“. If you read somewhere, in any newspaper, that right-wing extremist violence has increased again in the last year, you don’t have to wait long for someone to comment „hey, what about left-wing violence? A women’s movement for sexual abuse and violence is countered with the argument that there is also abuse of women against men. An African-American movement against police brutality and structural racism is countered with „and what about racism against whites? Particularly deep-seated – „what about racism against Germans?

What is actually wrong with us?

Why do we let „whataboutism arguments“ manipulate us? Why can’t we see through the transparency of such cheap maneuvers and recognize that they distract us from the actual core of a situation or a justified criticism and divert our attention to another area?  

Besides all the positive and constructive things the Internet stands for, there is also a dark side to it. Among other things it is misused for a modern form of witch hunts and witch burning. Angela Merkel, Greta Thunberg, Barack Obama, George Soros, Bill Gates, the Rothschilds, Rockefeller and many other public figures are burned at some Internet stake every day, applauded and cheered. And this comes not only from the right, but from all sides. If you look at the comments on such postings, you can observe the violent reactions, where a storm of indignation, anger and hatred is unleashed, which is then projected onto the designated persons.

The art of differentiation seems to have become a lost art.

There is such a variety of information and opinions, often colored by interests, sometimes just imaginatively lied about and only partially true, that it would basically take some time and energy to separate the facts from rumors and lies. A personal effort that hardly anyone is willing to put in, or perhaps doesn’t have the time.

But that is what we all have to learn.

Media competence

Without media competence, we run the risk of drowning in the flood of information. Not only reading texts, but also watching YouTube videos or films today requires more and more critical discernment. The critical filtering of information, comments, text content and the images offered in addition, is proving to be an ever increasing challenge. Today, for every x any topic, completely different and often contradictory opinions are in circulation. And we are experiencing the phenomenon that people often only read the headlines of articles and not the whole article. The attention threshold has become extremely low for some people. Headlines alone can lead to emotional convulsions …

It is important that we learn to understand how communication works and how information affects us. When we read or hear words, we don’t just sort the meaning of the words and sum them up in a particular context. We also record all the unsaid, the energetic, mental and emotional signatures that the speaker or writer gives to their words. It is already scientifically known that in communications, brains are synchronized. To a synchronization of brain waves that goes beyond mere speech processing. It will not be long before we discover that this synchronization does not only occur in spoken communication, but in any kind of communication, even when the information is transported via screens.

If we identify with what someone writes or says because something within us resonates with it, then synchronization occurs with the mental, intellectual and emotional content that is presented to us. Emotional content of all kinds affects the heart field, the glands and the electrochemical energies of the body, i.e. the energetic environment in the body, which causes either an increase or decrease of the personal energy level.

The question that arises is, what do I focus my personal attention on? And can I think for myself or do I simply take over every piece of information offered to me, which includes concepts and perspectives from other people that I usually don’t even know? If we take over everything that strangers prepare for us, we are condemned to walk around with concepts that are not our own.

But the only person who has a responsibility here, what kind of information he lets into his system, is me. The only person who is able to differentiate between the information and my personal feeling about it is me. The only one who can learn to check the opinions of others is me. Nobody will do that for me.

Nevertheless, it is also true that constant effort, investigation, checking and research is no guarantee for a secure knowledge – sometimes you are simply confronted with the fact that you cannot know at the moment! But you can learn to endure that.

What we see is in my eyes, in many respects, an expression of a massive crisis of orientation and a resulting upheaval. Humanity is beginning to define itself anew, once again. We are moving from an age where people were rather „prisoners of their consciousness“ and their experience, to an epoch where people understand that they are NOT their consciousness. But that his consciousness is an attribute, a quality, his very own being and his creative power. And how this is expressed, lies in his very personal responsibility.

The old psychological self of humanity, which accepted oppression of the weak, predator capitalism, perpetrator-victim conversion, wars, exploitation of earth and humanity, will be replaced. But this old energy is struggling for survival. Hard and fierce. We are far from being through this.

One thing can be sure – the next crisis is waiting. And again it will be driven through the Internet village in an over-dramatized way. Where will you stand then? To which side will you then give your spiritual support? What will you be guided by? Your reason and your own views after you have dealt with the situation to some extent or will you follow the emotional pull that was triggered by the opinions of others?

What kind of sound will you add to the overall melody?

Until next time same station

DISCLAIMER: Nothing you read here is THE truth. It is my truth. My perception and how I see things – now, in this moment.

THE INFORMATION SPACE

[orangeoctopi7]

Spiderstan AU Chapter 12

RESEARCH

No one was in a good mood the next morning. Stan was still nursing a huge headache as he recovered from the last bits of Gremloblin neurotoxin. Ford was still cross with Stan for endangering himself and Fiddleford the previous day, as well as a bit distracted thinking about what Bill could possibly be sending him. And poor Fiddleford had obviously not slept a wink last night, although whether that was due to discomfort from the broken arm or anxiety after the Gremloblin attack was unclear. 

“Are either of you feeling up to retrieving our supplies?” Ford asked as they all poked at a breakfast of instant oatmeal.

“No.” Stan grumbled into his bowl, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though he could draw the tension out from behind his eyes.

“...Fiddleford?” Ford asked when his friend didn’t respond. The inventor looked up with a start.

“Wh-what?” he reacted as though someone had just threatened him.

“I just want to know if you’re feeling up to going back up the hill and retrieving the supplies we had to leave behind.”

