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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

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Villainsicle | Part 13

I know it’s been a while, and if I’m being completely honest, I really ran out of steam on this story for a while. But, we’re back! If you’re new to my blog and are interested in this story, all of the parts up to this one can be found linked in my pinned info post.

Thank you guys so much for all your support of this series so far! I hope you enjoy this part, too!

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@whatwhumpcomments

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@professional-idiocy

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@regalwritten

CW//Mentions of bathing, restraints, drugs, dehumanization, conspiracies, collars, talk of diseases, talk of falling, Stockholm syndrome, affectionate caretaker, conditioned whumpee

After their bath, Villain rested.

It wasn’t exactly how Counselor had imagined the whole affair going. Villain had already spent so many days resting, laid up in that same bed, but once they were clean and settled into fresh clothes, they had requested nothing except to be able to return to sleep.

They supposed it wasn’t entirely unexpected. While the bath hadn’t exactly been physically exerting, there had been several instances during it that Villain had nearly burst out in tears. Whatever was going through their mind, it was undeniably intense-- and that wasn’t even mentioning the heavy dose of sedatives coursing through their system.

And, thus, Villain slept. They were unconscious almost immediately upon hitting the mattress.

This time, however, there was no nervous twitching to accompany their unconsciousness. Instead, for the first time, their face showed a perfectly placid expression.

Taking care not to wake the sleeping patient, Counselor draped a fleece blanket overtop of them, tucking its edges in around their shoulders. They twitched, but did not awake. A moment later, they buried their face in the fabric.

Counselor had never before imagined that Villain was even capable of existing in such a calm state. Yet, here they were, looking for all the world as though not even an earthquake could wake them up.

Their gaze flicked to the bedrails. Upon returning to their bed, Villain had not so much as seemed to note the leather-and-foam restraints hanging there.

Yet, Counselor could not draw their gaze away from them.

Villain had been staying in the base for weeks, phasing through various states of aggression and fear and sickness and, on rare occasions, hesitant happiness. But, even after all that time, no one truly knew anything about them.

At least, Counselor knew nothing about them. Based on the way Leader and Medic’s expressions twisted when the prisoner was mentioned, it was clear that the both of them knew more than they were letting on-- but neither was keen to admit as to such.

Maybe Hero had had more luck on this information gathering mission.

But how much information was there really to gather? Officially, Villain had simply appeared on stage a few months ago, alongside two unknowns. More or less, they had acted just as any other villain did.

The other villains, however, had motives. Backstories. They were following orders.

Villain... If anyone on the outside cared about them, they had yet to risk any sort of jailbreak.

There was more to this than the official story, Counselor knew that full well. How much more... as to that, they had no idea.

But they had no need to rely on second hand accounts and official reports to know what Villain was. That much was obvious. They were a villain. Whatever their backstory, whatever their past, they were dangerous.

Right?

Counselor’s gaze drifted back to those restraints. Those simple straps, dangling from a metal bedframe.

At some point, Villain may have been dangerous. But not right now. Right now, they needed help, and that was exactly what Counselor was going to give them.

And, if they wanted that plan to go anywhere, they would have to start with the doctor who harmed their own patient.

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This time, when Medic answered the knocking on their door, their glasses were on the right way around. They blinked a few times, rubbing their eyes, hardly noting as the piping hot cup of coffee was pushed into their hands.

The doctor glanced down at the beverage before looking back up to meet their visitor’s gaze.

“I thought you wanted me to sleep.”

“Well, that was before. For now, we need to talk.”

“If this is decaf again, I swear I’m going to strangle you.”

“It’s not. Though the same threat applies to you if you try to go back to the med bay.”

“I’m a doctor. In fact, I’m our only doctor.”

“I’m a doctor, too.”

“Psychology doesn’t count.”

“Fair enough.”

“If we’re done threatening each other, then, would you care to, I don’t know, tell me why you’re bothering me?”

“As I said, we need to talk.”

“Do I even need to ask what about?”

“I think you already know that. Come on. You have your coffee, so there’s no excuses.”

“You really think I’m going to be that penitent about this?”

“Maybe.”

Medic rolled their eyes, but did not protest any further as Counselor turned and walked off. The two moved to a rather isolated table, tucked away in the corner of a hallway. The cafeteria was far too crowded at the moment to host such a discussion.

On opposite sides of the table, the opposites sat. Two cups of coffee clinked down on the wooden surface.

Counselor took a sip of their drink, placing the cup back down and raising their gaze. Medic frowned, lips turning downwards even further than usual.

“What, are we planning on talking through telepathy or- Come on, Counselor, stop looking at me like that. I hate that.”

“Then are you going to say anything?”

“I can’t read your mind.”

“You said you knew what this was about.”

“Maybe.” Medic shrugged dismissively. The doctor had been horribly standoffish, ever since Villain had been captured. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to start trying to guess your thoughts.”

Counselor took another sip.

“Fine, then. I can start.” Sip. Clink. “Villain told me something very interesting, earlier.”

“You really believe them?”

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

“Then stop wasting time, maybe.”

“Villain says that you’re making them sick.”

Medic’s brows furrowed.

“That’s what they said?”

“Pretty much verbatim, yes.”

“Well.” Medic took a hesitant drink of their coffee. “I don’t know why you’re even wasting your time on a notion like that. What they are is paranoid. I don’t doubt that they think I’m making them sick. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“You’re saying that your patient is lying.”

“Maybe not lying. That would imply that they know what they’re saying is not true. They are sick, I will not deny that. And they are not responding to treatment. I can’t say that anything I’ve tried so far has made it any better, but it certainly hasn’t made it worse.”

“Why would they believe such a thing without reason?”

Medic exhaled.

“Because, in Villain’s mind, they do have reason. They have a child’s understanding of medicine. They are sick, and they are under my care and taking my medicines, and thus, in their mind, one of these things has caused the other.”

Counselor cast their gaze downwards, focusing on the way their milk danced its way through the black beverage before them. It was a reasonable explanation. Maybe. They may not have trusted Medic, but they trusted Medic’s abilities as a doctor.

Could Villain really be wrong?

“If they’re wrong...” Counselor began again. “Then what is making them sick? Their incident with hypothermia was weeks ago, now. It can’t still be that?”

“I doubt the two are connected. If this was all a matter of post-hypothermic reactions, then we wouldn’t be seeing these kinds of symptoms.”

“What is it, then?”

Medic bit their bottom lip.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? They’ve been in your care for... well over a week, now.”

“You think I don’t know that? If you haven’t noticed, I’m the world’s leading expert on Enhanced biology. Not to mention, y’know, an experienced doctor for normal humans. Whatever this is, it’s not a normal sickness. I’ve done every test I can think of.”

“And... it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“Not as badly as you might be fearing. Their weakness is worsening, yes, as is their general mental state. But their vitals are fine. They’re not in serious danger of anything, so long as they don’t hurt themself.”

“You think they’d do that?”

“Given just how bad their confusion has been getting? I’m already putting preventative measures in place.”

“Oh.”

Medic raised a brow.

“You thought I restrained them for no reason? I’m not Leader. There are medical regulations about this sort of thing.”

“They’ve been hurting themself?”

“Not what you may be thinking of. But with how bad their weakness has grown, they can’t exactly stand up without aid, at the current moment. Forget walking. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to have realized this.”

“They’ve fallen?”

“A few times, yes. If that is all, I was really just starting to enjoy my day off, so-”

“Wait.” Counselor shook their head. “People don’t get sick for no reason.”

“Congrats, you know a basic medical fact.”

“You know what I mean. You’re the smartest person I know. You must have, I don’t know, a theory? A hypothesis? Anything?”

Medic blinked, placing down their cup.

“I do. Though right now, I have no way of proving it.”

“What is it?”

“Villain has what we call... psionic powers. Powers that affect only a person’s brain, but not their physical body. It’s the rarest type of power, oftentimes because something you can’t see is often something you can’t detect. Thus, this group of powers is poorly understood, to say the least. But I’m sure you know what power fatigue looks like for other Enhanced.”

“Like when Hero broke their leg?” Counselor guessed.

“Yes. The simple act of overexerting ones powers, even without outside injury, can cause physical injuries like that to develop.”

“You think Villain’s having power fatigue?”

“It’s my best guess. It would check all the boxes. An undetectable illness affecting the brain, but nothing else. A never before seen condition.”

“But... is it something you can cure?”

“I can’t cure tiredness.” Medic shook their head. “That’s really not how it works. I can do my best to counteract the symptoms, but so long as the source is still there, I’d be fighting uphill.”

“Then what can you do?”

“I can remove the source.” The tiniest smirk crept onto the doctor’s countenance. “Power fatigue is caused not by using ones powers, but using them in a way that the body cannot handle. At least, as far as we can tell. If Villain can control their powers enough, their symptoms should go away.”

“You really think so?”

“I hesitate to guarantee anything. Not with how poorly understood the condition is.” That smirk fell, replaced by Medic’s resting expression of annoyance. “But training them to use their powers properly is the only way I can see them getting any better.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m also sure that I would really like to go back to my quarters. If you’re done bothering me?”

Counselor bit their tongue.

“Fine.”

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Counselor had momentarily considered returning to their own quarters, but had quickly decided against it, instead turning to the kitchen. They had yet to eat that morning, as had Villain. They figured that a warm meal might help them shake off the sedatives.

And, maybe, some food would make Counselor’s own stomach stop twisting.

They only made it halfway to the kitchen, however, when in the hallway, they nearly slammed into Hero. The two both yelped, and a slosh of Counselor’s coffee slopped to the floor.

“Shit, sorry, are you okay?” Hero asked. There was considerable nerve in their voice.

Counselor nodded. “You just started me, ‘s all.” They glanced down at the spilling coffee now sitting on the tile floor. “I’ll, uh, get that later. I was just heading to the kitchen.”

“Oh. Um, could it wait?”

“I need to bring Villain something to eat.”

“Can it wait?”

“What-”

Counselor’s gaze drifted to Hero’s twitching hand.

“You have something?”

“Mhm. I don’t think it’s going to take very long.”

“Can I see?”

“Not here. Not with everyone else around.”

Counselor raised their brows quizzically, but nodded.

“To your quarters, then?”

“I guess that’s as good of a place as any.”

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As soon as Counselor was out of sight, Medic changed their trajectory.

The musty air that filled their lab acted on them like a drug, sending a calm shiver down their spine. If they had the day off (or if they were being forced to take it off), there was no way they were going to spend that precious little free time moping in their quarters. Not when they could be here.

They sat, the memory foam of their desk chair still molded to their form. The laptop before them booted up with a familiar chirp and bright pink screensaver, written upon in white text:

“Property of Organization. Unauthorized Use Is Unlawful.”

The grainy selection of videos blinked before them, and they selected the next one in the series. Even if they didn’t have access to their Asset at the current moment, they could at the very least work ahead.

The screen fizzled to life in all its low-definition glory, displaying a familiar room, its walls plastered with protective black rubber, and its tile floor made of the same material.

The presenter wore a bandage on their face, covering the side of their jaw. The gauze warped as they smiled, but they seemed to make no note of it.

Beside them, the presenter’s own Asset stood. The muzzle around their face had been modified, its metal warped as to compress its wearer’s jaw, to the point that even breathing was an impossibility.

Extreme, perhaps, but based on the Asset’s behavior, it was warranted.

Though their movements were weak and unbalanced, they were persistent, not ceasing yanking against their leash for the slightest moment. This time, unlike before, the presenter seemed to be paying attention to them, though they did not seem worried.

“It has been some time since we last spoke.” They began. “I apologize for the delay, but, hopefully, it will not happen again. After all, training our Assets is a full time job.”

A smile. Cheerful, stretching their cheeks.

“Unfortunately, I must report that the recent delay we experienced was as a result of my own Asset lashing out. This was unfortunate, but it made me realize that there is a flaw in my training methods. A flaw I seek to instruct you, today, on how to remedy.

One advantage we trainers have is that we have 24/7 access to our Assets. As we take care of them, we can choose to meet their needs in whatever way we see fit.

Deprivation has always been a part of Asset training, since we pioneered our methods. But it was something I, unfortunately and unwisely, neglected. And I have done you all a disservice by not mentioning it to you.

In order for training to truly take effect, there must be room in an Asset’s mind for it to fit. A reason for them to follow. Fear, certainly, is this reason, but there are other aspects to control.

Following my Asset’s incident, we have been working using these methods of deprivation. Depriving your Asset of things such as nutrients, water, and sleep can significantly speed up and solidify your training. In this lesson, we will go over this, and how it can help you improve your training methods.”

The presenter’s smile was matched by their Asset’s wicked snarl. From the corners of their mouth, licks of flame emerged, just for the slightest moment.

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Hero handled the flash drive as though it were a bomb.

Perhaps it was, if the writing on the device was at all to be believed. Scrawled on in sharpie, a hastily written yet well received warning.

“Property of Organization. Unauthorized Use Is Unlawful.”

As if Organization cared about the law.

Hero seated themself in their office chair, leaving Counselor to sit a few feet back, on their bed. They almost flinched, plugging the flashdrive into their laptop.

For a moment, the computer hummed, before it reported chipperly that new files had been added.

“Uh, Hero?”

“Yeah?”

“Where did you get this thing?”

“Leader gave it to me.”

“Did they say what it was.”

Hero shook their head. “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

Still moving terribly nervously, Hero opened the folder that the computer had created for these ‘new files.’

“It’s... videos.”

“Videos?”

“A couple of them, yeah.”

“Should we... play them?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. I mean, if Organization is involved, I’m not sure I want to know what’s on them.”

“It could help Villain.”

Hero sighed, dipping their head.

“I hate when you’re right.”

With deft fingers, they selected the first video.

It had been so long, since any of them had seen Traitor. More than that, it had been so long since any of them had seen Traitor smile.

And yet, that was what they were doing. Grinning, ear to ear, eyes locked upon the camera.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to the second edition of the Asset Training Video Course. If you are confused, the first edition of this series was, unfortunately, cut short due to... an incident. We will all miss our last presenter, but that does not mean that our duties can be shirked.”

Traitor turned, looking offscreen, calling:

“Veni huc.”

The language the words were in was clearly not English, but the person who moved on-screen did not seem concerned by that fact.

Villain smiled as well, though their warm gaze had an inquisitive quality to it as they regarded the camera. A chain-link collar was arranged about their neck, but it was attached to nothing, and seemed to more or less hang limply.

“For this series, I will be demonstrating all you need to know about Asset training. This, here, is my own Asset, Cadet. As you can tell, they are very well trained, if I do say so myself. They will be helping me show you how to train your own assigned Asset.”

Traitor’s hand reached for Villain, who did not flinch a moment. Their hand ruffled Villain’s hair affectionately.

Villain smiled, and leaned into the touch.

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villainsicle #powered whumpee #conditioned whumpee

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imagine-loki · 4 years

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Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 59 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

Ella did not want her parents to leave Jotunheim. She loved having her family and friends from Asgard there with her. She used the opportunity to see as many from home as she could through their time on Jotunheim and to spend time with her friends as well as juggle being in court with Loki and also dealing with readying for the baby.

Loki’s vision for their rooms was not vastly different from hers. The most notable thing she noticed was that he wanted to keep her and the baby as defended as possible by altering the location of the bed so that he was more positioned to defend them both if there was reason to. Knowing that it was something of a peace of mind for him, she merely agreed and assisted with her seidr to allow his request to occur. Satisfied, he seemed more settled leaving both soon-to-be parents more at ease with everything to come.

Watching her parents ready to leave, she inhaled deeply and ensured that her emotions were not to the fore. Ever the perfect depiction of a royal, she remained stoic and unemotional.

Thor joked and jested with both Aesir and Jotnar with whom he had grown close to, especially through their shared experience on the battlefield while her parents spoke mostly with other realm royalty.

Odin ensured to find himself alone with Laufey for a few moments.

“I would have thought you would want as little to do with me as possible now that such is no longer required.” The old Jotunn commented as Odin created a chair for himself to sit on beside the Frost Giant.

“Long before we warred, we spoke as two young and often foolish kings. Time has changed many things but I hope one of them is not your ability to converse.”

Laufey sighed. “I ignored that trait for a time and it cost me greatly but I still have it.” He looked over the realm that could be seen from the balcony on which they were sat. below them, Loki was speaking with Grengro, one of the Nidavallir dwarves on a matter. “It is a trait I ensured he exceeded me on and to his credit, he has surpassed anything I ever achieved on the matter, even if he did almost cause destruction with ignoring it as I once did.”

“He is young. Sometimes in youth, we do stupid things. I am only relieved that his came with no cost of life...in the end.” Odin growled as he added the last part, recalling Ella’s ill state when he was called from Asgard due to her ailing health. “Now look at him, speaking to those not even you ventured speaking to.”

“High praise from you of all beings, Allfather.”

“I always said that he would be an able king. Never let that be forgotten. I questioned his suitability to Ella and that worry showed that it had credence when he nearly killed her but nonetheless, both of them persevered in the end, and now look at them. An able king. Jotunheim will know great prosperity once more.”

“And our grandson?” Laufey asked. “One of both of our lines, Norn’s who would have thought such possible after the onslaught of war?”

“Even with the ability of Allsight available to some, it is never truly possible to predict what is to come. Jotunheim and Asgard are bound by blood. In the years yet to come, my son will find himself a wife and with that, have his own heir and our realms shall be ruled by cousins, bound by blood and hopefully comradery with it. It will strengthen them, I would think, but only time will tell.”

“Your wife does not share your hope,” Laufey commented. “Through all of this visit, she has been apprehensive.”

“Look at it as she sees it. Your son almost killed our daughter with neglect, he cast aside our tradition of a Queen standing beside her husband on the throne. I understand that the tradition is different here but Frigga, Vanaheim is stricter than even Asgard on those sorts of protocols and thus far, none of Ella’s traditions seem to be included. I know this is nothing you can control with regards to your son, but see it as my wife does or try at the very least. It is a very peculiar manner in which to do things. Of course, she is apprehensive.”

