#you wouldn’t fall for propaganda this blatant… right?

[adelstitel]

re: tiktok ban, george orwell‘s 1984

[fdelopera]

Antisemites are going mask-off. And we Jews see you.

So some shit for brains antisemite sent me this message the other day. This is one of several antisemitic Anons I've gotten recently, but this one is the most blatant.

My first response was to taunt them. I thought of writing something like this:

"Hey, you fucking loser, you forgot the part of your Nazi script where you try to deny that the Holocaust happened. Lame ass motherfucker, you can't even get your own lies right. Next time you try harassing a Jew online, at least try to tow the Nazi party line, you white supremacist. Also, you fucking COWARD, how dare you come to my inbox on Anonymous. If you’re going to tell me you wish I would die in a Nazi gas chamber, at least have the common courtesy to tell me your username so I know who I am blocking."

But then, I thought: No. That's not how to respond. Because that's not what this is about.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Making fun of a stupid a Nazi by telling them that they forgot to deny the Holocaust when they decided to harass me for being a Jew — that is gallows humor of the darkest kind. But a morbidly glib zinger of a reply doesn’t actually address the real issue here.

The real issue is that a lot of you with antisemitic tendencies have been going completely mask-off the last few weeks, and you have been diving headfirst into Jew-hatred.

You are finally feeling liberated to speak the Jew-hating words that you have been dying to say.

You have been practically champing at the bit to tell a Jew that you wished there would be another Holocaust so you could get rid of all those millions of "bad Jews" that you don’t like, and now you feel liberated to scream those words from the rooftops.

Over the last few weeks, we Jews have been watching you, some of you that we considered to be friends, and we’ve seen many of you turn on us and spit out the most vile, hateful things about us.

And we know exactly what you will be doing when the next Nazi craze spreads like wildfire from country to country, throughout cities and towns.

You like to claim that you would have been punching Nazis in the face during World War II. You like to claim that you would have protected us. Some of you even like to claim that you would have sheltered us, like the heroes who hid Anne Frank.

But we know better.

No. That’s all just romantic bullshit that some of you like to tell yourselves to make yourselves feel important.

In reality, you would have been deciding who is a "good Jew" and who is a "bad Jew." You would have been deciding who you should rat out to the police for a reward. You wouldn’t be protecting us! You would be saying, "I really don't like that Jew. I’m going to go tell the Gestapo about them." Or worse, you would be saying, "Oh, that Jew over there, they’re just an animal. They’re barely human. The Nazis can kill them, I don’t care."

Most of the people who turned against their Jewish neighbors in Nazi occupied Europe weren't monstrous, inhuman beasts. Most of them were people, just like you, who had been conditioned to hate Jews by nearly two thousand years of Christian antisemitism coupled with a targeted campaign of white supremacist propaganda. This widespread antisemitism allowed the Nazis to transform an irrational and enculturated feeling of distrust towards Jews into a feeling of intense hatred, where gentiles demonized Jewish people and blamed "those Jews" for all the bad things that were happening in the world.

And the white supremacists are doing it again. And YOU are falling for their trap. Again!

Don't you get it? This is the oldest trick in the book! Periods of antisemitic violence usually erupt every 70-100 years or so, after most of the Jewish elders who hold the living memory of the last genocide have all passed away. And the Holocaust was 80 years ago. And here we are. Again.

And just like the Christians in Europe who turned on their Jewish neighbors, you are starting to turn on us.

You buy into antisemitic conspiracy theories, just like the white supremacists do.

You stand in the streets, screaming "gas the Jews" and "die Jews die."

You sound like the Proud Boys. You sound like Nazis. Do you even hear yourselves???

You pretend that all Jews are all a monolith and a hive mind, and you try to convince yourselves that we are all a proxy for the fucking Israeli government, which the vast majority of Jews fucking despise. If we could, trust me, most of us would strangle Netanyahu with our bare hands.

You celebrate Jewish deaths because you have convinced yourselves that killing a random Jewish civilian is "just the same" as killing Netanyahu, because you have manipulated yourselves into believing that all Jews are the Israeli government.

And you don't see how fucking STUPID that is!!

Jewish people are no more the Israeli government than YOU are YOUR government.

A people are NOT their government.

According to Tumblr statistics, nearly half of you reading this will be from the US. Shall I blame YOU personally for the actions of the US government? Of course fucking not! And you'd better fucking not blame random Jews for Netanyahu!

And some of you Jew-haters, in pretending that Jews are all a monolith and a hive mind, even say vile, antisemitic shit like, "Looks like the Jews are becoming the Nazis."

You choose those words carefully, twisting the Shoah, our greatest tragedy, into a knife. You try to weaponize the slaughter of our people against us. You try to reduce the 6 million of us who were murdered into a white supremacist meme.

YOU SOUND LIKE THE FUCKERS AT A TRUMP RALLY, FOR FUCKS SAKE. DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELVES???

And you do that to dehumanize us. You do that to feel morally superior. You do that to feel less uncomfortable when you laugh at our deaths.

But we know that WE are not becoming Nazis. But YOU are. The reason you say that shit about us is because YOU are projecting YOUR insecurities onto us.

Because you know that you are slowly, insidiously being coopted by the Nazi ideology of David Duke and Richard Spencer.

And perhaps somewhere deep down, you feel uneasy about it. So you accuse Jews of being a monolith, a hive mind, and then you say stupid antisemitic shit like, "Maybe the Jews are the Nazis after all."

And you say that to yourselves so that you can turn off your empathy and celebrate as you watch us die.

What a disgusting way to try to absolve yourselves of YOUR guilt.

And we Jews are watching you. We’re watching you very carefully. And when the dust settles, you will have found that we have vanished from your life.

Very soon, you won’t see us again.

And no, that won't be because we'll be walking into the gas chambers, as much as you'd like us to, like some historical movie about the Holocaust that you watched when you were a child but turned off halfway through because you just didn't care.

NEVER AGAIN MEANS NEVER AGAIN.

As much as we know that you ENJOY watching our deaths (sanitized, of course, with a blur filter over the video so that you don’t have to feel too guilty about watching us being tortured and murdered), that’s not the reason you won’t be seeing us again.

The reason you won’t be seeing us again is because we will be walking out of YOUR life.

You have lost us as friends, and you might not even know it yet.

We are gone from your life, because we know that we can’t trust you.

We know that when the Nazis come to our community and march down the street hoisting their swastikas and doing their Sieg Heils (I've seen it with my own eyes) … when the Nazis harass us Jews in the street (I've seen it with my own eyes) … when the Nazis SHOOT US DEAD (it happened at a synagogue a block away from my synagogue, and many of those who saw it will never open their eyes again) — we know you won’t help us.

You will shove us into the line of fire.

And we know that you’ll absolve your conscience, so you won’t feel too bad about our deaths. You’ll tell yourselves, “It’s okay. Why should I have protected that one? That one was a bad Jew.”

We Jews see you. We see your hypocrisy on full display.

And we are telling you this:

If you see Jewish civilians being tortured and murdered, no matter what country they are from, and your first response is to CELEBRATE … if your first response is to post memes that say shit like, "The Jews fucked around and found out" … if your first response is to say that mass murdering Jews is "brutal but justified" … if your first response is to behave like a Q-Anon believer or a MAGA-hat wearing Republican and treat all Jews like we're a monolith, a hive mind…

When THAT is your response to seeing a tragedy unfolding, you are a FAILED ally, and a FAILED advocate.

You are an antisemite.

But mostly, you are just a really horrible, shitty person.

And we don’t want you in our life.

[ikesenrambles]

Hi, if you're doing headcanons, how about this? The MC (and probably Sasuke) hand-draw memes to entertain themselves, but the warlords find them hidden in her room while MC is away. How do they react? Whichever warlords you want to do is fine. :)

Thank you so much for sending in a request! I love memes, and I absolutely loved doing this request. I’m sorry that it took so long to do - I wanted to make sure I did it justice~ I hope that you enjoy it and that I was able to deliver!

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡ It would really ~meme~ a lot to me.

MC’s Doodles: Nobunaga and Hideyoshi

Sitting on the dais, a thoughtful smile plays on Nobunaga’s lips as he carefully studies a lost page of your sketchbook. “Hideyoshi, come here,” he commands. Immediately, Hideyoshi rises to his feet and approaches.

“Our new chatelaine is rather entertaining, don’t you think?” Nobunaga muses. “She captures my likeness quite perfectly. Even the emotion behind some of my deepest desires and my most intimate whims…”

“If you would allow me to see…” Hideyoshi’s voice trails off. Nobunaga hands him the slip of paper only for Hideyoshi’s eyes to widen in flustered disbelief. “Is this… k-konpeito!?” he blurts in a panic, shaking his head furiously at your seemingly blatant disregard for Nobunaga’s health. “My sincerest apologies, my lord, but I will not allow this kind of provocative propaganda in the castle!”

“Stand down, Hideyoshi.” The simple command from his master is enough for Hideyoshi to bow deeply in apology. “It’s a rather tasteful portrait of me,” Nobunaga tells him. “I would like to see it displayed in the castle.”

With a hesitant sigh, Hideyoshi nods in reluctant resignation. “As you wish, my lord. I’ll see it done.”

MC’s Doodles: Ieyasu and Mitsunari

“Mitsunari–!” An astonished, overemphasized gasp penetrates thoughtful silence as Hideyoshi comes swooping in between Mitsunari, Ieyasu, and Masamune, who are snooping through your private sketchbook behind the closed doors of your chamber. “Don’t you know how rude it is to look through another person’s belongings without permission?” He scolds the three with a firm shake of his head, grabbing the book from Mitsunari. “I expected better from you two especially,” Hideyoshi puffs in frustration, turning a pointing finger toward Ieyasu and Masamune.

Ieyasu rolls his eyes sarcastically in response while Masamune chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head at Hideyoshi’s overreaction. Per usual, it takes a few moments for Mitsunari to fully return to reality, his eyes continuing to scan the space in front of him despite his hands being empty. When he finally does, he cocks his head to the side in curious consideration, mulling over the words written on the page he had just studied. “I don’t quite understand,” he admits with sheepish innocence. There is not an ounce of offense or annoyance in his voice.

“This is…” Hideyoshi stifles another sound of surprise as he allows himself a peek at the contents of your sketchbook. His face reddens at your unexpected profanity. At a loss for words, he quickly closes the book shut and tucks it back under your pillow. “Lord Mitsunari, please be assured that she was only joking–!”

“Don’t even bother,” Ieyasu interrupts Hideyoshi with a scoff as he attempts to explain the illustration to Mitsunari. “It’s a joke, Mitsunari. Someone as dense as you couldn’t possibly understand.”

Mitsunari’s face softens at what he interprets to be gentle reassurance from his close friend, Ieyasu. “Of course, Lord Ieyasu would never say something with the intention to harm,” Mitsunari says confidently, flashing an even wider smile at Ieyasu, much to Masamune’s amusement and Ieyasu’s utter disgust.

MC’s Doodles: Yukimura

It’s a hot, summer afternoon. You and Yukimura are lazing under the cool shade of a tall tree, enjoying the rare luxury of idle time, when inspiration for a new kimono design suddenly strikes you. You ask Yukimura if he would retrieve your sketchbook for you, which you left in his room.

Yukimura agrees, finding your sketchbook tossed on your futon. Curiously, he flips through a few pages of your designs to admire your artistic ability. Before long, however, a particular doodle of yours catches him off-guard and captures his attention.

The illustration seems to depict Yukimura himself. He spends a few moments just staring at it, trying to decipher what it could possibly mean. “I don’t get it…” he murmurs to himself, stumped.

“Of course you don’t.” Yukimura hears a soft sigh behind him as a hand clasps him gently on the shoulder. “Please tell me didn’t call her this right after you two…” Shingen’s voice trails off.

“Right after we…?” Yukimura repeats thoughtlessly, not quite sure of what Lord Shingen meant to ask him. Shingen only raises an eyebrow in response until the young vassal, finally understanding, cringes. Embarrassment appears all over Yukimura’s face as his cheeks flush bright pink.

“O-of course I wouldn’t!” he says defensively, shutting the sketchbook closed with a loud thud. “Anyway, it’s none of your business what we did–uh, or didn’t do–!”

Shingen can’t help but smirk at Yukimura’s denial. “Ah, so my little Yuki is now a man,” he muses teasingly. “Had you paid more attention to my habits, perhaps you would better understand how to please the second sex.”

“The what now–?” Yukimura groans at Lord Shingen’s unsolicited advice, marching out of the room. “It wouldn’t make sense to compare her to a summer’s day. They have nothing in common,” he grumbles under his breath on his way out.

“I really failed you, didn’t I?” Shingen mumbles with a disappointed sigh.

MC’s Doodles: Kennyo

“Looks like the Oda princess left behind her valued notebook… how foolish of her,” Kennyo speaks in a grim tone, a sinister smile appearing on his scarred face as he picks up your forgotten sketchbook. “Now…” The vengeful desire in his darkened voice is tinged with self-satisfaction. “What precious secrets could Nobunaga’s favorite woman be hiding?”

The man’s husky voice cracks slightly as he stammers out in confusion, “Is that… me?” He coughs loudly to counter the bewilderment - and even slight embarrassment - in his speech, forcing a frown to mask the sheepish expression on his face as a warmth begins to spread across his face. “As if the hatred in my heart could be distilled by such simple means,” he mutters with a bitter scoff as though offended by your uncanny ability to read him.

“Abbott, is everything alright?” One of the disciples peers into Kennyo’s shed, concern in his eyes. “We are all set for the ambush tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Kennyo whispers, a sickeningly twisted grin appearing on his face. “Tomorrow, we will take back the dignity that was stolen from us at Honno-ji. We will purify our perished brethren with the spilled blood of the Oda.”

Once the disciple leaves, Kennyo turns his attention to the little weasel curled up in the corner. “Come here, Hozuki,” he calls to it in a soothing voice. It nuzzles into the palm of his hand, enjoying his gentle touch.

Suddenly coming to terms with his predictability, Kennyo sighs in frustration, crumpling your drawing and discarding it on the floor before continuing to pamper the tiny animal.

Sasuke’s Doodles: Kenshin

Yukimura and Shingen stand around Sasuke’s study table, completely in awe of a hidden treasure they’ve happened to stumble upon in Sasuke’s room: the ninja’s precious research journal.

Sasuke’s handwriting is hurried but clean: nothing less than they would have expected from the genius ninja. On lined pages are complicated mathematical formulas and comprehensive calculations that neither Yukimura nor Shingen know what to make of.

From behind the two, the sliding doors are roughly thrown open as Kenshin strides toward them impatiently. “What’s taking so long? I’m thirsting for the thrill of battle,” Kenshin mutters with a disgruntled sigh.

“Hold on just a moment,” Shingen orders, beckoning Kenshin to take a closer look at Sasuke’s notes.

Ever stubborn, Kenshin firmly refuses. “I will not.” Forcefully, he shakes the journal from Yukimura and Shingen’s prying hands. As the three tug on the notebook’s pages, the journal falls flat on the floor, opened to an even more perplexing illustration.

A doodle depicts Kenshin casually choking Sasuke, who, even in his precarious position, wears a mask of nonchalance. Written in bold text underneath the drawing are the words, “You’re weak Sasuke.”

Upon seeing the drawing, Shingen laughs softly. “It looks to be a friendly joke about the Dragon of Echigo’s peculiarities,” Shingen muses aloud.

“A joke?” Yukimura scoffs and shakes his head. “This happened for real. I would know. I was there!”

Kenshin’s frown soon softens into a smile that, though genuine, is somewhat terrifying given the context of the illustration. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs in a voice that almost carries with it a sense of nostalgia. “I remember Sasuke’s first days with us.” Picking up the journal, he reminisces fondly of the ninja. “There’s nothing like some good-natured sparring. I wonder, perhaps Sasuke is trying to tell me that he would like a rematch.”

Sasuke’s Doodles: Ieyasu

You are out shopping with Ieyasu when you catch Sasuke stealing glances at the two of you from behind a gingko tree. “Just a moment, okay?” you reassure your boyfriend, squeezing his hand softly as you let go to hurriedly rush to Sasuke’s side for a quick conversation.

When you don’t return soon enough, Ieyasu becomes suspicious. Both you and Sasuke can feel his hot gaze observing from where you left him, his fingers curled in a fist around the baskets of groceries that he’s been carrying for you.

“What were you talking to him about?” Ieyasu asks as he possessively wraps his arm around your waist in a show of territory in front of Sasuke. You can’t help but giggle at Ieyasu’s inability to hide his jealousy. His face flushes at your soft laughter, and he avoids your gaze, embarrassed.

“It’s not me that he’s interested in,” you tell him, retrieving a piece of paper from the sleeve of your kimono. “Here. He wanted me to give you this.”

Ieyasu snatches the note from your hand. The pink shade of his cheeks deepens as he reads over it “Ng–!” A quiet sound of surprise escapes his lips, followed by an uninterested scoff. “This… I…” He sighs, tucking the note away. “I don’t understand why you hang out with that weird ninja.”

“Yasu, he’s my friend. Be nice,” you scold him teasingly, tugging on the sleeve of his kimono. “Come on, I told you, didn’t I? There’s nothing to be jealous about.

“Who said I was jealous?” Ieyasu scoffs again only for the timid blush of his cheeks to betray the annoyance in his voice. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter who he’s interested in, anyway.” He pulls you even closer. “You’re mine and mine alone, okay?”

Bonus Meme:

All of the above memes were made by yours truly! The alignment chart above was found here & filled out by me!

If you want, tag yourself for the alignment chart~!

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧ 

A special shout out to @mythiica for reviewing my memes for quality! It gave me the confidence I needed to be myself with these! (＾▽＾)

[singofsolace]

i'm new here and while looking up your comp videos i found a couple posts expressing overall confusion about certain aspects of 24- idk how much you know about it but it's, effectively, neo-con rightwing pro-military propaganda hidden in a spy thriller. And like, you might think i'm being hyperbolic here but no. Joel Surnow fully intended it to be that and admitted to using storylines to push conservative agendas. the misogyny is a byproduct. and tbhingram's treatment is one of the milder cases.

I was watching 24: Legacy, not the original 24, so I’m confused by your second message accompanying this one, which focused entirely on a show I haven’t actually seen. I watched 24: Legacy solely because one of my favorite actresses was in it---I’m not at all invested in the greater picture of 24 as a franchise. As such, I can’t really comment on the nature of the original 24 in this response. But it’s important to note that Joel Surnow wasn’t involved in the creation/writing/casting of 24: Legacy at all.

While I’m sure you could argue 24: Legacy suffers from some of the same problems as it’s predecessor, I personally think the creators made a great effort for this show to be palatable to the left, not to the right, by making Rebecca Ingram the head of CTU.

It’s a woman who has the most power of anyone on the show. Not only that, but there was a real effort made to make the show as diverse as possible. Rebecca’s husband, who’s implied to be quite close to becoming the next President of the United States, is Latino, his campaign manager is a Muslim woman, Eric Carter is a Black man whose Blackness is used at one point to make a comment about police brutality/mass incarceration of Black people, his wife and extended family are all Black, the new computer whiz at CTU is played by a Latina actress, the older computer whiz/hacker is a gay man who has remained mostly in the closet because being gay in the government isn’t easy...

Do you see how I’m not understanding how these characters are supposed to be used for right wing propaganda? I mean it’s definitely pro-military, but at the same time it’s very much anti-police.��It’s a story about counter-terrorism, so obviously it’s going to be a product of post-9/11 fear and such, but the cast is extremely diverse, and Nasiri isn’t just a one-note caricature of a Middle Eastern villain (although Bin-Khalid definitely falls under that category).

I imagine 24: Legacy is to 24 what Brooklyn Nine Nine is to LAPD (or any number of police propaganda shows that could be added here).

Is it still propaganda? Sure. But it’s propaganda specifically made to appeal to anyone who isn’t a conservative white man, so I would argue there’s a difference between Legacy and the original. While I won’t defend the writing--it was mediocre at best, terrible at worst--it must be said that the casting was amazing. The diversity of the cast reflects what the United States actually looks like. I wish more shows made such an effort to have such a diverse cast of characters.

Ultimately, the only thing I took away from 24: Legacy was that Rebecca Ingram, and by extension, Miranda Otto, deserved better. No other agenda was successfully pushed on me.

(I’m aware this is a gif of Allison Carr. Tumblr wouldn’t let me add a gif of Rebecca--blatant disrespect.)