McGucket fidgeted with the sling that was holding his broken arm in place. “N-n-no, no I don’t think so.”

Ford frowned with concern. “Alright. I should be able to manage on my own with the amulet of levitation. Stanley, could you at least take Fiddleford to the hospital, so you can get a professional to set it and provide a proper cast?”

“Waste of money, if y’ask me.” Stan grunted.

“I didn’t ask you.” Ford hissed. “Fiddleford, I suppose it’s your own choice whether you want to go see a doctor or not.”

“No! I’m not crazy! I’m not seein’ no shrink!” his friend snapped.

“...I meant for your arm.” Stanford clarified, after a moment of stunned silence.

“...Oh. R-right…. Yeah… r-reckon I oughta…” 

“Look, buddy, if you don’t wanna go to the hospital, no judgement here.” Stan assured the inventor. “And if you do wanna go, I’ll drive ya, just don’t expect me to come in with you.”

“They don’t charge you for sitting in the waiting room, Stan.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“No, but if I ask for a cup of water, they’d probably add it to your bill.” Stan countered.

Ford stood and grabbed his coat, along with a small turquoise stone set in a brass broach. “Well, you two work out what you want to do. I’m going to go retrieve our things.”

“Try not to get yourself killed while you’re off on your own, ok?” Stan called after him as he left.

“I’ll be fine, mom!”

Stan and McGucket just sat chewing their oatmeal for another moment or two before either of them spoke again.

“So, uh, just to be clear, did you want me to drive you to the hospital, or…?”

“Oh, I reckon I should go.” McGucket nodded, more confident this time. “Mainly ‘cuz this make-shift cast an’ sling Stanford made fer me ain’t ‘xactly comfer’ble. A professional one’ll prob’ly be better protection, too.”

“Alright, we’ll go in a minute, just lemme finish eating.”

“While we’re out, I think we oughta talk ‘bout Stanford’s, uh, mysterious friend.”

Stan grimaced. “Yeah. I think that thing was here again last night. I was too out of it to go check, though.”

“Does it show up every night?” McGucket asked anxiously.

“Nah, I only felt it a few times while you were gone.” Stan informed him. “And two of those were during the day. I dunno what that thing’s deal is.”

“That’s ‘xactly why we gotta learn more ‘bout it.” the inventor. “It don’t seem like Ford’s gonna be very forthcoming with information, so we’ll have to start askin’ around the town.”

“How do we do that in a way that, y’know, doesn’t make people think we’re crazy?”

Fiddleford flinched at Stan’s words, and he needed a few seconds to regain his composure.

“Like I said before, lots’a Native American artefacts round the valley have that one-eyed triangle on it. I’m sure if’n we just ask people if they know what it is or where it comes from, act like we’re jus’ interested in the history, that won’t turn no heads.”

“Yeah, cuz I’m sure people will believe a guy like me is just interested in history.”

“Why not? Nobody here knows you ‘cept maybe as Ford’s brother, if they don’t just mistake you for ‘im outright. It ain’t that hard to believe.”

Stan opened his mouth to argue, but Fiddleford had a point. Maybe this would work.

* * *

After dropping Fiddleford off at the hospital, Stan started asking around about the yellow triangle thing. While most folks at least recognized the symbol when Stan drew it, no one really knew where it came from or what it was, other than something associated with the illuminati. Nobody knew about its connections to local Native American folklore. Stan supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, it wasn’t like he expected the hospital receptionist to be an expert on Native American history.

Thankfully, Fiddleford’s checkup didn’t take too long. Stan had just wrapped up a conversation with an old farmer when the inventor stepped back into the waiting room, wearing a new cast.

“Any luck?” McGucket asked as they climbed back into Stan’s car.

“No. Shockingly, none of these yokels know anything about our mysterious visitor.”

“Hmmm, I reckon we’ll have better luck researchin’ at the library.”

Stan groaned loudly.

“What’ve you got against libraries?” Fiddleford asked, like an insult to the library was as bad as a personal insult.

“Nothin’, libraries are great, they’re some place I can go for air conditioning or heating and just sit around for a few hours without raisin’ a fuss. What I ain’t a fan of is researching.”

Fiddleford chuckled and shook his head. “Well, lucky for you I’m plenty experienced in that department. S’pose you could chat with the librarians while I do the book research.

The library was nearly empty, considering it was the middle of the day on a Wednesday. Of course, that meant the librarians weren’t too preoccupied to answer some questions. One helped Fiddleford search the catalog for books on the local tribes’ history and folklore, while the other talked to Stan.

“Ah yes, you see a lot of this figure in ancient art.” The librarian nodded. “Many people erroneously assume it’s a Freemason or illuminati symbol, but it actually becomes much less common after European contact.”

“Why’s that?” Stan asked.

“Hmm, I’ll admit I don’t know. We haven’t got access to any recordings of local oral tradition. Although I’ve heard many Native American communities are starting to tape that sort of thing. If you really want to know the original story behind that symbol, you should go to the original source!”

“Yeah, cuz I’m sure they’re eager to share the story with some random white guy.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure as long as you’re respectful, they’d just be happy someone is taking an interest. Warm Springs Reservation is only about an hour and a half drive from here, they’re a confederation of Tenino, Wasco, and Paiute tribes. They have a museum, you should go pay them a visit.”

Respectful wasn’t usually in Stan’s vocabulary, but he supposed this case was an exception.