“And you, Allfather?”

“My opinion on the matter holds little standing.”

“Yet you have one?”

“Opinions are peculiar things. We all have them, they are all indeed valid as they do not have to even be based in fact and truth yet as they are singular to ourselves and in our minds, they all hold credence yet at the same time, they hold none as they are not required for anyone else. I have one but it does not matter, good or bad.” Odin growled his response.

“You may not say the words, Allfather but your eye and face do. You disapprove.”

“My daughter is nothing but an asset to your son. It would have been a simple acknowledgement to her standing to have given her some modicum of recognition.”

Laufey did not press the issue any further. He understood Odin’s thoughts even if he did not agree with the sentiment. The Jotnar and the Aesir were different in many aspects, this was simply one more. Ella’s title meant little. She was the mate of his son, his only one and the mother of the next king so her standing in that manner alone gave her significantly elevated status, giving her a title was not required, in his opinion. “You can control many things on many realms, Allfather but even this is beyond your or indeed my own intervention.”

“There is much yet written but some parts of it are more set in stone than we think.” He looked at Gungnir in his hand as he spoke.

“I often fear what it means when you ramble in manners in which few others understand.” Laufey watched Odin carefully. “What is it that you are planning, Allfather? How does it pertain to my realm?”

“I plan nothing for Jotunheim, it is not my domain in which to do so without due cause and your son gives me none but change is indeed afoot here.”

“How so?”

“That, it would seem, will be revealed to us all in the near future.”

Laufey knew he would not get a clear answer, so he said nothing more, hoping that whatever the Allfather had planned, it did not bode ill for Jotunheim.

“Ella?” She looked around at her mate. “I fear I need to tell you…”

“They’re leaving.”

Loki looked sadly at his mate. In the days that her close friends had been present, as well as her birth family, her mood was far more cheerful. Usually, her demeanour was a pleasant one, especially since everything was smoothed out between them but it paled in comparison to the mood that she had when her two realms were all but one. Seeing her face go from one of curious intrigue as to why her mate was calling her to one of heartbreak at realising what was to come, he knew she was suffering and felt sorry for her. “I am afraid so, yes.”

Swallowing harshly and with her nostrils flaring as not to allow herself to cry, Ella nodded and rose to her feet. “Very well.” Her voice was small and cracked with the sound of her sadness. “I guess we better go see them off then.” Using her seidr, she altered her clothing and went from a comfortable and loose-fitting dress to one more in keeping with her position. “Shall we?”

“I’m sorry.”

Loki’s apology caused Ella to frown. “Why?”

“Because this is hurting you in a small manner and I wish it did not.”

“Well, it is not your doing but thank you for the sentiment.”

She walked out of the room without saying anything more, Loki followed soon after.

The Aesir were the last group to leave Jotunheim. Those not overly fond of the realm but felt obliged to be there for the coronation were the first to leave, soon after, Prince Nigel found himself very much rushing to return to Vanaheim and not long after that, all but the Aesir had departed the realm.

Standing in front of her parents, having said goodbye to her friends, Ella forced herself to remain stoic, knowing that using a clone to bid farewell was not the right thing to do, even if she wished she could.

“Do not fret, Mother.” Ella found herself rolling her eyes as Frigga looked at her worriedly.

“I do not envisage seeing my daughter again before the labours of childbirth, do not tell me not to fret,” Frigga argued. “If you need a healer for anything, do not hesitate to have Heimdall inform us and one shall be here, is that understood?”

“Mother, women have birthed safely in caves, I think I can handle this.” Frigga’s worried face caused Ella to internally curse her mother’s lack of faith in her. “But of course, if there is an issue, I will be sure to call upon Eir. I have no plans to die in childbirth.”

“None tend to plan to do so, yet many have.”

“Mother, I rather not consider such things. I will continue to speak to you in our usual manner through everything.” Ella found herself wishing that her mother would leave the matter to rest.

“We shall. Until then.” Frigga curtsied to Ella who returned the gesture in kind.

Thor simply gave a wave and shouted to demand he be told when his nephew was born, if only to begin bestowing gifts that were entirely unsuitable to him, such as weaponry. Ella soothed Loki’s worries by stating that Thor was merely jesting, though secretly, she suspected he was not entirely convinced herself that he was not.

Then came Odin, who walked up to the pair and watched as they stood straight and waited for his parting words as they had done her mother’s.

Odin started by looking at Loki. “You have, thus far, kept your word to better tend to my daughter. Now, more than ever, you need to not only keep your previous promise to me but uphold it even more as she gives you a son. Give the same diligence you give to that to your realm also as its king.”

“I shall,” Loki swore.

Odin nodded, satisfied that he meant it. He then looked at Ella. “And you, keep your…”

“Mouth shut and ears open.” She smiled.

“You would have made a terrifying Queen. Perhaps it is for the best that you remain in the wings, listening, out of their line of sight so that you can better scheme.”

“I do not need such a title to be terrifying, Father.”

“No, you do not. You have held that accolade without such until now, but after today, I fear they will be even more worried as to your silence.”

Ella frowned at her father’s peculiar words. “I do not…” She was stunned into silence as Odin moved his hand forward, Gungnir in its grasp. For another moment, Ella stood in silent shock before her own hand went out slightly. “No.” She pulled her hand back. “Why?”

“I fear the inevitable has occurred. Gungnir no longer is faithful to me. She yearns for her new wielder, of which, I am not.”

“But I…”

“Take it.”

Ella did as her father commanded and placed her hand on the staff. As soon as she did so, she felt a surge of energy flow through it to her. “It never did that before.”

“No but yet it does now.” Odin, whose hand was also on the staff felt the energy flow through it before relinquishing his hold on it. “I suspect there is a valid reason for such.”

“What…?”

“The staff is not even reacting to your seidr, I would think.”

Loki, who had been standing next to both of them in stunned silent until that point, looked at Odin with even more bewilderment at that statement. “Then who…?”

Ella looked at her stomach. “Him.”

“The…” Loki could not process what he was hearing. “Could a Jotnar…?”

“It requires a strong seidr wielder to control Gungnir. Ella can do so with ease. She never needed a way to focus her power, she does not need it to do her bidding, she is powerful even without it. But my Grandson, his seidr will not be as strong as hers, but with Gungnir, he will rule Jotunheim with more power than any king before him.”

Loki felt a surge of both pride and fear at such a thought. He thought of his son, the future of Jotunheim with enough power to defend the realm from almost any foe. “But what of Asgard? Surely you would want…?”

Odin chuckled. “Asgard is not without its defences. Also, Thor wields Mjolnir. Because he does so, he could never wish to command Gungnir. It would rot in the weapons vault after my ascension to Valhalla. But that is irrelevant. It has already decided. I am too old and weak to wield her fully now. Now it is time for it to go to its next wielder. Ella will use it until the boy is crowned, then he will become its wielder.”

Odin’s words were clear to comprehend for all those present. Any who thought that Loki was to be a weak king were realising quickly that none before him would have been as strong and the one after would be stronger still.

“I guess that this will assist in stopping his seidr from surging too greatly.” Ella quibbed before looking at her father worriedly. “But it has been aiding you, what will you do?”

“Grow old, weak and feeble like every man before me,” Odin commented. “As is the way of life. I have no intentions of living forever. My time is coming to an end. I am not gone yet but I think it is obvious, I need to accept my mortality, something I ignored for too long.” He nodded to himself. “Now, rule this realm as it deserves to be. I await the news of my grandson’s arrival and for the love of the Norns, don’t give him some foolish Midgardian-esque name.” Odin ordered as he walked back towards Frigga who was looking at her husband worriedly, wondering how he would do without Gungnir to lean against when he was weak.

“Why would we choose a Midgardian?” Ella scoffed.

“Because beings these days love using names from places they are not from, misspelling and mispronouncing them and not knowing their meaning, Migardians especially. At least know the meaning of the damn thing.” Odin growled as he spoke.

Ella watched worriedly as he made his way slowing back to Frigga. With Gungnir’s power very much connected to hers, she used it to create a walking stick of sorts for her father who looked at it then at her with a small nod in thanks before going to the Bifrost site to be with his wife. “Goodbye.” Ella mouthed the words but no sound came out as her parents, family and friends were surrounded by roaring lights and a moment later, disappeared.

When silence came to the realm again. Singed ice and ground melted into the shape of the Bifrost in front of her, Ella felt the gaze of all the Jotnar around her upon her and on Gungnir in her grasp. Without thinking, she toyed with it in her fingers in the exact manner her father was prone to doing. Looking at Loki, who seemed just as startled by events as she was, she simply looked back towards the Jotnar palace once more before walking towards it, feeling as though Gungnir being in her grasp was entirely foreign but also incredibly natural to her as she did so.

#Loki #submission #Submitted fic #others #Pride and Prejudice #wolfpawn #chapter 59

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donnerpartyofone · 6 years

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movie review fan lady here. I know it’s not yet BLOGTOBER, but in advance of that, what are some of the worst tropes of recent horror films, in your opinion? Of course, use whatever definition of “recent” suits your answer best! seems like you’re busy with new projects these days, hope all is well and that you have plenty of time to watch however many horror movies you like this fall!

(first of all, sorry for my uneven typing but i’m using a new laptop that has a really intrusive but also totally inconsistent autocorrect thing and I’m just sick of fucking with it) thanks for saying hello! I have been pretty dormant lately, and it’s encouraging to hear from people who enjoy reading what I write. the mental illness got me bad this summer. this was made unnecessarily difficult by the fact that I had arranged a month-and-a-half-long personal leave from work, during which time I expected to be able to return to “myself” and replenish my inner strength by doing only things that I care about, and most importantly, see what kind of life I lead when I’m not being crushed under the heel of my extremely demanding and shameful job–a perspective few individuals will ever have the privilege of gaining. of course, a lot of what actually happened amounted to a painful reminder of how little I’m really capable of as a person. this has been especially hard to recover from with the restored stress of being at the office. I had my first full-blown panic attack on my first day back. although I suffer from anxiety, I have always been hesitant to describe my episodes of escalating, wracking panic as “attacks”. this is because once when I was young, I witnessed someone going into a panic attack after confessing to me her history of childhood trauma; she went into a total fugue state, dragged her limbs, spun in circles, and made faces until she collapsed, never to remember anything about the experience. I thought, “so that’s what a panic attack is. basically, if you are aware of your surroundings, have basic control of your face and limbs, and can recall the event, then you don’t really have any kind of real problem to complain of.” my “panic attack” was still not as bad as that, but it did involve an interesting lapse of motor control on top of everything else, so I guess I’m giving myself credit for it.

I never stopped watching movies, of course, but I almost totally abandoned letterboxd, save for a weird stint where I reviewed every single pre-Zombie HALLOWEEN movie; I actually suspect that for some reason, letterboxd only sent two of them into the activity feed, so no one even saw them all. so I stopped writing, and then I developed all this self-imposed guilt about failing to maintain my entirely voluntary pleasure-oriented routine, and my feelings of completely meaningless shame around this made it very difficult to start again. I think there’s also a sub-problem where, in actually recording my viewing habits, I started to get really stressed out about how much of my life I just waste on things I don’t even enjoy, just in order to kill time until I get to go to sleep again. for instance: yesterday I watched FATHER FIGURES, an ed helms-owen Wilson road movie that I was not even slightly intrigued by. in it, helms and Wilson are twins on the hunt for the dad they’ve never known, and they basically plod through a series of dopey vignettes: what if he was a MOVIE STAR? what if he was a FAMOUS FOOTBALL PLAYER? et al, ad nauseam. you can imagine what it’s like. *I* could have imagined what it was like. …but actually, there’s this weird sequence like an hour into the movie where (spoiler alert I guess), at the end of a string of dovetailing red herrings, the twins believe they’ve finally traced their real dad to a Boston suburb. they arrive at the guy’s house, expecting to meet a legendary supercop, only to find out that they’re at his wake. to make matters worse, the house is filled with young Irish American thugs who seem to be constantly on the verge of orgiastic violence, and who are already in a dangerously elevated emotional state. meanwhile, in this context, ed helms discovers that the woman with whom he had a one night stand two scenes ago is actually his sister. his and Wilson’s true identities, in addition to this sexual horror, come tumbling into the light of day at this worst of all possible moments, and the dead man’s own identical twin brother has to lay bare the sordid details of their family history to straighten everything out. I was embarrassed to find myself totally riveted to this sequence, which was something like THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW or THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE: ordinary people are absorbed into a secret, separatist subculture that is ruled by its own perverse systems of honor, incest and violence. I thought, “wait a minute, is this movie GOOD now??” of course the answer was, no, absolutely not! but it had me going for a second there. …but my point is, now I’ve seen that, and I still haven’t seen one single Eric Rohmer movie. part of the reason is, I’m afraid they’ll annoy me. don’t I have any kind of consistent thought? don’t I ever do a single thing with purpose?

god, remember when I used to use the anhed-nia blog to work out all kinds of really intense personal problems? I guess I stopped because I started feeling weird about what I was doing with the format, like I felt bad for people who followed during blogtober and weren’t expecting that kind of thing, which is so stupid, I mean it’s my blog and barely anyone follows it for me to worry about anyway. also the mental illness got me. I started feeling like, “why am I even writing this down, like what’s the point, I’m basically just masturbating and being pretentious and I’m not even having any revelations or whatever.” that feeling persists in my whole life, like a lot of people with depression. the constant why-ness of everything. it can be really extreme, like, “ok, I put my left shoe on, but is that REALLY a compelling reason to put my right shoe on? I mean I could just as easily be doing NOTHING instead!” anyway, watch out world, I might start putting personal problems on anhed-nia again.

but uhhh none of that answers your question. I don’t know if I have a proper answer! like, some things come to mind that are not necessarily “tropes” but I do consider them modern problems:

SETTLING UP WITH REALITY: we have this really sad situation now where, in order for a horror story to be compelling, every single movie has to suddenly slam on its brakes and examine what’s going on with everybody’s cell phone. did it get lost? is it broken? poor connection? as soon as this starts happening, all I can think is, “I’m watching a movie. this is the part where the writer has to take a number of laborious, repetitive steps, the conclusion of which I already know for sure, in order to explain to me that whatever is about to happen in the movie could definitely really happen in real life, for real, because the convenience of cell phones could not have prevented it. the writer knows that I have heard of cell phones, and so now we have to make a dry, methodical accounting of the status of all of the cell phones in the movie. once this has been finalized, the actual story may proceed.” I hate this so much. whatever inherent horror there may be in the failure of our phones in times of peril is completely negated by my awareness of the writer’s felt obligation to go around disabling each and every cell phone right in front of me before we can even begin to address the point of his story. let me put it a little bit differently: when we have a home invasion movie in which the villains cut the phone lines, that evokes a horror that is native to this genre. the protagonist feels personally violated, imprisoned, completely separated from their fellow humans, separated even from the form of reality they enjoyed before their victimhood began. the very definition of “home”, as a place that is private, safe, comforting, and under one’s one sovereign rule, is painfully inverted. that is the point of that specific story, in which the telephone has defined semiotic and psychological significance. on the other hand, the problem of cell phones is completely generic. now, in every horror movie of every subgenre, no matter where the characters are or what they’re doing or what we suspect will become of them, nothing can even happen without this dutiful address of the phones. this is only happening because of an absolutely ludicrous obligation people feel for their fantasies to resemble their reality as closely as possible, which flies in the face of the whole idea of having metaphors that help us explore our emotional and spiritual conditions. PS if you’re the kind of person who can’t watch even a really great movie without holding everyone in it to the standard of your own personal pragmatism and logic, then maybe you should ask yourself why the fuck you even watch movies in the first place.

BICKERING AS DRAMA: this may not be a specifically modern problem, although I *feel* like I encounter it most in horror movies from the last two decades. in any horror story with an ensemble cast, an important source of danger is the dissolution of personal relationships. under the strain of their predicament, people who desperately need to trust and protect each other become volatile, angry, cowardly, irrational. fearing for their lives, they lose their ability to cooperate, or even to agree on one most-hopeful solution to their shared problem. in NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, the ongoing fight over whether to hide in the basement or the attic is agonizing, and helps to underline the preexisting, banal political tension between the main characters–in fact, the corrosive social forces of the 1960s are key to this film’s subtext–which now compounds the mortal threat posed by cannibalistic monsters. alternatively, you can have a movie like John carpenter’s THE THING that is mainly composed of protagonists in-fighting; in that case, the irresolvable conflicts strengthen the movie’s message, which is specifically about betrayal, alienation, and loneliness. what I see in a lot of movies now, instead of a focused, purposeful conflict like those, is a deteriorating situation of multiple characters incessantly bickering with each other over the details of their circumstances. no one is making a salient point, or contributing to our understanding of their conundrum, or revealing something particular about themselves. they’re just yelling and sniping and sulking and badgering each other about minutiae, or about the key problem in such broad strokes that their arguments cease to have any meaning. I actually think that this is a consequence of that same boneheaded obsession with realism of which I complained previously. I often feel like these protracted scenes of petty fighting about granular details are a way for the writer to paranoiacally defend themselves against persnickety viewers who complain about “stupid” characters who apparently fail to exercise heroic levels of sober judgment and practicality. these viewers, who are so happy to hurl accusations of “UGH HE SHOULDA JUST _____” at the screen, as if there is anything “just” simple and obvious about the story unfurling, are progressively ruining storytelling for everyone, necessitating these grueling character discussions about the potential consequences of every hair-splitting potentiality of every situation.