[alexsmitposts]

Conservative Americans Now Labeled “Domestic Terrorists” The long-awaited transition of power finally occurred in the United States on January 20, 2021 when Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were sworn in as president and vice president. Two weeks before on January 6, a large number of Donald Trump’s supporters rallied in Washington DC to protest what they believed to be a stolen election by the Democrats. A small fraction of the demonstrators were let into (or broke into) the Capitol Building and staged a riot which was eventually ended by security forces with a small number of casualties. It is clear that the media and political reactions and the possible long-term effects on freedom of speech are more interesting than the riot itself. Speaking with Geoff Young, a US antiwar activist who ran for the Kentucky House of Representatives in 2012, and several times for the US House of Representatives, and Governor of Kentucky in 2015 and 2019, some additional insight can be added. He hasn’t won any elections yet, but he has discovered in campaigning how corrupt the Democratic and Republican Parties are when it comes to vote rigging. He currently has active lawsuits against both the Kentucky “Democratic” Party (KDP) and the Republican Party of Kentucky (RPK). Mr. Young, what is going on here? One just has to carefully evaluate the media, not only MSM. It’s easy to notice that the framing of the “domestic terrorism” issue is being promoted by public television and radio stations as well as the usual mainstream media corporations, most of which are openly biased in favor of the Democrat Party. As Glenn Greenwald wrote in a January 19, 2021 article called, “The New Domestic War on Terror Is Coming,” “The more honest proponents of this new domestic War on Terror are explicitly admitting that they want to model it on the first one. A New York Times reporter noted on Monday that a “former intelligence official on PBS NewsHour” said “that the US should think about a ‘9/11 Commission’ for domestic extremism and consider applying some of the lessons from the fight against al-Qaeda here at home.” Are they suggesting that the CIA should fire missiles from drones at members of the Proud Boys and Antifa without any kind of legal due process? Greenwald went on to note that “former Facebook security official Alex Stamos” emphasized “the need for social media companies to use the same tactics against US citizens that they used to remove ISIS (banned in Russia) from the internet — in collaboration with law enforcement — and that those tactics should be directly aimed at what he calls extremist ‘conservative influencers’.” Glenn Greenwald: “Meanwhile, Congressman Adam Schiff (D-CA) — not just one of the most dishonest members of Congress but also one of the most militaristic and authoritarian — has had a bill proposed since 2019 to simply amend the existing foreign anti-terrorism bill to allow the US Government to invoke exactly the same powers at home against ‘domestic terrorists’.” In a recent airing of Frontline: American Reckoning – A PBS NewsHour Special Report, the narrator said within the first 30 seconds of the show: “Provoking a mob of his supporters, President Trump upended a long tradition of peacefully transferring power.” That anti-Trump framing continued throughout the entire 57-minute broadcast. Do you buy this narrative? There’s no real evidence that Trump ever incited his supporters to break into the Capitol, however, and quite a bit of evidence that he urged them to remain peaceful, nonviolent and loud. If that is the case, then the Democrats’ second impeachment of Donald Trump was as constitutionally and legally unsound as the first one. Both impeachments were exercises in pure partisan politics designed to benefit the fortunes of the Democrat Establishment and damage Trump and the GOP as much as possible. With social media and government agencies working in tandem to restrict foreign and domestic news, and to label journalists who are not toeing the US line as foreign agents, the First Amendment is under attack. President Biden has not expressed any interest in dropping all charges against Julian Assange. Was this a false flag? It is not at all clear who turned the loud, outdoor demonstration on January 6, 2021 into a riot in the Capitol Building. It could have been the Trump supporters, but it could also have been the Capitol Police, other anti-Trump security forces, international experts in color revolutions such as George Soros, the Trump-hating FBI, the Trump-hating CIA, or the DNC. If anti-Trump organizations were the ones who got the large rally to turn violent, the riot would have been a coup against Donald Trump as an individual, not against the American republic. One is reminded of what happened in 1933 – the burning of the German Reichstag. When the German parliamentary building went up in flames, Hitler harnessed the incident to seize power – and that means gaining control of the media and cracking down with laws “to protect society,” and the Constitutional Order (“Ordnung” in German). For this reason, it is not only appropriate but necessary to revisit history, because whenever citizens and politicians feel threatened by executive overreach, the Reichstag Fire is referred to as a cautionary tale. Young concludes, “It seems likely that the Democrats are using the January 6 riot as an excuse to impose something like martial law on the American people and to stifle all criticism of the incoming Democrat administration (or regime).” Analysis and Commentary It is doubtful that any expected FBI investigation into the causes of the riot will ever incriminate the FBI or crisis actors but the very talk may be used to invoke some kind of crackdown on those who “take exception” with the new government and its policies and methods. It should be noted that the PBS broadcast also examined the impact of President Donald Trump’s rhetoric throughout his presidency and the government’s missed opportunities to manage the spread of misinformation and the rise of domestic terrorism. These are valid issues to be discussed; however, all who supported Trump cannot be labeled as fringe groups, totally disgruntled or domestic terrorists. As Time Magazine so accurately describes, “Rolling back those freedoms has served in other countries as a prelude to authoritarianism, and it is easy enough to imagine a future US President deciding to label his opponents terrorists before stripping them of their fundamental rights.” It is an overreaction to be calling for a domestic war on terrorism. Nonetheless, it is easy to collectively take words and actions of Trump’s supporters, even when they renounce the results of a [supposedly] free and fair election and label such discontents as being against the Constitution or legal order. However, let us not forget the double standard, and how former President Trump attempted “to designate Antifa, a loose band of left-wing radicals, as a terrorist organization, a move that civil liberties groups successfully resisted. The larger purpose, however, appears to paint all those groups in the wake of the storming of the Whitehouse on any group which supported Trump, and label all those who will not recant their support as potential domestic terrorists or conspiracy theorists. Even PBS admits there have been double standards in how such breaches of government building are addressed. It would be nice to believe that freedom of speech will continue to mean that people are free to engage in certain forms of protected speech, including criticizing the government and politicians, without control or reprisal by the government, provided they don’t call for direct violence or overthrow. However, that may be short lived, and now Senator Dick Durbin, an Illinois Democrat, plans to reintroduce the Domestic Terrorism Prevention Act, which passed the House last fall but went nowhere in the Senate. Its purpose is to authorize dedicated domestic terrorism offices within the Department of Homeland Security, the Department of Justice, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation to analyze and monitor domestic terrorist activity and require the Federal Government to take steps to prevent domestic terrorism. Biden is keeping to the script, by stating soon thereafter, “don’t dare call them protesters. They were a riotous mob, insurrectionists, {they were] domestic terrorists: It’s that basic. It’s that simple.” However, it is not that simple, in light of the emotions running high in the US. These words may come back to haunt him and his administration, as a self-fulfilling prophesy. And now Biden is just as guilty as Trump for dividing an already divided people, with his own fiery rhetoric: “No one can tell me that if it had been a group of Black Lives Matter protesting, they wouldn’t have been treated very, very differently from the mob of thugs that stormed the Capitol,” the president-elect said The timing and choice of wording is most inopportune and inappropriate, as much of what the US has accused other nations of doing, controlling media, and its people, is fast becoming a US production. In fact it is as if Biden is borrowing pages from Trump own play book. This does not come at at good time, with social media and government agencies working in tandem in restricting foreign news and domestic news, and labeling journalists who are not toeing-the-US line as foreign agents. There have even been instances of where native born US citizens have been sanctioned by the US Treasury Department simply for writing articles and publishing them on Russian media sites. All the while, the plurality of the US media is at its lowest point ever, controlled, manipulated, bought and paid for. There is no longer a fine line between news and blatant propaganda. Being labeled as part of a group that really believes that the US election result was tainted now may put you on a list for a visit from Homeland Security or some anti-terrorist organization. There was no Trump Era! He was merely a papier-mâché cut out puppet, and who out of his bottomless narcissism reined over the corporate media news and talk shows with his Mad Hatter Tweets, using the same Twitter that mobilized the Arab Spring masses to screw up their countries too, a pre-test before fanning it out on a declining ready for figuratively beheading much of the US domestic population over their political preferences. The post Trump period is being compared on PBS to post Civil War, “incitement of insurrection,” and “how US President Grant realized how the KKK was an essential threat to everything that had been achieved by that bloody war, and various commentators claim that that is what the Federal Government is now facing. Those who stormed the White House are described (43:00) as “white nationalists, and there is a need to aggressively pursue and root out this cancerous menace of white nationalism and the “kind of” white extremist militias that are really a functionally revanchist movement in American Society.” All things considered, and the swing of the pendulum, things will not get better with Biden anytime soon, maybe even worse, because the ruling elite in their “close knit societies,” have it all mapped out in detail. It appears as some of the Capitol guards let the fed agent provocateurs, and if some of the crisis actors just waltz right in … and keep in mind that the Reichtag Fire was not engineered by the guards circling and within the Reichtag. There are too many unanswered questions, just look at the US Congress, most of the powerful have been in office for over 50 years, and never leave office, and the newbies, especially in the Democrat party, are former military or CIA trained or Intel Democrats, young and frisky. It is a threatening time (even more than during Trump), and that era is fading; however, it seems America may be in for some rough times with the crackdown on civil liberties because of COVID and the NEW domestic terrorist label. Protecting the American people from themselves is the NEW doublespeak.

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Chapter 16 Part II

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, smut, penetrative sex, creampie 

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya had returned to the library the moment Gallant had finished his interview. As soon as he stepped in he was bombarded with endless questions to which he all explained the basic rules for the interview and some of the questions. Apparently, Michael had struck quite a nerve, Gallant seemed positively distort, unsure what to do with himself until he found the way to mask his exposed soul with what he did best. He began speaking of the sexual tension, how Michael had made a hit on his… ‘gay-dar’ or whatever he called it, to where Coco began to prompt that he couldn’t possibly be gay if anything he was bi.

By then Oya had lost interest in the direct conversation and instead seethered in her own sexual frustration and blatant jealousy. In this expiration she walked with intent through the halls, her purple skirts basking around her as she stormed up the steps, only to halt when she saw two hunched over shadows tip through the hall.

The anger evaporated and turned into curiosity. She stepped behind a pillar, hidden from the two teenagers clearly lurking eyes. They snuck into what she expected to be Michael's room, closing the door after them. So they were spying on him… It was laughable with the knowledge she held. If they found anything it wasn’t my mistake, it was with full intent.

He’d been here for a day and there was already anarchy in the air. Oya made a face between impressed and glee before continuing on her way, a little less angry than before. This was going to be fun.

The teens weren’t the only ones that had been up to mischief or so it would seem when the day after Oya watched Gallant be dragged away in his undies with a bothered expression upon his face that was slightly concerning given the severity of the action. Whatever he had done he looked pleased with himself and Oya could only imagine what’d he’d been up to. Which she did with a frown on her face.

Alas, she breathed out to calm herself and rolled her neck again before passing through the hall to her room.

It wasn’t before Oya was sitting in the library ignoring the stupid conversation between what Coco labelled the other team as the old people and her own team of ‘youths’ over who had it the hardest, that she was to see Gallant again. This time there was something unhinged in the way he held himself, eyes distant and still there with obscure anger. She leaned forward and sipped at the water waiting to watch the show unfold.

If she weren’t the goddess of the underworld she’d be the goddess of chaos, strife and mischief.

Evie stopped fanning herself, eyes widening at the sight of her grandson. The air shifted to one more tense and severe, with everyone but her holding their breaths waiting for what was to come. Gallant picked up a glass of sparkling water with a childish pout on his lips.

He breathed out harshly before speaking. “Surprised to see me breathing, Nana?” Now his eyes were set ablaze, his anger unquenchable. “They usually shoot people for fucking...or,” He made a face at his ‘Nana’ looking mildly manic. “Did you not remember that when you turned me in?”

Evie smiled at her grandson, though there was no love there, indifferently shaking her head. “No hard feelings, darling. I wanna live and the only way to achieve that is to get rid of these 10 little Indians who stand between me and the golden ticket out of here.”

“Umm, we’re sitting right here,” Coco intervened offended.

“I knew you were a bitch but I underestimated how big of a bitch you were…” Oya commented earning an agreeable ‘Yeah!’ from Coco and Dinah. In all honesty, she didn’t know whether to be impressed or not by how cunning Evie really was. She set her own grandson up, watched as he’d fall and find his death to be entirely justifiable. If it weren't for how much Oya hated Evie she’d think there’d be a slight chance of her joining the Sanctuary.

“It is not my fault you can’t control carnal urges,” Evie threw at her flesh and blood, trying to justify her behaviour. This was the signal, it was kill or be killed. This was battle royal, what would you do to survive?

“YOU have LIVED!” Gallant shouted pointing violently at his grandmother. “I haven't.”

“Oh yes, you have! You have crammed 10 lifetimes of failures and screw-ups into your 30 years!” Evie rose to challenge Gallant with her own raised voice. Call it a byproduct of having been locked up with them for a year but Oya felt a pang of sympathy for the man who was standing up to his bitch of a grandmother. She wondered if he’d smash the glass on the table and jab it into her wrinkly neck. Gallant wasn’t bad, he was lost and had always been.

Where Michael might have been cruel or indifferent, Oya could be much softer, it all depended on the person.

“Am I the only one who makes mistakes?” Gallant blatantly asked to the room, holding his hands up. “Hmm?”

“No, but I’m always the one that has to clean up after you. Let me see 3 expensive rehabs on my dime, fancy lawyers to keep you out of prison. When your grandfather rejected you because of your perverted lifestyle-,”

“Gay’s have been around much longer than you’re propaganda history books tell you so shove that ‘perverted lifestyle’ up your cobweb cunt,” Oya defended with deep annoyance. She always did hate how humans disenfranchised everything they didn’t perceive as natural and made it so it was permanent, especially when it came to sexuality when it is so clearly fluid and more nuanced than black and white. They did the same with cultures and skin colours, and she had seen it all with her own eyes.

“As I was saying,” Evie dismissed Oya’s comment with a scoff. “ your ‘perverted lifestyle’ I took you in! And what did I get back?” Gallant turned away from her attack, swallowing the water with clear discomfort. “Yes, you went and you bankrupted 2 salons and then you snorted the third one up your nose.”

Evie turned to the room not a hint of regret on her face. “I deserve to live. I am the bridge between the past and the future. I mean when those poor survivors arrive what do they know about culture and music, and art? And I will be there to tell them all about it.”

“You’re a rich old white hag 99% of your ‘culture’ is stolen,” Oya mumbled under her breath catching an approving glimpse of Dinah.

“One lifetime of me is worth 50 of yours! Humanity may be in a sorry state,” she stared Gallant up and down with a diminishing look. “It deserves better than you.”

With a shaky breath, Gallant drew in a breath before speaking. “I should have put you in that motion picture home years ago. The only thing I ever wanted from you was for you to love me and accept me. Why couldn’t you just give me that?”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just not in my nature,” she spoke without regret. It was like watching a painting fading, the colours drained out of Gallant with his last hope of love. Evie patted her grandson on the cheek before leaving, knowing she had devastated him.

What she didn’t think were that with every last hope of love stripped away, with the betrayal and disappointment she had caused her grandson, she had also made an adequate enemy. Gallant was now a hairpin trigger and she had a target on her back. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge and knowing Michael, he’d see to that it’d happen.

Disappointment and betrayal make the perfect enemy. In Evie's desperation for survival, she may very well have caused her own downfall.

“Well it's a good thing you convinced me to bring your nana,” Coco commented with no feel for the tension in the room. Either that or she didn’t care. Gallant ended up falling to the cushions between Oya and Coco who so rudely rose up biting that he should sit on the other couch. He sank until his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes empty and breath still.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Coco spoke loudly and looked at Oya.

“I’m not,” she shrugged. “Sexuality is fluid. I’m not gay or straight, I’m just…” Oya made a hand gesture that was meant to mean ‘something’. A headache was forming just behind her eyes making her pinch the bridge of her nose frowning.

“That’s a shame,” Coco blabbers.

“Why?”

“Because that means you’d be willing to fuck your way into the Sanctuary.”

She isn't wrong on that one. Oya doubted that if it stood between fucking for survival and death that anyone would choose to fuck regardless of their preferences. It was just funny how Coco thought she’d stand a chance when Michael so clearly wasn’t interested in anything more than playing cat and mouse.

But the statement brought back the nib of jealousy and possessiveness both of which were irrational and if Michael were to know of it there’d be endless teasing.

“We can count Gallant out, he already tried it.”

“He’s right there and he still breathes,” Dinah commented at the distasteful words. “I’d say he’s ahead of all of us.”

“He’s the only one who’s been interviewed,” Coco barked in her usual tone of voice. “It’ll all change when the rest of us is called in. Gallant can’t be the only one Langdon chooses and he most definitely will not be on the radar if I get my chance.”

“We don’t know if it was Langdon he fucked,” Oya injected. Coco waved her hand dismissively before striking up a less intelligent conversation with Mallory. In sympathy, Oya patted Gallant on the head before leaving.

Whomever Gallant fucked remained a mystery, though Oya had her suspicions, much clearer than her co-inhabitants, but Gallant proved not to be the only one who let the desire run wild.

Through Mallory, she found out that Timothy and Emily had both been dragged away by Venables henchmen followed by the ruler herself. Their salvation came in the form of Michael who shaved them from the bullets that were going to be planted in between their eyes. Why Michael choose to save them remained a mystery but she had the suspicion that he was setting up something bigger and if anything he was just toying with them.

Soon others were called into Michael’s appointed office Oya awaited her call in the library sitting among the other residents awaiting the news of each person's interview.

There was an unease creeping under her skin, her heart beating faster each time a resident entered the room. Each had a different reaction to the interview, Mallory being the one that seemed the most jarred, while others came back sexually frustrated.

“Oya Jeon,” the voice travelled from behind the slide doors, sending a shiver down her spine and straining her heart. She drew in a deep breath and entered the room with her back held straight and head held high, hands calmly connected in front of her.

He was sitting behind the desk, eyes studying papers that couldn’t possibly be hers with disinterested eyes and waved his hand as he spoke to motion her towards the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” Oya spoke cooly, feeling the wave of emotion collide with her body. The anger was the most prominent feeling and the one easiest explained. When it burned hot it burned blinding hot and at this moment she settled for anger and pushed any other feeling away.

Michael looked up through his lashes, blue eyes catching the orange flicker and darkening. Oya listened to the doors being closed behind her. The trap snapped shot. She masked herself perfectly with a cool expression one to rival his own. Then a Cheshire smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes swallowed up by his pupils. Slowly he stood, body stretching out before her and suddenly it was as if she was seeing him for the first time in… well, a year. The hair had grown well past his collar, all the way down to his collarbone, with soft waves that fell down around his face. He looked older somehow, his features sharper and eyes more calculating. With a predatory stalk, he walked nonchalantly towards her.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm. She glanced towards the door with a lingering question.

“No,” Michael spoke with a charming drawl. “They can’t hear us.”

Her eyes turned towards him once more, eyes burning holes in him. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling fire, the orange flames licking at the air and sending waves of warmth out into the otherwise cold room. There wasn’t a way to be sure if the room would have frozen over or been set ablaze had it not been for her powers being locked away.

Michael raised a brow at her.

“You lied to me,” she broke the silence, voice stern and unflinching. “You left me here with these people! Do you have any clue as to how fucking excruciating it’s been? And for what? For spying on them?” Her voice began to waver and it broke towards the end when Michael took a single elaborate step towards her. She held her hand up and stepped back. ���Stop.”

Michael’s head fell to the side, eyes eating up every micro-expression she made and caught on to when her voice wavered with emotion. He remained silent and she wasn’t really sure as to why.

“That old hag Evie is quite possibly the most insufferable person I’ve ever met, Coco is impossibly shallow and superficial and I’m not sure if the obnoxiousness is to hide something else. Then there’s Gallant whom I’m pretty sure you’ve got all figured out by now. Dinah is elusive but quite possibly the one candidate to put a bet on. Mallory is the only interesting grey solely because her whole character seems to make herself impossibly small all the while glimpses of something else shines through. Dinah’s son is just whiny and annoying. Then there’s your choice to lead this outpost!” Her voice grew louder as she was allowed to revel in the fire of her anger, letting it all out in angry sneers and elaborate arm movements ending in aggressive pointing. Michael allowed all of it. He didn’t stop her, never attempted to. “Mrs. Venable… Why do I continue? You already know all of this, you already made up your mind about them.”

Oya was breathing heavy, eyes wild and bitter. She could feel the confining embrace of the corset straining at her ribs and thereby her lungs. With each breath she took the shadows dug into the skin of her shoulders, edging out her collarbones that had become more prominent at the lack of proper food. The fire dimmed, if only a little, quenched by the feeling of hurt.

“You abandoned me here with them,” she expressed and swung her palm through the air, the sound of it smacking against skin ricocheting through the room before the stinging set in. There was a flicker of something wicked in his eyes, an entertained tug to the corner of his lips before he brushed it away with a swipe of his thumb. His cheek burned red and so did her hand. He pressed forward and Oya took another step back swinging the other hand only for it to get caught in a firm grip. Weakly she tried to pull it to her but Michael refused to let go, his grip as iron and yet without the promise of a nasty bruise. Oya spoke again with a wavering voice trying to retain the flicker of rage that had started to slip away. “I-I thought something had happened. I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Michael countered, eyes never leaving hers, ever-changing. At this she was speechless, gaping at him with wide eyes. No? What does he mean ‘no’?

“No? No?!” She pulled her arm to her and almost stumbled when he let go.