Seeing as the librarian didn’t have much more info for Stan, he contented himself with browsing the library’s comics section while Fiddleford did his book research. The nerd took much less time than Stan had been expecting.

“This library’s collection of local Native American folklore ain’t what I’d call extensive.” Fiddleford shook his head, “I was only able to find a couple of tangential references to the thing. All I got is it’s associated with knowledge.”

“Hmph, no wonder Ford’s buddy-buddy with it.”

“What ‘bout you, did the librarian have any more info for ya?”

“Not really, but she did recommend I go visit the nearest reservation and check out their museum. Not a bad idea really, ‘snot like we’ve gotten any info from anyone else. Plus, I bet they’ve got a casino!”

“That’s not really gonna help us figure anything out.”

“No, but it’ll help me blow off steam. Besides, Ford’ll be suspicious if I suddenly wanna visit a Native American museum. I’m coverin’ my tracks.”

* * *

Thanks to Ford’s photographic memory and stopping to get directions from a passing gnome, the young researcher was able to find their gear and carry it back to Fiddleford’s truck in just a few hours. Retracing his steps brought back memories of their hike, both good and bad. That night around the campfire had been nice, talking about their plans for the future, joking with Stan… but then the next morning, he’d overhead his friends talking behind his back.

“...And while you were on vacation, he kinda implied he wasn't up here alone before you moved in. I think this has been going on for a while. Maybe even years. Did you ever notice anything weird right after you moved in?"

"Other than that creepy triangle symbol everywhere? Not really…"

Ford grit his teeth, and the levitating objects in front of him wobbled. Didn’t they trust him? Even if he couldn’t tell them about Bill, couldn’t they at least understand that he was just doing what he could to further their research? Why did they automatically assume Bill was dangerous?

“...They could have at least asked me…” The researcher muttered under his breath.

“WELL, THEY COULD HAVE, BUT WE BOTH KNOW YOU WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO GIVE THEM A STRAIGHT ANSWER.”

“Bill!” Ford startled in surprise.

“HEYA SIXER, THOUGHT I’D COME KEEP YOU COMPANY WHILE YOU PICK UP AFTER YOUR BROTHER’S MESS.”

“Thank you, Bill, I appreciate it.” Ford smiled gratefully.

“HEY, WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR! NOT LIKE THOSE JERKS WHO LEFT YOU TO DO THIS ON YOUR OWN.”

“Well, that’s not their fault. They’re both still recovering from the Gremloblin attack yesterday.”

“SO, WHAT’S EATIN’ YA, SIXER? BESIDES YOUR OWN BODY’S METABOLISM SLOWLY BURNING ITSELF OUT.”

Ford sighed. “I just wish I could tell them about you. It’d make things so much easier!”

Bill tisked. “THEIR REACTION TO MY HELP AT THE ALIEN SHIP IS PROOF ENOUGH, THEY JUST WOULDN’T GET IT.”

“But if I had a chance to explain--”

“WE’VE ALREADY DISCUSSED THIS, FORDSY. EVEN IF THEY DO TAKE YOUR EXPLANATION SERIOUSLY AND DON’T THINK YOU’VE FINALLY LOST IT, ARE YOU REALLY NAIVE ENOUGH TO BELIEVE THEY’LL JUST GO ON SUPPORTING YOU? WE BOTH KNOW WHAT STANO’S LIKE WHEN YOU’RE ABOUT TO MOVE ON TO SOMETHING BIGGER AND BETTER. AND FOUR-EYES ALREADY ADMITTED TO YOUR FACE HE’D RATHER BE WORKING ON HIS OWN PROJECTS BACK HOME WITH HIS FAMILY. YOU REALLY THINK HE WOULDN’T TAKE THE FACT THAT YOU’VE GOT ME AS A SIGN HE’S OK TO PACK UP AND HEAD BACK HOME?”

“N-no, he wouldn’t… I still need his help!”

“HMMM, MAYBE YOU’RE RIGHT. MAYBE HE’D HELP HIMSELF TO YOUR PRELIMINARY RESEARCH AND PUBLISH IT HIMSELF FIRST.”

“Fiddleford’s my friend, he wouldn’t do that!”

“OH RIGHT, I FORGOT! YOU TWO ARE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS YOU’D NEVER LIE TO EACH OTHER OR TALK BEHIND THE OTHER’S BACK!”

Ford did not have a good rationalization for that.

“I’M JUST SAYING, STANFORD, BE CAREFUL WHO YOU TRUST!”

* * *

Stan and McGucket were helping themselves to a late lunch when Ford returned with their equipment. 

“So you went to the hospital after all.” Ford observed, nodding at Fiddleford’s new cast.

“Oh, yep…” Fiddleford answered. The inventor still seemed anxious and distracted.

“How long did they say you’d need to wear the cast?”

“‘Bout a week…” Fiddleford tapped his foot nervously.

Ford frowned. “I was hoping we’d be able to start connecting the hyperdrive to the portal tonight, but I supposed Stanley could help lift the superstructure.”

“Mmmnope.” Stanley declined. “I’m headin’ out to the casino tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“To gamble, genius, what do you think I’m gonna do at a casino?”

“No, I mean… why do you feel the need to go to a casino?”

“Have a little fun, make a little cash.”

“...Is this because I still haven’t gone grocery shopping?”

“What!? No, for cryin’ out loud, Ford, I just wanna go out and spend a night on the town!”