EFFICIENCY AND ECONOMY, OR LACK THEREOF: …this is sort of a different kind of point that I want to make, so bear with me. as a (secret, amateur) writer myself, I am plagued by the neurotic urge to explain exactly the way things happen in as comprehensive a fashion as possible. like, I don’t know, if I were writing a story about how someone inherits an old house, I’d probably start stressing out ridiculously about the bureaucracy of how this property changed hands, what kinds of officials would have to be involved, how the new owner evaluates maintenance needs, and EXACTLY how long everything would take. i have an irrational fear of leaving things out, when I absolutely need to leave things out in order for the story to simply be about whatever it is about–which is NOT property transactions. it’s not even that I’m anxious about “realism” precisely–this could apply to a fantasy framework just as well–I just lose track of which details are actually important, and which details I should give the audience credit for intuiting (or not even needing to know). because of this, I try to really notice when a writer deliberately, elegantly leaves a big gap in the action, in order to stay faithful to the story’s spiritual identity. I wish I could think of a good example! but I at least have a good anti-example, which is: I rewatched TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE: THE NEXT GENERATION this year for TEXAS CHAIN SAW (sic) MASSACRE Day. that’s a really crazy fucking movie for a whole lot of different reasons, but one thing I noticed about it is, the DP shows EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS. this became absolutely hilarious to me pretty quickly. is somebody talking? point the camera at them! is somebody reacting facially to the person talking? point the camera at THEM! did someone just walk in the door? now point the camera RIGHT AT THEM, and make sure you get the door in the shot and show the whole thing until the door closes and something else happens! it’s so crazy and nervous. there’s a scene where leatherface has to put a character into a cooler where there’s already another character trapped, so he has to pick up the big hunk of machinery that he used to hold the door closed, and then find a place to put that thing down, and then put the character in the cooler, and then turn around and pick up the thing off the place where he put it down, and then turn around and put the thing back on the thing again, and they show ALL OF IT. it really cracks me up, it’s so unnecessary. I mean, the scene is already in chaos, you just have to show a bunch of motion with the piece of machinery coming in and out of frame, but instead you get this like anal retentive breakdown of exactly what happens to every object in the scene. anyway, I try to notice when I’m feeling compelled to do that kind of insane accounting of everything that happens, and I also try to notice when someone else is really good at NOT doing that!

anyway, thanks a lot for the question! it’s really good for me to get a prompt like that. blogtober is coming after all, and I need to Get Amped. this fall I have horticulture classes at the local botanic garden three nights a week, so it’s going to be tough! if you (y’all) have any movies I haven’t reviewed that you’d like me to talk about, I would be very open to hearing about it, I often get stuck. also feel free to follow me on letterboxd to help pressure me into continuing to use it. https://letterboxd.com/donnerpartyof1/

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ptsfreed · 3 years

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Starting over

TW: mental abuse, physical abuse, narcissistic abuse, gaslighting

For years, I’ve kept a journal or blog. I started when I was 5 when my mom bought me my first journal (it even had a lock and key). As I got older, I transitioned to blogs. I tried them all, Xanga, Tumblr, Blogspot. Writing has always been cathartic for me, a way to process and heal. I had gradually fallen out of the habit but I know that it’s time to start up again. Last week, I actually made a booming return to paper/pencil journaling, but let’s get real--my hand hurts. Typing is just so much faster. Blogging it is.

I suppose I should start out with outlining my goals for what I’m planning to achieve with my return to writing. I want to give myself the opportunity to slow down, process my emotions and experiences, and heal. I like having the ability to have something physical to look back on, sort of like a barometer for intangible growth. It’s hard to measure social-emotional learning otherwise.

Here’s what I’m currently dealing with. I’m 31, married, with two children. I’m a full-time work-from-home-parent. I am a moderate/severe special ed teacher for a virtual charter school. My husband also works from home full-time in the entertainment industry, so it’s just us versus the kids all day. My little ones are 3 and the other is just shy of one. My husband and I became first-time homeowners right in the midst of the pandemic. Then he was laid off. For seven months. We’re both educated with experience in our field. Overnight, we went from a six-figure household to becoming eligible for food stamps. This year, I marveled at how easily a job loss in a two-income household could turn that very same household eligible for welfare.

Depression ran high. The booze flowed. My PTSD symptoms went untreated as available therapy appointments became more scarce with the entire world enduring a collective trauma together. I watched my strong husband crumble. I saw him cry and doubt himself for the first time ever. I watched as a dark cloud seemed to envelop our household, ridden with fear for the future, uncertainty for the present. We became expert budgeters. We ate all the leftovers. We helped each other to thrive with the most limited social interaction in our lives. With the welcoming of our son, we compromised our social-distancing for family’s sake, with the promise that everyone in our pod would commit to limiting our social diets to strictly one-another. It was hard...we love our families, but we dearly missed our friends. Living two hours away from family in the first place, our local friends quickly became family. But we adjusted. Loneliness was preferable to falling ill to Covid--or worse, dying.

At some point during the pandemic, my mom moved in with us after leaving her abusive 30-year relationship with my father. Except, she never really left. She maintained contact with him. I knew it would be difficult for her. I expected the separation to be hard, painful, and drawn-out. What I didn’t expect was how severely living with my mom again after seven years would impact my mental health. I could feel my anxiety levels rising. My resentment steadily followed. I didn’t want things to feel this way. I was battling toddlerhood with a strong-willed, fiery, emotional kid with a penchant for hitting and also adjusting to life as a full-time working mom of two. I felt the emotional toll of being there for everyone, compassion fatigue, though I hated to say it. I felt like as a doting mother, good wife, caring teacher, and compassionate daughter I needed to do it. But the toll it was taking on my body and mental health was unmistakable. I cried, sometimes for no reason at all. I snapped, I felt angry at small things. My house looked like a tornado ran through it at all times. Finding motivation to do things was like pulling teeth. I gained weight, I hit the bottle almost nightly, though I typically limited myself to two drinks. I told myself I deserved it. Lots of people share a bottle every night with their significant other. It’s not like it was impacting my ability to perform my job or care for my children. Deep down, I still didn’t like it. It felt like the only way to escape from the hell of quarantine and being broke. I just wanted to see people. Spend without immediately regretting it. Yet here we were.

The year has been a challenge. Ridden with strong toddler emotions and learning to navigate parenthood while actively trying to break the cycle of spanking and yelling to discipline. I don’t always succeed and I hate myself each time I snap. I run to my daughter, apologize and tell her that I was feeling overwhelmed, but that wasn’t okay. It’s never okay to spank a bottom or yell because you want compliance. If I can’t always be the perfect parent, then I can at least be one that is apologetic and not too proud to say sorry. I want to teach accountability and remorse for one’s own actions. At the very least, I can instill that. That’s the silver lining of losing your cool, I guess. But with these apologies and accepting accountability, it’s important that I also couple these sentiments with change. It’s important that I do this in all aspects of my life, which is what I hope to achieve with writing. I need to hold myself accountable and be able to look back at change. I can do this. I have done so much. I have survived the pandemic. I have created a family. I have finished a bachelor’s and a master’s degree with little financial support. I have paid my way out of debts. I can do this.

1. First and foremost, the reason I started writing again in the first place, I am done with binge drinking. I feel pangs of doubt as I write this, afraid of my own capacity for caving to cravings and peer pressure. As I experience those pangs, I can hear a silent voice in the back of my head telling me to push forward and cast that doubt aside. I know I can do this. Enough is enough. My relationship with alcohol has never been healthy. I began my drinking career in college surrounded by friends that made me feel home. Drinking was fun, cool, part of the experience. Pre-gaming was encourage and expected. If pre-gaming meant you got drunk before the party, then the goal of the party was to get even more smashed. I carried these habits into adulthood and still carry them with me today. My last binge was Sunday and I’m not going to torment myself by recanting how bad it was yet again. My goal isn’t to stop drinking entirely, just to have a healthier relationship with alcohol altogether. Binging isn’t healthy. The person I become when I drink isn’t healthy. I can control this. I can do this.

2. I want to continue my journey into healthier eating and fitness habits. As of today, this is the longest time I’ve ever seriously stuck with a weight loss goal. I’ve lost 6 pounds since I began with mostly just-dieting. The fitness part has been difficult to make time for, but I’m working on it. I know that this goal is closely tied to goal #1. If I can get in control of my diet, I can get in control of my drinking. I am in charge. I can take ownership of my health. I can do this.

3. I want to continue learning about my PTSD, my symptoms and how they have and continue to impact my life. I want to continue learning about establishing healthy boundaries with people I love, my mom included, unfortunately. I want to continue learning about narcissistic abuse, substance abuse, and how these factors have contributed to who I am as well as my entire family dynamic. Growing up hispanic, it has been incredibly difficult to establish boundaries without being labeled as “too good”, “hateful” and “too angry”. I have been told countless times by my own mother that I’m too angry and upset at my father who physically and mentally abused me and my entire family for as long as I can remember. My dad has cheated on my mom and rejected me for over two decades. I am sick and tired of being told to forgive my abuser because my boundaries make others feel uncomfortable. What has been especially hard after actively working on myself for 3+ years is having my own family tell me that perhaps therapy isn’t suiting me because it’s made me “too angry” and that I’ve “lost my lust for life”. They want to assume that my general sense of frustration is attributed to not talking to my dad, when in reality, freeing myself from that relationship has afforded me more peace than I ever could have fathomed. Sure, there are difficult moments, but every time I think that maybe that relationship may be worth pursuing again, I am reminded of why I have established such rock-solid boundaries in the first place. According to others though, this makes me too hateful. Too angry. “You’ve punished him enough”, they say. As if this was ever about punishment and not about protecting myself and my children from narcissistic abuse in the first place. They say this and accuse this anger of pouring into other aspects of my life, without ever once asking what’s really going on inside. Not once has anybody asked how parenthood is going. How I’m coping with the pandemic and the renewed sense of cautious freedom now that I am fully vaccinated and my husband is halfway vaccinated. Not once has anybody thought to consider that maybe I’m not super woman, that I’m just human and that I too have moments of vulnerability that I irresponsibly cope with by binge drinking. Instead, everybody says that the best course of action is to essentially “get over” my resentment and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by the decades-long abuse I suffered at the hands of my own father. The same hands that banged my head against a wall, beat me within an inch of my life, and then sent me to work at a cosmetics counter without a stitch of makeup and completely battered and bruised. According to the armchair therapists in my life, it’s my job to let go of these feelings and now trust this same meth-addicted man with my children. I need to trust in his capacity for change and honesty after 20+ years of lying and gaslighting. I don’t want my boundaries to cost me the most important relationships in my life. But at this point, I can’t do it anymore. I am exhausted with explaining myself, for demanding respect and begging to have my story heard and considered. My mom will continue to choose my dad over me. She feels compelled to be his friend and the peacekeeper, still, even after attending therapy and working on herself. I know that my dad is at the center of this, stirring the pot and causing a rift in my relationship with my mother because having me out of the picture will bring the two of them closer. “See, she turned her back on you too”, I can hear him saying. This is the loneliest I have ever felt in my life. I have been told that by my parents my entire life that I am essentially dispensable. “I don’t fucking need you”, my dad would say. My mom would “intervene” by asking me what I did to make him so upset, and perhaps I should just “find somewhere else to live” if this was how I was going to act. I hate feeling this way. It hasn’t gotten easier as a 31 year old woman, but I can say that I am now able to see the situation much more objectively and with clarity. This is why it’s important to keep attending therapy, working on my drinking, practicing mindfulness, and living my life with intention. Wellness really does come full circle. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

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winedwords · 7 years

Text

Aleister| In The Dark |Black

Title; In The Dark

Pairing; Aleister Black/Reader

Words; 5200

Summary; He ate my heart out.

Warning; NSFW. SMUT. AU AF. Heathens!verse. Sex pollen/venom trope. Magic healing dick trope. Thigh riding, oral sex, public sex. Kinda dubcon. Persephone and Hades spin if you drink some wine and squint. morally flexible aleister. porn with the faintest traces of plot. shit editing and proofreading is shit. ye have been warned.

A/N: Repost from the old blog

I don’t know how I got talked into this.

This wasn’t my scene. There were too many people entirely too close to me. The lights were blindingly bright and the strobing made my eyes hurt. The music was so loud, I could feel the bass rattle in my chest and thrum through my veins. Or maybe that was the several shots of tequila that I felt in my veins? Even if this was an outdoors event, there was little to no airflow and sweat clung to every inch of skin from the heat and exertion of my pitiful attempts at dancing.

My roommate and coworker, Adrienne, had talked me into coming to coming here and wearing as little as I was. This wasn’t me, at all. Whereas I would have been content with a game night and a couple of glasses of wine, like the homebody I am, she wanted the lights and the sounds and the feel of writhing bodies pressed against each other. She wanted the crush of uncontrolled euphoria brushing against and dancing with her magic.

I love her to bits, I really do, but this is what happens when your friends worship Dionysus. They would throw themselves into anything hedonistic and it would feed their magic. That magic would then reach these euphoric pinnacles and Adrienne swore that it was better than any orgasm she’d ever had, so I just had to come with her to this club.

My usual night out attire was not appropriate, oh no.

Adrienne had insisted on the tiniest, strappiest neon blue bikini I had ever seen. I’d balked at her as she pulled it from the shopping bag, the microscopic bits of polyester would barely cover anything and I’d told her as much. She’d just laughed and said that there would be others wearing far less and to stop being such a prude. Her Circle would be there and nothing would happen she said, so why not have a night of fun? Like an idiot, I relented.

Yes, it was a Circle dedicated to hedonism and the worship of Dionysus, but I knew that if they had any say about it, no harm would come to me. Not when they would have to face the unholy wrath of the North American Council.

I guess you could say that I was special, even amongst the magic folk.

See, magic is a finicky thing, temperamental and as unique as a fingerprint. Most magic folk do not fall into strictly black magic or white magic, but rather on a spectrum of grays. We are all born with innate ability, affinities and knacks for certain types of spellcasting. Our magic comes from the blood and each individual had different talents. Some, like Adrienne, are ridiculously skilled at charms and summoning magics. Others, like those in the Order of Osiris, were stewards of the dead, shepherding lost souls to the afterlife and banishing malignant spirits.

Then there was me.

The only White Witch born in nearly four centuries.

White magic was beyond rare. Difficult to wield, incapable of actually causing harm, and the only magic capable of healing wounds and curing illness, those with white magic had been worshipped and revered throughout history as living deities. With white magic, everything had a cost, every action had an equal reaction.

The biggest reaction was the prevalence of black magic. My tutors had said that white magic burns so brightly, that it must always be followed by the impenetrable darkness as its shadow. Black magic was expressly forbidden by mainstream casters, for good reason. Blood magic, sex magic, necromancy, there was no taboo that was considered to be off limits. Black magic could steal free will, snuff out life, summon inconceivable eldritch horrors from parts of the universe best left untouched.

My tutors had warned that white and black magic were inexorably drawn to each other, like two primeval magnets. That they were two halves to the same coin, the light and the dark, yin and yang. Precautions had been taken to never allow myself to be anywhere in proximity of a user of any type of dark magic, lest the inconceivable were to happen.

I felt him long before I ever was able to lay my eyes on him. The brush of his magic against me felt like velvet and tasted like single malt scotch.

I’d been followed before. Since my birth, there was always someone watching from a respectful distance. They were always nondescript people, blending in with their surroundings, if it weren’t for the feel of their eyes trailing me. I’d grown used to them with time, knowing they were there at the back of my mind, but also knowing that they’d never approach.

He was disturbingly handsome and not trying to blend in, in the least. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of writhing humanity, as still as a statue with the slicked back mohawk and the clearly tailored black on black suit. He wasn’t dancing like the others around him, I wasn’t sure he was even breathing. He was just staring. At me.

I was close enough to make out the tattoos on his hands and the crescent moon high on his cheekbone through the crowd and I shivered for reasons I was not ready to examine closely right now.

Illuminati. And an enforcer at that.

Why in the world would they be sending someone who should be doing their wetwork and other unsavory bits of business to keep tabs on me instead of their usual nondescript types? Both the Templars and the Illuminati sent the same types of people to shadow me, always nonthreatening and certainly never got this close to me.

Both groups, the Illuminati and the Templars, were tasked with keeping balance in the world, maintaining order, and cleaning up any… messes to keep the ordinary and non-magic from discovering us. They just happened to go about it from each other.

The Templars were an ancient order, able to trace their beginnings to Babylon, with a strict code of ethics and morality. Everything was for the greater good. Duty, honor, and sacrifice were revered amongst them and it was not unusual for them to sacrifice their lives so that others may live. The ultimate white hats and do-gooders. The handful of Templars I had interacted with had reminded me strongly of the Knights of the Round Table and my mentor had laughed, saying that the Templars made up the entirety of the Knights of the Round and that Arthur was practically a saint to the later generations.

The Illuminati were a whole different breed. Young in comparison to their arch nemeses, the Templars, only about three centuries old, and infinitely more ruthless. They would do anything, no matter the cost, to keep balance. Blackmail, treason, deceit, murder, torture, it was all on the table. They had no such scruples about manipulation or power grabs. It was well known that they were the people on grassy knolls, the shadowed faces in corporate board rooms, and the kingmakers in every political system around the world.

I had been followed and tracked by both factions since I came into my magic. The Council had told me to not be worried, that this was par for the course whenever someone was born with significant magic, especially when it was black or white magic. I was warned that eventually, when the time was right, they would make a play for my allegiances. I had been assured that I should barely notice them with time, that they would eventually become fixtures of my everyday background. The Council was right, they had become my personal shadows, the faces and shapes changing but never enough for me to pay them much mind because I was never approached.

Until this one.

As soon as I had registered who and what he was, he was gone in the blink of an eye. Even if he was gone from my sight, the taste and feel of his magic still lingered.

So much darker than my own, that mysterious suited man’s magic felt like smoke and velvet and tasted as heavy as the darkest of chocolates with the after burn of a finely aged scotch. It seemed to swirl around me teasingly, caressing along my skin like a lover’s hand would. Then it was gone. My own magic crackled along my skin pleasantly at the loss and it reached up and out of its own accord to seek his out again.

I panicked, it felt like my throat was closing up, and I began attempting to push through the crush of the writhing crowd. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, my magic which I had such a tight control over from a young age, attempting to do something of its own will. The loss of control paired with the tequila and the hum of the euphoria spell that the Dionysus cult had cast was fogging my thoughts and I just needed a moment to breathe and to collect myself.