Her eyes caught the sight of his tongue darting out to wetten his lips before he spoke again. “If I were dead you’d know.” He began stalking towards her. With each step he took, she took one backwards.

She would have thrown poison at him, spoken with violence that maybe it would have been better if he were dead because then he had an excuse to abandon her here. Instead opened and closed her hand, palm still stinging from her attack but also with a need to be swung once more. With clenched jaws and a pointed glare she spoke. “Tell me, Michael, did you fuck him?”

His lips parted to draw in a breath, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in the most wicked way all the while his eyes drowned in mischief. His head tilted a little before he purred. “Would it bother you if I did?”

The question hummed inside her mind, tickled and grew. With another step backwards she felt the wall stop any attempt of retreat, efficiently trapping her between it and him. Michael only stopped when the tip of his pointed boots touched the skirt of her dress, all too close for her liking and not close enough. Oya realised something when she searched his eyes, read his face, almost leaned into his presence and the warmth he radiated. He was like a playful cat but far more dangerous.

The realisation was quick, the humming inside her mind stilled and soothed the sliver of jealousy that had set root within her by the lusting humans that wanted nothing more than to sink their teeth into him. It should be them that was afraid if Michael were to sink his fangs into them. But it wouldn’t of one very simple reason, it’d give them exactly what they want and there’d be no satisfaction in that. He wouldn’t just let anyone touch him. Even though Michael were the embodiment of sensuality he found no interest in sex, not with anyone but her. Sensuality was a weapon turned towards everyone else.

“No,” she drawled just like he so often did. He pursed his lips tilting his head to the other side. “You could fuck him -you could fuck any of them if you so desire.” Michael blinked at her intrigued. “But you won’t… and even if you did, I know I’m the only one you’d ever find ease with.”

“Have you thought about it a lot?” His voice was a low rumbling thunder that sends electricity throughout her system. Then she felt it, a tug at her skirt that ever so slowly hitched higher. Never did his eyes leave hers.

Her heart drummed against her fragile ribs, adrenaline spiking her system and enhancing her senses. His scent engulfed her, the familiar spice pricking at at her tongue that made her mouth water. Her red lips were parted, soft breaths filling her lungs. More than ever before were the restraints of the corset present, she felt that with each breath she filled out the confined only to feel it loosen when it left her again. She was wet, she’d lie if she said she wasn’t wet the moment she stepped into the room but now the ache became more prominent.

It had been 18 months since she was last touched, her body ached and longed for his touch, it would revel in it. For 18 months she had tried to subdue the growing want for him.

“Tell me, Love,” he purred, hitching her skirt up higher. Even though the Victorian knickers she felt the heat of his fingers burning through the fabric. The first touch was light as air, trailing up her thigh ever so slowly.

“I-I’ve been here for 18 months, of course, I’ve thought about it,” she stammered wrapping her fingers around his scorching wrist forcing him to stop. It was getting increasingly harder to think, to keep up all the pent up rage she had been building. The castle of anger she had built around herself came tumbling down with one blow from the big bad wolf.

“All those long nights,” he continued voice lowering. His hand began to move again and she felt herself weaken her grip. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathed licking her lips while his eyes darted to his.

“Did you think of me?”

“Yes.” Her knees felt weak as if they could give in any moment. Fire burned on her skin, his fingers leaving a trail up her thigh, slowly inching towards where she needed him the most. He was playing with her but unlike the other inhabitants, she was the only one to taste victory. He could leave her, just stop all of it and it would be entirely within his character, it’d be cruel and merciless, but it would also make for great sex later on.

But the thing was, she wasn’t the only one who had gone without the touch of someone else. She wasn’t the only one who felt the desire burn through her veins. And by far she wasn’t the only one affected by the presence of the other.

Michael’s pupils were dilated, blown out of proportions and swallowing up the blue of his gaze. Even though his breathing was normal he felt the air strain in his lungs. When she let him go completely he let his fingers travel to her mount and watched as her head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a silent breath and eyes fluttering. He marvelled at the sight of her, the shimmer of her lips, the flush colour building under her skin, her black eyes reflecting the fire. Under his touch she pushed her hips forward greedy for more, it made a chuckle form in the back of his throat.

“Did you miss me?” The question was light but it was like having thrown a bucket of water over you. Oya stilled, body tense and heart galloping all the while skipping beats. It felt as if she would surrender her anger to him, forfeit the grudge that had been building up in her, to give him her bitterness of being lied to and left for what felt like an eternity. Honestly, she’d have taken her little plot of land in Korea over this outpost any day.

“I can’t forgive you,” she began quietly. She reached for him, cubing his cheek and felt that he leaned into her touch just a little. “And I will make you pay for it.” She licked her lips before continuing, eyes softening with affection. “But I did miss you.”

“I’m sure you’ll make me pay in all sort of ways,” he rumbled pressing into her.

Their lips met briefly, her lips chasing his only to part in a low moan as his fingers circled her clit. The fabric stuck to her uncomfortably, cool everywhere but where his fingers touched. The ache pulsated between her legs, begging for her to just spread them right then and there so he could get between them.

“You’ve been playing a lot of games,” she purred, fingers hooking into the smooth fabric of his jacket, pulling him to her. “It’s been very entertaining to watch unfold.”

“There’s more to come,” he said, lips brushing over her jaw, nibbling at the skin of her neck. His fingers travelled downwards, pushing shallowly into her. She could have unravelled right then and there, it had been long since she came finding it difficult to bring herself to the edge and over.

Michael removed his hand, the skirt falling to the floor now that nothing was blocking it. Oya almost broke out in protest, no not protest more like sobs. A whine managed to escape her quickly shut lips. Michael merely grins at her, taking her hand and guided her through the room. With one tug she swung around, hands harshly placed on the wooden desk in an attempt not to fall straight on her face. Her nails scrapped over the wood when she balled her hands into fists, biting her lips as the skirts were thrown up over her ass, his hands gripping at her hips.

Michael knocked at her heels in a silent order, making her spread her legs more. Then she felt it, his large hand going from her hip to run down her ass, gripping it tightly. She held back a moan, melting further into the stance. Once, twice, thrice he ran his hand up and down her ass feeling her up before his fingers brushed against the wet cloth.

“Have you thought of me?” She found herself asking before she could stop the words from spilling out through her lips. With her back turned to him she didn’t see how his head fell back, bottom lip caught viciously between his teeth, but she did hear the ragged breath he took before answering.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“No,” he answered. Confusion made its way onto her face, fisted hands turning into flat palms. She didn’t know whether to take offence or not. Or maybe she should be impressed by his restraint. She herself couldn’t exhibit the same level of it. He did have a lot to do after the end of the world, maybe the time wasn't there. But by god the vision of Michael’s firm and slender fingers wrapped around his cock with the look of desire plastered all over his face, with his perfect lips parted in soft gasps, eyes sultry and half-lidded.

“Oh?”

“I would much rather wait,” he drawled. The air hit her hot wet core as soon as the fabric was tugged down. In the candlelight, she must be glistening. He ran his palm over her mount, fingers wrapping around her swollen clit and pinched. A feeble weak sound escaped her throat, knees buckling a little. Michael dipped a finger into her and curled it, her walls beckoned him further, convulsing around him trying to get more stimulation. Then he added another finger and began to scissor them, each brush drawing out hitched breaths from her, arms beginning to tremble.

The other hand that remained placed on her hip pulled her backwards all the while bending her further over the table. If anyone walked in there would be no doubt as to what was going on with Oya lying bend over the desk, legs parted and ass bare to the world. When he moved his thumb to her clit she let out a moan, feeling just how slick she really was.

With little shame she pushed herself back onto his fingers, efficiently fucking herself. The feeling almost brought tears to her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed.

For a moment Michael admired the view, the sight of his finger slipping in and out of her pussy with a frivolous need. He swallowed at the sight before adding a third finger, stretching her out further. “It’s almost pathetic your need to be fucked, it’s so human.”

“And you made me this way,” she bit back at him, eyes fluttering when he twisted his fingers while pushed at her clit almost too hard. “Fuck, Michael. Please, I’m ready.”

His fingers left her, her walls clenching around the emptiness. She imagined he’d use her juices to cover himself, pumping his fist a few times before gliding the head of his cock up and down her folds. The feeling was enough to make her mewl. In one upstroke, he caught on her opening and shallowly dipped in making both of them hitch their breaths in unison.

She couldn’t take the anticipation any longer and caved. “Please, Jagi-ya .”

Michael pressed into in one slow fluid motion. His fingers dug into her hips with steel and iron, without a doubt leaving bruises there for later inspection. Oya couldn’t withhold the moan that tore through her throat, nails digging into the wood as Michael pulled out and re-entered with a harder thrust. She could hear it, the low grumble from deep within his chest making its way up through his throat.

“If it wasn’t because you have to remain in the shadows, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk,” he grunted speeding up. With each thrust came a wave of pleasure. The feeling brought tears to her eyes, the delicious stretch and the full feeling better than she had imagined for months now. His words almost made her cum right then and there.

“I’m su-sure,” she agreed. For a moment she was afraid that cumming once would be enough after having repressed the aching need for weeks now. Not even when she was bound in Korea would there have gone as much time by before she had to satisfy herself. Then a savage smirk formed on her lips and she clenched around him as much as she possibly could, almost breaking her trail of thought. “But when all this is over it -it is you who won’t be able to walk. I’ll turn your b-bones into that gross jelly they feed us here. S-see what world you’d build when you’re bound to the f-ucking bed, Jagi-ya .” The last word was said in an extra sweet tone.

Michaels strong hand wrapped tightly around her throat, forcing her backwards to him. Her back was arched. The grip was tight enough to make her feel her own pulse but not tight enough to do any form of damage. His breath was in her ear, lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I could make you go out there with cum leaking out of you.” He snapped his hips to her making her eyes roll back in pleasure. “Or maybe have your breath smell of cum.” His grip tightened as he snapped his hips to hers, the lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh filling her ears with a low hum of her own pulse. “But I can be nice.” Now his voice was dripping with sweet sweet poison. “So very nice.” She could feel herself clench around him, the wave of hot white pleasure washing over her with vengeance. One hand found its way from the desk to Michael’s fine jacket, clutching the fabric violently as her breath was caught in her lungs. “I’ll let you choose.”

“C-come inside me,” she croaked out, voice dampened by his tight fingers. She heard him take a strained deep breath, she could almost feel him bite his lip and he tried to concentrate.

“How lascivious of you, Love,” Michael moaned thrusting into her one last time, burying himself deep before spreading his seed. The warmth was familiar, it was strangely obscene, but it felt… missed. She didn’t know whether it was him buried deep within her or the feeling of his seed she missed, most likely the former. Michael released his grip on her, Oya falling forward with a relieved breath, hands firmly planted on the desk’s cool surface. She felt him withdrawal, felt the movement of his seed.

Oya swallowed before letting out a breath, slowly beginning to redress herself, putting on the Victorian knickers that she’d have to wash herself to remove the cum stains guaranteed to happen. Cum stains she could handle, what she couldn’t handle was her breath smelling of it when she was to face the other inhabitants.

“You’re enjoying the humiliation of me going out there, asshole,” she said lightly with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he did, he enjoyed toying with people and she was no different, though with his way of toying with her were only between the two of them. The embarrassment came from both of them knowing.

Michael tugged up his pants, fixing the slick fabric to a point where it looked utterly perfect, while she fought with the barbaric ruffles of her dress to make it sit properly. He had the devil on his shoulder, that’s how he managed to look completely perfect while she lacked her own little devil. He was cheating . With a huff, she pulled of the purple fabric and swore that whenever she got out of here she’d never wear purple ever again. Fuck purple and fuck Venable for making them wear it.

Michal sank into the chair behind the desk, palms flat on the surface like hers had been. He watched her as she prepared to fall into the role of Oya Jeon once more. She brushed her tied up hair back in place, the loose strands fastened by tying them into the elaborate hairdo Gallant had managed to give her. Of course, Coco never allowed him to let Oya outshine herself.

Now that everything was in place, she let their eyes meet. “So, do I meet the requirements of the sanctuary?”

Michael tried to repress the smile on his lips, forcing it into seriousness. “You will know in time.”

“Did you miss me?” They looked at each other silently for a moment before Michael went to answer in a smooth drawl.

“Yes.” The answer made her heart flutter. The orange flames caught his blue eyes with warmth. Then the warmth seeped out and he fell back into the role of Michael Langdon, the one mean to pick and choose who to save and who to kill. Oya let herself find the mask she had worn, let his presence affect her negatively to a degree as a cover for what really happened. She brushed her hands over the material of her dress, collecting her hands there and waited.

“You may leave now,” Michael said with indifference, waving his hand towards the door and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. Oya rose from her chair, slipping out of the room and was met with curious stares that picked at every seam of her being to see if they could catch something beneath her blank expression. Oya decided to lean up of the others accounts of what questions he asked, how he had acted and made it convincing by the jaded tremor in her voice.

“Did you hear?” Coco asked after the endless questioning. Oya shook her head with a weary frown. The blond woman licked her lips and inched closer, a smile unmistakable smile on her lips. “The old hag died in her sleep! No more listening to her endless stories.”

This surprised Oya. She thought the bitch would never bite the dust… Unknowingly, her eyes travelled to Michael’s closed doors. Nothing happened in the bunker that he wasn't aware off, nothing happened without him pulling a string. For a moment Oya wondered just how intricate a web Michael had spun, just how deep the game was and if she were a mere piece or puppet.

“These past several months have been difficult for all of us. And perhaps in my efforts to keep us safe, punitive measures have been taken too far. I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration. Comradery. Which is why, this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill we will have a Halloween soiree,” Mrs Venable voiced out loud with a smile on her darkened lips. Coco and Gallant looked at each other in excitement, one seemingly shared with most inhabitants, if not with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Oya was the ladder, finding the sudden need to celebrate perplexing, to say the least. For months it had been the same. No holiday celebrated, no birthdays, no celebration of any kind, just the same disgusting jelly, the same vitamin water, the same music over and over. The sudden change was worrying. Not only that but earlier the grounds had once more been breached and no word of what it was had yet been told. It all smelled fishy, or so the Americans tend to say. She couldn’t help but feel strings were being pulled, and she knew exactly who was the puppetmaster. This celebration was not the work of Mrs. Venable, though she might not know it.

“It will be in the style of a Victorian masquerade ball,” Mrs. Venable continued.

“If only my Nana were here to enjoy it with me,” Gallant muttered, the sudden excitement turned into something solemn and dark.

“We’ve all lost track of time a bit. And this festive occasion is the perfect opportunity to remedy this. And I encourage you all to use your imaginations,” Mrs. Venables voice rose with festiveness. “To create what I am sure will be exquisite costumes.” Now her voice fell into the same old track, stern and cold. “Attendance is mandatory.”

With that everyone was allowed to leave, most hurrying to make their costumes. Oya adopted the same vigilance and glee the others held while maintaining the slightest sliver of scepticism. Dinah held the same look in her eyes, the gleam of knowing something the others didn’t, knowing something similar to Oya’s own knowledge. The two women looked at each other, their masks off to reveal both of them being wary, before plastering a polite smile on their lips to maintain the mask once more.

“I know we’ve only just been told of this but do you have any idea what you’ll wear?” Dinah asked, taking Oya’s arm in her own as the two of them headed towards their quarters.

“No,” Oya answered frankly. “I have the six same dresses in my closet that I’ve always had and have no idea how to transform them into something new. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of wardrobe choice nor any excess material to work with.”

“I find it odd that they chose Halloween of all holidays, though I suppose it falls into Mrs. Venables taste,” Dinah shrugged and chuckled at her last sentence.

“Victorian masquerade! Couldn’t she just have called it Masquerade? We’re already in the Victorian,” Oya gestured to the tight garments with puffy skirts. She had lived through the times where victorian was the fashion, she had pale strangers come to her for her abilities, wishing remedies or blessings or curses. She had seen the fashion first hand even without leaving Korea and her plot of land. She had lived through many fashions, many invasions and occupations trying to take the land from the ones living there. Hell, she had seen kingdoms rise and fall, both her own and the in the world around her.

“True,” Dinah agreed. “Admittingly I do look forward to the celebration, we have to take what we can, right? And by the looks of it Mrs. Venable has something in store for us.”

“She sure does,” Oya grumbled, eyes flicking over the firepit in the middle of the room as they passed through the hall and up the stairs. The flames danced with gleeful abandon, the shadows following suit on the walls. Sometimes she had through to put her hand in the flames just to feel the pain but she didn’t.

“Do you think Mr. Langdon will join us?”

“Mr. Langdon?” Oya looked puzzled at Dinah who smiled kindly to her, her dark eyes catching the flames, lips thick and pretty. Dinah was a beauty but she was also that ever so positive talk show host through and through. Sometimes it was too much. Enough to make Oya want to strangle her. But there had always been something else, something hidden, a dark tint.

“Yes, the party would be the perfect time to tell us who’ll join him at the Sanctuary.” Dinah let go of Oya’s arm having reached her door. She brushed her fingers over her purple dress nervously, with hope and something else in her eyes.

“It is a possibility,” Oya commented meekly, not able to agree or disagree. It seemed to be enough for the darker woman, she smiled at Oya as she headed into her room and closed the door behind her. Now Oya was left alone in the hall, the cold creeping along the stone walls, nibbling at any exposed skin. She let out a breath and rolled her neck, heading towards her own room. The door closed and locked behind her with a soft click. Oya trotted to the bed, sinking down onto it with a huff before ripping the leather laces up from her boots, kicking the leather off with a sigh of relief. Those boots might look good but by the gods were they confining and painful. For a little while, she sat and massaged her feet dreaming of planting them on the soft soil, letting her toes dig into the ground as she walked through the garden. She missed it, having something to do, letting things grow and expand. She missed lifeunrestricted but knew it wouldn’t come for many years to come. There was also a bigger part of her that missed her powers, how they flowed through her, how they could twist and curl, how it was mischievous and playful. Michael had them, somewhere.

Oya took of the dress and kicked it across the floor with venom before attacking the corset hidden beneath, that which was thrown through the air and into the wall with just as much venom. “You better have tons of airy clothe in the Sanctuary and much prettier because if I’m forced to wear something like this again, every fucking day, I’ll castrate you.” She threatened the empty room, trotting through it and into the shower. The warm water relaxed the tension in her shoulders while she washed the sex off of her, fingers splashing water between her legs while the dirty imagery of her interview played in her head. He had looked better than ever, more mature and grown somehow, his edges refined and perfect. In the 13 months, she had been nothing but human he had grown to be the master in a lot of things, he had found himself, or rather, he rested in himself. The confidence had always been there but now it was matured. There was still a vulnerability to him but she hadn’t yet seen it fully, just caught glimpses. She supposed it was to keep level headed, being apart so long and with such difference in power and environment would have changed anyone.

But they were still connected, she felt it in that room. Oya had been herself for the first time in months and the relief of that was hard to hide. When she’d get her powers back she could finally breathe again, she knew it.

Oya turned off the water and exited the shower to find a note written on the foggy mirror. Come to my room. She wiped the surface clean, revealing her reflection beneath. Her features were sharper and more edged out due to the lack of food. Although she had always been on the thin side, visible collarbones and ribs, they were now edged into her like a crude statue, showing just how little they got. She couldn’t wait to soften her look, not feel so fragile and delicate. Oya dried her hair and braided it into a long thick braid, then twisting it into a bun held together with what once was a decorative letter opener, forced between the strands. She threw the towel over the side of the tub, one much smaller than what she had grown used to, before entering her room naked and clean. A dress had been neatly placed upon the covers of her bed, it’s look a mix between Victorian and something along the lines of traditional Korean hanbok. The fabric was much softer than the other dresses in her closet, it was without ruffles and strange textures that was nothing more than a terrible fashion choice. No, it was cut cleaner, with lone soft lines, a neck dipping an inch or two lower than what she was used to, with black see-through puffy sleeves.

She drew in a breath and began dressing, the Knicks, the underskirts, the corset and then finally the dress. It fitted her perfectly and she shouldn’t have expected anything less, it was after all Michael who had left the dress there. It was a plum purple that managed not to make her want to throw it in the pyre.

The door was unlocked, daring anyone to enter, with only a few brave or stupid enough to accept that challenge. Oya entered the room, locking the door behind her. She had made sure the shadows had hidden her form as she moved through the halls, no eyes catching sight of her.

The room was like any other, though it was a bit smaller. It had the same furniture, the same bedsheets, the same dark aesthetic. The candles flickered upon her entry, shadows dancing on the walls. Michael silently entered too, a towel wrapped around his lower body while his hair was tied up loosely to escape the water he had just exited.

Oya clenched her jaw at the sight, eyes following his every movement as he stalked through the room, throwing the damp towel he used to dry his upper body with onto the bed.

“If anyone were to have seen me...” She said calmly walking to the wardrobe to pull out one of his black shirts. By the time she turned around, Michael was hitching up his pants.

“They didn’t, although it would have made quite the tale,” he drawled, zipping up his pants. Oya nuzzled the soft fabric of his shirt between her fingers as she waited for Michael to be ready for it.