“On a Wednesday?”

“Yeah, that’s how you beat the crowds! I figure I deserve a break after fighting a monster and getting poisoned!”

“Oh…” Ford deflated. “... that’s fair. But… you’re coming back afterwards, right?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, your latest specimen isn’t gonna fly the coop.”

Stanford frowned at his brother’s comment, but didn’t offer a retort. Instead he set about fixing his own late lunch. “So yet another day goes by where we make no progress on the portal project.”

“Stanford, I know yer eager to make your mark and get answers, but there really ain’t any reason we can’t take another day or two!” Fiddleford assured him. “There ain’t no ‘Weirdness Rush’ yet.”

“Perhaps, but one thing I’ve learned over the last six years here is that it’s far too easy to get distracted by every little fascinating thing one comes across here. If we don’t stay focused, we could easily keep putting it off until it just never gets done. I prefer to strike while the iron is hot.”

“Well, you keep striking iron, Ford.” Stan waved him off. “Tonight, I’m hopin’ to strike gold!”

* * *

After Stan left, the two scientists spent the night going over calculations and carefully inspecting the hyperdrive. Ford was disappointed they wouldn’t be able to start hooking it up to the mechanics of the portal just yet, but it was the kind of delicate mechanical work he only trusted McGucket with. He wished he had some more manual work to preoccupy his mind tonight. The young researcher had a hard time focusing on his calculations; his mind kept wandering to his brother.

If Stan won the jackpot, he’d be able to support himself. He wouldn’t have any more reason to stay here and work with me… Would he even come back? Would he even bother telling us?

Ford sighed with frustration as he realized he’d just read the same equation three times over. He really needed something to keep his hands occupied while he worked. He reached over to McGucket’s desk for what he often did when he needed something to keep his hands busy, and picked up his friend’s Cubics Cube. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed it still hadn’t been solved since the last time he scrambled it. He’d never seen Fiddleford leave it unsolved for more than a few hours. He glanced over to see the young inventor also seemed to be having trouble focusing on his work.

“You can’t concentrate either?” Ford asked, noticing how Fiddleford’s knee kept up a steady pace of 2 kbps, but his eyes stayed fixed at the top of the page he was supposed to be checking.

Fiddleford startled at his friend’s words. “S-sorry, jus’ tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Ford offered him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t imagine so. I’m sure you’ll be on the mend soon enough though.”

“Mmm.” McGucket hummed noncommittally. “And how ‘bout you, what’s keepin’ you from concentratin’?” 

The researcher hemmed and hawed for a moment before he finally settled on an answer. “I suppose I’m a bit concerned with Stanley. I know he’s staying here because he’s got nowhere else to go, and I’m happy to give him a place to stay, but if things go well for him at the casino tonight… why would he stay here if he suddenly acquires the means to support himself?”

McGucket huffed a small chuckle and rolled his eyes. “It’s like I keep tellin’ ya Ford, you oughta be tellin’ him this stuff, and not me! If’n you really want him to stay, then you gotta be honest with him!”

“I-I am!” Ford insisted, willfully ignoring the fact that he was not, in fact, being honest about Bill. That didn’t count. He’d tell Stan if he thought Stan needed to know.

The inventor just rolled his eyes again. “Mama was right, can’t be honest with others if’n ya ain’t honest with yerself first.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean, ya lost yer temper with me the last time I brought it up!”

Ford scoffed. “I am not under some deluded hope that if Stan stays, it will magically solve our issues.”

Fiddleford nodded. “Yeah, it does seem like you two are past that point. Now you’re just wantin’ to keep him around ‘cuz he’s your brother and you’ll miss him!”

The atmosphere of the room instantly went cold, and the pages of calculations in Fords hands crinkled as his grip tightened. “I would absolutely. Never. Try and keep Stan around. Just because I would miss him.” He enunciated through clenched teeth. “I… I simply… I have his best interests in mind! And the interest of my research! But I’m not trying to keep him here! He’s free to leave! He--he’s free to pursue other interests!”

McGucked raised his hands placatingly. Obviously, he had touched a nerve. “I’m sorry, I misspoke! I jus’ meant to say you care about him is all!”

“Of course I care about him! When was that ever in question!?”

Fiddleford gave him a steady look. “When ya went more than ten years without talkin’ to each other.”

Ford flushed. “It’s not like Stanley ever reached out to me! And I was the one who had a regular address and phone number! How was I supposed to talk to him, when he was always traveling!? Even our mother never got more than the occasional postcard!”

“I’m not sayin’ yer brother’s blameless in this, Ford, I’m jus’ sayin’ you could stand to actually let him know how you feel!”

“I don’t even know how I feel half the time!” The researcher burst. He was stunned by his own words, and took a moment to collect his thoughts and calm down a bit before continuing. “Stanley’s my brother, and he was such an important part of my life growing up. Of course I care about him. But the things he’s done-- the things he still does-- the way he ignores what I want because he thinks he knows best-- it infuriates me! So I suppose you could say my feelings for him are… complicated.”

Fiddleford nodded. “Family’s always complicated.”

Ford scoffed derisively. “This is considerably more complicated than the average family squabble.” 

McGucket laughed. “You’re right about that! Well, if it makes ya feel any better, I’m pretty sure Stan ain’t gonna run out on ya tonight, even if he does win it big at that casino. He’s got unfinished business here, after all.”