The bodies of revelers were tightly packed and it was damn near impossible to make any headway to the back of the venue, where there were fewer people. The bass of the music was overwhelming and the strobe lights were dizzying, making progress through the teeming masses of human flesh all that more difficult.

I’d made it a scant few feet when a delicate, but impossibly strong, hand latched onto my wrist. I pulled hard to attempt to get out of the iron like grip, but there was no give. I turned back to confront the person accosting me, but the anger and panic rushed out of me as soon as I made eye contact with a pair of hypnotic and eerily dark eyes. The woman holding onto my wrist tightly gave a blinding smile and leaned in close.

“Dance with me.”

The will to fight drained from me and I smiled dreamily at her. She was petite, with a delicate heart shaped face and an overly full sensuous mouth. Those eyes had hooked me in and all I wanted was to please her and make this strange woman happy. I moved closer to her, my hips swinging to the rapid fire beat that the DJ was playing over the speakers, and she leaned in to press a teasing kiss to my shoulder.

“God you smell divine.”

Her words tickled and I threw my head back with a giggle, exposing the tender skin of my throat. I didn’t see the way her eerie dark eyes zeroed in on the thumping pulse point in my neck, nor did I see the way her teeth seemed to elongate into sharp points. I was too entranced by this woman, the feeling of being around her seemed to enhance the tequila that was lowering my inhibitions.

“You don’t mind if I taste just a little, hm?”

She didn’t wait for a response, leaning in with fangs bared for my exposed neck. I stood stock still, my head heavy from her hypnotic eyes. I could feel the heat of her breath against my skin and then the pinprick of fangs. I relaxed for the barest of moments into her touch before she paused, a strange gurgling noise at the back of her throat.

Then the fog around my brain cleared, the gravity of what just almost happened weighing heavy. My eyes were wide as she practically exploded into dust, her mouth wide in a silent scream, revealing that handsome suited stranger from before, holding a wickedly sharp wooden stake in his left hand.

He cursed in a language I didn’t understand, his eyes drawn to the small pool of blood at the nape of my neck from where that… creature’s fangs had broken skin. I wouldn’t have even noticed the small scrape if it weren’t for the slight burning irritation that emanated from the area. Dust from the creature clung to the lapels of his dark suit jacket, which was clinging to his broad shoulders in what was becomingly an increasingly interesting way to me.

“Do you like men or women?”

The sound of his voice startled me. Deep, cultured, with just the faintest traces of an accent. My skin was starting to feel almost too tight and the thrum of the bass of the electronic music was vibrating straight to my core. I laughed uncomfortably at his words as soon as they registered through the returning fog that was becoming thicker and thicker in my head.

“What? Get out of here you creep.”

The suited man’s face tightened into a grimace, still deathly serious. His magic flared and surrounded me completely. It was heavy, all encompassing, and so dark that it sung to my own magic in a way I had never known before. It was simultaneously exhilarating and comforting. I couldn’t help the purr that escaped my throat and the answering bright burst of magic. I was so lost in the feel of his energy that I missed the way he shivered and the rapid bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“You were bitten by a dhampir, woman. They have a rather potent venom that acts as an aphrodisiac in their saliva.”

Well that certainly explained a lot about the way I was feeling. I’d begun to break out in a cold sweat and I could feel slickness that was most decidedly not sweat clinging to my inner thighs. My heart was racing and I could feel the panic bubbling up inside of me. How did I miss the signs of the dhampir? It was clearly trying to influence my behavior and get me alone… I could vaguely remember something about an anti-venom, but the crush of the bodies around me and the fog of the aphrodisiac was clouding my memory and judgment.

“Anti-venoms?”

His smile was wry but unapologetic. His sharp eyes were cataloguing my every reaction, likely calculating how long I had until my senses left me and I was reduced to a babbling, horny mess.

“The blood of the offending dhampir, which is out of the question now, or… a high dosage of the unique cocktail of adrenaline, endorphins, and oxytocin that’s released during orgasm. Now tell me, men or women?”

My mouth was dry and my brain was still whirring to process. My answer was clearly taking too long and he hurriedly pushed his hand through his dark hair with a frustrated sigh.

“The venom works quickly, you only have about five more minutes before the it overtakes your nervous system and begins to liquify your internal organs. Which means someone needs to make you cum in the next five minutes to stave off the effects. Do… Do I have your consent to see you through this?”

I was most certainly not ready for this, to be afflicted with a venom that was going to take away my free will, let alone a man offering to help and asking for my consent before I was turned into a mindless sex machine who’s organs turn to mush. He was dangerously handsome, I could definitely do a lot worse, and the touch of his magic alone pulled me to him. What was I forgetting though? This damn pink fog was beginning to take over my vision and I had somehow inched myself closer to him, so close I was practically plastered against his front, the brush of the soft fabric of his suit making my blood roar.

“I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do. B-but what’s your name?”

He smirked, something dark and hungry crossing over his face, but the venom was pumping too thickly through my body for me to pay too much mind.

“Aleister Black. It’s a pleasure, (Y/N).”

There was no chance to respond, as Aleister had swooped in for a sinfully feverish kiss one hand cupping the back of my head and the other playing with the many straps of the neon bikini at my hip. The cool metal of his lip ring felt like a brand against my lips and a quick nip from his teeth had my lips parting to make way for him to deepen the kiss. My insides clenched at his touch and I was already so, so close. His lips began to trail downwards along my jaw line and he chuckled as I shivered against his lips.

I felt like I was burning up.

Every nerve was on a razor’s edge, to the point where every touch by a dancing partygoer and every touch of his lips against the bare flesh of my decollete was a pleasurable torture that bordered on pain. I couldn’t say what part of my body’s reaction was due to the guttural, primal attraction that drew me to him and what part was what that…. thing did to me.

It felt like someone put a live wire to my sweat drenched skin when he pushed his thigh between my legs and up against my core. The pressure on my hypersensitive center was delicious, already on the brink of release, and I couldn’t stop my hips, even if I had wanted to, from rutting against his firm, muscled thigh. Mere seconds had passed of my feverish grinding and the fabric of his suit pants were completely soaked by my desire.

My mouth was agape at the combination of friction and pressure in the place where I needed it the most and Aleister seemed to realize it. Both of his hands grasped my hips in a vice like grip and pressed me down hard and faster than I could manage against his thigh. His teeth clamped down on my earlobe and my release jolted through my body like I was struck by lightning.

I writhed in his arms, hips jerking shortly while my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Aleister hummed his approval, raspy foreign words spoken into my ear. My body eventually stopped shuddering, my chest heaving with my inhaled breaths and my heartbeat still fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. The relief was only momentary however, then the lust was back and just as overwhelming as before.

I mewled in desperation, frantic for something, anything to bring relief to the pressure. The suited man in front of me made sure to double his efforts of dragging my core along his thigh, before gliding a hand underneath the small polyester triangles of my top. The rough pads of his fingers teased, then pinched the pebbled flesh of my nipple, the pleasure-pain sending jolts of pleasure directly to the tight bundle of nerves between my legs. Aleister caught my lips again, his tongue twisting with my own in the most ancient of dances.

The crush of the bodies around us was pressing me tight against him and it just took a sudden shove of a partygoer against me to send me into another orgasm at the rough treatment. Shudders wracked my body longer this time, the release feeling three times as strong as the one before it. It took several deep breaths to finally gain some semblance of control over my motor functions again, the white hot pleasure finally fading.

The pink fog that clouded my brain and my vision seemed to lessen in its density for just the barest of moments, long enough for me to begin to paw at the front of Aleister’s suit pants. He chuckled and swatted my hands away, only to be met with a high pitched whine that somehow came out of my mouth.

“You’re so cute when you pout.”

His affectionate words only served to double my effort in getting his pants off. His much larger hand grabbed both of my wrists and held them tightly, his once amused face now like stone.

“Sorry, beautiful. Not here, and most definitely not right now. I need to get you somewhere safe before others come for you.”

His magic swarmed me, the taste and feel of it overwhelming my already compromised magic. I weakly in his arms and against his magic for a couple of breaths, before I fell unconscious.

An undetermined amount of time later, I found myself splayed lewdly across the back seat of a large SUV, Aleister between my legs lapping at my core with abandon. I had only been conscious mere moments before I was shrieking his name and grasping at his hair. The pressure and pace with which his tongue had been moving lessened considerably as I rode out my pleasure, the shudders of my body slowly lessening.

It was then that I noticed the hastily drawn symbols on my thighs and lower abdomen, the vast majority of which I could not make out.

“What are these?”

My voice was so much breathier than I would have liked and Aleister looked up, the lower half of his face and beard glistening from the fluids of my core. I flushed brightly at the sight, arousal and embarrassment burning through me. His smile was predatory and filled with male satisfaction, the bright white a stark contrast with the darkness of his beard.

“Sex magic. Increases your pleasure while staving off the effects of the venom. I had to do something, you were starting to seize as I brought you to my car.”

The squawk I made would have embarrassed me further if I wasn’t so indignant.

“Sex magic?! Are you out of your fucking mind? I cannot be party to this!”

I scrambled to get up and he made no movement to stop me, still crouched over my lower body as still as a stone, waiting. I had no idea what he was waiting for, too preoccupied with looking for the skimpy bottoms of the neon bikini, when a muscle cramp unlike any I had ever felt before wracked my lower abdomen. I groaned and attempted to curl in on myself to try to quell the pain.

“You’re going to have to be party to it. The only other choice is to die. Now come to me, this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

The cramp passed for the moment, leaving me exhausted and weak.

“You talk as if you speak from experience.”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing a kiss to the skin of the top of my thigh, his tongue flicking across the gooseflesh that his kiss caused.

“Enough experience to know how long this will last. Your mind is coming back to you, but your body is still prey to the effects of the dhampir venom. It’s going to be a long night.”

I hesitated, just a moment too long, then I choked off a scream as another cramp seized me, this one even more vicious than the last. Aleister’s face was hard, before making short work of his button up dress shirt, the suit jacket in places unknown.

“Do you trust me?”

My eyes were bleary with tears of pain and I could barely make out his face through them. He’d seen me through this far, the only untoward thing he’d done was drawing symbols of profane magic on my body in sharpie, in an attempt to ease the process. There wasn’t even a question.

“Yes.”

I didn’t have the time to read into the flurry of emotion across his face or the way his magic rubbed and purred against me in a decidedly feline way. Aleister had practically lunged upwards to my lips, his kiss demanding and unrelenting. I groaned and arched upwards into him and into his mouth, returning his kiss with equal ferocity. I was so distracted by the flurry of our tongues, teeth, and the taste of myself that I barely noticed Aleister pushing his pants down his thighs.

It was the heavy press of the blunt head of his cock that made me pull away from his mouth with a gasp.

“Last chance. Say the word and I’ll do my best with my fingers and my mouth.”

His raspy words made me tingle in the most delightful of ways, the need in his voice pulling at the dark and primitive part of my psyche. The heavy pink fog had made its return with a dizzying speed and I frantically shook my head. I was just so… hungry for him.

“If you stop now, I could never forgive you.”

Aleister didn’t respond verbally, surging forward between my slick folds and not stopping until he bottomed out inside of me. My scream was wordless and he didn’t pause for a moment, his hips setting a bruising pace against my own. My hips were stuttering upwards into his, desperately craving every generous inch of him, needing more more more.

I was already on the brink, my magic crackling like lightening around me. It reached up to touch his skin, sizzling against the sweat and he groaned. Aleister began muttering in a language I was wholly unfamiliar with, his magic caressing along my skin so heavily it felt like an actual touch. He shifted ever so slightly and the heavy drag of his length inside of me caught that one spot that made me gasp at the immensity of the pleasure.

“Found it.”

I couldn’t be mad at his smug words, because they were delivered so breathlessly. Every thrust of his hips caught the hidden bundle of nerves inside of me, my hands clutching desperately at him as I mewled and moaned and writhed underneath him.

The orgasm was too big, too intense, and came on entirely too quickly for me to adequately prepare. I tried to say something, to warn Aleister, but his thrusts felt like they were driving the air straight out of my lungs. Then the knot that had been coiling inside of me snapped.

I remembered screaming, a sudden rush of fluid leaving me, and the delighted curses from Aleister’s mouth.

After that everything had faded and blurred into a rush of orgasms, different sex positions, and Aleister, most importantly Aleister. Somehow we had made it to a residential building and made it inside, unseen. My memory was hazy and I didn’t remember collapsing from exhaustion.

I woke in an unfamiliar bed, the silk sheets a sensory overload to my touch sensitive skin. The venom may have been out of my system, but it was still wreaking havoc on me. Religious and occult artwork decorated the walls of an otherwise sparsely furnished room and it took me some time to gather my bearings, the walls seeming to seep magic and the smell of Aleister surrounding me. There was an unfamiliar thrum in my chest and at the back of my mind, I could feel annoyance that wasn’t my own.

It took several moments, but I was able to gingerly make my way out of the bed, every muscle in my body screaming from the overexertion last night and my feminine flesh was almost painfully sore. I shuffled my way out of the bedroom, turning to what must have been the kitchen by the sound of a coffee machine and Aleister’s voice. I felt like I was being pulled by a cord towards him.

He was speaking with someone.

It wasn’t until I got further down the hall and closer to the kitchen, did I realize that he was speaking about me to someone on the phone.

“I understand that this was not what the bosses meant when they said to watch her, but what was I supposed to do?”

He paused, before chuckling.

“I’d like to see what you would have done with a pretty little thing like her begging for you.”

Hurt burned in my chest when he gave a bellow of a laugh. Was this some sort of sick cosmic joke?

“No, no, it was not like that. Dhampir venom. You just don’t get it though Michael. Her magic practically sings to me. That’s… its impossible to describe.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, running his hands through his hair.

“She knows that I used sex magic last night to fight off the venom last night. I just don’t think she realizes that her magic bound us together. It’s for the best though, the bosses will be thrilled that she’s ours now. And it wasn’t even as hard as they were making it out to be.”

Aleister paused at my gasp and took a breath. My magic had bound us last night?

“Dante, I must call you back.”

He hung up the phone, not turning to face me. Even through my shock and hurt, I was still struck by his terrifyingly beautiful appearance and the tattooed skin pulled taught over expanses of muscle. I wasn’t of the mind last night to have explored him as thoroughly as he had explored me.

“Did… did last night mean anything at all?”

Aleister turned towards me, his eyes suspiciously dark and molten, with a small and secretive smile on his face. I blinked and then he was in front of me, body heat seeping through the thin fabric of the t-shirt I wore. He filled my vision, all I could see, smell, and feel was him. Anticipation curled in my stomach and my breath was caught in my lungs.

“You were my mission.”

He hooked a long and tattooed finger underneath my chin and pulled me in for a kiss that was simultaneously chaste and claiming. I could feel my magic begin to crackle in the air as my anxiety began to rise. He could sense that between our neophyte bond, brushing his thumb against my lower lip to give me some comfort. Affection was all I could feel from him, with the barest traces of pity.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t have done to have you.”

I wanted to sob.

“Th-that’s not what I meant, Aleister, you know that.”

He gently pushed an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers caressing slowly down my cheek. His touch was almost reverent and my skin seemed to hum with pleasure in the wake of the path of his digits.

“It’s all that mattered at the time.”

The lump in my throat felt like a boulder, cutting off my airflow. He may have answered my question, but I hated that I still had to ask.

“And now?”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine and one thick, tattooed arm snaking around my waist. Aleister’s magic washed over my skin like the heaviest of velvets and instinctively, I relaxed into him. This is what I was warned about, the bonding of magics like ours. We were two halves of the same coin, one light and one dark, forever drawn to each other by forces so much bigger than us.

“You are mine as I am yours. I would open the gates of Hell and let every demon loose before I let anyone, including my brothers and sisters, touch you.”

Aleister then ducked his head just a little further and caught my lips in a claiming, soul searing kiss. The touch of his lips did not quell my unease for what was inevitably to come. The… circumstances of our joining was sure to start a war.

#aleister black fic #aleister black imagine #aleister black smut #repost from the old blog #dog days of summer challenge fic #heathens verse

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sickficprompts · 7 years

Text

That Plague Fic I promised

So this is quite old now... Probably over a year old. It’s a Doctor Who fic based around the timebaby idea. There’s a whole backstory to the OCs here, but even posting this risks this blog getting found by someone who doesn’t know about it... so I’m not tagging it and you’re not getting other fics with these characters... I did want to show you the plague fic though. Enjoy! If you reblog, please don’t use Doctor Who tags and especially not River tags. Thanks!

NOTE: I believe there was going to be a chapter 3, but I actually don’t remember what was supposed to happen exactly. Just assume everyone lived, kay? :P

Mothering:

She knew something was wrong before, but it became quite obvious when a head fell in her salad.

Renee jumped out of her chair, knocking it backwards, when the man across the thin table collapsed into her dish and his own. Everyone went silent. Even the sounds of metal against ceramic cut off.

Then there was chaos.

She hadn't know what was wrong exactly before. The residents of the palace she'd happened upon were uneasy, so she was a little unsure of accepting the dinner invitation presented to her by the child she'd found playing alone and needing someone to dress up.

Renee regretted taking the long gown when the chaos ensued; how was she to escape when she could barely walk without tripping?

In the throng, she heard shouts of the plague reaching them and the guard not being good enough. Someone screamed to save Astrea: the little girl Renee had played with earlier in the day.

For once, Renee didn't feel like the monsterous attendant in The Red Death. She was part of the crowd: scared and hoping to get out of this situation alive.

She pushed past the people, wondering how many may be unknowingly infected. Maybe she was unknowingly infected.

Renee had to get back to the little girl's room. She'd hidden the vortex manipulator there, deep in the wardrobe, to protect it when she wanted to make over Renee. If Astrea, only six and a half, had managed to use the device once, she wasn't sure if she could figure out how to get back.

A maid stopped her in a corridor by raising a clawed hand. Her face was not angry but curious. “Ma'am, who are you?”

“Hi,” she said, out of breath. “I'm Renee. I really have to get going.”