“What have you been planing? You’ve been puppeteering, I know you have.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, eyes bright blue with mischief. “Now, it wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.” With her help, he slit his arms into the shirt. Her hands trifled over his shoulders, fingers brushing against him as she came around to face him.

“You’ve made your decisions then?” Oya asked and began to button up his shirt, fingers working nimble.

“Yes, I will be making the final draft during the festivities,” he answered her with a slick smile. Oya pursed her lips at him, brows furrowing together in a frown. There was the slightest touch, a simple brush of his fingers against the fabric of her dress. She paid no mind and looked up at him, buttoning yet another button. “You will not be joining us?”

“As much fun that may entrail I still have work to do and I’m sure Mrs. Venable wouldn’t mind my lack of presence.”

“Paperwork even after the apocalypse,” Oya grumbled discontent with that matter. She was now half way up his chest. With a flash of her displeasure shining through her eyes Michael chuckled. “And the witches? They were the reason why we’re here after all, what of them?”

“A few survived the blast, that I’m sure of.” he breathed with a low voice, fingers dancing through the air to motion ‘somewhere out there’. Oya buttoned the last one, prushing her hands over the fabric and ran her eyes up and down to see if she had missed one or it the shirt was crooked.

“How so?”

Michael smiled entertained and began to fidget with the cufflinks. “Haven’t you felt them?”

“I’ve felt a lot of things, Michael, and most of it were pure and utter rage for you, ” she poked him right in the chest in the most childish manner. What was he expecting? That her hair would stand on the back of her neck? A tingle under her skin? Goosebumps? “I’m human, unless it’s in my face and obvious I won’t notice a thing.”

“Dinah Stevens was the voodoo queen of New Orleans before she became a talk show host and Mallory...Mallory is something ,” Michael informed with vague interest in what he was actually saying. Oya narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest and made a displeased motion with her mouth. Voodoo queen? Dinah didn’t seem all that powerful and she certainly wasn’t a threat, but it did make sense why the mask of positivity sometimes cracked to reveal someone more clever and cunning underneath. But Mallory, she surprised her in a way Dinah didn’t, mostly because of the way Michael said her name.

“Is she something to be worried about?”

This seemed to draw attention from him, his eyes flashing up at hers. Michael breathed in between his teeth and tilted his head. “No, not that it mattered if she was.”

“Because you’re going to kill them.”

“Actually,” Michael began, a devilish smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not the one to kill them.”

“Venable is,” she finished with an eye roll of his dramatics. There was no reason to get blood on his hands when all he had to do was pull a few strings to watch the whole outpost unravel. And that’s what he wanted, he wanted the humans to be the cause of their own destruction, he simply laid out the tools and waited for them to choose. “I don’t know whether to think it’s going to be a dull party if everyone dies or if its ‘a total banger’ as Gallant would phrase it.”

Oya walked to the closet and picked out a black jacket, helping him in it with ease. Michael released his hair from the small bun, letting it wave down over his shoulders, perfect as always. She was fixing his collar when suddenly he pulled an apple out of thin air, the red fruit catching the light of the candles. Oya paused, eyes growing at the sight of something fresh, it’s sweet smell engulfing her and made her mouth water. Then she looked past it, to the mischievous smirk of her counterpart and withdrew from reach with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion.

“Is it poisoned?” Now she knew of the lure Snow White couldn’t resist, the lure Eve couldn’t resist.

“Not this one no,” Michael answered her, taking her hand and placing the fruit in her palm. He could clearly see the hunger in her, the starvation that had cast shadows over her form and edged out her bones. There were no doubt that he admired her, if she wasn’t so transfixed on whether to believe him and sink her teeth into the apple or to throw it at his head, she’d have seen the abortion shine through the cheeky smirk. He admired her persistence.

“But the rest is,” she concluded and fished out the knife hidden in Michaels jacket. The blade cut through the fruit with incredible ease and she quickly ate the piece  eyes fluttering at the taste. “I suppose this is a nod to the forbidden fruit.”

Michael took hold of her jaw lightly, bringing her sweetened lips to his only to find the touch of her fingers on his lips as she withdrew. Oya tsked and shook her head, rivaling his own playfulness. “I spend too long on this makeup for you to ruin before the party.”

“And I, who gave you a most precious gift! You wound me,” he fauxed hurt, hand on his heart as if to underline what he said. Oya chuckled at him, enjoying the playfulness she had missed so much, the ease of his presence.

“What of the rest of the witches?” The seriousness returned.

“They could have died in the blast although I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. They’re like cockroaches,” Michael said with such an ease it filled her with confidence. If it wasn’t for the makeup or the apple currently being enjoyed to the fullest, she’d have kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

When the apple was carved to the core, Michael took it from her thin fingers discarding the remainder in the fire. Oya placed the knife on the mantle before coming up behind Michael, wrapping her arms around him and pressed into his warmth. His scent was intoxicating.

“We’ll find them. One way or another we will find them and then destroy them,” she assured him and tightened her grip to emphasize. Although she couldn’t see him, a rumble tingled through his back and into her. He turned to her, her hands working around his movements and landing on his chest as he came to face her.

“I think it’s time you wear this,” he said and held up a stone black as obsidian framed by silver so that it hangs as a pendant from a chain. It was beautiful. Oya touched the stone and felt a tingle at her fingertips, warmth radiating off what should have been cold. She recognized it instantly.

Michael opened the chain and led the parts around her neck, the black stone standing out against her otherwise pale skin, lacking the touch of the sun and health of nourishment. It almost hummed against her chest. Was it as alive for him as it was for her? Michael’s hands came to rest against her neck, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin while he angled his head towards her. “You will know when it’s time to break it.”

“Thank you,” she breathed softly feeling closer to freedom than what she had felt in a long time.

Everyone had on their finest attire and masks placed upon faces. Oya watched as they were all drawn to the perfect red apples that had been rolled in like fine dining to be placed in the small tub of water. They had all drawn in a breath of the sweet smell, mouths watering. She had watched them with amusement and played her part as well. Gallant was right about the symbolism… Something that’d soon turn to irony.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt,” Mallory introduced from above in the most expanced way possible clearly tired of Coco’s bullshit. Coco stepped out onto the balcony, lips painted in a heart shape and hair rising so far up from her head it reminded her of the elaborate headpieces back in Korea once upon a time. She stood as Marie Antoinette, or a watered down version anyway. The hair was impressive, even she had to admit that.

“Mhm! Can we clap please, thank you!” Gallant implored for people to clap at his masterpiece, clapping his own hands in the face of others to push their own actions. Oya joined in, eyes following the girl down the stairs.

“You did that?” Mrs. Mead asked in astonishment.

“Without a blow dryer sometimes I even astonish myself,” Gallant beamed with confidence. Clack, clack, clack, the erie sound of Mrs. Venables cain beating against the tiles travelled through the hall and into the library. It was a clear indicator of what came next. The claps slowly died out but Coco didn’t realise the shadow that had fallen upon her, not before Mrs. Venable leaned in beside her ear and said ‘boo’. Coco jumped in chock, the light teasing air within the room now tense with the usual kind of cold that followed Venable everywhere. Intimidation was the perfume she wore.  

“Tonight is all hallows eve,” Mrs. Venable began after Coco had scuttered away like a small mouse, the longing for the spotlight already showing upon her face. Oya breathed in, quietly moving into the shadows.  “-Which marks the beginning of the dark half of the year, when the boundary between this world and the other thins, and lost souls pierce the firmament desperate to find their way home. It is a night to remember the dead and there have been far too many to mourn.” A chilled quiet formed within the room, the losses heavy on their souls. Oya couldn’t count herself a mourner, she had lost far too many and the people that had been alive not long ago, were all mere spectres, mere thoughts.

“But also to celebrate,” Mrs. Venable continued with a smile on her lips. “That we have yet to join them.” The tap of her cain began anwe, Venable passing through the room with the air of superiority surrounding her, shoulders almost razor sharp with the edge she had on them. “We delight in the small things, that were once taken for granted. To eat, to drink, music and dance. Everyone! -and I mean everyone, should savour this night as if it were their last.”

Oya wanted to burst out laughing or quite maybe just yell. Venables whole speech was littered with cues and indications, like any villainous speech. The idea of throwing one of the candles at the redhead crossed her mind, but she remained quiet, the itching in her fingers never subsiding. It was a speech Michael would have liked, just for the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. He’d love the irony, appreciate it even. In this instance, she didn’t.

The music began, a new song and slowly the room began to move, bodies dancing throughout the space. Oya herself began to sway, taking a glass of sparkling water that quite honestly tasted like ass. Timothy and Emily swayed together, eyes connected in loving gaze. It was nice, she had to admit that, regardless of the end in sight.

“It is bewildering is it not?” Mrs. Venable said approaching Oya, whom eyed her over the rim of her glass nothing how revived the woman before her had become by the decision to play god with her own garden of Eden. Venable would present herself as God and the snake lureing starved humans to their own ruin. Poetic. “What little it takes to change everything, something so simple as apples.”

“I believe the promise of hope is what brings this change,” Oya voiced, fingers tapping with the rhythm on the glass. Venables eyebrows rose slightly, dark eyes fiery.

“Hope?”

“Hope is the smallest of things, it’s almost impossible to get rid of and it brings the biggest of change with it. Hope, want, desire, they all set root and grow.”

“And Mr. Langdon brought all of this? Hope? Want? Desire ?” The way she says the word, like it burns her mouth and leaves nothing but ash. Venable had always been opposed to desire, it was so easy to see in the way she gripped at control that desire was the fundamental of which the world was brought to ruin. That desire was the thing that made everyone who possessed it no better than rats. They were beneath her, those who were controlled by it and she was so far above because she was in control.

“Mr. Langdon brought many things, didn’t he?” Oya asked, following Venable through the room. They walked slowly, with sure steps although Oya trailed a few inches behind letting Venable control the pace. There was no need to look at the taller woman, she already knew the look of loathing upon her face mixed with the knowledge that she was soon to be rid of the thing she found so displeasing. “There’s been desire.” Oya said looking out into the room. “There’s been want.” They passed Mrs. Mead by the radio. “There’s been hope…All of this brings chaos of course, and this unabided is what brought the world to its knees, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Venable looked slightly surprised halting. “The old world was built on desire and the constant need to fulfill it. There was no control. People just did whatever they wanted. They were without discipline and those who was supposed to be the authority disregarded rules and mismanaged entire countries.”

“The world was ended because of men like him.” Venable looked over Oya with contemplation the younger girl giving no nod to her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure if Oya was taunting her, if the girl had some sort of knowledge and was now just toying with her or if she revealed for the first time her true thoughts. To her Oya had always been dubious, her intentions had always been unclear, she was a mystery that presented herself as simply another body that inhabited the place and her file had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Oya continued. “So why should we follow him?”

“I am not sure what you are saying, Miss Jeon,” Venable said ambiguously. “Do you not believe in the Sanctuary? Or do you not believe you’ll get in?”

“I am as sure as my position as any,” Oya said. “But these days it’s hard to know who to trust.”

“Indeed, which is why it makes me question your intentions. You’ve never been interested in the politics of this place, while the others have thrown their childish fits you’ve remained quiet. Now, however, you’ve decided to voice your views. You say men like him were the cause of the apocalypse and yet you’re willing to put your life in his hands?” Venable shook her head, eyes dark with fiery teeth ready to sink into any weakness presented. It was admirable what she was willing to do to be the queen, paving the way to her kingdom with the corpses of those who got in her way.

“For survival, I’d do anything. Wouldn’t you ?” Oya answered with a tone Michael would have been proud of, the same nonchalant mocking he had mastered so well. Venables eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Oya send Venable a sweet innocent smile before turning around and joining Gallant and Coco on the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Venable return to where Mrs. Mead was, the two clearly sharing a few unknown words. If Michael had been there he would have been proud.

Mrs. Venable was a fox in sheep's clothing but there were other bigger and more dangerous creatures mimicking sheep as well.

A dark tall figure entered and began dancing with Coco. It wasn’t Michael that she was sure of but it could be one of this tricks, Oya simply shrugged and joined Dinah by the fire, chatting together as the mood began to brighten even further. It wasn’t before Coco’s disappearance down dim lit hall that Oya excused herself, disappearing as well. She had done her part, she had shown her face and now was the time to withdraw into the shadows while the attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s begin the bobbing for apples!” Mrs. Mead voiced out loud, turning down the music and gathered with the others around the small body of water. Oya looked over her shoulder one last time before walking to her own room.

Death had been invited in with open arms, a feast was thrown as a welcome and now was the time kiss death on the lips and take his hand for the festivities were for a goodbye and another world awaited.

When the door opened and Mrs. Venable and Mrs. Mead entered, Oya stood by Michael, she had one hand that rested on his shoulder in a familiar touch. Already she could feel the hardened glare of Mrs. Venable, the eyes that cut like glass and pricked at her back. The cane tapped at the floor, one after another until it came to a rest and then the door clicked closed.

“Ladies I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections,” Michael voiced with a nonchalance Oya couldn’t match. She was after all human and her body reacted to the threat of these people by sending a spike of adrenaline through her body even though her mind knew that Michael wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“This won’t take long,” Venable said with a cold venom. Oya turned to face her, mild entertainment showing on her face. Venable’s eyes cracked to her the hostility almost unnerving. Michael shut the laptop gently, turning towards the intruders with the same nonchalance that he had spoken with.

“What’s this?” Michael asked with faux obliviousness, one that tugged at the corners of Oya’s mouth as Venable narrowed her eyes at him. The cane clicked as she came closer, invading the space of the two.

With one last click of her cane Venable answered with a victorious smirk. “We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon.” Her eyes traveled to Oya with sharp accuracy, the anger towards the other woman apparent. “I see you really would do anything for survival, Miss Jeon. I will admit, I am a little disappointed by your choice, you were after all supposed to be the smart one…. But you’ve made your choice.”

“And so have you,” Oya responded in a tone equal to Venables.

Venable drew in an unbothered but still strained breath before speaking, her eyes once more on Michael, who remained in his mask of faux confusion and obviousness. It was so apparent that it was faked. “And I’m afraid neither of you made the cut.”

Oya and Michael looked at each other and burst into chuckles that was neither warm or friendly but rather mocking. It was hard to keep the chuckle in when faced with someone who thought they were the puppeteer when in reality they had as many strings as the ones they thought they controlled. Venables power had been as superficial as Michael’s confusion.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in,” Michael said carelessly. He could be looking down the barrel of a gun and know it’d not be enough to take him down. Venable thought herself superior in the face of a god. That was better entertainment than what she had seen the last year. Still the arrogant smirk remained on her dark lips.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m impressed, Mrs. Venable,” Michael answered. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Stretching his body to the fullest of his height, Michael stood. He glanced at Oya before returning his eyes towards the enemy. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for the sanctuary.”

The woman behind him made a face of disagreement but remained silent. If Michael wanted her to go with them, then she’d accept it but that didn't mean she’d like it. Maybe he’d forgive her for killing Venable because that certainly would be the case if Oya had to live with that wretched woman for the rest of her human life. But of course, the woman she knew would never agree to fall in like under the heel of a man like Michael, any man actually.

“Mrs. Mead,” Venable breathed with annoyance. The smaller woman with ink hair and paper-pale skin fished a gun out from under her jacket, the sound of it clicking following quickly after. With her human body, Oya reacted to the sound, a wave of goosebumps washing over her. Unconsciously she stepped behind Michael, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, the motion of it without a doubt known to Michael. She knew he felt her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Michael warned and by doing so extending another chance for survival. He wouldn’t give another one. Venable’s smirk grew, the fire in her eyes burning bright by the victorious end in sight.

Michael tilted his head towards Mrs. Mead, brows rising in anticipation. By this show of what some would call carelessness but in reality a certainty, Oya felt a boost of confidence. It was strange to watch Mrs. Mead with her ghosty blank expressions as if a million thoughts were going through her head.

The delay became too much and Venable’s delight turned to impatience. “Mrs. Mead.” Venable turned to glare at her companion but found that the gun was now pointed at her. Before she could register it went off, the expression of her face changing to surprise and then betrayal. One Oya recognized all too well. The sound of the shot resonated through the room and ran a cold finger down her spine. The air smelled and tasted metallic, a small gush of blood exploded into it.

Oya couldn’t help but breathe relieved, the joy of seeing Venable fall from her pedestal to lie on the ground among all those she had killed. If she believed in karma this would be it. But there were also surprised bubbling within by the reveal that Mrs. Mead had been the one among all of them to protect her. That she hadn’t seen coming.

Mrs. Mead, however, looked as shocked as Venable, her actions a complete surprise to herself. She shook at it, body trembling while she watched the woman she had thought she was to protect now lying dying on the ground, gasping for air as she drowned in her own blood.”I don’t know why I did that. I was always so loyal to her.”

Oya felt sympathy for the woman but remained standing in silence while Michael crouched down to look Venable in the eyes as life left her. Rarely had she felt pleasure to watch life leave a person but a few occasions changed that.

“It’s alright,” Michael said with a calm voice. “You were obeying command. Like you’re programed to do. My commands.”

Oya stepped up to him, placing a hand on his back as he stood and looked at Mrs. Mead, satisfaction shining through his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned into a delighted smile. “Did you enjoy executing the poisonous apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?”

Mrs. Mead was at a loss of words for a moment. You could see everything going through her head, how disoriented her thoughts were. Her body was frozen in time, still pointing the gun as if Venable was still standing. “You wanted everyone dead?”

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” Michael explained with a drawl. “Learned that from my father.”

Oya looked down at Venables dead body, the bullet torn through clothing and skin as if it were the same and left a bloody gaping wound in her chest. From the looks of it it had tron through her chest plate and into her lung. There were no blood splatter nor any bullet hole behind her, so the bullet was still inside of her. Either she drowned in her own blood or her heart gave in. By the time Oya looked up, Mrs. Mead was trembling even more, bottom lip quivering and tears streaking down her pale cheeks.

“-Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed.”

“W-wa-what do y-you believe?”

“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus are evil motherfuckers,” Michael continued. Oya made a face and pursed her lips. Whether there was a flaw in Michael’s belief or not, were not hers to dispute. To her humans was oblivious little creatures capable of great monstrosity or kindness, each holding their own value. Humanity was flawed and just maybe a new set of rules, a new world, could make up for that flaw. In chaos, there were always the greatest fun.

“I-I’m having trouble with this,” Mrs. Mead stammered. “I know, I’m just a machine-,”

“Never say that!” Michael broke, the tremor in his voice indicating how emotional he was in this moment. It cut into her, the sudden realisation that this woman was more important to him that she initially thought. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked the Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed…” Oya put a hand on the small of his back, coming up to stand beside him. Michael glanced at her and revealed the tears in his eyes, the pain and sadness in the blue. “I gave them a prototype to model.”

“A prototype?”

“Someone from my childhood,” Michael said gently. “This one very dear to me.”

It was like she was watching the sun rise for the first time. Pure and adulterated realisation shining through every ounce of her. It looked like a door had opened and all that was hidden behind it washed over her.  

Oya couldn’t help but feel a strange sadness at the bottom of her stomach. This woman was created in the image of someone else, someone human and she had been lost to him. This woman was made out of his pain and sorrow and loneliness to replace the one he had lost. But in the end, to Oya at least, a robot could never replace a human.

“The beautiful boy,” Mrs. Mead said calmly.

“That was me,” Michael said back, voice barely above a whisper and breaking. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind.”

“Why?”

“To protect you,” Michael answered. “And the plan. But now it’s time to remember it all. I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine a new world without you by my side. One of two women who ever really understood me.”

There were no other way to explain it other than pure happiness showing upon her face. “Who ever really loved you.”

Michael embraced the woman, hugging her tightly. The sight moved Oya, her heart swelling in her chest. He looked like a child, a boy who was finally hugged by their absent parent that had returned to them. She had seen the boy in him before, seen the loneliness and heartbreak. If a simple thing like a rose or an embrace could bring this sort of happiness, belonging, she’d shower him in it. For all he had gone through he deserved better.

Michael sat Mrs. Mead down and told her about the woman in which image she was created. The conversation was intimate, between the two, mother and child, and Oya felt strangely out of place. She watched as the two were hunched together, the aura around them thick and warm. Standing back she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away while nibbling at her bottom lip.

“...Who better than the one person who I never stopped trusting,” Michael said with a gentle drawl. “Or loving.”

Mrs. Mead smiled, eyes sparkling with artificial life, with joy and prosperous love. Truly, it was like she was looking at her son, with the same proud eyes mothers had when their child achieved greatness. An oddly jealous ache settling in her heart. The woman stood and Michael with her, she took his hands with a gratified smile upon her lips.

“Mrs. Mead, I do believe you’re glowing,” Michael smiled at her.

“For the first time I feel like I know my place in the world,” she said. At this Oya smiled, knowing exactly what that felt like. She walked to Michael, wrapping her arm around his and smiled at the both of them.