“That’s an odd way to refer to our continued studies of his powers, but I suppose you’re right.”

* * *

The parking lot for the Warm Springs History Museum was completely empty. Not that the casino lot across the way was packed, but it at least had a few cars parked near the entrance. Stan worried the museum might be closed, but he saw the light was on, and the door was unlocked.

There didn’t appear to be another soul in the building. Stan wandered around from one exhibit to the next, looking for anything that might be related to Ford’s mysterious benefactor. Stan wasn’t really all that surprised that he didn’t find anything. Finally, he rounded a corner and found the gift shop. A teenage girl who was probably supposed to be the cashier sat in front of a small TV. It was clearly supposed to be playing a VHS that the gift shop was trying to sell, but instead an Itira 3600 was hooked up and playing Brick Break.

“Uh, ‘scuse me?” Stan cleared his throat and knocked gently on the counter.

The girl didn’t glance away from the screen, eyes carefully following the bouncing pixel as it broke through another line of bricks. “Yeah I know you’re there I can see your reflection on the screen. We close in like ten minutes, just grab whatever you want and I’ll ring you up once I clear this level.”

“I’m not here to buy anything.”

“Then you better turn around and head back to the casino, ‘cuz bricks ain’t the only thing I can break.” 

“I don’t want anything from you either!” Stan assured her, waving his hands innocently. “I just got some questions about, uh, tribal history.”

“That’s what this museum is here for, sir.” She answered flatly.

“The thing I’m askin’ about isn’t in the museum, trust me, I checked.”

“We got history books too.”

“I doubt it’s in there either. Hey, if you’re too busy, is there someone else I can talk to?”

The girl tisked and tilted her game controller. “Yeah yeah, just a sec. I just got one more line at the top.”

Stan rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently. He supposed he couldn’t blame the girl. This was probably a very boring job. He knew most people who came this way were probably more interested in the casino, not the history of the people who had to run it just to make ends meet.

The girl finally cleared the level and put her controller down as the new level loaded in. “Ok, what’s your question.”

“Ok, this might sound stupid, but can you tell me more about what this thing is?” Stan pulled a pamphlet off the counter and drew the triangle with the eye. “I think it’s usually yellow?”

The girl raised her eyebrow in surprise when she took in Stan’s drawing. “Oh… that. You don’t see anything about that in here because that’s associated with… I guess the best word for it would be curses?”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat. “R-really? The little research I did on it beforehand said it was associated with knowledge.”

“Yeah, cursed knowledge.” The girl told him. “I’ll admit, I’m not super familiar with it. It’s kinda really ancient. When Nathaniel Northwest swindled us out of our land in Gravity Falls, we were relative newcomers. All the other tribes in the area believed the valley was cursed, because of that thing.”

Stan gulped. “What, uh, what’d it do?”

The girl put on her best storytelling voice. “Well, a thousand years ago, there was an old shaman called Modoc the Wise. He and his people worshipped that being. Until one day, Modoc learned its terrible secret. Modoc warned the people that the being they’d been worshipping was a liar, and that it would lay waste to the valley. But before he could tell them any more, the being drove him mad, and he slaughtered half his tribe before lighting himself on fire to try and stop it!”

Stan paled. “So, uh, this guy’s really bad news, huh?”

“That’s an understatement, but yeah.” The girl nodded. “Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“Uh, I live in Gravity Falls. I’ve just seen this thing on a lot of stuff, wondered what it was.”

“Ah, well, have fun living with the knowledge that your hometown is cursed!” She smiled viciously at him. “Now, it’s closing time. Are you gonna buy something or not?”

* * *

Stan tried to take his mind off things at the casino. His superhuman reflexes made him a whiz at the slots, but he had learned in the past that winning too much tended to draw unwanted attention. Of course, Stan was too busy trying to process what he’d just learned to pay much attention to his gambling, so it’s not like he could have won it big even if he was trying.

After just half-an-hour, it was clear that his heart just wasn’t in it today. Stan decided to play a round of Craps before he left, just to get in some dice rolling. Then he’d head home.

Careful. He warned himself. Don’t go callin’ that place your home. You know the second you get comfortable there is the second Ford decides he doesn’t want you around anymore.

By the time he finished, Stan managed to leave with about $20 more in his pocket than when he came in, so it wasn’t a bad night, gambling-wise. And he had at least learned something about that triangle guy. It just wasn’t good news. The trip certainly wasn’t a loss. So why did Stan feel like he hadn’t gained anything?

These thoughts weighed so heavily on his mind, that he never noticed the eyes on him as he left the casino.

“We’ve found him.” A shadowy figure spoke into his walkie-talkie.

* * *

PSM WAZF FFY OENKGK KS LELB, TPXLL QAT? YOP HGR’T PQB KEDO TF UVDI GJ YFWY FPV JRZGUUW?

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 270: Harry Potter Rules

Previously on BnHA: Present Mic punched Ujiko in the face! It was awesome. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo of it. Meanwhile Endeavor saved Mirko’s life by setting her on fire (reason #15 why I will never become a superhero), and Aizawa did some sexy Spider-Man poses for our viewing pleasure while fighting the rest of these Noumus which are still annoyingly refusing to die. Anyway but back to Present Mic, the undisputed MVP of this chapter. Because you see, in addition to the punching, he also used his Loud Voice attack (literally the actual attack name; Horikoshi will steal all of my jokes and leave me with nothing) to smash open Tomura’s Noumutank! Which I really thought was going to immediately lead to Everyone Dying, but apparently I was wrong! Anyways so yeah, right now Tomura’s just lying down all heart-stopped and not-breathing. Which seems very anticlimactic, BUT I JUST HAVE THE CRAZIEST FEELING that maybe, just maybe, the super powerful villain lad who just spent the last three arcs slowly upgrading his bad self just in time to wage war on the world as the story reaches its climax, might not actually be dead though.