“Are you human?” She cocked her head to the side. Astrea really didn't look that different from a human child, aside from having owl ears and skin of a slightly more red tone. “Are you the human girl Astrea spoke of? She said she dressed you in her sister's clothes. Yes, those do appear to be Camilla's. Sad, that is.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Are you delirious? Have you the plague too? The elder princess!”

“What happened to her?” The woman stepped closer to Renee and tried to place her hand on the thirteen year old's face. She stepped back. “What are you doing?”

“You must be ill. Have you no brain?”

Renee glared at her.

“My apologies ma'am, but it is all that anyone will talk about. I'm not sure how you missed it. Camilla died of plague just before the Mrs decided to move the family here to the island. They all were tested first of course: no plague.”

“Someone brought it apparently,” Renee told her. “A man just passed out in his dinner.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Girl, we must leave here quickly! I've noticed the early symptoms in others. I thought I was paranoid!”

Renee nodded. “I'm trying. That's why I've got to go.”

“Good luck to you.”

“Thanks.” Renee started walking again, and the maid hurried off.

She made it around the corner that lead to one last hallway before she froze.

One wall was lined with windows, and leaning against one was River Song. Her face was pale, nearly gray, and her eyes were downward cast. She didn't seem to notice Renee. All her focus was on her feet. On foot shakily slid forward. Her left shoulder was leaned against the window, and her right hand grasped at the frame with knuckles barely paler than the rest of her skin.

Renee couldn't move for a second.

Then River reached a long, red curtain, and hesitated. Slowly, she followed it up to the ceiling and back down to the floor, but when she stumbled and grabbed it for balance, it offered no support and the entire rod fell with her.

Renee rushed forward but not fast enough. River let out a simple, “Mmph!” of pain as she fell, the curtain pooled over her, and the rod hit her back in a single second.

“Mom?” Renee whispered. She pushed the rod and curtains off River and turned her over. She'd fainted. Her skin was burning hot and damp, almost sticky. “Oh god...”

What was she supposed to do now? She didn't even know what plague this was! She didn't have the history of the universe memorized... or the future. Which one was it?

River's eyes opened slightly, and Renee bent over her. She almost said 'Mom' again, but she realized River wouldn't know to answer to that and said, “River?”

She blinked.

“River?”

River groaned and averted her eyes. “M' fine...”

“River, you're not fine. You have the plague.”

She closed her eyes again. “Just dizzy...”

“I guess that's what Amy was talking about.” Renee remembered Amy's reaction to finding out Renee had gone a full week without telling her she'd fractured her ankle, and she hadn't been treated in that time at all. Rory was more upset, but Amy just sighed and said she really was River's daughter.

“What?” River opened her eyes slightly again. “Amy?”

Knowing perfectly well what she had meant, Renee said, “No. I'm Renee.”

“Renee?” River looked up at the window. “No.”

“I'm going to get something and be right back, okay? Then I'll help you.”

She shook her head, slowly. “No.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Contagious.”

Renee let herself sigh a laugh. “I've been here all day. I probably have it too.”

“Day... How'd you get here?”

Well, she was going to find out anyway when Renee came back with it. “A vortex manipulator.”

“Mm... Me too. Bad call.”

“I'd say so. I'll be right back.”

But she didn't want to leave River there. What would they do to her if they found her? If she remembered her Earth history correctly, at the very least, she'd likely be quarentined; maybe she'd be thrown outside or locked in a room. Either way, Renee wouldn't be able to get to her.

“If I help you, could you walk?”

River nodded, but Renee didn't believe her. After the ordeal with the curtains, she wondered if her mom would be able to make it to the end of the hallway, let alone to the other side of the palace.

“Okay. On the count of three?”

River nodded again.

“One.” Renee wrapped her arm around River's shoulders. “Two.” She hooked her forearms into River's underarms. “Three.” She pulled the older woman up and the two struggled to balance. Renee stumbled to her knees, bringing River with her, but managed to get back up. “You okay?”

There was no answer. She looked down at her mom, hunched over as much as she could be while still being supported. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“River?”

“Mm Hm...” She said without looking at her.

Still not convinced, Renee moved them slowly down the corridor. Her hearts were pounding. She was waiting for them to get caught, for them both to get in trouble.

It didn't happen. They got to Astrea's room without a hitch, and Renee helped River to sit on a fluffy couch before venturing into the wardrobe. At the very back, under a pair of lime green heels, she found the vortex manipulator.

“Who are you?” someone asked outside the door.

Renee froze.

“Ma'am, are you alright? What happened?” There was a shuffling noise, someone walking over the shag carpet, and then she heard them take a sharp breath. “Oh no!”

Renee knew she had to get River out of this, whatever it was, so she stumbled her way over the shoes and through the satin to get her.

Over the shoes and through the satin, to grandmother's house we go... her mind sang.

Another maid was standing by the door with her hand over her mouth, trying not to breath, and an older woman knelt in front of River, looking worried.

“Danya,” the maid said, sounding scared, “I must insist that you back away from her. She's infected.”

River had curled up on the couch and was nearly asleep. She murmered something that Renee doubted any of them understood and closed her eyes.

“I don't care,” Danya said. She pushed a curl behind River's ear. “It'll be all right my dear.”

“Danya,” the maid said, “Ma'am... I don't advise this.”

“Camilla's hair was similar. She looks like an older Camilla.” The woman was clearly sad, grieving, and Renee remembered the woman in the hallway saying that the Mrs had moved the family here after her eldest daughter had died. This must be the queen.

“Excuse me,” Renee said, hurrying forward. They couldn't mess up this time, whatever time this was. It affected a queen, a leader. They already may have messed up the family.

She looked up and threw her hands over her mouth. “Oh!”

The maid shook her head sadly. “No, ma'am.”

She stood and went to Renee so quickly, Renee didn't have time to move away. “Where did you get that dress? Are you the girl Astrea told me about? She was right. You look so much like Camilla.” She looked between River and Renee. “Do you have relation?”

Renee figured River was too out of it to process this. She nodded. “She's my mom.”

“Oh, sweetheart...” The woman's face fell.

“It's okay. I'm going to figure this out. If I can, I'll come back and help you all.” The promise was sort of true. She didn't know what she was going to do, but if she knew she could come back and fix this for them, she would.

“Where are you going? We're in quarentine.”

Renee raised her wrist. “This is a bit out of your time. Well, actually, it's a bit over your head. I'm sure there's at least a few agents floating around by now.”

She went to River and tried to rouse her. “River, can you hear me?”

“Girl,” the maid said, “Ma'am, why do you call her by name?”

Renee looked up a moment but quickly went back to gently shaking River's shoulder. “She doesn't know who she is to me. She can't. River? River, can you hear me?”

She moved a little, her breath changing the slightest bit. Renee nearly slumped into the seat beside her mother with relief.

“River, wake up.”

“Mmm?”

“We're going to go through the vortex now.”

She opened her eyes a little. They were unfocused but managed to amble their way around to each face and then to the vortex manipulator on Renee's wrist. Renee held it up to show her the coordinates. River murmured something uninteligable.

“We're going to Amy and Rory's,” Renee said, in case that had been what River had been trying to inquire about. She took River's hand with that which held her vortex manipulator and took one last look up at Astrea's mother. “Good luck.”

Then, Renee pressed the button, and they were in the vortex.

Chapter Two

Renee appeared in her room and River immediately fell with a gasp. Renee helped her onto the bed as she looked around, disoriented.

“This isn't my appartment,” she said, confused.

“I know. It's okay.”

“But where are we? What is all this?” She motioned around her widely as if to show Renee something that was surrounding them.

“Um, my room?”

“But...” She looked even more confused, and Renee realized this might be worse than she originally thought.

“Why don't you lay down, and I'll be right back.”

After a moment, River nodded, and Renee convinced her to lay back.

“Stay here,” she said, her tone firm.

River gave half a pout but nodded and went back to looking around the room. Before Renee had made it outside the door, she heard the sound of her mothers hand brushing against the wall and her weak voice. “It's like kittens... but scales.”

What did that even mean?

Renee headed downstairs. She didn't know what time it was, and she honestly didn't care. It was dark, so she went to Amy and Rory's room and flicked on the lights.

Amy sat up with a flourish, her eyes wide and rimmed with the purple of stress. “Renee?”

“I need Rory. Now.”

Without question, Amy turned and shook him. “Rory, wake up.”

“Mmph.”

Renee went over to help. “Rory, refusing to get up right now would likely be unintentionally what lead your daughter to and early and unwarrented death and therefor the nonexistance of your granddaughter, who I must remind you is me.”

He rolled over and looked at her. “One,” he mumbled, “Where do you read this stuff? Two, my daughter?”

Amy had focused intently on Renee's face. “Melody? She's here?”

Renee nodded. “Yeah, but-”

Amy was already out of bed and almost out of the room. Rory struggled into a sitting position.

“Amy!” Renee called after her. She was rushing up the stairs. “Amy, you-”

“Shush.”

She went straight into Renee's room. Renee was close enough by this point to hear the intake of breath. She pushed the door the rest of the way open as Amy was finally forming words. “Melody... What happened?”

Renee sighed. “I had a bit of a run in with a plague. We just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time at the same time.”

River was watching Amy intently, her look curious. “Mother? I can't see past all the- What is it again?” She looked to Renee for answers. Renee slumped against the door in defeat.

“It's the fever. That's what it is.”

“A fever? Whose fever? Is someone sick?”

Amy frowned and went to River more slowly now. “Sweetie, you're sick. Renee brought you home, so we can take care of you.”

“Um, yeah,” Renee said. Rory was coming up the stairs now. “I mostly came so Rory could help me.”

Amy looked a little disappointed, but she didn't argue.

Rory came in looking rustled and tired, but his face turned to shock upon seeing River in the bed. “You found her?”

“It's early River,” she warned. “We haven't met, but we sort of met up with a plague.”

“What sort of plague?” he asked, suspicious of their adventures by nature.

“The dead-princess and all-the-upper-class-is-quarentined sort of plague,” she admitted guiltily. “Which means we're going to have to sort of quarentine the house... Also, we have to find a cure.”

Rory looked tired. Amy looked ready to cry. River? She kept twirling Amy's hair in one hand and her own in the other, muttering something about how all blonde hair feels like cat fur, but all red hair feels like bunny fur, and The Doctor's hair feels like a dog's soft ear, and his hair would make a lovely blanket if that were possible without cutting it which she would never condone.

“Where were you?” Rory asked.

“The vortex manipulator has the coordinates. I don't really remember to be honest. I just kind of typed them in at random.”

“I thought we agreed you weren't going to do that anymore after your run in with Queen Victoria.”

Renee just shrugged.

#plague #plague fic #sickfic #sickficprompts #my writing

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greetingsfromthebottomofthewell · 7 years

Photo

CORRUPTUS

[directory]

graven images.

[source] [triggers]

If you really believe in something, it can be yours.

That's how we've been conditioned to think. Mostly, I suppose it's a coping mechanism to keep us from eating the rich. We all think we'll be rich someday if we just want it hard enough. How long has it been since there was a good, old-fashioned culling of the wealthy elite?

That probably wasn't a good way to start this blog post... I'm more than a little tired, but fuck it. I'm leaving it.

"Corruptus".

That was the subject of an email I received before my ISP dropped me. My phone turned into a brick the same day. Hell, I think it was the same precise moment, though it's difficult to know for sure since I only tried it after my laptop couldn't connect.

"Corruptus"... I'd never heard the word before, and to be honest I'm not exactly sure it IS a word at all. It could be Latin. It sounds like Latin. I haven't been able to look it up, and this is the first time I'm getting on the web since my unexpected removal from the grid.

I tried to sign on at the local library, by the way. My card was revoked... unpaid late fees for books I'd never read, much less checked out. Mostly borderline fetish material and self-help books for various mental illnesses. The apparently quite detailed tome on weapons of mass destruction seemed to be of the most concern for the librarian.

I hung around the library for maybe a half an hour, until someone left a computer logged in and unguarded. When I went to check my email, to tweet a complaint about what happened, those accounts were gone, as well. Honestly, I was a pretty huge dumbass for expecting them to be there.

It wasn't long before I noticed the computer's rightful user pointing me out at the front desk. I guess she wasn't a fan of the direct approach. I was out the door before anyone could cause a real fuss.

It's been over two years since I left Mowgli's Palace and never looked back.

The original blog post has come and gone so much... across so many different sites... that I can barely even remember the first place I tried to host it. If I'd known how far this would go, I don't know if I would've been able to hack out that clumsy, flawed account of what happened. The pressure would've been too great, and I suppose there's a certain level of comfort in the idea no one will actually see or care about your work.

It seems like a lot of sites removed the information, either upon direct request from Disney... or on their own in fear of reprisal. I know a really popular YouTuber who pulled readings of my posts from his channel. The rumor was that someone threatened to sue him, some supposed "author" of the "story". Bullshit. I know first-hand that he took it down in a bout of pants-shitting fear when he realized Disney's connection to his partner company.

I tried to keep up my "After Abandoned" blog for a while. I don't know how many people out there saw my notes on Room Zero, Club 22, and so on. They're still around if you look... at least at the time of this writing.

Yes, "Club 22" exists. No, it's not a typo of "Club 33". I later learned, from the same contact, that there's an 11 as well, and supposedly the debauchery only grows as the numbers get lower. I heard of a "Club 00", but I can't confirm that as clearly as I can with the previous contact. I also don't know if it has any connection to the "Room" of a similar name.

Yes, the door probably said "Characters" or "Cast Members" instead of "Mascots". I know, I know, I hear you all. Thank you so much for that. I'm sure your memory is crystal clear in moments of abject terror, right?

Overall, I'm glad that my words have spread so far and wide... but the down side is that so few of you are taking this seriously. I can't stress this enough... Treasure Island? Real. The Utilidors? Real. Just because you can't substantiate the rest doesn't mean it's "a cool story". Instead of picking apart the inaccuracies and making games about how cool it would be to have been in my position, maybe people can start taking this seriously and digging into what's going on.

Maybe?

I don't know. I don't want this to be a rant. I want to stay focused and make sure I post exactly what I wanted to make public. All of the stress... the stalkers, the phone calls, the broken windows... I know that's all supposed to keep me off track. They want me confused, scared, and most of all they want me quiet.

There's a team of men and women in suits that I've seen at random times. Here and there. I call them "The Focus Group" because they pop up with clipboards and pens, taking notes about everything I do. They all have the same outfits, the same thick-rimmed nerd glasses, the same red pens that just scream "we're judging you".

The first time I noticed them, they were following me through the Mall. I looped and turned, trying to be SURE they were following me... and there they were, every step of the way. Days later, I spotted them again in the laundromat window across from my new apartment.

I chased one down, once. The tubbiest one. They stayed silent through the entire chase and even the scuffle that ensued. When I wrenched the clipboard from his hand, I only found page after page of off-kilter, random gibberish coupled with crude Mickey silhouettes. All in the same red ink.

I know it sounds insane, to say that a group of men and women in black are following me and taking nonsense notes, but I think that's the point. I think the idea is that it SHOULD drive me insane, and if it doesn't, you'll still think I'm crazy just for saying it.

It's a no-win situation.

I will forever regret that trip to Emerald Isle, but on the other hand I'll always be grateful to the people who have come forward, anonymously, to share their experiences with me. Whoever mailed me the suggestion box from the resort is basically my hero at this point. To read what I'd written about the place and still brave the journey... wow. I can't imagine how that felt, whoever you may be. You even left the original, corroded lock in the box so I'd know it was legit. To do all of that without even taking a look inside for yourself must've been really hard. Thank you.

If you haven't noticed, I'm treating this post a lot like my "final installment". There's a reason for that. I don't know how long I can keep subverting Disney's attempts at silencing me before some sort of final action is taken. I have no doubt that somewhere, at this very moment, someone is using my identity to commit a crime that would discredit me. That, or the men in white jackets are about to show me a lovely little padded cell. I don't know what's going to come of this, and that's the worst part I suppose. All I know is that it's coming.

So what is "Corruptus"? Well, as I mentioned it was the title of an email I received. One that was presumably deleted along with my account. It was blank, and seemed to exist for the sole purpose of placing an attached text document in my hands.

Too bad for the powers that be... I had already printed it the moment I saw it.

Not much they can do to reverse that, can they?

I should've mentioned... remember that library? I used their copier to run off a few thousand duplicates of that letter. A few hundred are stapled in random places, a few hundred were passed out to random people, and the rest... let's leave those as a little surprise. Have fun trying to stifle THAT, you horrible mouse-fuckers.

Without any more rambling, here's the letter. Word for word. It arrived from a source whose email address I won't disclose... though I assume it's an untraceable dummy account, anyway.

—

Summation of CORRUPTUS incidents for January, 2015

For office use only. This message contains information that may be confidential or proprietary, or protected by the attorney-client privilege or work product doctrine intended solely for the use of the addressee(s) named above. Any review, disclosure, distribution, copying or use of the information by others is strictly prohibited. If you have received this message in error or without authorization, please advise the sender by immediate reply and delete the original message. All email sent to this address will be received by the Disney corporate email system and is subject to archiving and review by someone other than the recipient. Violation of this disclaimer as written will result in prosecution.

Please refer to official guidelines with relation to "known" and "unconfirmed" incident reports. Respect regulation as per ongoing and/or finalized designations.

Known CORRUPTUS incidents up to and including January, 2015

Treasure Island

Extreme agitation/inappropriate activity within Vulture population.

Mild to moderate agitation/inappropriate human activity.

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Unidentified Avian Species

Abandoned. Final.

Disney's Pop Century Resort

Misplaced and mobile objects.

Chronological Displacement/Anachronism.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Wandering entity.

Pending.

Disney's River County

Microorganism infestation.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: "Clear Man" aka "See-Thru Man" aka "Friendly John".

Abandoned. Final.

ImageWorks: The What-If Labs (2nd Floor)

Multiple missing persons reports regarding Dreamfinder's School of Drama.

Pin screen fatality.