“Oya,” Mrs. Mead said and looked at Oya who’s eyes widened a little unsure what to expect. The woman simply smiled and brushed a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” She answered. Michael smiled down at Oya only for his smile to stifle, slowly turning into a frown as his eyes unfocused out into the room. The air changed, electricity filling it up making the hairs on her body stand. Not even the candles and fireplace managed to warm the air that seemed to be forever chilled.

“What is it?” Mrs. Mead asked.

“A powerful presence,” Michael answered.

“What do you mean everyone is dead.”

“Not anymore.”

[hollenka99]

The Great War

Summary: Jackson Trinity continues to find more success, Jameson with it. However, a war rages on in Europe and it is inevitable that hearts will be broken by the end of it.

Warnings: Minor character death, World War One, references to infant/child mortality

July 29, 1914

Dear Mother,

I think I may have accidentally trained my son to call me Pops. He quite enjoys it when Siobhan and I sing 'Pop Goes The Weasel'. I think it may be his favourite tune. Siobhan will sing the song while I will pop to emphasize the last line by pulling my finger out of my mouth. He loves that. He has taken to following me around, attempting to do the same. Failing that, he tries to say the word.

So, I suppose I am 'Pops' now. I don't mind, especially with origins like these. Siobhan is still 'Momma'.

Yours, Jameson

August 5, 1914 Harvey,

I heard Great Britain declared war on Germany. I know exactly what that means for Canada. I also know what your intentions are. I disagree with them wholly. Enlisting is the wrong thing to do. You have three young daughters who rely on you, not to mention Edith. What would happen to them while you were away getting shot at?

I don't know whether you miss South Africa, the structure of the army or simply enjoy risking your safety. I cannot begin to imagine why you are so set on enlisting. I could tell you would be the type to come running at Hughes' beck and call. And to think, I counted myself lucky that the British had not yet announced their plans to get involved.

Yours, Jameson

August 21, 1914 Jameson,

For someone who is rarely verbal, you have surprising trouble knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

I am fully aware of the risks involved with warfare. Have you forgotten that I have military experience? I've already fought against those primitive Boers. The Europeans should be an actual fight worth being part of.

Furthermore, don't speak to me about leaving family behind. You make constant promises of visiting Saint John yet never deliver upon them. You are forever telling us you plan to see your nieces and nephews then never show. We wouldn't know what Anthony looks like if it were not for those meaningless photographs you send. When you stop turning your back on us so you can progress your career, perhaps then we can discuss familial commitment.

It's all glamorous for you, the beginnings of a life in the spotlight. Soon, you'll have it all. By the end of the decade, you'll be living in a large expensive home with an impressive array of influential acquaintances. One day, it will all come crashing down on you. Technology will advance further than you can cope and it will leave you irrelevant. Face it Jameson, moving pictures are going to have sound eventually. Where is that going to leave a mute such as yourself?

My daughters will grow up knowing their father served their country bravely, an ordinary hero like thousands of others. All Anthony will have to be proud of is a father who starred in the pictures before he became forgotten about.

Yours, Harvey

September 7, 1914 Harvey,

Don't try insult me.

When I inevitably have to hold our mother as she grieves, I'll remember how stubbornly arrogant you have been. You weren't there for over two years. There wasn't a day where she wouldn't worry endlessly for your safety. Then Father died. We had to watch her fall apart. He'd been ill during Christmastide and he barely saw the new year. She became a widow and all she would talk about was the goddamn telegram she swore she would receive any day. It was hell to see her like that. I may live on the other side of the continent, in whole other country, but I know where her head will go as soon as you leave Saint John. I'm not 13 any longer. I am not at home to ensure she is not fixated on very possible outcomes. The only one left in Saint John will be Mabel. God knows she pulled her weight and then some at the beginning of this century. Once again, you're tearing everything apart.

It is clear you have rendered yourself deaf to sense. So go. Go get yourself killed. Allow yourself to be shot at, far away from home and curse your family with bereavement. Make your daughters question what their absent father was like. I don't care if you find your life at the factory tedious. Your outlet should not be risking everything that matters. No brother of mine would turn his back on family.

Furthermore, I have been to Saint John with Anthony. You could have met him if you weren't celebrating Thanksgiving elsewhere. I know my career has a time limit. It is why I am so determined to succeed and give my son the best life possible. Far better than the life you could ever provide your children. I may have been happy to lend you some of my profits, if you weren't acting like an ass.

Yours, Jameson

October 19, 1914 Dear Jameson,

While I am tired of hearing about your argument with Harvey, I thought you have the right to be updated. He went to Quebec earlier this week to hear Sam Hughes' speak before being shipped across the Atlantic. The girls and I will be okay. Your mother has kindly offered to let us stay at her home should we ever need it.

I share a similar view to yours regarding all of this. I by no means wished for him to leave. He wholeheartedly believes this is what he should do. The government is bound to release propaganda to encourage enlistment eventually. I suppose, as his wife, I can't do anything but trust he will return.

All the best, Edith

November 11, 1914 Dear Mother,

Siobhan has been longing for a pet for several months now. We have made the commitment of owning a dog. It is a Dalmatian she has named Lyra. Anthony has immediately taken to her. My only concern is that he will treat her too roughly and she will defend herself aggressively. He doesn't know much better but we are trying to prevent anything from happening.

I have taken to helping train her in my spare time. It is refreshing to be obeyed by a creature of lesser intelligence. It may be too soon for results to show but it is a start. Perhaps you should get yourself a dog as well. I'm sure Harvey's girls would adore one. Mabel might be interested in introducing a pet into her family. That said, Walter (if he is indeed a boy as she insists) is going to be born any day now. Maybe she should wait until her sons are older.

Yours, Jameson

April 13, 1915 Dear Mother,

Have you seen Chaplin's latest? That Tramp character looks like he has promise. My Jolly Gentleman is selling well also. I am grateful people adore him. He is dear to me. Could you imagine a meeting between Chaplin's Tramp and my Gentleman? It would be quite the escapade.

Did Cliff tell you I've met the man? They are acquaintances from their respective times at Keystone. I met Cliff outside of the studios at the end of a day of filming. Chaplin was there too. Cliff introduced us so I did my best to strike a short conversation. He comes across as a good fellow. If I'm going to be honest, I find it difficult to imagine he and the Tramp share the same face. I doubt people have the same issue with me as my moustache is genuine.

Yours, Jameson

June 11, 1915 Dear all,

We're amazed by how successful 'Puppet Man' has become. To think, the idea came to me from a children's book. I bought a copy of Carlo Collodi's 'The Adventures of Pinocchio' last year. It is originally Italian but a woman named Mary Alice Murray translated it into English. It has illustrations and I generally thought Anthony would enjoy it. Instead, I found myself reading it.

It's about a carpenter who creates the eponymous puppet boy. Pinocchio is a compulsive lair and by the end he finds himself as real of a boy as any reading the story. The Christian message is blatant but overall, it is not a bad book. My only issue with it is the scene where bandits hang Pinocchio until they tire of waiting for him to suffocate. I am not sure whether I will include that part when reading it to Anthony.

I never plagiarized. 'Puppet Man' was merely inspired by the story. I could never use the elongating nose because that trait is unique to Pinocchio. Honestly, the only similarities between the two are that a puppet finds life by the finale.

Still, $300,000 is a lot of money. We've never made this much profit before. It's not our first feature film but this is Pearl's directorial debut. This may be the big break we've been hoping for. We have nothing to do but celebrate and plan how to proceed.

Yours, Jameson

Oliver Charles Jackson Male October 21, 1915 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

October 30, 1915 Dear all,

It seems we have a jealous older brother on our hands. Yesterday, we found Anthony hiding Oliver in his toy box after he emptied it, saying it was all Oliver's fault. When he noticed we were watching, he cried. He says we stopped paying attention to him and that he's been replaced. I attempted to calmly explain to him why we don't bury baby brothers in our toys.

It may take time for him to get used to this new arrangement. Let us hope the two are on better terms eventually. As of now, it is clear he is the same Anthony he was a month ago. He later leaned over the cot and reminded 'Ollie' who was in control but was apologetic when caught. He's just attention-seeking now that his parents have to dedicate more time to the baby. I was similarly upset with Pearl, wasn't I?

Yours amusingly, Jameson

January 23, 1916 Dear Jameson,

It was delightful to see you reprising your role as best man at Cliff's wedding. Anthony made a good ring bearer, even if he was a little side-tracked by the amount of guests present. Furthermore, I loved meeting baby Oliver. Either he was on his best behaviour or Anthony is finally beginning to warm to his brother.

I was wrong about Loretta. She is a charming woman and I am glad she has now joined our family. You were right, his relationship with her is worlds away from what he had with Elizabeth. While I do wish them a happy life with children, I can't help but wonder what became of Clara and Daniel. They are still his children, even if none of us have laid eyes on them in years. Let's hope their future half-siblings will be raised with their father present.

Yours, Your mother

May 1, 1916 Dear all,

I have been following the recent rebellion in Ireland. I wasn't exactly supportive of the Unionists using violence to promote their views. Then a British soldier began using human shields and shot a child who was likely minding his own business. His superiors better take appropriate action after this. I'm not necessarily saying the man must hang but he should be punished accordingly. And no plea of insanity. If I hear he gets away with his despicable actions because he feigns insanity or the British turn a blind eye, I will be furious. I sincerely hope the Irish won't let this rebellion be forgotten. I don't endorse the fighting, especially as Europe has enough blood being shed as it is, but I do understand their struggle.

I wonder what Granny would make of all this. It's impossible to forget the passion with which she would insist it was never a famine but a starvation. She had every right to be feel strongly on the subject. I may have listened to her a little too intently as a child. Although, she was always right about the British making their way up the global hierarchy. The sun may never set on the British Empire but maybe it should, it would be easier to pretend blood didn't water the soil years ago.

I've learned two things over the past few years. I find myself somewhat impassioned when it comes to the British and pacifism. I prefer to stay slow to anger. I doubt I will ever cease reacting strongly to those subjects. I plan to stop so I do not carry on this narrow-minded attitude in my sons. Besides, Siobhan is the Irish one. She doesn't have as strong of an opinion on British rule.

I suspect the Irish will continue fighting for the Ireland they want during the remainder of this century. I can only hope the fatalities and casualties involved in this is kept to a minimum.

Yours, Jameson

June 23, 1916 Dear Mother,

The other day, Anthony must have been somewhat bored because he heaved his brother off the floor and made Ollie 'ride' Lyra. I'm not sure how she felt about the incident but she didn't react negatively. Oliver, however, wasn't too pleased to be handled in such a way. Eight months after meeting his brother, Anthony is still learning how to be gentle. I suppose there have been worse brothers. Didn't Cliff try to drag me into the sea at one point because I tripped on his blocks? I glad our relationship has matured and he isn't planning my murder anymore.

I managed to capture the moment. It is a little blurry but you can see well enough what Anthony is doing. I hope you enjoy the photograph.

Yours, Jameson

July 16, 1916 Dear Jameson,

Do you remember David Wynton? The two of you used to be such close friends. You seemed to lose touch with each other after you left for New York. I never really understood why that happened.

I am so sorry, Jameson. I ran into his mother at the market and we began to talk. She received a telegram earlier this month. I didn't know how to respond. I wish I didn't have to tell you about his death. You should at least know.

You have my sympathy, Your mother

August 1, 1916 Dear Mother,

Thank you for telling me the news. Although, I think you may be mistaken. David and I still talked to each other until last year. I'll admit it was at a decreased frequency than in our youth but we corresponded nonetheless. In fact, he was at the wedding. Do you not remember?

Anthony is excited for his fourth birthday next Monday. He is very confused as to why his Pops has suddenly decided to stop playing with him. I feel bad for subjecting him to this unexplained change in behaviour. I'm not sure whether he would even understand the concept of death. I found myself telling Oliver about David last night as I prepared him for bedtime. Nine month olds are not inclined to ask you questions throughout your story. In the end, I had to pass him to Siobhan.

Siobhan herself is very understanding. I am grateful for that, not that I ever expected her to be anything but supportive in times like these. There are boys she knew from Limerick who are never coming home too.

I wish this war would end already. In the very least, we still have Harvey. As against his decision as I am, I do miss him. If this is how affected I am by the death of a lifelong friend, I cannot bare the thought of losing a brother.

Tell his family I am thinking of them, Jameson

October 12, 1916 Dear Mother,

It was odd to be back in Saint John after the news earlier this year. Even stranger was visiting David's family for a moment to personally give my sympathies, only to discover he has a son. He'd told me he had a girlfriend but never mentioned she had been expecting when he left. Maybe he believed I'd think less of him because the boy is illegitimate. I never could judge him for that.

It is funny that his son is named Winston. David was always jokingly telling me he would have a son with that name. I would proceed to chuckle and encourage him to do so with jest. I am beginning to question whether he had been serious the whole time. I do find it humorous that there is a Winston Wynton out there in the world. That knowledge makes it easier to carry on without being able to properly bid farewell to his father.

If I were raising my sons in Saint John, I would like the three boys to be friends, preferably as close as their fathers were.

Yours, Jameson

November 27, 1916 Dear Mother,

If you hear anything about a lawsuit involving us, ignore it. It is complete nonsense. Keystone claim Cliff has performed mutiny, betrayed them, whatever drivel they are spouting this week. There is no case. There was no legal agreement that Cliff wouldn't return to Jackson Trinity during his contract with Keystone. Even so, he had little involvement with our productions during that time out of respect. His contract had been ceased for several months before any of these allegations began.

We have found ourselves a decent lawyer, simply for the security of it. It is best to prepare in case Keystone's legal team is persuasive. He agrees this is all hot air but understands why we are being cautious.

Yours, Jameson

April 6, 1917 Dear all,

Nearly three years into the war, the United States of America has declared war on Germany. I suppose the allies are glad for the extra help. God knows how long this conflict will last. I recall people insisting it would all be over by Christmas. Three years ago. There are hundreds of thousands of American men who are of the right age and fitness to enlist. With all those new recruits, perhaps this is the boost the allies need to win.

However long this war lasts, I am dreading the first glimpse of how affected the country is by the deaths of family members that will inevitably come. Let's pray it will be this Christmas that we can celebrate peacetime once more.

Yours, Jameson

July 21, 1917 Dear all,

The case has been won in our favour. The three of us are relieved. We will celebrate quietly then return to business as usual. This was simply an annoying blip.

Just thought I'd update you on our situation.

Yours, Jameson

October 14, 1917 Dear Jameson,

How are you doing? I am looking forward to seeing you again one day. It will be a good day. We can share a drink and you can live up to your name, Whiskey. With an Irish wife, I expect you to outdrink me with ease. I would kill for some alcohol now.

I wanted to apologize, Jem. We've had a tense relationship over these past few years and I've sensed the distance between us. I thought I knew full well how dangerous the battlefield can be. I know that far better than you, yet I was the one who chose to join regardless. I've since discovered France is nothing like South Africa.

You've constantly blamed me for abandoning my family. I can assure you that I love Edith and my daughters. All I wanted was for them to grow up with a favourable impression of me. Isn't that what we all wish for, our children wanting to follow in our example? You have no idea how desperately I'd love to see them right now. I want to be reunited with you all.

I want you to know I'm proud of you. While we can't exactly go to the pictures here, I have heard a fair amount of news about your success from Saint John. I know it is a team effort and the three of you are just as responsible for your rise as each other. That said, there would be no movie without a script. All the actors are doing are bringing your stories to life. You were always good with a pen. You're not bad with arithmancy but, trust me Jem, you would be wasted as an accountant.

I've also heard you've given Anthony a little brother. Make sure they don't end up like us. No one person can control the events of the world but you can raise your sons on knowledge of our mistakes. Teach them to be forgiving. Teach them time is not always their ally. Most importantly, teach them to treasure each other and never forsake the bond they were gifted. If they don't heed those words, then it all goes to waste.

I'm in the infirmary right now. Breathed in something I shouldn't have. It was unintentional but I am sitting here, resenting my foolishness. I hope you can forgive me for all our quarrels. I will be fine, don't you worry. We can shake hands the next time we meet.

Wishing you a long and happy life, Harvey

October 26, 1917 Dear Clifford, Jameson and Pearl,

I'm sure you are all hard at work. I am looking forward to watching your latest feature at the Imperial. However, I insist that you return home immediately. I received a telegram regarding Harvey. The worst has happened. We need to be together as a family.

Regrettably awaiting your arrival, Your mother

November 4, 1917 Dear Harvey,

Yes, you are a fool. But so am I. This is my fault. I've been so angry at the prospect of losing those dear to me I acted irrationally.

Dorothy, Alice and Minerva could never see you in a bad light. They only wish to have you home for good. You've missed three years of their lives but it can be rectified. I hear from Edith that next year, Dorothy and Minnie are beginning middle school and elementary school respectively. Be there for that. They are growing up faster than you'd like. I struggle to understand how Anthony and Ollie are already 5 and 2 years old.

I know you never cared for ancient texts but I am reminded of a moment during the Trojan War. There was a disagreement between Agamemnon and Achilles. After Achilles' good friend (some argued lover) dies protecting his honour, Agamemnon apologizes to Achilles. He says something along the lines of the gods stealing their common sense. I feel that applies to us.

God must have stolen both of our common sense. I am willing to let bygone be bygones so long as you

March 6, 1918 Dear Jameson,

We saw your latest film. We can't say we enjoyed the messages it conveyed.

I will warn you once and once only; do not let your works become political. This will get you nowhere and destroy the reputation you have earned. Especially when you come to your senses and remind yourself that the war in Europe is yet to reach its conclusion.

I understand Jem, I truly do. We are all doing our best to carry on without Harvey. Making a film about boys being raised to fight is not the right way to grieve. For the love of God, you used your sons! I hope you feel at least the slightest bit of shame. How Cliff or Pearl, let alone your wife, allowed you to use them is a mystery to me.

I remember the happy boy who would steal my candy when he thought I wasn't looking. I remember the brother who smiled whenever he was ill so we wouldn't fret too much. I remember the Jem who had his voice stolen as a child, his health forever compromised, but took it all in his stride.

I don't recall a man with an uncharacteristically dark mind.

You have so much to be happy about. Your third child is due in June, you have a successful career and business, your wife cares for you and you still have three other siblings who have always been there for you.

Please think things through, Mabel

Sophia Evelyn Jackson Female April 29, 1918 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

May 8, 1918 Dear Mother,

Sophia arrived a week ago on the 29th. She is 5 weeks too early and I have been so consumed with anxiety that I forgot to even inform you of her birth. I apologize.

The boys haven't been able to properly meet their sister. Children are so susceptible to diseases. God forbid one of them develops a cold and interacts with Sophia. She is so unbearably fragile as of right now. All it takes is for her to be infected with a common illness, one that is relatively harmless, and she could be gone.

I fear that will be the thing to push me over the edge. Harvey's death is fresh and I can't bare to lose more of those I care for. Everything is out of my control and cruelly so. I know there were two between myself and Pearl. Siobhan had a number of older siblings she never got to meet. Was this how it was for you and her parents? I know Cliff and I had a habit of making a nuisance of ourselves. If we caused you distress while you suffered this way, I cannot begin to apologize enough.

I don't care if she is a sickly child. She can spend her whole life bedridden and I will care for her with everything I have. I will happily remain paranoid regarding her wellbeing for as long as I live. If she must be isolated for her own good, I will keep her company. So long as she is still here. There cannot be any other alternative.

Wishing I could have given you good news, Jameson

November 12, 1918 Dear all,

It's over! It's finally over. I may have shed a tear or two when I heard the news. I can't help but think of all the fortunate families who will be welcoming their fathers, husbands and brothers back home. I can't imagine how relieved they must be at the announcement. Then there are families such as ours who will find all of this bittersweet. I suppose the only comfort we can have is that no more will have to grieve like us because of the Great War.

They call it the war to end all wars and, as desperately hopeful as I am that will prove true, I know what Man is like. Give it a century or so. The survivors will pass war stories down to their sons and grandsons. One day, this war will be but a collection of stories and some fool will cause history to repeat itself.

I'll do what I can to make sure neither Anthony nor Oliver will end up that fool. I hated having to raise them during such a horrific conflict. I hope they won't remember this part of their life. Six and three years of age is too young to retain vivid memories, I think.

Thinking of you, Jameson

[communistkenobi-archive]

Now I know that the Prequels were, well, prequels, and so they had a built-in sense of inevitability to them that Palpatine was clearly an expression of, but the way that inevitably was expressed boils down to “well there was this one INSANELY evil dude who was so smart that he planned out every single political conflict decades before they occurred, and all of it came true pretty much exactly how he planned”, which reads less like a fictional exaggeration of history and more like a Qanon conspiracy post on nazi forums.