Today on BnHA: DON’T MIND THAT OMINOUS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, IT’S NOTHING, IGNORE IT. Ahem. So first of all, as some of the bolder among us dared to speculate, Tomura is not, in fact, dead. He’s still very much kicking it with his nipple-less pecs and truffula tree hair, putzing around in his mental landscape filled with crumbled buildings and disembodied Theatrical Gesture Hands. For some reason he doesn’t have shoes or a shirt in his mental landscape, which was a very interesting choice on Horikoshi’s part, but we will speak no more of it. Anyway so to sum things up, Tomura’s family is all “TENKO WE LOVE YOU” and he’s all “oh hey” and then AFO fucking appears and he’s all “COME HERE MY BOY” which is exactly as creepy as you would expect, and for some fucking reason TOMURA ACTUALLY DOES COME HERE. And lol it turns out Ujiko gave him AFO. Like the quirk. Yes, that quirk. So long story short, Tomura is about to be possessed by AFO’s evil soul or some shit, and to put the cherry on top, fucking Deku out of fucking nowhere, MILES AWAY, is all “HE’S COMING.” Because of course he can sense it, because AFOFA IS REAL, AND FUCK ME THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST, FUCK.

I know this chapter has been out since like 1pm, but I’m not getting to read it until 5 hours later because for once in my life I was trying to be responsible and actually get some work done on a Friday. I thought this might lead to less oh-god-I-still-have-to-get-that-done anxiety hovering over my weekend, but instead it just led to oh-god-I-have-to-get-the-chapter-recap-done anxiety hovering over my now! anyways so this might be a bit rushed lol

(ETA: yeah turns out this wasn’t exactly the kind of chapter you could just read quickly and get on with your life lmao. so, then!)

what a nice panel of Present Mic taking out the trash

you heard ‘em fellas. the doctor is secured. good job everyone we did it, manga over, congratulations. now to cut away to a two-page spread of Dark Shadow comically smothering Dabi’s flames with a giant stock pot lid, and that’ll be that! what a wonderful, extremely short and strangely underwhelming arc in which we haven’t even seen the actual main characters do anything yet. but I guess we don’t need them since the main bad guy is lying dead on the floor! everything is just so fucking dead and secured!! do you think if I keep repeating it enough Horikoshi will finally be like “okay geez I get it” and reveal his hand already

Mic is now ordering Ujiko to power down the Noumu, which again, I’m sure he will definitely do without a fuss since after all the good guys have clearly won the day

OH SHIT OH FUCK

rip X-Less. gonna just take a moment here to imprint your beautiful face onto my memory before it turns into a pile of ash. your face, I mean. not my memory. well my memory more or less already is a pile of ash but that’s neither here nor there ANYWAYS

:’)

what are these little sound effects. I think that’s supposed to be a buzzing noise?? anyways whatever it is PLEASE STOP IT, I AM NOT HAVING A NICE TIME SO STOP

ffff Horikoshi sure has done an excellent job of setting the mood in such a way that all of these panels of X-Less doing incredibly mild things are sending my stress levels through the roof. like is anyone else reading his lines more or less like “WELP, TIME FOR ME TO DIE, ANY SECOND NOW, WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, HERE IT COMES”

(ETA: when is this poor sweet innocent man going to fucking die already.)

LET’S CUT BACK TO MIC ESCAPING THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY

I have the clearest mental image of Horikoshi standing by with a walkie talkie in one hand and one of those remote bomb detonation clicky switch thingies in the other, patiently waiting to receive the go-ahead once all of the important characters have gotten to safety

anyway so now Ujiko is talking again

no fear everyone this is just the beginning of his verbal noumu deactivation sequence. nothing to worry about. everything is fine

yes for some reason his code phrase to put all the noumus back to sleep involves going into rambling detail about his work researching quirk singularities and shit. it’s fine. it’s not a big deal. code phrases are just like that sometimes all right

just ignore the increasingly panicked look in Mic’s eye as he slowly realizes he was way too fucking keen to just leave the “dead” Tomura back there with his laser-eyed hero buddy. anyway so let’s continue learning all about the Quirk Illuminati or whatever the fuck

okay so... he faked his own death? 70 years ago, at age 50 or thereabouts? I mean, that’s interesting and all I guess. not saying I wouldn’t be thrilled to spend the rest of this chapter learning all about Ujiko’s boring evil life. I don’t need to say it because it’s implied on account of Ujiko sucks and is the worst. so yeah can we get a move on though

oh shit?!?