Vibrating mirror sickness.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: "Wily Wizard" installation

Abandoned. Final.

Mowgli's Palace

Auditory hallucination and/or projection.

Misplaced and mobile objects.

Moderate to severe agitation/inappropriate human activity.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Inverted Character

Abandoned. Final.

The New Global Neighborhood

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Fiber Optic Worm (NGN C 1)

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Digital Howl (NGN C 2)

Resolved. Repurposed.

Room Zero

Sudden-onset mass-hysteria.

Auditory hallucination and/or projection.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Unknown

Contained. Final.

Please note: Nara Dreamland is not an officially licensed Disney park and no information or resources are to be shared with any responsible for containing its residents.

A complete list of suspected CORRUPTUS incidents and reports may be available.

—

It took a few readings before I could get my head around this. Essentially, if the attached file was to be believed, then the events I had experienced were not part of an isolated incident. The events within Room Zero... the Gascots... they seem like part of a much larger problem.

What is "Corruptus"?

Corruption. I mean, I don't need to run Google Translate for that, even if I felt like I COULD take a break from writing without the risk of someone finding and disconnecting me at any moment.

Corruption of what? Dreams? Ideas? Desires?

I've never been a religious man, but I was dragged to Sunday School more than enough times to know about Golden Calves. False Gods created by man... icons, graven images...

Characters. Mascots.

If you believe in the Bible at all, and I'm not sure I do, especially not after what I've seen... then maybe God wasn't angry because people worshiped other things. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe if enough people believe in something hard enough, there's a chance it will come to be. Since we're naturally flawed beings, that means there's a very good chance such a thing would become corrupted.

If you think about it, Disney's animated films have always had one overriding message.

Clap your hands and believe hard enough, and Tinkerbell will live. When you wish upon a star... anything your heart desires...

People like to say Disney has some connection to Satanism, but I never bought into that. I still don't. I think they've been trying to create that Golden Calf... a God-Idol that everyone believes in... one that everyone loves... It's almost as if any dream or idea that is shared by enough human hearts and minds has a real chance of being born into the world.

The creatures... if any exist beyond what I saw with my own eyes... I think they're the deformed half-starts. Random manifestations of some dark, unquantifiable non-life that seeped into our state of being. They're mistakes of reality. Cosmic abortions.

The Corrupted.

Did everyone in Emerald Isle harbor such a negative impression of Mowgli's palace? How potent was the fear of nuclear war on the day Room Zero became full? If you want to find Gascots and mystery voices, does that search bring about the very thing you're looking for?

How many children have been disappointed, confused, or scarred for life when they saw Mickey without his "head"?

These are questions I'm never going to be able to answer. I don't know if anyone can. Speaking personally, this will probably be the last time I talk to you about Disney and everything I've learned about them. I'm truly sorry for that, especially since there's so much more I could say... unconfirmed rumors, documents and items I received that now seem to be gone forever...

I thought they were just trying to contain that Mickey costume. I thought that's why they went out of their way to keep the public in the dark about so much. Why they coerced and bullied to get their way.

Now I realize I was wrong.

It was this, all along.

They didn't want anything like THIS getting out.

I wish you all good luck, and I know I need the same from you.

Thank you.

[previous]

#horror #scary #scary stories #creepypasta #nosleep #corruptus #stories

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its-a-different-world · 7 years

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Photo’s: Images of Lauren Du Pree are credited to washingtonpost.com and justdupree.com Meet Lauren Du Pree: Actor, singer, dancer, and teaching artist lighting up D.C. Come in, take your shoes off (keep your socks on) and get comfortable with me for the first interview of 2017!

Kabs: Your blog has a revolving theme that, if internalized, could definitely become a benefit to young black women everywhere: Breaking before you build. In life, we make plans and take steps to lay our path a certain way. I’ve learned the hard way that God laughs when you make a plan. God will often times take a certain part of your life, or sometimes your entire life, and shake it until it shatters. It’s an excruciating process of him allowing you to rebuild in his vision. Can you identify the moment where you realized you had to let go of your planned path?

Lauren Du Pree: Definitely. I was staying with my cousin in D.C. and had just come back from a trip to NY looking for a job and a place to live. This was the first time I didn’t have a show lined up since I graduated, so I had no idea what was next. I found a teaching artist job working with kids, and I was all set to go back to NY the following week for a last round interview, but it was clear that they really wanted me for the job. Everything seemed like it was lining up for me to move to NY, but I felt so uneasy. I actually had a panic attack in my friend’s living room in NY while I was looking for apartments. I started having them around the summer of 2014 and it was now late February or early March 2015. I knew it was time for me to leave D.C., so I assumed that meant moving to NY was the next step since it was always my plan to move eventually, but I wasn’t excited about the new job or NY and I didn’t understand why. I was sitting on the bed studying 2 Corinthians and I read this passage:

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.”‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭1:3-7‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I immediately broke down crying and knew that I had to go home and get healthy and start the blog that God gave me the vision for, years before. I had been dealing with health issues since the summer and I had no idea what was going on. I knew that moving to NY wouldn’t bring me happiness. The same issues I had in D.C. would follow me to NY, so I had to go home and heal my body, mind, and spirit, and share the journey. Because like the passage says, God comforts us in our troubles so that we may comfort others. Whatever it was I was going through, I had to share it to help someone else.

Kabs: Amazingly selfless. You didn’t only leave your life in New York untapped so you could heal, but so that you could heal others. Realizing the change that you’re destined to bring to others lives can sound glamorous, as it is often romanticized… but anyone who has actually had to pair action with their moment of realization knows for a fact that it is terrifying. While taking up your task, what insecurities did you deal within yourself? What insecurities did others project onto you? Lauren Du Pree: When starting off the blog I was terrified every time I put up a post. Will people like it? Will they relate? Is this even helpful? Is this sharing too much? Not enough? Being so public about everything I’m going through is very out of character for me. I’m a very private person, but I knew that I had to share this journey to help others. I always get such amazing, positive feedback from my posts, and I’m surprised at how many people are battling the same insecurities or health issues. We are truly not alone in our struggles, and it’s important to be open so we can connect with and help others. I’ve learned through the blog that if God puts it on my heart to share, it’s will be received by someone and it will help someone.

As far as other people’s insecurities, someone in my life worried about me putting pictures up of my eczema and images of me not looking my best. Being an actor, my appearance is important, and of course, I want casting directors and theatres to see me in a good light, literally and figuratively. However, being real and true to myself is more important than worrying about how people in the theatre community and acting world might receive me.

Kabs: Please, explain to us what the GAPS program is and how it applies to your life.

Lauren Du Pree: The GAPS program, or Gut And Psychology Syndrome, is a healing diet that I chose to go on. At the time, I believed that leaky gut was the cause of my health issues. Leaky gut is when the lining of the gut leaks out food particles and pathogens into the bloodstream. The body identifies them as foreign invaders and attacks. This causes all sorts of inflammation like skin issues (I was dealing with horrible eczema breakouts), panic attacks, digestive issues, allergies, brain fog, depression, anxiety, and a long list of other symptoms. The diet works to heal the gut by eliminating foods that are hard to digest. The beginning of the diet consists of meat and bone broth and boiled meats and vegetables. You slowly introduce more foods as your gut heals.

While I did have leaky gut, it was caused by topical steroid withdrawal, which is caused by using topical steroid creams to treat eczema. I had used them since I was a toddler, but they actually just made my eczema worse through the years. I had to get stronger and stronger prescriptions until finally, in October 2014, I decided to stop using them and find a natural remedy for eczema. At this point, my body was addicted to the steroids and me taking them away started the withdrawal process. It takes months to years to heal from TSW and I’ve been going through it for about 17 months. Not only does your skin go haywire during TSW (uncontrollable itching, burning, raw skin, red skin, constant flaking etc), other symptoms include panic attacks, insomnia, anxiety, leaky gut and adrenal and thyroid issues.

Kabs: Given the way you’re overcoming your struggles with physical and mental illness, what treatment advice would you give to your younger self (in regard to conquering your immune system and depression/ anxiety)?

Lauren Du Pree: I think the best advice I could give to my younger self would be that a lot of times you’re not going to fit in, but that’s okay! It doesn’t mean that you’re less than anyone else and it doesn’t mean that anything is wrong with you. A lot of my health issues stemmed from not being able to eat a normal American diet. Food is a huge part of our society, and it’s a part of most social events. I found myself struggling with not being able to go out to eat with people, or not being able to party and drink. A lot of times I chose to eat or drink things I knew weren’t healing to my body, because I didn’t want to be an outcast, and I didn’t want to deal with the objections and questions of other people about my diet. I didn’t want to change the way I interacted with my friends. Changing your diet to heal your body is a full lifestyle change, physically and socially. I don’t think a lot of people realize that. In order to truly change you have to make a plan and stick to it and not worry about what other people think. Also, a lot of my depression and anxiety when I was younger stemmed from wanting to fit in and be a part of the crowd. It’s been a lifelong struggle, but I’m finally getting to a place where I’m content being me and I’m content being different. My advice to my younger self, in this area, would be to stop seeking validation from other people and start building a stronger relationship with God and yourself. If you don’t truly love the person God created you to be, you’ll never be satisfied. One of my constant prayers is to see myself how God sees me.

Kabs: With all the recipe blogging that you do, what is your favorite recipe to prepare that coincides with the GAPS program?

Lauren Du Pree: I’m not going to lie, I’ve strayed a little from the GAPS program. It’s still the basis of my diet, but I’ve been eating the most random things lately. The good thing is, I’m not reacting the way I have before. I used to wake up with my eyes swollen shut, so I’m guessing my immune system is stronger now. However, when I was consistent with the program, I loved making cauliflower mash and meatballs. I would boil the cauliflower in broth with onions and garlic, blend it in the vitamix, then simmer that on the stove and let the meatballs cook in the mash. I would add mushrooms and onion in, too. It’s like the GAPS version of mashed potatoes and meatballs.

Kabs: Inventive! I’m gonna have to try that. I’m ecstatic to hear that your immune system has strengthened! Keeping in line with your venture from the GAPS diet: What recipes have you been indulging in since the strengthening of your immune system?

Lauren Du Pree: [My diet] is more paleo based now. One of my favorite dishes right now is almond crusted chicken tenders. The recipe is up on my blog, but it’s basically pan fried chicken tenders made with almond meal and tapioca flour. I’ve been lazy with the cooking lately so I need to try some new recipes. Another dish I tried was shrimp alfredo made with coconut cream. One day I had a craving for alfredo pasta and went on pinterest to get some ideas. Instead of pasta, I used zoodles (zucchini noodles).

Kabs: I’ve picked up on your musical tastes while reading through your blog. What was your favorite Ben Tankard song to dance to as a child?

Lauren Du Pree: Honestly, I was so young when I danced to Ben Tankard. I was crawling around shaking my little diaper booty to his music. I just listened to some of his music to see if anything would ring a bell, but I just remember those guitar licks and that early 90s sound. However, I think baby Lauren probably got down to Take Sax (Spread Love).

Kabs: Congratulations on your role in the production My Heart Is the Drumwith the Village Theatre! You were in the ensemble and also played Kanika. Please tell me about Kanika!

Lauren Du Pree: Thank you! Kanika is a product of unfortunate circumstances. She is very strong but hardened by the cards that life has dealt her. She has been trapped in a sex trafficking ring and has to deal with the man who put her there, Caesar, and also train the new girls that come in. In the show, Caesar brings in two 16-year-olds. Kanika is disgusted by this, and initially, it seems as if she is cold hearted towards the girls, but in the end, she helps them escape and gets out herself.

Kabs: Kanika sounds just as headstrong as you are! What has been most rewarding about stepping into your role of leading and inspiring other women? What has been the most taxing?

Lauren Du Pree: Getting feedback from other women that my blog inspires them or helps them keeps me motivated. It reminds me of why I do this and pushes me to keep going. That is definitely the most rewarding part of Just Du Pree: knowing that I’m helping people. Sometimes it’s a challenge to stay consistent with updating my blog. This past spring through summer I was not motivated to work on the blog. I’m not sure where my mind was, but it wasn’t on updating my blog. Like all humans, sometimes I just don’t feel like doing the work. It’s during these times that I have to remind myself that I’m not doing this just for me.

Kabs: What is your favorite part of playing in an ensemble?

Lauren Du Pree: In this particular show, I just love the people that I get to work with every day. We have such a great rapport with each other offstage, that it shows onstage. We cover some heavy subject matter in the show, so it helps that we’re always cracking jokes with each other and having fun. And the whole show isn’t a downer! There is a lot of joy in the story, despite what the two young girls who get caught up in the ring go through. But there’s a whole Act before they get to that part, so we get to see who they are in the first half of the show.

Kabs: How exciting is it to be apart of the world premiere of a production? What responsibilities do you feel to represent the art to the fullest because this is the first go around?

Lauren Du Pree: It’s always exciting to be a part of a new work. I have the awesome opportunity to originate the role of Kanika. I’m the first to sing her song and convey her story onstage. This is a really amazing show, so I’m sure it’s going places after this. There’s a lot of responsibility, especially with the writers involved in the process. This is their baby, so you want to make sure that you’re really bringing their ideas to life, either by being what they envisioned, or bringing something new to the table that they hadn’t even imagined. It’s such a cool thing performers get to do by taking words off of the page and making it real. It’s our job to find our truth in the work.

Kabs: “It’s such a cool thing performers get to do by taking words off of the page and making it real. It’s our job to find our truth in the work.” Yes! I couldn’t have said it better myself! I’ve always subscribed to the theory that in order to play a role well, you have to have some of that character inside of you. The character is either born from you, or you are reborn from the character (sometimes both). Does that ring true, in regard to your past roles?

Lauren Du Pree: Definitely. I think the best example of that for me would be playing Orphie in Orphie and the Book of Heroes. I portrayed a little Greek orphan who goes on a quest to save Homer from Hades. She thinks she needs the help of Heracles, but after finding out he’s a jerk, she has to become her own hero. A lot of Orphie’s characteristics I already had; spunky, optimistic, and loving. What’s interesting is that I played this role not long before I moved home and went on my own quest of healing and starting this blog. A lot of the qualities Orphie had to find within herself to complete her quest, I had to find for myself as well. Playing the role was kind of foreshadowing for the next phase of my life.

Find Lauren Du Pree Online

Follow her on Twitter: Like her Facebook Follow her Instagram Watch her on YouTube Keep up with her blog (justdupree.com)

Upcoming Show

Deena Jones in Dreamgirls: Dreamgirls at Village Theatre in Issaquah (Click here for show details, locations and ticket purchase)

Video

Social Media Friends Coconut Oil: A True Story Dr. Aron Method Update: 5 1/2 Months

Media Features

Orphie and the Book of Heroes

Theatre Review: ‘Orphie and the Book of Heroes’ at The Kennedy Center’s Family Theater

Ain’t Misbehavin’ at the Washington Savoyards: Smoking Hot Jazz, On The Rocks And With A Twist

DuPree ’07 Selected for DC Metro Theatre Arts Awards

Five Friday Questions with Lauren Du Pree

Transcendent ‘My Heart Is the Drum’ haunts with reality of AIDS crisis | REVIEW

Review: ‘Orphie and the Book of Heroes’ at the Kennedy Center is an epic success

At Kennedy Center’s New Visions/New Voices, unique works for youth go beyond child’s play

Transcendent ‘My Heart Is the Drum’ haunts with reality of AIDS crisis | REVIEW

NBCU Talent Programs‏: Our 7th finalist: LAUREN DU PREE! You can catch her on stage this summer playing DEENA in DREAMGIRLS

#hillman alumni #interviews only #a different world #Lauren Du Pree #Original blog posts

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thecrookedgavel · 4 years

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The Black Box Readings - Ep 1 Transcript

Here’s the transcript for episode 1 of The Black Box Readings, the podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down.

See Other Episodes

An: Hey, all! And welcome to The Black Box Readings, the new podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down! I’m your host, An Capuano. So basically, it’s a show where I narrate through a deleted or deactivated blog over the course of a season, with a focus on queer artists. Though to be honest, there was a specific blog that inspired me to make this podcast, and unless this format is super popular, I may just do the one season. Anyway, although reading things in a dramatic fashion is definitely in my wheelhouse, non-fiction podcasts are not. So please bear with me while I go through some growing pains as I try and figure this thing out.

Alright, so this season, we have the story of a digital artist who caught my attention with a really cool piece of Overwatch fanart. It’s about her journey through a life spent mostly online, disability, and navigating through the difficulties of realizing that you’re trans.

For those of you not in the know, I am a disabled trans woman myself, so it’s not a journey I’m altogether unfamiliar with. The biggest reason I’m doing this podcast is because stories like ours get drowned out in the media. I wanted to be able to tell her story so that queer people, young and old, can hear something that resonates with them. And I have a good feeling that this will do that for you.

The Tumblr in question, I won’t say the address. Just know that the title of the blog was: “Less Than Human”. Yeah, I know. Not a very cheery introduction. I sort of choose to think of it, kind of like reclaiming a slur. If she calls herself less than human, other people lose the power to hurt her with it. I’m telling you the blog title because it is important later.

Anyways, enough out of me, here’s the first post of the episode, which happens to be the first post of the blog itself. It’s titled:

“Welcome!

Hey, my name is -”

Ok, so I guess I didn’t think this through. In the post, she uses her deadname, and I don’t feel comfortable reading it out to you all. If I have to choose between deadnaming a trans girl and being a little inaccurate, I’m choosing inaccuracy. I should say, actually, that I don’t consider myself a journalist or anything like that. Also, I get it would be bad of me to use her real name too. So we’ll just call her… Hmmm…. Ok, let’s go with Emmy.

“Welcome!