I’m obviously not calling Lucas a conspiracy theorist, I’m not familiar enough with his political beliefs to say one way or the other (and it largely doesn’t matter anyway), but it’s a common occurrence in liberal media in general - even when directors/writers seek to critique a certain institution (usually liberal, like the government, usually expressed as inequality as a concept or something similarly vague), they approach that critique in a terminally liberal fashion by isolating their criticisms to singularly awful men poisoning what are otherwise noble and good systems (or at least, flawed but still the best we can possibly come up with). This not only absolves the structure of the institution itself from any harm it causes, but it also absolves all the other complicit and actively malicious actors who make up the body of that system. It also, again, argues that any popular opposition to these things are either non-existent (because the public isn’t aware of HOW evil the man in power is due to it being hidden - which is a huge cop-out and not historically true at all) or doomed to fail from the outset, because if this Awful Great Man is so powerful and all-knowing that he can single-handedly orchestrate the downfall of the most powerful government in the galaxy’s history, then how on earth can random citizens oppose or stop that from happening?

I also understand that there are senators or groups within the PT/tCW that try to stop Palpatine throughout the war, or uncover the truth (like the arc with Fives in tCW) of what’s happening, and I’m not dismissing those. But even with all of those things present, Palpatine is still an issue because he’s given these godlike powers as the head of state by the narrative, with the implication being that had he not come into office, the Republic wouldn’t have gone to war; the Jedi Order wouldn’t have fallen; human rights abuses, corruption, and anti-democratic laws wouldn’t have been enacted. Palpatine is used as a universal explanation for why the Republic is bad or doomed to fall, which completely guts the political criticism Lucas seemed to be aiming for - which is that Republics such as the ones described in Star Wars (which are a blatant parallel to real world western liberal governments) themselves are bad, not just the awful men who lead them.

And I see Palpatine being used this way in the fandom to dismiss all of these larger criticisms, such as the Jedi Order's involvement in leading a slave army, or the Republic's history of imperialism and economic sanctions that brutalize the independent systems they're trying to invade/incorporate into their borders, or their involvement in wars that have nothing to do with them (such as the civil war on Mandalore). I'm sure people would come up with other similar explanations to rationalize these things were Palpatine not present, but he makes it that much easier by being a very handy 'gotcha!' to anyone who attempts to have a conversation about actual institutional flaws in the Republic or Jedi Order, to such an extent that I've literally seen people say "you're just parroting Palpatine's propaganda!" when you point out that like, the Jedi leading a slave army into war is morally abhorrent regardless of the in-universe justification for it. It's super frustrating!

One of the most annoying things about Palpatine as a villain is that he undermines the entire thesis of the Prequels, which is essentially “liberal democracies are weak to fascism, the thing they are ostensibly fighting against.”

Palpatine is an absurd expression of Great Man Theory - the idea that history is the biography of great men, as opposed to a series of mass popular movements composed of various groups and individuals fighting for resources and power. I think you could easily make the argument that the Rebellion would have won without Luke’s involvement; it might have taken longer, or been more difficult, but the arc of history was bent so far in the Rebellion’s direction already that by the time Luke came in, he was just spurring on the inevitable. But you can’t make that same argument for the Republic falling without Palpatine’s involvement - the PT establishes him as so thoroughly enmeshed in Republic politics that massive events triggering the Republic’s fall (namely the Clone Wars and the clones themselves being controlled by Palpatine) necessitates his massive omnipresence in the story. Not only does this localise all the political problems the PT was attempting to critique to a single bad person in office (as opposed to the institution itself), it implies that popular opposition to rising fascism is pointless, because if your fascist leader has god-like political foresight and power, there is no way to oppose him.

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Auradon Improvement Initiative Explained! (Part 3): The Divided States of Auradon

Note: This is 1,800 or so words. It is a VERY long read.

“No one argues with Beast’s decision because he’s the best and the smartest and the most Good leader of all,” to paraphrase Melissa de la Cruz (author of the main Descendants book series), is the in-universe justification about how no one complains about Beast’s overarching decisions like the Magic Ban.

To me, it honestly sounds like propaganda from a totalitarian regime like North Korea, the kind of oversimplification and shielding from brutal reality that a parent would give a very young child, or a massive insult to the intelligence of the people of Auradon, especially egregious because I can name at least two Disney Princesses who have “incredible intelligence and studiousness” as one of their key traits, Belle (Beauty and the Beast) and Jasmine (Aladdin).

You could say this is actually even MORE insulting because one of them is actually married to the man, and would have unparalleled influence in his decisions.

This part of my long, drawn-out, and at times “very concerning for the sheer passion I’m putting into it” series of how I would improve Descendants advises doing away with the “United” States of Auradon.

Instead, it would make them the “Divided” Countries of Auradon, unified only by international agreements and trade, but otherwise each their own government.

As of now, Auradon is like a Federal Government, with a central government that enforces nation-wide policy and being the ultimate source of power (Auradon City, Beast, and eventually, Ben), but each state/kingdom has its own regional government that actually handles the nitty-gritty of day-to-day operations and their own unique local issues and concerns (the various monarchs who still rule over their dominions, such as Aladdin and Jasmine over Agrabah, the Emperor over China, or what remains of the Parliament of London).

The regional governments have been shown to have incredible scope of power, as with King Arthur being legally able to literally keep Camelot in the Dark Ages, and Ben is presumably unable to veto that for whatever reason, but as the above quote says, everyone generally falls in line with whatever Beast says because “he’s the King.”

I hate that.

I want disagreements between states, actual fucking politics, diplomacy, and compromise, show how difficult it is to get all of these vastly different cultures to agree on something as inane as the theme for an annual international event, much less trade agreements that could literally end with people starving to death, or dire emergencies like outbreaks of disease that could spread VERY quickly everywhere, largely because of Auradonians habit of gelling together and crowding in the streets for random dance numbers, all whilst singing at the top of their lungs.

Make it so that Ben is frequently shown or referenced to be in long, grueling meetings, constantly overseeing, reading and listening to, and making decisions for the government like an actual King in a modern, interconnected environment like this, and how it’s a delicate high-wire act with a lot of ass-kissing, self-sacrifice, and sometimes pandering to the most frivolous aspects of your fellow rulers and influential figures.

It may be ridiculous to knight a duchess’ dog, but it’s not so ridiculous when that act stands between you and solving a massive uprising in the farmers who demand to finally be able to own the land they’ve been tilling, rather than to still have to pay tribute to the lady of the estate AND taxes to the government.

And then show that this is just Auradon City level politics, that this isn’t even going into how deep, complex, and ridiculous it can get the individual kingdoms, especially a hub of international trade activity like Arendelle.

Make a reference to how they DID try to have Beast be the Supreme Ruler, but after a few months of his dictatorial, no compromises, “Obey me or I will yell at you until you do!” leadership style, everyone got sick of his shit, and realized this was a bad idea.

Teach kids that being a leader (especially a King) doesn’t mean you always have to fight for and get what you want, it’s figuring out the best solution for everyone, and is oftentimes an inglorious, difficult job where the criticisms are many and the praise is few.

And if you constantly throw tantrums and demand everyone bow down to you, that’s a great way to turn your allies against you, have them unite in their desire to kick you out, and make even more trouble for everyone.

(On a side note, I headcanon that relations, professional or personal, between King Beast and Queen Elsa are still strained to this day. The staff make sure they are never alone together in a room.)

All the realism aside, to make everyone hold hands and dance 24/7 is an insult to the classic Disney movies, which thrived on division between the people within a single kingdom, or even a small town.

To use Beauty and the Beast, would Belle and her father Maurice’s plight have been as interesting if they weren’t ostracized for their intelligence and bookishness? If they all got along just fine, and the mob heading up to Beast’s castle was just to politely ask what happened to Belle, not to “Kill the Beast!”?

It would also make the world extremely interesting by giving every individual state/country/kingdom their own identity and theme, a culture and a personality, rather than just be aesthetic choices like a “UN Pride Parade” with all-white, middle class, American paraders wearing traditional costumes of countries they may not have even heard of.

Make it so that Auradon City is like Washington DC, a hub of political activity and where the children of diplomats and politicians generally go to get educated, but it doesn’t have much else going for that—in fact, it would be nothing of value if Auradon didn’t exist.

After all, the value of the Silver Dollar is entirely dependent on there being a government that recognizes its value, otherwise it’s just worth as much as the silver, gold, or jewels it’s made of.

Make China, Arendelle, and Agrabah as the three major economic powers, having massive sway in all political decisions because they could bankrupt or cause untold damage to the World Bank, and be perfectly fine within their own borders as they are completely self-sustaining, or people would trade with them regardless.

Show the effects of a culture and a kingdom that lives and dies by trade and worships the Silver Dollar, what kind of people that would produce, what sorts of products they have going for them and the unique challenges in having all this money flowing around freely.

I can guarantee you that the crime rate wouldn’t be at 0% as Ben says in the novels.

Make Sherwood Forest and Corona the countries for “Gray” characters, the last stop between Auradon and the Isle, and a safe-haven for those that don’t fit in. Redo the Snuggly Duckling scene but on a larger scale, humanize the Islanders and show just how cruel and inhumane the Isle of the Lost is by showing the people that just barely the boats, and have them not be that different from what we’ve seen from the ones actually behind the barrier.

And I would love it if there is mention of rehabilitation centers to make offenders right their ways than leaving them to rot in jail, and these two are the most active states with social programs meant to help the marginalized, the outcast, and the poor—where most “criminals” and “Evil” people originate.

Make London, (Now-Not-So Ancient) Greece, and Atlantis* (not to be confused with the Atlantis in Triton’s Bay) as centers of technological advancement, because they were industrial revolution natives, are known for their artisans and their scientists already (Icarus and Daedalus, among others), and of course, are really intent in reviving their old technology and advancing it to fit the brand new world they live in.

Have the most blatant, fantastic shows of science and technology here, not just smartphones which are so everyday, but flying vehicles en masse, intelligent robots, and Icarus yet again flying to close to the sun, only this time, it’s with jet propulsion and a digital HUD telling him exactly just how high is too high.

Make Bayou de Orleans, France, and Camelot as centers of culture preservation, popular tourist spots that have embraced both the modern amenities of the internet and improvements in infrastructure while not completely (or sometimes, literally) paving over with concrete their rich histories and the natives.

Show people all the numerous bits of culture and history without all the commercialization (or alternatively, make commentary about how they got commercialized and disrespected because of greed), broaden the horizons of your viewers, pay homage to the many wonderful artists and arts that have sadly been forgetten, if not outright erased from history by abusive ruling classes.

Camelot would be particularly interesting as I would see it suffering from King Arthur’s phobia of technology, and even more so with the Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Beep-Boop headcanon before this post.

It could be a criticism of excessively conservative culture, but also acknowledge that people can suffer from “Future Shock,” and you should be helping them adjust to this new world, than claiming they just need to “get with the times” and demeaning them.

Make DunBroch, Neverland, Motunui, and Hawaii as their own independent countries, not part of the union, use them to really hammer in the tension and the problems that came with Beast’s unified rule, and how their “perfect leaders” aren’t so perfect, and banding together and joining hands may not always save the day—the world is much more complex than that.

Above all, though, I’m saying Descendants would really be improved by EMBRACING THE CULTURAL DIVERSITY DISNEY IS TRYING TO SHOW WITH THIS FRANCHISE.

A diverse cast of POCs and retroactively making White characters into POCs is a good start, but until the different cultures they all come from stop being a purely aesthetic matter, and start being a valuable, realistic, and integral part of who they are, we’re going to have problems.

There’s a world of difference about how someone will act, think, or do, depending on where in the world and what kind of society they’ve been raised into.

As of now, Auradon is WAY too “White Upper Class America” for my taste, and could do with a good deal of realism, and showing the other 99% that don’t live in unparalleled luxury, comfort, and privelege, than just exclusively the Royal 1%.

* Atlantis hover vehicles may have been hit by the magic ban, though. But then again, I would imagine they have a lot of exceptions, as full enforcement would mean that EVERY SINGLE ATLANTIAN (again, not to be confused with Ariel’s domain) would be immediately sentenced to death as their life crystals are why they’re still alive after all this time.

[athyriiium]

Okay, I’m back at it again with another long ass, symbolism heavy theory. I would heavily suggest reading my other theory here before you read this one since I will be referencing that one often in this. There’s a tl;dr at the bottom fyi!

To begin, the symbolism and art shown in Blood, Sweat, and Tears (BST) is very religion heavy. It is to be expected when pulling from work from the 17-18th centuries. I’ve seen some people theorize that Jin is the one behind all the “evil” the boys have done in RUN and I Need U (INU). I agree with this, though I don’t think he is necessarily evil, but more of a tempter.

In my previous theory, I discussed how I believed Jin to be Sinclair and Tae to be Demian, acting as a force to influence Sinclair as a mentor. I still believe that to be true. Each boy has his own storyline that is tied back to Jin, including Tae, but it’s a little confusing.

Let me backtrack: When Jin kisses the statue like Sinclair kisses Demian, they become one. Sinclair talks about not being able to see Demian anymore and realizes Demian was just a part of himself. So the metaphorical Tae that I spoke about previously is a part of Jin. Jin has realized himself fully and has accepted both the light and darkness in his life.

I also heavily discussed the concept of duality in my last post. There is the “other world” as Sinclair often mentions it which is the darker side of the world, which also means there is a light side of the world. This is a limited, binary viewpoint though. And the Spring Day mv told us there is more to the world than that through the usage of “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” (short story) and “Snowpiercer” (film). Both stories show there are sides of gray in life. In the Omelas story, everyone is happy enjoying life at the expense of a miserable child. The knowledge of the child gets out and there are people who live that can’t live a life of blind happiness at the expense of others. BTS are the ones who walk away from the feeling of blindness and absolute happiness.

Snowpiercer is a film that depicts an apocalyptic world in which the last surviving humans live on a train. It is best known for its blatant ridicule of the class system but also depicts two sides of life. The tail end or back end of the train is where the poor are, living in oppressed squalor while the head of the train lives in complete luxury. But, both ends of the train are blind to the truth. They accept the train as the world, it’s safety and warmth. The middle of the train is the only place with windows where you can see out of the train. The middle of the train people, or middle class, are the ones who are educated with propaganda instructing them that the train is the world. BTS are those of the middle class, but also the two middle-class people who eventually escape the train. They sit and accept the truth that they are told until they see the colors of gray, or the world around them, and eventually leave the train.

Now you might be asking what about the two Jungkooks? That’s where the concept of duality comes in. the train JK sees the Omelas JK and that’s the spark to leave. Train JK is the passive one who accepts the truth, while Omelas JK is the boy who defies what is given to him. This is the spark to leave the train and explore the outside world. But I digress. Let me get back to the JPN BST mv.

The concept of this passive vs active duality is also seen in Jin especially in the newest JPN BST mv. Jin has been seen very passive around the boys, never really joining in on the fun just standing on the sidelines and filming. There is plenty of evidence out there, but if you want specifics let me know.

The Jin in the JPN BST mv, is not like that at all. He seems to play an active, almost antagonistic role. So, as I said there is lots of religious symbolism in the BST mvs and to explain what I think happens in the JPN ver I have to use some material from the KOR ver.

So I believe Jin is the tempter, acting as the snake (and depending on who you talk to, indirectly the Devil) in the story of Adam and Eve. After going back to watch the KOR BST it makes more sense since Jin was shown while Namjoon quoted the Demian line about Demian being a tempter. This may seem far-fetched but hear me out.

Jimin, who was seated on Jin’s left in the KOR ver BST table scene, is often showed with apples. It is seen in the JPN BST, KOR BST, and Jimin’s short film. Apples, in the biblical sense, are tied to Adam and Eve. To briefly recap the story, Adam and Eve were the first humans created. They were allowed to eat, use, and generally do anything in the Garden of Eden except eat from the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent tempts and eventually convinces her to do so to “open her eyes” to be like “God, knowing all good and evil”. After she eats the fruit, she shares with Adam and both are condemned by God and sent out of the Garden of Eden.

I didn’t put this together until seeing Jimin finally eat the apple in the JPN BST. He’s just been holding it or looking at it up until now like he was tempted. Jimin, also being on Jin’s left, is important. The left side in many people who believe in the bible is associated with Satan/the Devil. I’m not saying Jin is the devil. Some people believe the snake was Satan in disguise, but I think it’s more of a vector of temptation sent to taint God’s creations. But this isn’t the time for bible debate.

It also fits because the serpent implies that Eve’s eyes have been closed. Jimin is also often seen with a blindfold or having his vision blocked, by a certain someone (Yoongi). I thought previously that Jimin was turning a blind eye to something, ignoring something that was causing him pain, and I do still believe that, but I also think it has another meaning. If the serpent convinced Eve that she was blind, that she couldn’t see everything, then wouldn’t she think of herself as blindfolded? Then wouldn’t the one blindfolding her, be God? Just as I am not saying Jin is the Devil, I don’t think Yoongi is God. He is symbolic of him. Yoongi serves as a protection/barricade between Jimin and Jin. He doesn’t want Jimin to follow Jin into darkness. That’s why we see two Jimin’s. The one Yoongi protects, and the one that follows Jin into darkness.

So if Yoongi is symbolic of God, how come he fights Kookie in RUN? Many times in the bible, God is shown, for lack of a better term, a practitioner of tough love. See Noah’s ark for example, where floods come and kill many people and animals except for the one’s on Noah’s ark besides the people had lost the way of God. The people killed were the descendants of Adam and Eve, who I believe are the other boys since Jimin and Tae were the first tempted.

So if Jimin is symbolic of Eve, Yoongi of God, and Jin of the Devil, then who is Adam? At first, I thought it was Hobi since he is OFTEN seen with Jimin, but I have Hobi has something else going on I will get to soon. So that lead me to Tae. We see Tae struggling with temptation/sin often. The act of graffiti and an insane amount of suicide imagery associated with him in HYYH is too overwhelming.

Tae sits on the right of Jin in the KOR BST mv. If the left is associated with evil, then the right is associated with good. Tae was “good” which is why there is so much angelic symbolism near him. But, he was tempted, probably by Jimin since he is symbolic of Eve and Eve is the one who gives Adam the fruit to eat.

Jin, could also have been the one to tempt Tae and the other boys since in the KOR BST all the boys are shown around a table with no real food besides apples in front of them. So, Tae and Jimin are the first ones tempted.

Now, when Adam and eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden, they could no longer understand the word of God, since they were no longer his children. So this leads me to believe that nothing heavenly could help either of them. Which is where Hobi and Namjoon come in.

I’ll start with Namjoon, since his story is somewhat laid out already. Many times Namjoon is shown running to a telephone booth and many people assume it’s because Tae is calling based off evidence from Namjoon and Tae’s films. But, Namjoon is never able to reach the phone or get into the booth. So, since Namjoon isn’t tempted YET, he is still considered heavenly, therefore, he can never help Tae.

Namjoon is eventually tempted and falls into alcohol, specifically absinthe. Absinthe is portrayed as an addictive, alcoholic hallucinogen. So he becomes addicted to drinking the beverage and eventually forces Jungkook to drink it (seen in the JPN BST mv). But, I don’t think Namjoon falls as deeply into temptation as Tae does. He learns to accept it. Namjoon is shown around a lot of mirrors either obscuring his reflection (JPN INU) or shattering the glass (Reflection). But, in JPN BST he is shown looking directly into his reflection. He’s learned to accept temptation as a part of himself. Reflections are often symbolic of showing one's true self which is why we say Jin’s reflection crack in KOR BST bc he hasn’t accepted his whole self (passive and active).

Before I get to Hobi, I’m going to finish Jungkook’s story. Before, I wasn’t sure where Kookie sat in the Demian/Sinclair story. I believed he was “Beatrice” but since he is often on the outskirts dipping his toes in good and evil I think he is symbolic of Abraxus. We don’t know who convinced the boys to leave Omelas, but from what I discussed earlier, it was most likely Kookie who convinced the boys to leave the train in Spring Day. He also tries to help Yoongi in RUN, who is struggling with his own problems. This is the good Kookie dabbles in. The bad is all the new stuff we saw in the JPN BST mv: the hallucinations and fighting off Yoongi who is trying to help him. Also, depending on what theory you believe, the shooting of the other boys in Not Today.

Now last but not least, Hobi. I think Hobi was once tempted, proven by the abuse of pills. But rather than accept temptation, he rejects it and fights it. This is seen by the throwing away of his pills, twice now. We also often see Hobi pulling a bow and arrow and now a dart on those tempted, usually Tae. Now, I believe Tae has fallen deepest into temptation and Hobi mourns the loss of his friends' purity, shown by the Pieta in KOR BST. He takes on the biggest challenge first, Tae. Which is why we see him throwing or going to throw the dart at Tae in JPN BST and pull the bow at Tae in KOR BST. Hobi is the descendant that God spoke of when cursing the serpent. God said that Eve’s descendant will bruise his foot by smashing the head of the snake. Basically, he will have to sacrifice something to get rid of the tempting serpent.

Hobi is also shown dancing under the fresco painted on St. Nicholas’ ceiling painted by Guilio Quaglio. I can't find a lot of info on the painting but it looks like a depiction of a world of light or heaven? So it looks like Hobi is reaching for salvation, but he isn’t the only one. Jimin is too.