WHOSE NARRATION IS THAT IN THE BOXES TOMURA IS THAT YOU OH GOD OH GOD

also, comparing AFO’s smile to a buddha’s really sent an actual shudder of disgust down my spine for some reason lmao. I personally would have steered that comparison in a different area, maybe less to buddhas and more to Norman Bates from Psycho, but to each their own

oh shit wait up

okay but this is actually a pretty big revelation though, isn’t it? because it’s been hinted for a while now that AFO and Ujiko had some method of duplicating quirks (the fact that all the Noumu share the same regeneration quirk was the biggest clue, but there was also John-chan’s quirk, as well as Hood’s Muscular-esque quirk), but as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’ve had it confirmed. though to be fair I wasn’t joking when I said my memory really has been shit lately sob

anyway so for real though, can you really call it a BnHA chapter if you’re not spending a good chunk of it being hopelessly confused over the ownership of some ambiguous thought bubbles. WHO IS THIS. I do seriously feel like it’s Tomura, because he’s the wrathful one, but another hallmark of a typical BnHA chapter is me constantly questioning everything I know as I muddle my way through

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure it was him. still impressive how vague it is though! it could also potentially be Ujiko, Mic, or even Deku. hopefully Caleb’s translation on Sunday can shed some more light on this. though he wasn’t really helpful last time this happened lol.)

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

didn’t... you just... say that “preservation” was your quirk?? what do you mean that you wanted it?? CAN YOU JUST FINISH YOUR SENTENCES LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

anyway so here’s a summary of this chapter thus far

present mic: okay goodbye forever x-less

x-less: what a strange thing to say! :) also is it just me or is this machine fucking staring at me

present mic: turn the noumu off please

ujiko: seventy years ago... society... singularity... he’d be 120 years old now...

??: [REPULSIVE FEELING EW WHO’S TOUCHING ME]

ujiko: all for one has the smile of an angel...

??: [SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING WRATHFUL]

ujiko: my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk...

all caught up?? grand. also btw is anyone else super disturbed by the fact that Ujiko recognizes Mic as being “Kurogiri’s friend”, like holy shit though? how would he know that. I can’t think of any implications of this that aren’t super disturbing tbh

anyways back to -- LOL WHAT THE

Horikoshi Kouhei: [furiously scribbling notes to himself at 3am] BUT WHAT IF THE FOLDING CITY FROM “INCEPTION” HAD MORE GIANT HANDS

jesus christ. is this like some mental representation of what shit is currently like in Tomura’s mind? lots of crumbly destruction and traffic lights and the house his father built (isn’t it? I feel like it looks familiar), and SO MANY HANDS, HE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS

anyway so at this point it’s a coin toss whether or not anything in this fucking chapter is ever going to make any kind of fucking sense! but here I am voluntarily along for the ride while Gene Wilder sings that creepy boat song right in my ear!

DSFKLDSJ

ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN FLOATING IN A JAR FOR THREE MONTHS TBH. that is some luscious quarantine hair

SDFLKJSDLFKJSLKFDHLKSDJFLKJLKSDJL:FKJSDL:KJ

(ETA: that Tomura in the top left may be my new favorite panel. look at him. all he is is a nose and chin and ~*~HAIR~*~.)

HANAAAAAA AHHHHHH OH MY LORD OH MY LORD! OKAY I’M FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION NOW FOR REAL! NO MORE JOKES! EVERYBODY SHHHH!!!

FFFFFFFFFF

“LOOK AT ME I’M A MAIN CHARACTER I CAN HAVE STRANGE VISIONS AND TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS, SOUND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW?” TOMURA SHUT UP I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ANALYZE THIS SCENE THEMATICALLY RIGHT NOW I’M TOO BUSY BEING SAD ABOUT YOUR DEAD SISTER WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CALCULATING THE ODDS OF THIS SOMEHOW BEING FORESHADOWING FOR HER NOT REALLY BEING DEAD. OH GOD, OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I’M FREAKING OUT

WHAT KIND OF YOUNGER BROTHER DOESN’T CALL HIS OLDER SISTER “NEECHAN” TOMURA WHAT KIND OF ANIME CHARACTER ARE YOU

AT THIS POINT HIS HAIR IS ITS OWN INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS WOW

HORIKOSHI PLEASE STOP SHAKING THIS CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE OF SIBLING FEELS SO VIGOROUSLY I AM SO TERRIBLY AFRAID OH GOD

“BY THE WAY TENKO I JUST HAVE TO SAY, YOUR MAN BOOBS ARE SERIOUSLY IMPRESSIVE AND YOU SHOULD BE VERY PROUD.” YES HANA I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY. HOW ASTUTE OF YOU TO POINT THAT OUT. BOY HAS BEEN HITTING THAT BOWFLEX

WTAF IS HIS HAIR THOUGH SERIOUSLY??!

IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS DIALOGUE BUBBLE ACTUALLY COMING FROM THE HAIR ITSELF. TOMURA. TOMURA BLINK TWICE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER

SJJKJSKJSW

TENKO IT’S ME YOUR GIANT MOM I’M BEHIND YOU HONEY TURN AROUND AND LOOK HELLO HI I LOVE YOU DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A HERO

ffff why is he so pretty all the time lately

you are very handsome with your billowy hair and ken doll abs, you. sure are having a lot of trippy visions for a dead guy too there

HEY!!!!

WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED -- DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST -- ffffffffff I need to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes fuck

okay well. but since it is getting late I guess we’ll just pack these feelings up real quick and put them inside a box and neatly label it “feelings I have about Tomura having a vision of his mom and immediately turning back into his innocent little boy self in said vision as soon as he sees her.” not too sure about the contents of this box yet but I will have to explore them thoroughly at a later date

oh hey it’s this asshole

“THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, DAD.” jesus Kotaro. get over it

and also guess what, if you go and get Tomura all riled up so he wakes up grumpy and disintegrates the first hapless guy he sees, I will hold you solely responsible for that poor man’s death. I’m just warning you now

oh my

I remember this conversation going a bit differently the last time, but hey

LOOOOOOL

HIGH FIVE. PUT ‘ER THERE

WHY WOULD YOU LOOK SO SURPRISED LOL DID YOU NOT JUST TURN TOWARDS HIM WITH A SINISTER MURDER FACE LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO. LIKE WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN

OH NO OH SHIT

FUCK ME, GUESS IT WOULDN’T BE A DRAMATIC BNHA DREAM SEQUENCE IF THIS ASSHOLE DIDN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE AT SOME POINT OR OTHER NOW WOULD IT

-- HOLY SHIT?!

RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME??

holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit

holy shit. fuck

...okay so

is this implying that AFO has been Noumufied? but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? he already had multiple quirks. what other advantages could there be to him becoming a Noumu. well whatever I’m just typing out all of my thoughts real fast for the time being and I’ll try to make sense of them later

or is it because he sees Kurogiri as a father figure? and AFO also?

or is he using Kurogiri’s quirk????? IS HE SOMEHOW WARPING INTO TOMURA’S DREAMS

because that third one, to me, is what this panel most looks like? Tomura says he looks like Kuro, but he doesn’t though. Kuro has a very distinctive face which this is very much lacking. instead it looks to me much more like one of Kurogiri’s portals, with AFO’s buddhaesque smile sticking out. so yeah. I got nothin’. except, again, fuck

(ETA: yeah I obviously have more thoughts about this now, but we’ll get to those in a bit.)

...

.......

-- !!!!!!!!!!LKJLK!JLKJ

oh shit oh shit oh shit 

OH SHIT

NO BABY NO DON’T DO IT

GASP

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AHHHH

I HAVE LIKE TEN THOUSAND THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW YET SOMEHOW MY MIND IS ALSO STRANGELY BLANK?? I DON’T EVEN KNOW?? I’LL JUST KEEP READING

KOTARO ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM OR ARE YOU PULLING HIM TOWARD AFO??

OH HE’S PUSHING HIM BACK!! OH SHIT IT’S A WHOLE FAMILY EFFORT

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AFO IS GOING TO TAKE HIM OVER AND THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM OH GOD OH JESUS

BABY TENKO EYES OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE DEKU THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS DEKU FOR A MOMENT

NO TENKO!!!

FUCK -- DOES HE NOT CARE? HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE DOESN’T CARE?? IS HE TRULY SO PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE THAT HE’D GO AHEAD AND ACCEPT THIS FATE WILLINGLY

NO SOUNDS. NO WORDS. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW

except that I have the most incredible, chilling, disturbing, electrifying feeling that my mental soundtrack is about to start blaring AFO’s theme from the anime on full blast...!

LOOOOOL SOB OH FUCKK

THE MOST TERRIFYING, DRAMATIC KIP UP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE!! THIS IS IT, IT’S BEEN REAL FRIENDS, THIS IS WHERE WE DIE

-- ARE YOU REALLY, TRULY, GENUINELY SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW

NOW OF ALL TIMES IS WHEN WE FINALLY CUT TO THE TRIO, I’M CAN’T, I’M FUCK

AND THAT’S THE END AHHHHH

holy shit holy shit holy shit. wow

okay so. I don’t really have any sort of neat and tidy way to wrap up this hot mess of a recap lol. so, just... have a whole mess of all of my stupid whirling thoughts

those first four pages really did nothing to brace me at all lol

okay, so. here’s my understanding of all this, I guess. basically we’re going full Harry Potter rules here. AFO horcruxed his quirk, and from the looks of it, a piece of his soul (perhaps even the main piece) along with it. he then passed it on to Ujiko to implant into Tomura

horcrux!AFO then wakes up, and takes over Tomura. so then my understanding is that he’s going to be possessed by him. and I also got the impression that he’s fully aware of that, but just doesn’t care at this point. he knew his family was trying to warn him, but he didn’t care. and that look in his eyes when he disintegrated them just seemed so fucking resigned to me, though. jesus

but now the more interesting thing! so we can liken Tomura to the resurrected Voldemort from book 5 and onward, reborn after transferring his power into a new vessel. which would go a long way toward explaining how AFO was able to sense what was happening from all the way in Tartarus; because if we liken it to Voldemort and his horcruxes, it would mean that he still has a connection to them (similar to the connection between Voldemort’s mind and Harry’s)

but so now comes the really interesting thing -- what does this then imply about the connection between AFO and Deku? because you’ll recall that AFO alluded to a similar mental connection back when Deku first activated SIXQUIRKS. and now we have Deku somehow being magically aware of AFO’s sudden resurgent presence in this chapter. but why?? if the reason AFO and Tomura share a psychic link is because of a shared quirk, why would Deku also be experiencing the same link? the answer is, he wouldn’t -- unless he, too, had the same shared quirk

in other words, I think All for One for All is fucking confirmed you guys. I can’t think of any explanation for this other than that OFA is also a horcrux quirk. a little piece of AFO broken off and embedded in his brother, and then passed along through the generations. and now residing within Deku

anyway. so that’s a hell of a lot to ponder lol. I guess we can at least be grateful for the fact that we’re not waiting two weeks for chapter 271 like Hori originally planned. can you fucking imagine. what a fucking asshole lol