Hey, my name is Emmy, and I’m 19 years old! Nice to meet you guys! I’ve decided to start posting on my tumblr instead of using it as a dash, lol! I’m a visual artist, though I mostly stick to digital art these days. I spend most of my time reading. My fandoms are Gravity Falls, Steven Universe, Supernatural, Sonic the Hedgehog, Marvel, and of course, Shrek! Lmao. I think Cat Girls are cute, but I’m not a weeb”

*Laugh* I never read this post while she was active. Her sense of humor is really present in this post, she was always silly like this. Anyways, she follows up this post by posting a backlog of art that I figure she must have made and not shown to anyone. It’s all really good stuff. Some fandom, some original. It’s clear to me that she’s not posting her earlier, rougher work. I don’t remember too many details though, as this was a while ago, and I didn’t think to save her artwork when I was copying all her text posts into the google doc. I hope someone out there saved them before they were deleted, though.

I’m not going to bore you by reading every single one of her posts, or anything like that. Just the ones that stand out to me. Here’s one about Supernatural and how she might be falling out of love with it.

“I don’t know guys, I’m finding it hard to watch supernatural these days. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still one of my favorite shows, it’s just totally not as good as the first 5 seasons. That and I WANT DEAN AND CASS TO BE TOGETHER! Is that so wrong? Look, Cass is an immortal being that just HAPPENED to take a male form. If he had a female form, you can bet that he and Dean would have banged already. I’ve read the tumblr posts too, the ones that talk about all the hints the writers give that Dean is gay. This is ABSOLUTELY queerbaiting, and even as a straight guy, I can see that. I have a lot of gay mutuals who have convinced me how ultimately cute Dean and Cass are, and I feel bad for them, because they’re not being treated fair. You think in its 12 seasons there would be something, but no, nothing. Pisses me off”

Here is where we start seeing a connection between Emmy and queer culture. Although she’s currently IDing as straight and male, you can tell she cares about queer representation. Now, I’m not saying that wanting good queer content makes you queer, of course not. Just that knowing that Emmy is queer, when you look back at her earlier posts, there’s some evidence there. She even talks about Castiel, a male character, having a female form, which I find interesting for obvious reasons.

Next up is a post about something outside of her fandoms, a show called Monk. For those of you who don’t know it, it’s a show focused on a detective with OCD who uses his disability to solve crimes no one else can. As someone with OCD myself, I really enjoyed the show, but it’s not without its problems. Hmm, yeah, I’ll get to those after reading the post, I think

“I’ve been watching a new show lately! Well, a show that’s new to me at least. It’s called Monk! I’m 3 seasons in, and I laugh every episode. But it’s not without its serious moments too. It’s about Adrian Monk, a detective with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and it’s like a super power to him. He can do things no one else can. But he also can’t do things that everyone else takes for granted. Mood. He always says “It’s a gift… And a curse” when talking about it. Big mood. Anyway, I highly recommend it, because it’s a positive depiction of someone mentally ill! I’m so used to people who are “crazy” being mass murderers or some shit. Idk, it’s heartwarming.”

I noticed one of the hashtags of her post was, “Finally found a version with captions.” This is important for later and I’ll get to it by the end of the episode. Where the previous post was the first we saw of her queerness, this is the first we’ll see about her connection with mental illness. It’s unclear if she feels her inabilities are balanced off by her abilities, or if her “mood” was just about her being unable to do what others can. Since her “big mood” is regarding Adrian Monk’s favourite quote “It’s a gift and a curse”, I like to think she was being positive and was including her abilities in the “mood.”

While I do agree with Emmy that it’s a positive depiction of someone mentally ill, and that’s certainly better than having yet another bad guy is who’s only evil because he’s crazy, I’m worried that it’s too positive. It’s actually a really common trope where neurodivergent people in media are seen as “super human,” like Sheldon in the Big Bang Theory, or uhh, the main character from The Good Doctor, I forget his name. It makes it look like everyone with autism or OCD are geniuses, and that sort of skews how neurotypicals view people like us in a negative way. Like, I do view my OCD as a gift, I wouldn’t be able to write the way I do, or play video games the same way if I didn’t have it. But I’m not a superhuman by any means. But I’m expected to, in some sense, outperform everyone because of my OCD, because of this impossible standard set by the media. *Sigh* I’m sorry, I’m getting really off topic. I hope you don’t mind this little rant.

Back to Emmy, I find it a little upsetting that she feels herself cursed in some way. Knowing what I know about her, I like to think she was more gifted than cursed, but given the title of her blog, I doubt she would agree with me. We can glean from this post that she is disabled in some way or another. Maybe she herself has OCD? Or maybe she just relates her own, different disability to OCD? It’s hard to tell at this point, and I don’t want to spoil it, especially since it will come up again in a few posts.

Next up, we have a post about not just queer characters, but lesbian characters. I’m sure you have heard of Overwatch by now, even if you haven’t played it. Well, the creative devs promised us that a handful of the cast was queer, and at least to me, it seemed like an empty promise. Hmm, I guess it seems a little bit like the queerbaiting conversation we had earlier. Interesting. You know what I mean, right? Like, why take the risk of pissing off the straight, cis part of your fanbase with queer characters when you can just say some characters are queer and attract a bigger queer fanbase that way? But then they did something that blew me out of the water. They made a comic where Tracer has a girlfriend. This next post from Emmy is about this reveal.

“Merry Christmas! And what a Christmas it’s been. Because I got something I’ve been asking for for a LONG time. Blizzard made Tracer gay! I’m not the only one who’s been asking for this, a huge chunk of the fandom has been saying that Tracer is only into other girls. It’s been my headcanon for so long, and now it doesn’t have to be, because it’s canon! Tracer and Emily are so cute together! And their kiss is so hot too! Yeah, lesbians are really hot in general. They’re every guy’s ultimate fantasy. Thanks, Jeff!”

An: Ok, so before we continue, I think I need to apologize on Emmy’s behalf for the way she talks about lesbians. As a trans lesbian, I had a period where I talked about lesbains that way too. Before I came to terms with that identity, I mean. Since you believe you’re a straight guy, there’s no real explanation for why you’re so into lesbians other than them being a male fantasy. But it’s more than that. It’s part of like, seeing yourself as a girl that the idea of being with a girl that likes girls... that is so fundamentally appealing.

Like, ok. *sigh* I remember this one time very clearly… I was with my girlfriend at the time and a friend of mine at a bubble tea shop. This was probably 9 or 10 years ago now? Jeez. Anyways, this couple of girls starts making out at the table next to us, and I had a full on sexual awakening. I remember that I couldn’t look away. Mostly because my ex wouldn’t let me forget it. I got teased by my friend and berated by my ex. Because I couldn’t explain what happened to her, let alone to myself, I eventually came up with a rather math-y explanation involving vectors of attraction *laugh*. Something like, if women are attractive to me, and men are not attractive to me, then adding their vectors together gives less attraction than two women’s vectors being added together. It was pretty stupid. I don’t talk to either of those two people anymore, by the way.

Anyways, my point is that since this is before she’s realized she’s a lesbian herself, she’s under the false impression that she needs to sexualize lesbians in order to explain why she’s so attracted to the concept. So please don’t hold that against her.

---

With that out of the way, we can move on to her next post. It’s a piece of art she made, and it’s pretty special to me. You see, this was the way I found her blog. One of the blogs I follow, who knows which at this point, must have reblogged it and it came across my dashboard. Again, I don’t have a copy of any of Emmy’s art, but I remember it pretty well. It’s a picture of Emily wearing Tracer’s outfit... Shit… Why did I give Emmy a name so close to Emily? Emily as in Tracer’s girlfriend. Maybe it’s because of my association with her and this drawing? Either way, it’s too late now, I’m not re-recording this whole episode. *Sigh* We’ll just stick with the blogger being named Emmy. Anyways! She’s sort of looking a bit out of place, like she doesn’t know how to feel about having a Chrono-accelerator attached to her chest. There’s a speech bubble in the frame pointing off screen that says, “You look marvellous, love!”, or something to that effect, but it’s obviously supposed to be Tracer saying it. It was a really cute drawing, and I was really fond of it, so I liked and followed. Feels like so long ago.

Anyways, she did reblog the picture afterwards, saying:

“Thank you so much for all the notes! I really appreciate the support. Who knew that something so dumb would be liked by so many people? I really like Emily, and I hope she’s added as a Hero in Overwatch soon! I feel so happy! I’m going to go and do some more drawing, so keep an eye out for more posts!”

Not much going on in this post, but I decided to read it anyway because it contrasts so heavily with the next post. Not the next time she posted, but the next post I’m going to read. Actually, it’s the last post of this episode.

So, I’m going to warn you, this is a side of Emmy we haven’t seen yet. The really negative side. *Sigh* I don’t know what set her off, maybe nothing did, but I think this post is very important to read to you, as it clears the air about her disabilities.

“I really appreciate all the love you’ve given my art, but I feel like I don’t deserve any of it. I’m so broken and worthless and I’ve only been pretending to be normal so that you’ll all like me. The truth is, I’m physically and mentally disabled, and life is just a never ending struggle.

First off, I’m deaf. Very deaf. The quietest thing I can hear in either ear is a chainsaw. It means I can’t understand speech or anything I’d need to be social. I don’t know sign language at all, I was never taught. So I just… stay inside all day. I’ve been homeschooled by my Dad since I was young. He thinks something bad will happen to me if I go outside, because I couldn’t hear something like a car coming towards me. So I live my life online, for the most part. I feel so isolated, and like I can’t relate to anyone normal.

Also, I have Bi-Polar Disorder. For those you don’t know of it, it basically means I have high highs and low lows. I’ve done a good job so far at hiding my lows from everyone and only showing my highs. Until now, I guess… I just feel so low today, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I just had to be real. Even if it’s an ugly side of me that I hate. My dad hates how moody I am too. He just doesn’t get that it’s not my fault. Even my highs are hard for him to handle sometimes. Anyway, please forgive me for lying so long”

So, I sense a bit of imposter syndrome here. She’s gotten some success and because she views herself as not even a normal person, she thinks she doesn’t deserve it. It’s a pretty common feeling amongst content creators and something you have to move past if you want to make stuff. It’s like, *sigh* like me, I’m not an expert voice actor, why are people listening to me? I have tricked them into thinking I’m worth listening to. If you’re feeling that way about a recent success, just know that it’s all bullshit and it’s normal to feel that way. I wish I had that knowledge at the time I originally read that post… Because then, I would have messaged her and let her know. But yeah, we have more to unpack here.

She talks about being deaf, and the level that she describes is a profound hearing loss, which is as bad as it gets. I have that level of hearing loss in my left ear, and it’s really hard to deal with. So, I kind of can’t imagine what it would be like to have it in both ears.

Like, for me, I remember this one time where I was at my locker in high school, and someone must have been asking me a question a few times on my bad side. She wanted to know if I had any extra bus tickets, and by the time I finally caught on that she was talking to me, she said something like “Urg, I just want to punch you.” And it wasn’t a joke either, she was very frustrated with the way my hearing loss had affected her. It made me feel small, and like I was an inconvenience to those around me. Guess it didn’t help how I felt that I had a crush on her at the time… Ha… *Sigh* It was very isolating to grow up like that. I didn’t really belong there, but I didn’t exactly belong in the deaf community either, since I could hear fine out of one ear. So when Emmy describes how isolating it is to be deaf and not know sign language, I get it. I really feel that. When I saw this post, it really made me feel for her. This is probably the point in time where I made a mental note to support her art whenever I could.

Lastly she talks about her mental illness, being bi-polar. I know a lot less about bi-polar disorder than I do hearing loss. Though I was in a production that never wrapped up about a bi-polar teen. Actually, I was the strict dad who couldn’t understand his child’s illness, which is a similar theme seen in Emmy’s post. I’ve actually been cast as a dad 3 or 4 times now? Yeah. *Laughs* Anyways, what I understand about it is that it can be seasonal. You might be manic for a season, and depressive for another. But yeah, it doesn’t always work that way. Usually medication can help balance you out, but in Emmy’s case, she wasn’t taking any meds at this point. I’ll say it here for clarity’s sake, but her having bi-polar disorder was a self-diagnosis, not a professional one. That’ll be covered in the next episode, though.

So now the whole “Less than Human” thing makes a bit more sense, doesn’t it? Not because it’s true in any sense, but because it was true to her. Disability is something that people tend to see as different, or othering. There’s a lot of stigma there. We can sort of tell at this point that the way her Dad views her and treats her doesn’t help her feel any better about this either.

That’s why she likes the depiction of mental illness in Monk so much, right? Because it’s a bit of a “More than Human” approach. It gives her some hope that maybe she can be seen positively one day too. As far as movies with Deaf characters goes there’s like 100, if I recall correctly. Which is honestly pitiful compared to the amount of movies, period. So it’s more than likely that she never got to see herself in media in that perspective before.

Also, there’s the markings of a budding trans girl in there too, which may further intensify the feeling of not being human. For years and years *sigh*, there was practically zero positive representation of trans people in media. We’re taught that feeling like this makes us freaks, and that presenting differently than we’re supposed to makes us... something worse than that. It all comes together to form something bitter and isolating. Especially before you start owning those parts of you and finding a community of your own.

Thank you for listening to this episode of The Black Box Readings! I really ranted more than I thought I would. Hopefully you all liked the anecdotal stuff I added in, didn’t really plan on doing that. Follow me on Twitter at TheCrookedGavel to stay up to date on this and other queer podcasts. Feel free to contact me there as well. This is An Capuano, signing off!

#queer #lgbtpride #visualart #podcast #transisbeautiful

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trilogymortgagecanada · 7 years

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WHY? WHY? WHY?

Sam Iaquinta Broker Owner Trilogy Mortgage

I would like to start with the summary rather than the introduction, I believe this will help in understanding my thought process. At times it’s best to know the outcome of the blog, prior to reading the arguments for or against it. I hope you have some extra time to read this, it is long.

In summary:

The current Federal Government sees an opportunity to take advantage of our housing markets. They have made changes to mortgage legislation making homeownership much more difficult to achieve. These policy changes are for the sole benefit of the five major banks, all the while cloaking their motives under the pretense of “enacting responsible legislation which will curb the appetite for additional domestic debt, by the average Canadian.”

I would speculate that in five years from now, the average Canadian will have more unsecured debt, than today. This is likely to occur from changes to mortgage legislation enacted by this Government (October 2016). The current changes will fuel excessive unsecured debt, possibly resulting in a national debt crisis.

The current housing statistics are as follows:

1) 68% home ownership rate

2) 1/3 of 1% of all the mortgages in Canada are in foreclosure (this is really, really low)

3) The lowest level of “90 day arrears” in decades

4) The average home has over 40% equity

This Government is capitalizing on a great opportunity afforded to them:

1) To curb the housing market, solely for the benefit of the banks

2) Reduce the competitiveness in the lending markets

3) Achieve GDP targets by:

a. freeing up credit worthiness for the Canadians (because they won’t have a mortgage)

b. Increase high interest credit card debt

c. Increase unsecured debt

d. Redeploy bank funds to high interest debt rather than low interest mortgages

Part one: Summary is Over, Blog begins here

What are the motivations of the Federal Government when they make policy adjustments? Currently, there are two major stories trending, first the Canadian “debt crisis” and secondly the “new mortgage lending legislation changes”. The government will have us believe that they are protecting us from ourselves, as we spend far too much of our money on homeownership. They claim, the accumulated Canadian household debt has becoming overwhelming and is certain to create a catastrophic outcome. They must intervene now! Casting upon us, their absolute wisdom and judgement, saving us from ourselves and a catastrophic housing collapse, as we are at the point of no return, and are obviously incapable and ill-equipped to contain our spending habits.

Their solution, to save us from ourselves, is to substantially change and increase the mortgage qualifications criteria, and increase default insurance premiums, create an uncompetitive lending landscape solely benefiting the five chartered banks.

I find it odd that the government has not made any changes, nor had material discussions about containing credit cards with a lofty interest rates of 29% or more… It’s okay to sell a unsecured credit facility at 29% or more, however assisting “Six Pack Joe” to purchase his first home, is no longer palatable. Why is this government allowing banks to charge consumers 29% interest on credit facilities used to purchase discretionary items and not in assisting in home ownership??? Can you guess?

1) The Bank earns 29% on credit card debt and 2.89% on a mortgage.

2) Much better for GDP numbers to spend money in the malls rather than houses.

How is this possible? “Six pack Joe” walks into a dealership and lease an $80,000.00 vehicle, or obtains a 29% credit card in less than 10 minutes and a credit check? On the flip side when “six pack Joe” is applying for a home mortgage, we put them through the meat grinder, and take his first born, prior to providing the mortgage. The standards seem backwards, it’s easy to purchase a depreciating asset like a vehicle, and it’s almost impossible to purchase an appreciating like a home.

The question, I often ask is:

1) “What is the motivation to deter homeownership, lessen stimulus, and to deter lending competitiveness, within the housing market?

Part Two: Immigration and the Economy

Historically, Governments encourage a high percentage of homeownership, especially in Countries with low birth rates that depend on immigration for population and GDP growth. First world countries generally have homeownership rates of 55%-65%. Canada is currently 68%.

Why is homeownership good for a country? Homeownership encourages "setting down of roots”. When a young couple “set down roots” they will generally get married, buy a home, have children, work and spend some of their disposable income on SUV’s, ATV’s, campers, fuel clothes, TV’s, tablets, smart phones, smart watches, and all the other stuff that clutters up our homes.

The Government recognizes that offspring and homeownership is the glue that holds a family unit to the Country. You may agree, that offspring and homeownership would encourage settlement and motivate them to work hard and contribute to the domestic economy.

Most countries need immigration to achieve their population and GDP targets. Countries are in competition to attract highly educated immigrants. If homeownership cost is too high, that may deter them from choosing that country, as the “destination country”. The government may lose that immigrant to another country where he or she will “set down roots”, and spend their income feeding that domestic economy. Our Government wants to create an environment that encourages immigration. Housing costs would be one of the first considerations, when determining which country to reside in. If costs are too high, they will migrate where it is more affordable.

Part Three: How does homeownership affect the average domestic citizen?