Jimin, aka Eve, has realized what he has done wrong and has suffered for it. She lost her son Abel at the hands of her son Cain and was placed with pain after she was cast out of the Garden of Eden. This is why we see Jimin suffering/being uncomfortable so much while in water. Water is symbolic of purification, so Jimin is repenting for his wrongdoings but is also suffering because of the temptation he gave into.

We also see Jin circa INU era twice in this mv. Once in the bed of the truck, lying similarly to how he is lying in the bed in INU. In INU lilies are very present. They are also present in BST. Lilies symbolize innocence after death. Passive Jin wants to be innocent after he dies but is prevented from that because of tempter!Jin. This is why the lily petals are burned; all hope of innocence after death is gone. I believe both Jin’s are aware of each other having met in the Awake film, but since tempter Jin is the stronger personality, he has prevented watcher Jin from moving on. Which is why he is still interacting with the boys in the INU era but only passively.

The scene at the end of the mv is one of the first setups to Jin’s temptation of Namjoon. We see the effects in the INU era.

TL;DR: as seen in INU there are two sides to youth: the dark and light. This is further expressed in RUN and BST (both versions). Each boy has a doppelganger, opposite from what they are typically shown to be. Jin’s doppelganger, the tempter, has tempted the boys to do things they shouldn’t seen in RUN and INU. Hobi, the savior, is trying to fight Jin’s hold on the boys.

[timey-lives]

Dear @CWJANETHEVIRGIN-Spoiler Alert!!!

Let me start by telling you how much I have loved Jane the Virgin ever since the first episode. When I wasn’t able to watch from the beginning of season 3, I waited to watch on Netflix!

I can’t tell you how many evenings my husband was confused by the sound of lol caused by your show. While kitschy & comedic, it still draws you in to loving the characters & finding them so believable that ,while it breaks your heart to lose Michael(especially when we thought it was still just a tease at that point), it still falls within the believable to those of us who have often wondered if anyone would believe our story if it was ever fully told.

I find the writing insightful & of a higher caliber than so many conventional “sit-coms” while still being refreshing.

These are the major reasons why it breaks my heart to say that I am truly angry right now. The first time this occurred I blew it off but then it became even more blatant & quite frankly disheartening! I expected better from Jane the Virgin than an interjection of nothing short of false political propaganda to be peppered within your amazing show. How anyone thought that it would be a good idea to have Jane start throwing digs at the President of the United States is beyond me. This show is as far from political as can possibly be. It is all about the heart and I never would have considered Jane nor the writers of Jane to be so petty.

It wasn’t even done smoothly but rather crass comments thrown in. While I have my own issues with the integrity of today’s Journalists, I guess it only makes sense that a fictional show should include fictional information. It all just felt mean spirited and petty.

We all have the right to our own opinions on the subjects but as a fictional comedy(for the most part) it is not your job to share it within your show. There are plenty of shows out there that include “stories from the headline” or broach difficult subjects such as abortion & hate crimes. Quite often in the past when there were complex, contradicting information out there, those shows did their best to find a middle ground.

I can clearly recall shows like Family Ties that had characters on opposite sides of a political issue argue about the issue only to have Dad interject with a lesson that while people have differing views we should respect their right to have those views. The lesson wasn’t to passive aggressively throw out a comment here and there sharing one sided information. In fact, I recall your own show having people who cared for each other have differing opinions and work it out.

The scene where Petra & Jane are vying for Room Mom that Jane makes a comment about walls actually could have been written in a professional manner with both sides making comments on different sides of the fence. Instead it just came off as petty again. While I understand it isn’t popular to support President Trump in any way or form in most of media today, you made the choice to open the door with Jane’s comments. If you aren’t going to be truly professional about it, then don’t include it!

Meanwhile, all evidence that has come to light & all under oath testimony is showing that President Trump has done no wrong as far as Russia & the election, in fact that there is strong circumstantial evidence that it was a Bernie Sanders supporter in the DNC who was aware of what happened with the primaries that released all of the information about Clinton to Wikileaks. To top it all off, every bit of information that was leaked was 100% factual!

Truthfully though, I did not decide to write this post to change any opinions about the President or even about Clinton. I really truly take exception with the fact that it all just seemed so unnecessary, mean-spirited, unprofessional the way it was handled. I haven’t finished the season yet and I truly hope that it is the last time that Jane the Virgin stoops to political statements rather than the excellent writing that I’ve come to expect.

Sincerely,

A disheartened fan

PS I just finished watching episode 16 & I have to say that the storyline with Jane & Alba discussing the march was a more appropriate way to discuss things. I also think that it's important though to acknowledge that in 2016 there were 20,000 ICE employees and since President Trumps election there are only $21000. The greatest increase to ICE was in 2008 based on government records. While the fear is very real, the reality is that unless a person has done something criminal ICE has no interest in you. The truth is that they are just enforcing laws that have been on the books unenforced for years. I know these things because they are not only important to our nation but also to me personally. One of my best friends husband has been working on getting his Green card for years. He is a law abiding alien. She receives calls from one particular woman telling her to "watch out" "Ice is in the area". She put a stop to those calls by telling her exactly what their lawyer (and her brother who is a police officer. ICE has no interest in law abiding people. It's those citizens who have broken their oath by violating the law & committing crimes that have something to fear. I'm sorry but I can stand behind that 100%. Alba has an immigration attorney from When she got her green card. It would have been very simple to include a phone call to that attorney to not only alleviate Alba's concerns but also to be sure that accurate information was being shared with your audience. Rather than using your show to continue to spread fear, wouldn't it have been a more responsible thing to alleviate some of those fears with an honest portrayal of not just the fear but also the facts? I think the storyline of Alba being upset with herself for not standing up against the ignorant woman in the store does reflect the ignorance that has been getting a lot of attention lately. Unfortunately, the extremes tend to get reported on while The majority on both sides are not truly represented in those stories. While they don't make for great dramatic stories, they can be warm, honest stories of acceptance. Thank you for listening and I hope that my suggestions & opinions are appreciated!

[sociologyquotes]

Britain’s Complicity In Saudi Arabia’s Terror Campaign Against Yemen

from the article Crimes against Humanity: Britain’s Complicity In Saudi Arabia’s Terror Campaign Against Yemen by Media Lens

“The ‘mainstream’ Western media is, almost by definition, the last place to consult for honest reporting of Western crimes. Consider the appalling case of Yemen which is consumed by war and an ongoing humanitarian catastrophe.

Since March 2015, a ‘coalition’ of Sunni Arab states led by Saudi Arabia, and supported by the US, Britain and France, has been dropping bombs on neighbouring Yemen. The scale of the bombing is indicated in a recent article by Felicity Arbuthnot – in one year, 330,000 homes, 648 mosques, 630 schools and institutes, and 250 health facilities were destroyed or damaged. The stated aim of Saudi Arabia’s devastating assault on Yemen is to reinstate the Yemeni president, Abd-Rabbu Mansour Hadi, and to hold back Houthi rebels who are allied with the former president, Ali Abdullah Saleh. The Saudis assert that the Houthis, who control Yemen’s capital, Sanaa, are ‘proxies’ for Iran: always a convenient propaganda claim to elicit Western backing and ‘justify’ intervention.

Philip Hammond, who was UK defence secretary when the Saudi bombing began in 2015, promised:

‘We’ll support the Saudis in every practical way short of engaging in combat.’

The British government has been true to its word; in this respect at least. Campaign Against Arms Trade says that UK sales to Saudi Arabia since the start of the attacks on Yemen include £2.2 billion of aircraft, helicopters and drones, £1.1 billion of missiles, bombs and grenades, and nearly half a million pounds of armoured vehicles and tanks. Just days ago, it was revealed that Britain is now the second biggest dealer of arms in the world. Is there any clearer sign of the corrupt nature of UK foreign policy?

Perhaps there is. Last month, Oxfam reported that in excess of 21 million people in Yemen, out of a total population of around 27 million, are in need of humanitarian aid, more than in any other country. Over 6,000 people have been killed, more than 3 million displaced and more than 14 million are suffering hunger and malnutrition.

Amnesty International reports that British-made cluster bombs have been used in deadly attacks on civilians. Children are among those who have been killed and maimed. The human rights organisation says that the UK should stop all arms sales to Saudi Arabia. Amnesty has also called for Saudi Arabia to be dropped from the United Nations Human Rights Council because of ‘gross and systematic violations of human rights’, both at home and abroad.

In a two-part piece for BBC Newsnight last year, Gabriel Gatehouse commendably reported from Yemen on the plight of civilians there, including the Saudi targeting of civilian infrastructure. The BBC journalist also alluded to ‘the British dimension’ in which the Saudi ‘coalition’s efforts are supported by Britain and the United States’, with British-supplied weaponry being used by the Saudis. Although a welcome deviation from the norm, his criticism of UK foreign policy was muted and not subsequently maintained by BBC News, as far as we could see (with limited recent exceptions as we will discuss later).

Peter Oborne is a rare example of a Western journalist reporting from Yemen, also pointing unequivocally to British complicity in the country’s nightmare. Together with his colleague Nawal Al-Maghafi, Oborne notes in a recent article that:

‘We discovered indisputable evidence that the coalition, backed by the UK as a permanent member of the UN Security Council, is targeting Yemeni civilians in blatant breach of the rules of war.’

At the same time, Saudi Arabia has imposed a brutal blockade on Yemen preventing vital commodities from getting into the country. One doctor at the Republic teaching hospital in Sanaa told Oborne:

‘We are unable to get medical supplies. Anaesthetics. Medicines for kidneys. There are babies dying in incubators because we can’t get supplies to treat them.

The doctor estimated that 25 people were dying every day at the Republic hospital because of the blockade. He continued:

‘They call it natural death. But it’s not. If we had the medicines they wouldn’t be dead.

‘I consider them killed as if they were killed by an air strike, because if we had the medicines they would still be alive.’

This is shocking enough. But Oborne adds that there is:

‘powerful evidence that the Saudi-led coalition has deliberately targeted hospitals across the country. Four MSF [Médecins Sans Frontières] hospitals had been hit by Saudi air strikes prior to the organisation’s withdrawal from the country, even though MSF were careful to give the Saudi authorities their GPS positions.’

Oborne, who resigned as political commentator from the Telegraph last year, places Western complicity in Yemen’s nightmare at the front and centre of his reporting. He points out that Britain has continued to sell arms to Saudi Arabia and its partners, despite copious evidence of breaches of international humanitarian law presented by human rights organisations.

This is an echo of Britain’s shameful role in arming Indonesia while it crushed tiny independence-seeking East Timor, killing around 200,000 people – about one-third of its population. Noam Chomsky described it as a ‘slaughter’ of ‘near-genocidal’ levels. He noted that:

‘By 1998, Britain had become the leading supplier of arms to Indonesia…over the strong protests of Amnesty International, Indonesian dissidents, and Timorese victims. Arms sales are reported to make up at least a fifth of Britain’s exports to Indonesia (estimated at one billion pounds), led by British Aerospace’.

(Noam Chomsky, ‘Rogue States’, Pluto Books, 2000, p. 232)

In the present case of Yemen, the British Foreign Office has repeatedly denied that Saudi Arabia had broken humanitarian law, asserting until a couple of months ago that the FO’s own ‘assessment’ had cleared the Saudis of any wrong-doing. As Oborne notes, however, on July 21 this year, the last day of parliament before the long summer recess:

‘the British government was forced to admit that it had repeatedly misled parliament over the war in Yemen.’

It turns out that no such ‘assessment’ had taken place; a grudging and potentially damaging admission that ministers had clearly hoped to slip out quietly without proper scrutiny. Oborne describes it as ‘a dark moment of official embarrassment.’ You have to dig deep in the BBC News website to find scant mention of this shameful episode.

Moreover, Britain has supported the UN Security Council resolution backing a Saudi blockade, and the UK has also provided the Saudis with intelligence and logistical support.

‘Perhaps most crucially of all, Britain and the United States have provided Saudi Arabia with diplomatic cover. Last year, Britain and the United States helped to block a Dutch initiative at the UN Human Rights Council for an independent investigation into violations of international humanitarian law.’

In a powerful accompanying filmed report on the destruction of Yemen’s capital Sanaa, Oborne concludes:

‘This city of old Sanaa is as extraordinary, as priceless, as unique as any of the masterpieces of Western civilisation – like Florence or Venice. Just imagine the outcry if bombs were falling on Florence or Venice. But because this is old Sanaa, in forgotten Yemen, nobody cares a damn.’

And least of all Britain’s new Foreign Secretary, Boris Johnson, who callously waved away copious evidence of Saudi breaches of international humanitarian law. The Guardian’s diplomatic editor Patrick Wintour writes of Johnson’s assertion that the Saudis are not ‘in clear breach’ of humanitarian law:

‘His judgment is based largely on a Saudi-led inquiry into eight controversial incidents, including the bombing of hospitals.’

To his credit, Wintour notes that Johnson was ‘defending the credibility of a Saudi-led inquiry exonerating Saudi targeting’. Comment seems superfluous. He then adds Johnson’s own unwittingly self-damning statement:

‘They [the Saudis] have the best insight into their own procedures and will be able to conduct the most thorough and conclusive investigations. It will also allow the coalition forces to work out what went wrong and apply the lessons learned in the best possible way. This is the standard we set ourselves and our allies.’

Indeed, this is the same standard that the world saw with horror last year when the US investigated, and largely exonerated itself, over its dreadful bombing of an MSF hospital in Kunduz, Afghanistan.

Boris Johnson is sweeping aside compelling evidence of serious breaches of international law in a cynical move to maintain lucrative UK arms sales to Saudi Arabia, and to protect close strategic ties with a brutal kingdom of state beheaders and torturers. All this belies his carefully-crafted media image as an amiably bumbling and largely harmless P.G. Wodehouse-like character. In reality, he is a dangerous, extreme right-wing politician with too much power. Sadly, even the often admirable Peter Oborne’s judgement went awry on his return from Yemen when he appealed to Johnson to ‘act boldly to reset Riyadh [i.e. Saudi Arabia] relations’:

‘Boris Johnson has the potential to be one of the great British foreign secretaries of the modern era.’

Sadly, this line by Oborne does not appear to be satire.

Meanwhile, on September 5, the foreign office minister, Tobias Ellwood, addressed the Commons after being requested to do so by the Speaker, John Bercow, because of previously misleading statements on Yemen given by ministers to parliament. Wintour claims in his Guardian report that Ellwood ‘apologised’ for these ‘inaccurate answers’. But the quoted wording is far from a proper apology. Indeed, the foreign minister obfuscated further in support of Saudi Arabia. Ellwood:

‘said it was not for the UK government to conclude whether individual bombing incidents by the Saudis represented breaches of international humanitarian law (IHL), but instead to “take an overall view of the approach and attitude by Saudi Arabia to international humanitarian law”.’

In effect, the UK would continue to rely on Saudi Arabia’s assessments on whether the latter had breached international humanitarian law. Worse, while Yemenis continued to die under US/UK-supported bombing, Ellwood went on to support the Saudis:

‘Defending the Saudi response to criticisms of its campaign, Ellwood said: “It was new territory for Saudi Arabia and a conservative nation was not used to such exposure.”‘

This was sophistry of the worst order. ‘New territory’ entails a murderous bombing campaign and a crippling blockade. And describing Saudi Arabia – a brutal and repressive regime which ranks amongst the world’s worst offenders of human rights – as merely ‘a conservative nation’, speaks volumes about the mental and ethical contortions required to defend British foreign policy.

But there is even more to say about the UK’s shameful complicity in Yemen’s destruction. And, from what we have seen so far, it has had zero coverage in the ‘mainstream’ media.

Media Silence Over UK Role In ‘Targeted Killing’

Last week, the online investigative journal The Intercept published an in-depth piece on revelations about spying based on top-secret documents provided to them by Edward Snowden, the US National Security Agency whistle-blower. Titled ‘Inside Menwith Hill. The NSA’s British Base at the Heart of U.S. Targeted Killing’, the article was written by Ryan Gallagher, a UK-based journalist specialising in government surveillance, technology and civil liberties.

The RAF Menwith Hill base lies a few miles from Harrogate in North Yorkshire and is the largest electronic monitoring station in the world. As Gallagher notes: ‘it is a vital part of the NSA’s sprawling global surveillance network’. Consequently, its activities are shrouded in secrecy, despite the best efforts of human rights groups and a few British politicians demanding greater transparency. These efforts have been continually rebuffed by the UK government ‘citing a longstanding policy not to discuss matters related to national security.’

Now, however, the NSA files released by Snowden:

‘reveal for the first time how the NSA has used the British base to aid “a significant number of capture-kill operations” across the Middle East and North Africa, fueled by powerful eavesdropping technology that can harvest data from more than 300 million emails and phone calls a day.’

Over the past decade, advanced surveillance programmes at Menwith Hill have located ‘suspected terrorists accessing the internet in remote parts of the world’ and ‘provided support for conventional British and American military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.’

But, adds Gallagher, ‘they have also aided covert missions in countries where the U.S. has not declared war’, including Yemen. These disclosures ‘raise new questions about the extent of British complicity in U.S. drone strikes and other so-called targeted killing missions, which may in some cases have violated international laws or constituted war crimes.’

Kat Craig, legal director of London-based human rights group Reprieve, told Gallagher that Snowden’s revelations are:

‘yet another example of the unacceptable level of secrecy that surrounds U.K. involvement in the U.S. “targeted killing” program. It is now imperative that the prime minister comes clean about U.K. involvement in targeted killing’. 

Gallagher describes a number of surveillance programmes, including one called GHOSTWOLF used to monitor ‘terrorist’ activity in internet cafes in the Middle East. This information is being used to ‘capture or eliminate key nodes in terrorist networks’.

As Gallagher observes:

‘GHOSTWOLF ties Menwith Hill to lethal operations in Yemen, providing the first documentary evidence that directly implicates the U.K. in covert actions in the country.

‘Menwith Hill’s previously undisclosed role aiding the so-called targeted killing of terror suspects highlights the extent of the British government’s apparent complicity in controversial U.S. attacks — and raises questions about the legality of the secret operations carried out from the base.’

The British government has consistently asserted that operations at Menwith ‘have always been, and continue to be’ carried out with its ‘knowledge and consent.’ In the context of the commission of war crimes, this is a damning admission.

Gallagher expands:

‘For several years, British human rights campaigners and lawmakers have been pressuring the government to provide information about whether it has had any role aiding U.S. targeted killing operations, yet they have been met with silence. In particular, there has been an attempt to establish whether the U.K. has aided U.S. drone bombings outside of declared war zones — in countries including Yemen, Pakistan, and Somalia — which have resulted in the deaths of hundreds of civilians and are in some cases considered by United Nations officials to possibly constitute war crimes and violations of international law.’ 

These new, deeply damaging revelations by Snowden appear to have been completely blanked by the ‘mainstream’ media. Searches of the Lexis-Nexis newspaper database yield zero hits on Snowden’s Menwith revelations, and there appears to have been nothing published on the BBC News website. Indeed, this dearth of coverage by UK media, including BBC News, had been anticipated by US investigative reporter Glenn Greenwald, who previously worked with Snowden.

Not unusually, one has to go to media such as RT or PressTV to find any coverage; another reason why these outlets are so often bitterly denigrated as ‘propaganda’ operations by corporate journalists who haven’t done their job of holding Western power to account.

The Post-Brexit, $2 Trillion Saudi Carrot

On September 7, BBC Newsnight revealed how a draft report by MPs on the influential committee on arms export control was being watered down to remove the call for a suspension of arms sales to Saudi Arabia (clip available here). A statement in the draft report had said:

‘The weight of evidence of violations of international humanitarian law by the Saudi-led coalition is now so great, that it is very difficult to continue to support Saudi Arabia.’

But a number of ‘pro-defence’ MPs had then tabled more than 130 amendments, including a move to remove the call to suspend arms sales to Saudi Arabia. The Guardian noted cautiously that this attempt:

‘underlines the sensitivity of the issue of UK-Saudi relations at Westminster, the importance of the Gulf to the UK defence industry and the concern that Britain, for a variety of security reasons, is too ready to take Saudi assurances about how it is conducting a difficult civil war in Yemen.’

That is putting it all too mildly; a point to which we return below.

The following evening (September 8), Tory MP Crispin Blunt refused to respond when pressed by Newsnight presenter Kirsty Wark about reportedly walking out of the committee meeting in order to stall a vote. It appears that Blunt had feared his amendments were about to be rejected, and by walking out of the meeting the quorum requirement would fail and no valid vote could take place.

But the sickness of government priorities at the intersection of foreign policy and economic imperatives was really highlighted when the Saudi foreign minister declared last week that it was ‘in Britain’s interest’ to continue supporting Saudi Arabia in its murderous assault on Yemen. Or, as the neocon Telegraph defence editor Con Coughlin put it:

‘to continue supporting the Saudis in the battle to prevent Yemen falling into the hands of Iranian-backed Houthi rebels.’

Adel al-Jubeir, the Saudi foreign minister, then dangled a carrot in front of British ministers’ noses.

‘Apart from maintaining traditional links on military and intelligence cooperation, Mr Jubeir also said post-Brexit Britain could look forward to forging new trade links with the kingdom as Saudi Arabia embarks on its ambitious plan to restructure its economy under a plan called Saudi Vision 2030. “We are looking at more than $2 trillion worth of investment opportunities over the next decade, and this will take the relationship between Saudi Arabia and Britain to an entirely new level post-Brexit.”‘

Sometimes, you have to go to the extreme right-wing press to have the crude realpolitik spelled out so clearly.

Saudi pressure is considerable and difficult to resist. In June, it was reported that even the UN succumbed when it removed Saudi Arabia from a blacklist of countries responsible for child casualties in conflicts around the globe. Saudi Arabia had been placed on the list for killing and maiming children in Yemen bombing attacks. The country, along with other Arab and Muslim countries, had reportedly threatened to withdraw funding from vital UN humanitarian programmes. One anonymous diplomat spoke of ‘bullying, threats, pressure’, and summed it up as ‘real blackmail’.

The reports on Yemen cited in this media alert from the Guardian and BBC News show the permissible limits of occasional – very occasional – challenges to state power. What is routinely missing, and what would be prominent in coverage of British foreign policy in honest news media, has never been better highlighted than by historian Mark Curtis. For many years, he has extensively analysed formerly secret government records detailing internal discussions about state policies and priorities. In his book, ‘Web of Deceit’, which lays out ‘Britain’s real role in the world’, Curtis concludes that the primary function of the British state:

‘virtually its raison d’être for several centuries – is to aid British companies in getting their hands on other countries’ resources.’

(Mark Curtis, ‘Web of Deceit’, 2003, Vintage, p. 210)

To pursue such state policies means initiating war, military interventions, threats, bullying, and other aggressive actions, usually in support of the United States and/or Nato. This global imperialism is dressed up in propaganda garb as ‘countering terrorism’, ‘improving world security’, ‘working with our allies’ and similar pieties propagated by the ‘mainstream’ media. Curtis lays particular responsibility for such propaganda at the door of the ‘liberal’ media, notably the Guardian and BBC News:

‘The liberal intelligentsia in Britain is in my view guilty of helping to weave a collective web of deceit…. To read many mainstream commentators’ writings on Britain’s role in the world is to enter a surreal, Kafkaesque world where the reality is often the direct opposite of what is contended and where the startling assumptions are frighteningly supportive of state power.’

(Ibid., p. 4)

This ‘surreal, Kafkaesque world’ – in which Britain shares responsibility for appalling violence, while proclaiming its supposed desire for ‘peace’ and ‘security’ – will continue for as long as we do not have an honest media that seriously and consistently challenges brutal state power.”

[forsetti]

On a Post-Factual World: The Root of The Problem

“When a man lies, he murders some part of the world.”-Merlin in “Excalibur” There are so many things happening right now, it is difficult to get a good grasp on what the real problem is.  Yes, Trump is a problem but he didn't get to be president by accident.  Yes, the media is a problem but they didn't get to be this way overnight.  Yes, fake news is a problem but it didn't appear overnight.  Yes, undereducated voters are a problem but they didn't get this way by accident.  If you boil all of these problems down, you are left with a simple reduction-the death of truth.  Whatever was once commonly accepted as truth has been eliminated from public discourse.  Facts/truth have been replaced with feelings.  It doesn't matter if all the evidence says otherwise, how people “feel” about it has been given priority.  

As someone who has spent their life dedicated to knowing facts from the obscure and ridiculous to the highly specialized and esoteric, truth has always have always been a top priority.  When I was young, I rarely read non-fiction (the Nancy Drew series one of the exceptions.)  I read the encyclopedia and reference books.  I read them every night long past my bedtime.  If the internet and smartphones had existed back then, I probably would have only slept from exhaustion.  The motivating force behind this obsession with facts was I hated not knowing something.  If adults were talking about economics or a topic I didn't know anything about, it really bothered me.  If I saw a news report about a country in Africa, I wanted to know as much as I could about it so the report made sense and could be put in context.  I'm fairly confident that the reason I gravitated to studying philosophy was a search for deeper, more fundamental truths.  

This placement of truth at the top of my priorities caused problems here or there in classes, discussions, friendships...but for the most part, it has just been what it is.  This changed when I joined social media.  I didn't realize just how much I had subconsciously shielded myself from people who don't really care about the truth and surrounded myself with people who do until I joined Facebook. Suddenly, I was inundated with posts and comments that were not just devoid of truth, but easily disprovable.  This by itself wouldn't have been a problem if the person who posted something obviously untrue was open to being politely corrected.  For the most part, they aren't and they aren't because no matter what they may tell others or themselves, being right isn't a priority.  Thinking they are right, however, is.  This is the direct opposite of how I'm built.  This attitude of believing you are right being more important than actually being right is the root of the problem.  It is why fake news is able to get traction and have an impact.  It is why Donald Trump was able to draw large crowds during his campaign and eventually get elected.  It is in large part why the media has failed to live up to even the most basic of journalistic ethics.  It is why there are so many undereducated voters.  Facts don't matter.

There are a lot of culprits responsible for why facts don't matter.  First and foremost is everyone who either doesn't care enough about the truth to make it a high priority, those who are too lazy to find out, and those who are too arrogant and prideful to admit when they are wrong.  Rightwing talk radio, websites, and FOX News have led the charge against facts in order to push a conservative agenda that cannot hold up to the light of facts.  A mainstream media that has turned away from journalism in favor of clicks and ratings.  And, the democratization of information through the internet and social media. This combination has fostered and fueled the fall of truth and the rise of feelings on the importance hierarchy.  It has led to the death of expertise and the demise of knowledge. I really didn't get involved with social media on any meaningful level until 2008.  It didn't take long to see how facts don't matter to a whole lot of people.  By the time President Obama won the election, this anti-fact phenomenon was in full swing.  It was amazing to see people who I had known to be semi-serious, semi-rational people post, cite, and parrot blatant lies with fervor and zealotry.  If I tried to explain why/how what they said/posted wasn't true, but in fact, the opposite of truth they lashed out, doubled down on the lie, and/or quickly changed the subject, usually to a different lie.  It didn't matter how calmly I responded.  It didn't matter the depth and breadth of counter-evidence I presented.  They were not willing to even entertain the possibility they might be wrong.  They were right because they felt they were right and that was all that mattered. Facts were sent to the back of the bus and feelings were placed in the driver's seat. Coming from my background and where I place truth/facts on the hierarchy of importance, not only is this approach to reality completely backward, I have no idea how to react to and deal with it.  People who reverse the order of truth and feelings are speaking a foreign language that doesn't have any rules.  Emotions are easily manipulated, often wrong, unreliable...  I'd rather have Billy Joel behind the wheel after an all-night bender than someone's feelings.  At least I know Billy will sober up at some point and make a good decision, like marrying Christie Brinkley.  This is where someone tells me, “Yeah, but facts can be manipulated too.”  If a fact is manipulated, it is no longer a fact.  Facts matter.  They matter a lot and excuses to not accept them, to deny them don't fly with me. I could spend days writing out the things conservatives “feel” are true but aren't. -Obama wasn't born in America. -Climate change is a hoax. -The Affordable Care Act is a socialist takeover of health care. -Obama paid Iran $1.7 billion dollars. -Obama ordered the U.S. Armed Forces to take over Texas. -The unemployment numbers are rigged. -Obama isn't fighting ISIS. -Obama refuses to stand up for the police. -Obama went on an “Apology Tour” of the world. -Health insurance has gone up faster under ACA than it did before. -The deficit has risen the past eight years. -The mortgage crisis was caused by minority home buyers defaulting on their loans. -Hillary Clinton had __________ killed. -The Clintons made millions from their foundation. -Illegal immigration has increased under Obama. -13 million people voted illegally for Hillary. -Taxes when up under Obama for the lower and middle classes. -Tax cuts for the wealthy creates jobs. -Violent crime has gone up the past eight years. -The Affordable Care Act was passed with no Republican input. -Obama took more vacation days than any other president. -Obama signed more Executive Orders than any other president.

Every single one of these is a lie.  Not a difference of opinion.  A flat-out lie.  That a good chunk of conservatives choose to believe them or “feel” they are true doesn't make them any less of a lie. Truth/falsity is not dependent on how many people or how strongly they feel it.  

For me, the fundamental question is, “Why are so many conservatives so willing to adamantly believe things that are blatantly false?” This is the root of the problem.  This is why there is a massive cultural and political divide in this country.  This is why our government isn't working the way it should.  

There are a lot of reasons why people, especially conservatives are so willing to deny and ignore facts.  There is a direct relationship between conservatives willingness to place feelings above facts and their religious underpinnings.  Religion is all too often devoid of facts and most of the doctrine hinges on feelings-faith.  All the evidence showing the world was created billions of years ago doesn't mean a damn thing because of faith in an unscientific book written by unscientific people and translated by anti-science people.  Facts run counter to Western religions and they are a big reason most of them have and still are anti-science.  It is so much easier to rely on what someone else tells you than use your own brain.  It is so much easier to “feel” you are right than do the actual work necessary to be right.  It is so much easier to follow a script of what is true and what isn't than constantly be testing each one to see if they are or not.  Feelings being more important than facts is a direct byproduct of religious belief.

Another reason conservatives are more than willing to deny and ignore facts is because they've been told and firmly believe they are right.  They are “right” because they believe in the “right” God.  They are “right” because they are white.  They are “right” because they are male.  To believe you are right because you are a Republican is easy once you've bought into all these other justifications for believing you are right.  You are used to it.  Being right by default of some external criterion becomes second nature.  You're not right because of the time, energy, and work you put into something.  You are right because of your skin color, religious or political affiliation.  If you need reassurance about your being right, just ask your political or religious leader and they'll reaffirm it for you.  Since the facts don't line up and support a lot of their beliefs, they have to fall back on “feelings” as grounds for justification.   If this wasn't bad enough, in order to maintain their belief they are right, conservatives have taken things to a totally unethical and dangerous level.  As counter-evidence and information to their claims/beliefs have become readily available and easily accessible, conservatives have adopted what can only be called, “propaganda.”  Rightwing radio, FOX News, a lot of conservative websites...are nothing more than propaganda generating entities.  Their goal is two-fold: 1-Tell the “faithful” what they want to hear and believe; And, 2-Undermine people and entities who are telling the truth in order to destroy their credibility. This is the same tactics used by the tobacco companies when all the scientific studies showed a causal link between smoking and certain forms of cancer.  The tobacco industry came out with their own “scientific studies” that showed smoking was 100% safe and they put “doctors” in their advertising.  All of this was done intentionally in order to muddy the waters of what is factual and what isn't.  A lot of the very same people in charge of this propaganda campaign for the tobacco industry took their strategies and talents to the oil/gas industry and ginned up “counter evidence” against climate change.  There's no debate about climate change any more than there was about smoking's link to cancer but a lot of people “feel” there is because facts don't matter to them and they are willing to believe whatever supports their preconceptions.

Another tactic being used by conservatives to delegitimize facts is by not even allowing them to be written or talked about.  There have been numerous bills passed in state houses around the country by conservatives who have made it so terms like “climate change” cannot be used in any government report.  It doesn't matter who does the research or who writes or talks about the report, they are forbidden, by law, to use the words, “climate change” or “global warming.”  Apparently, if it can't be said, then it doesn't exist in the minds of conservatives.  This is the opposite of their belief about “radical Islamic terrorism,” which is by saying, is supposed to make the threat less greater, the fight against it more real, a legitimate strategy to defeat it.  This strategy of banning things that go against their ideology is not just confined to language.  Numbers are just as dangerous and are in need of banning for conservatives.  When the Congressional Budget Office (CBO) came out with reports showing the very negative impact the Republicans' plan for repealing the Affordable Care Act would have on the deficit, debt, and economy, the Republican-led House banned them from using the scoring method they have always used and demanded they use a new one called, “dynamic scoring.”  In a nutshell, dynamic scoring is mathematical wishing and pixie dust.  It is based on the unicorn belief that massive tax cuts for the wealthy plus a GDP growth of 5% a year will exist and this is the framework from which all scoring must be done.  When Jeb Bush promised he'd bring 4% annual GDP growth to the country if elected, he was rightly ridiculed.  When Bernie Sanders said he would bring 5% annual growth he was rightly mocked. The last time the U.S. had 5% GDP growth for a single year was 1984. The last time there were three out of five years with 5% GDP growth was the 50s before China emerged as an economic player when Europe and Japan were still rebuilding after WWII when the U.S. had little economic competition.  To believe we can create and sustain 5% annual growth is a complete fantasy.  To demand this fantasy be the basis for the CBO's analysis is dangerous.  Right now, if conservatives don't like the truth/facts, they deny they exist or demand they don't exist.  That is propaganda.

The entire Trump campaign and the first few days of his administration have been nothing but propaganda.  They have lied about so many things, it is impossible to keep track of them or respond because, by the time you do, they've told a half-dozen more.  They lie about easily disprovable things.  They lie with impunity and his supporters don't give a damn because the lies confirm their feelings. Yesterday, White House Press Secretary, Sean Spicer took to the podium to make sure the press knew that Trump's Inauguration was the best attended, ever.  When told this wasn't true, he went ballistic and reiterated it with all the fervor and passion one would expect from someone who was psychologically unhinged.  What he was saying and arguing for is blatantly and easily proved to be false, a lie. Just in case Spicer's adamant claims weren't enough, Trump's spokesperson, Kellyanne Conway went on “Meet The Press” and said Spicer was offering “alternative facts.”  Go ahead, let the sheer stupidity of this phrase sink in.  “Alternative facts.”  2+2=5, is an alternative fact.  The Civil War wasn't over slavery, is an alternative fact.  Obamacare increases the deficit/debt, is an alternative fact.  Guns in the house keep people safer, is an alternative fact.  I'm old enough to remember when alternative facts were called, “lies.”

The democratization of information has created the environment where people can push their own “truths.”  The media, whose responsibility is supposed to be to inform and educate the public, have failed and failed miserably to do their job.  They've largely stopped being journalists and become stenographers, and bad ones at that.  Time and time again journalists will say it isn't their job to point out the truth, but to report what was said.  This lazy and devoid of ethics stance has helped create an entire generation of people who don't trust the media and who spout false equivalencies about everything.  If the media wants to know why they are no longer trusted like they once where, they need look no further than their advocation of their responsibility to inform the public.  After the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, when Republicans in the Senate blocked gun purchase background check measures, almost every major media outlet's headlines were, “Senate Blocks_____________.” NO!!!  The Senate didn't.  Republicans in the Senate did.   This may seem like not a big deal but it is.  This kind of half-ass reporting done consistently over a long period of time gives people the impression that there are no differences between Republicans and Democrats and that government is the problem, not Republicans in government.  Instead of informing the public of how government works, the rules of the Senate, why a measure didn't get a hearing or a vote, too many in media have resorted to lazy reporting.  They do this, in large part because they are corporate owned, their priority is not informing but generating advertising dollars.  You don't do this by pointing out that the party half your viewers voted for is the problem and the main reason for their problems.  Doing their jobs properly might be good journalism, but its bad marketing and they are in the business of making money not informing the public.   This advocation by the media to do their job properly has left people to their own devices to become informed and we see how well that's turned out.  They may have access to the information, but there is too much information and they don't have the mental tools to properly sift through and analyze it.  Being overwhelmed and underprepared, people will almost always revert to what they already believe and what makes them feel good about themselves.  When this happens, truth is pushed aside for feelings.  When this happens, people are easily manipulated by demagogues and propaganda.  When this happens, an arrogant, narcissistic, petty man is elected to be president of the country that prides itself on exceptionalism. “The human mind is as naturally sensitive to arguments as the eye is to colors. (There may be some people who are argument-blind!) But the eye will not see if it is not kept open, and the mind will not follow an argument if it is not awake.” ― Mortimer J. Adler

[succorcreek]

Is Trump hooking your Inner Lizard????

This article supports the video on the brain and creating prejudice in the topic cloud below. Basically: the brain allows prejudice and hate to develop, the fuel is the propaganda of the political psychopath. You have this lizard brain part in you too. Is Trump hooking your Inner Lizard??

We’ve had a rough year and a half. We’ve endured the sporadic terror attacks in major cities at home and abroad, videos of lethal confrontations between police officers and unarmed black men going viral, ambush attacks on law enforcement officials, the rise of the murder rate in major U.S. cities, and dozens of mass shootings in our streets, schools, and workplaces. News channels and social media have been saturated with either images of violence, or threats of it. So it’s not entirely surprising that the number of Americans worrying “a great deal” about crime is at a 15-year high.

Thankfully, there’s relief to be found once we examine our reality with a more objective lens.

Faced with such overwhelming ugliness, it’s very natural to recoil and feel that the world is falling apart, that we should atavistically embrace the traditions of our ancestors. Every generation has consistently criticized the drivers of modernity, such as science and humanism, as the erosion of things like family values, community in religion, and local customs. Thanks to the work done by people like Harvard Psychologist Steven Pinker in The Better Angels of Our Nature, and economist Max Roser’s Our World in Data, we know that we have continued to push through and improve the human condition. Despite all these achings for the past, more people lead longer and healthier lives, IQ levels are increasing at a rate of three points per decade, global poverty levels have decreased significantly, democracy continues to edge out autocracy as the choice system of governance, and violent death has been on a steady decline.

Yet, we never seem to get this big picture from the media, and why should we? If the majority of schools had mass shootings, then we wouldn’t feature mass shootings on the front pages. Peace and tolerance have become commonplace, and headlines are meant to report events which are considered out of the ordinary. As it happens, uneventful peace is both boring… and ordinary.

It’s worth noting here that some leaders have a vested interest in creating this atmosphere of bedlam, despite what the data have to say. Fear and anger in an electorate sends more people to the polls than does a quiescence for the status quo, or a pining for progress. There are, of course, many components to this anxiety and worry, but much of it is simply an illusion; a vestige of our evolution.

Our lower brain (aka ‘reptilian brain’) is about 200+ million years old, and it’s mainly concerned with survival. When it takes control, and it does, rationality takes a back seat.

We’re prone to dozens of well-documented cognitive biases which regularly drive us to act in an irrational manner. We’re inclined to overestimate the significance of information simply because it’s immediately available to us which, when coupled with millions of citizen journalists, can lead to an overblown appraisal of the state of the world. We also have a natural propensity to listen to arguments that confirm our preconceptions, giving rise to an increasingly polarized society. Then there’s our innate tendency to pay more attention to bad news than good news (which we regularly discount). This negativity bias has a good evolutionary explanation; that is, our survival in the savanna depended heavily on our reactions to negative stimuli. Assuming a rustle in the bushes is a lion can save your life, even if it ends up being no more than a gust of wind.

What Donald Trump has managed to do, perhaps unknowingly, is to capitalize on these cognitive prejudices by continuously misquoting statistics and making up or overstating threats. After painting America as a dark and violent nightmare, he tell his supporters that only he alone can fix it.

Trump has consistently fed us a carefully crafted cocktail of illogic, blatant lies, and his remarkable distaste for words composed of three or more syllables.

Argumentum ad passiones et populum, or arguments which appeal to emotion and to the masses, are classical logical fallacies that have always been used by leaders in order to sway their constituents. In Aristophanes’ satirical play, The Knights, a man is convincing a sausage seller that his lack of education and poor manners make him fit to lead. Unsure of himself, the sausage seller asks how he could possibly be able to govern. The man responds:

“Nothing simpler. Continue your trade. Mix and knead together all the state business as you do for your sausages. To win the people, always cook them some savory that pleases them. Besides, you possess all the attributes of a demagogue; a screeching, horrible voice, a perverse, cross-grained nature and the language of the marketplace. In you all is united which is needful for governing.”

What is meant here by “language of the marketplace” is the capability of relating to the life of the common man. Along with crassness and vulgarity, this is what helps seduce the people into a distrust of political establishments, the media, and unfortunately along with them, experts. For many of his supporters, it doesn’t matter how many lies Trump is called out on. Their candidate will always be the plainspoken one who ‘tells it like it is’.

Falling for the trap of demagogic seduction will likely cost the British after Brexit, and if we’re not careful, we will likely make the same mistakes.

Let’s dispense with the hyperbole and twisted narcissism of thinking that we happen to live in the most dangerous of times. Let’s acknowledge the biases we have, and the mental shortcuts we take, so we can subtract them and better appreciate our objective reality. If we’re serious about the issues facing our country, the prudence of an evidence-based approach, rather than one based on what people are feeling at the time, will yield more informed and calibrated responses. Yes, bad things are happening and there certainly is plenty more work which needs to be done. However, there’s justification and value in looking to the future with optimism, and cherishing the progress we’ve made in creating a safer society; a society that considers positive the principles of religious and ethnic pluralism, civil rights, and social justice. Our ancestors weren’t as lucky.

 from  http://bit.ly/2fOrRSk Psychopaths, Pirates, Vampires, and more:

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