If homeownership for the average person is completely unattainable, and clearly there is no chance to ever own a home (like in many European nations) the average person will become complacent, and have little motivation to save for homeownership. They may spend most or all their disposable income on the stuff that fuels the domestic economy. This is good for the overall economy, and helps the Government achieve GDP targets. They can then boast to the general populous about “how well the economy is doing, under their extensive stewardship and leadership” This would make re-election campaigns a lot easier, as most citizens would have a sense of contentment spending their extra cash on all sorts of fun stuff, rather than having the burden of a mortgage.

Does the government want us to own homes or would they rather we rent and fuel the domestic economy?

If homeownership for the average person is attainable, and clearly there is a chance to own a home, the average person will not be complacent, and will be motivated to save for homeownership. Once homeownership is achieved, the homeowner commits to mortgage payments, and may no longer spend most of their disposable income on all the stuff fueling the domestic economy. They will be spending their money on a mortgage payments, house insurance and savings for a “rainy day” as they have a mortgage commitment and obligation. This is BAD for the overall economy, and makes the Government’s job harder to achieve GDP targets. They would also need to be accountable to the populous for a slower economy, and will not be able to boast about their stewardship of the economy when GDP is low.

Part Four: Understanding the questions:

1) “What is the motivation to deter homeownership, lessen stimulus, and to deter lending competitiveness, within the housing market?

Due to governments forecasting in quarter centuries rather than in quarters. The government objectives may be to stagnate the housing market for the foreseeable future, by decreasing the level of affordability. Their objectives may be to encourage immigration and domestic spending. This is good for the economy, bring in lots of immigrants and have them spend their hearts out with a glimmer of hope that they may be able to achieve home ownership in the future. Currently, homeownership is at an all time high in Canada (68%), this would be the perfect time to decrease affordability, and encourage domestic spending. Owning a mortgage increases Total Debt Service ratios, and decreases the amount of credit that can be obtain, this may prevent qualification for the 29% credit card, thus reducing how much than can be spent and contributed to the GDP.

The government with newly enacted legislation can control affordability of mortgages with the “stress test” or the “Mortgage Qualifying Rate” (MQR). They can adjust the MQR to the achieve the desired result. Lower the MQR and affordability goes up, raise the MQR and affordability goes down.

As wages and affordability rise over time, slight price increases to homes can still be achieved, however much less than in the past decade. The government has clearly signalled that they will taper “market forces” by intervening with adjustments achieving their desired results. For the present time, the Government seems determined on curbing the housing market. There will always be small pockets that buck the national trends, with more robust activity, mainly due to migration patterns, driven by regional employment demands.

Part five: In summary:

Watch this video, it will reveal the opinions of CMHC relating to the housing and debt crisis in Canada. CMHC shared with the Minister of Finance its opinions or facts (depending on your viewpoint), thus substantially influencing and shaping his opinion, and his decision to withdrawal stimulus from the housing market. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aalX4iov0qY

What will happen to the future of the Canadian housing market if the stimulus is removed? Predicting the future of the housing market is impossible. I wouldn’t even attempt to guess, however I suggest that if the “punch bowl” is removed from the party. The party ends quickly, resulting with one big hangover! Is the Government themselves going to cause a housing crisis, by removing too much stimulus, too quickly???

These are my opinions, and I would be happy to discuss further, if you have any questions or comments please feel free to call 403-374-1233.

Trilogy Mortgage Corporation

KNOWLEDGE INTEGRITY LOYALTY

Office: 1.403.374-1233

trilogymortgage.ca

“When there is no light, at the end of the tunnel. Punch a hole through it!"

Quote by Angela Marra.

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fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

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Out of the Dark by J.J. Harper Cover Reveal

Author JJ Harper

About JJ Harper

I’m J J Harper or Jess to my friends and family. I have a love for hot steamy love stories and write m/m and m/f romances.

I stumbled into writing after a suggestion from my husband set some seeds sowing in my head and the ideas started to flow. I have found something that I absolutely love doing. I’m a true romantic and always want to see a happy ever after in my books and in life.

I live in the UK in the quiet Lincolnshire countryside along with my husband and my dog, it’s a peaceful existence which balances out all the crazy that goes on in my head. What would the neighbours think of me???

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Author page: http://www.facebook.com/jjhoney.writes/

Author page: http://www.facebook.com/findingme.series

Website: www.jjharper-author.com

Twitter: twitter @jessjhoney

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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32800905-troy---into-the-light

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Reunion

M/M Novella

Because loves deserves a second chance.

After being cast out by his family Nico leaves his home town and his one true love Ryan. A meeting of a fellow outcast leads him down a dark and ultimately dangerous road. Discarded and left for dead Nico is found by a man who helps him turn his life around, but even with success and fame Nico is lost without his love by his side.

The chance sighting of a Ten Year School Reunion on a social media site gives him the excuse to return home. He needs to apologize to the man he still loves, hoping he will accept it. Deep down he wants him back but imagines him married to a man who deserves him, not a coward that ran.

‘The ache for Ryan has been so strong and so real it has taken every ounce of strength I have to keep away, to let him lead his life without me. With me being a deadbeat, a loser and no good for anyone. Or so I’ve been told.’

Ryan retires from the army after the death of his mother, settling again in his home town and his new life as a cop. Still single, his heart has always belonged to the one man he wasn’t able to keep. As the reunion gets closer Ryan searches for his man’s name as the list of attendees grows…

It’s there…Nico Angeles. He’s coming, he’s coming home!

Will they be able to forget the past or has the last ten years apart been too long?

http://www.amazon.com/Reunion/dp/B01AKXRKO0

Reunited

Blurb for Reunited

The reunion between Ryan and Nico was sweet as sugar and as hot as hell, but after ten years apart can they find true happiness?When the one man Nico had wished to never see again suddenly appears, is it purely the coincidence it appears to be, or is there a reason he showed up at the exact moment Nico and Ryan found each other again?

I watch the man I love walk back through the doors of the restroom his ass is tight and firm and feels so damn good. How have I lived without Ryan for this long? He is such a good man, a strong assertive and confident man.

Ryan and Nico both discover living with each other is not easy. They know the love they share is real but they're not the same men they once were. The passion between the two men continues to rocket sky high but so does the tension, causing tempers to rise between them.

“I love you Nico, but I hate your past. Or more that I hate how your past has decided to control us.”

When secrets emerge and the past threatens the two men, can they pull together or will it too much for Ryan to cope with?

By the time the puzzle has been solved it may just be too late for one or even both of them.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01D3C6IAW

Elysium Book 3

The Reunion series

With Nico by his side, Ryan says goodbye to his old life and moves away, leaving his job and his hometown behind him.

Ready for a fresh new start together, Ryan and Nico settle down into a slower and easier lifestyle and life becomes as perfect as they could wish for.

“I can’t believe I’m leading you to my bedroom. I never thought I would get the chance to do it, I never thought I could be this happy.” I smile then start walking again.

When Ryan is unexpectedly reminded of the life he happily walked away from, his world is turned upside down when he gets notice of news that he never expected to hear. Ryan is tormented by what is being asked of him; the very thing he was promised would never be asked of him again.

Nico laughs then looks at where my eyes are fixed. “Who’s that?”

“That’s the man who can come between us.” My voice no more than a whisper as a shiver of dread runs down my spine

A man Nico once knew returns, and Nico wishes he'd never caught up with Lyle. His ploy to keep Lyle away from Ryan fails and Lyle tells all about his previous connection to Nico. Ryan takes off, leaving no clues as to where he's gone and Nico is devastated believing that Ryan has left him.

When Ryan finally returns home; so does his past and he is forced to visit an old friend. But things are not what they seem and Ryan must fight as hard as he can to keep himself safe.

Maybe the perfect life with a happy ever after just isn't in the cards for Ryan and Nico after all.

Reading this may seriously raise you blood pressure, contains lots of hot scenes of sex between two men and has strong language throughout

This book is intended for 18+ readers.

https://www.amazon.com/Elysium/dp/B01H3X4JOO

Troy – Into the Light Book OneTroy grabs his bags and, shoving in as much of his belongings as he can, he clambers out of his bedroom window. He can hear the shouts and arguments starting up and his name being called. Not able to face his parents, Troy runs away.

How can one chance sighting turn into a love affair you never thought existed outside of a book? That one glance that altered my whole life?.

Leaning against the wall of the club, Troy’s eyes are drawn to the dark-haired man dancing fluidly with another man. Their eyes meet and Troy’s life changes in the blink of an eye. Inexplicably drawn to each other, they meet on the dance floor. Tremors course over Troy’s body as the handsome stranger touches him.“I’ve been waiting for you. I don’t know how or why, but I know that you are mine.” As he leans in, he whispers in my ear, “I’m Franco; I am the man you’ve been waiting for, too.” Troy’s life alters irrevocably in that instant as he falls for the handsome, Italian man.As they build their life together Troy and Franco discover true love, a love so deep they can’t be apart.I hold his head against my body and, no longer able to hold back my emotions or my words, I stutter, “I love you,” into his hair as my lips cover his head with kisses. “I love you also, Troy. I never knew such a feeling was possible.” Franco whispers against my chest as I hold him.When illness strikes, Troy has to discover a new part of himself as he struggles past the pain. A new, stronger, braver man emerges, taking his life in his own hands.

This book is a gay M/M romance and include sex between two men, and is recommended for over 18’s. It is book one in a duology and ends with a lead up for book 2 Troy – Out of the Dark

Troy’s story hits on a hard subject that may act a trigger for some.

Teaser for Troy – Into the Light

“I find myself so connected to you. When I first caught sight of you I was, I am, mesmerized by you. You are beautiful, Franco,” I smile when I see a blush brighten his olive skin, “it’s true, you are the most amazing man I have ever set eyes on, and, this is where I am confused. I am a lot younger than you; I guess you are at least thirty years old…”

“I’m thirty-two.” Franco interrupts me, a rueful smile flutters on his lips.

“Okay, then you are fourteen years older than me. I don’t know what you see in me, I have no life experience, I’ve run away from my home and have not had any contact with my family for nearly six months. I live in a dingy, damp apartment, I work a poorly paid, dead-end job, but the way you look at me gives me such a feeling of hope. And that confuses me; why me? Out of all the other men in that club tonight did you choose me?”

I dip my head down as Franco drops my hands and stands up. Standing chest to chest, Franco is about three inches taller than me but, because of his muscles, he seems so much larger. Two fingers lift my chin up so I can only look at his face. The thick, long, black eyelashes that hood his, now dark whiskey brown, eyes blink only once as he focuses on me. His fingers leave my chin and move up, softly stroking my cheek. The tips drag down over my clean-shaven jaw to cup my face. I know he’s going to kiss me and I think the anticipation is painful, my tongue darts out and swipes across my dry lips. His eyes darken even further as he follows to path of my tongue; I pull the corner of my lip between my teeth as my nerves begin to overwhelm me. The thought of ducking my head flashes through my mind but I can’t, I’m transfixed in his gaze, caught like a rabbit in the headlights of a speeding car: unable to move.

“No more lip biting, Troy, unless it’s mine your teeth are pulling on.” Franco’s warm breath washes over me and I breathe deeply, capturing the taste of him on my tongue and I sigh.

“Troy, precious, why are you fighting this? We both know we can’t fight destiny and ours are unquestionably connected. So, my love, no more talking.”

This is it, Franco’s right, this is why I’m here…I’m here for him. My eyes start to close as his mouth lowers to mine but I need to see him. We had kissed briefly but passionately in the club but this, this is simply more. So fucking much more.

Franco’s mouth lowers to mine and his lips brush fleetingly across mine as I feel him sigh. “This is our first real kiss, Troy.”

I find myself being held still as his lips begin to explore mine, my eyes lock on his as I watch the lust consume him. But then, as his lips touch mine, my eyes close and I embrace the feeling of awakening; Franco has brought me back to life with only one touch. I tentatively reach my arms out and grasp his hips, but I hate that his robe is in the way and fumble to undo the knot of the belt.

Franco moans into my mouth as my fingers graze over his heated skin and I swallow his as my own sigh breaks from my throat. His tongue slides possessively over the seam of my lips, seeking—no, demanding—entry, as my lips part, my tongue darts out to meet his. This is no battle, no dueling for power, but a simple exchange of passion and eagerness. My hips slam into Franco’s as his hands reach around my head and his fingers knit together with my hair woven between his fingers.

But this is not enough, I want more. My hands creep around Franco’s back and reach down over the firm globes of his ass, kneading and grasping at his cheeks while his tongue controls mine. I can feel the heat rising in my body as his erection slides up my stomach when I clutch his butt harder. His lips are pressed hard against mine but I can still feel the softness as they rub me. Franco’s hands have untangled themselves from my hair and follow the ridges of my spine, slowly his fingers dance over my skin. When his hands reach the waistband of my briefs, I feel him tense, making me try to back away.

“Don’t move, Troy, I just hate the barrier between us. I need to feel your skin on mine. I need your cock free from it restraints so it can rub up against my desperate, aching erection.” Franco’s hands have delved under the elastic and cup my ass. Pushing his hands further down, my briefs start to lower. Leaving his body, my hands grab my waistband and free my aching cock and, pushing my underwear down my thighs till they drop, I step out of them.

“Fuck.” Franco whispers as we rub against each other. Then his mouth is back on mine, possessing, controlling the kiss.

Turning us around Franco walks me backwards to the bed and, when my knees hit the edge, I sit. Breaking our kiss, he leans over me, forcing me to lie down. I scoot further into the middle of the bed and lean up on my elbows, watching him approach me. His eyes are blazing with unadulterated lust and his hands clench in and out of fists as he battles to stop from touching me.

“The years between us mean nothing, your background and family life mean nothing to me other than grateful that it all led you to me. You job is no longer an issue unless you want to carry on working there.” Franco’s eyebrow rises, questioning me; I can only manage to shake my head before he continues. “And your inexperience is a blessing for me, I am now able to show just how good it will be.”

Moving towards me he lies on his side next to me, like as we had been before I freaked out. “So, the only thing I am interested in now is if you still wish to leave?”

Troy – Out of the Dark

Rafferty ‘Raff’ McMahon—beaten, broken and cast out of his home at eighteen—turns to his aged aunt who helps him become a new man with a new name. Ten years later, a successful photographer with an edge to his work everyone seems to want, a call that will set his life on a roller coaster ride comes through. Troy Ballantyne, CEO of De’ath of You Enterprises, wants to meet him. Mesmerized by the voice coming down the line, Raff immediately agrees to the meeting.

“Hi, can I speak to Rafferty McMahon?” A deep and seductive voice asks.

“You are.” My reply is short, who the fuck is this? I’m having a horrendous day and, however hot this guy sounds, I want off my phone.

He sets about researching, not the company but the man himself; captivated by Troy’s images, Raff is excited to meet the man behind the sexy drawl.

When Troy sets up a meeting with up-and-coming photographer Rafferty McMahon the last thing he expects is to be drawn to him. A connection he has already experienced once before, his heart beats a little faster. Is this for real?

“What do you want, Troy?” His voice, low and gravelly, sends shivers over my body.

“I don’t know. We have only just met but from the first moment I heard your voice I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you.”

The feeling of ownership overwhelms Troy and as much as he wants to stay locked away with only the memories of Franco, he can’t fight his feelings for this handsome man.

Is this the man Franco told Troy was waiting for him? Is he going to be the great love of his life? Will both Raff and Troy be allowed to be with their one true love, or is there someone out there ready to tear them apart?

This book is a gay M/M romance and include sex between two men, and is recommended for over 18’s. It is book two in a duology and follows on from Troy – Into the Light available now

Troy’s story hits on a hard subject that may act as a trigger for some

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N81151K

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N81151K/

Teaser for Troy - Out of the Dark

Returning, I find he has his eyes closed as he rests against the back cushion of his lounger. Without thinking, I reach my hand out and stroke through his hair. Raff’s eyes shoot open; his green eyes darken as his eyes cloud with pure lust. His hand reaches up and grasps hold of my wrist, his thumb stroking the pulse point, making me catch my breath.

“What do you want, Troy?” His voice, low and gravelly, sends shivers over my body.

“I don’t know. We have only just met but from the first moment I heard your voice I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you.” I drop down onto the chair next to him and my free hand moves to his face, my fingers fondling the soft beard.

Raff huffs out a laugh and turns our hands to his mouth, dropping a kiss on my palm. “I’ve been doing the same thing. I have searched the internet for photographs of you, I have read all the interviews you have given. I have told myself over and over that I’m being stupid, but when you turned up to take me from that awful motel, I knew my feelings for you were real. I just didn’t know how to deal with them.” I watch the flash of excitement being followed by the light extinguishing when I say there’s no rush.

“I found my boyfriend in bed with another man, we’d been together for two years. I don’t know how to deal with the thoughts I have of you.” Raff admits nervously, making me feel like a shit.

“I’m sorry that happened, Raff. I’m also sorry for coming on to you.” I drop my hand, letting it rest on my knee. As I move to stand, Raff’s hand clasps the back of my neck and pulls me up close to his mouth; I can feel his soft breath against my lips as he exhales. Leaning his forehead against mine, Raff sighs. His nose rubs up against my own as his mouth covers mine in the briefest of kisses.

My tongue slides out and swipes over my lip, trying to capture the flavor of this man’s mouth. “He means nothing to me, whereas you, Troy Ballantyne, seem to be everything.” Raff sighs.

Lowering my head again, I capture his mouth with my own and, for the first time in over three years, my heart beats faster. Nothing more than merely pressing my lips against his has awakened my lust and desire. As my hands travel up his neck and reach to let my fingers tangle in his soft, reddish brown locks, my tongue tentatively touches Raff’s soft, full, bottom lip. This time his taste explodes on my tongue like dark, rich chocolate and I want more. Sliding across the seam of his lips, I feel him part them, allowing me a sliver of access, but his tongue pushes against mine.

“Fuck!” I mumble against his mouth, unable to pull away. This feels entirely too damn good. I dip deeper into his mouth, running my tongue over his teeth before delving into the cavern. Raff’s hand in my hair holds me tightly. Then, as he caresses my tongue with his, I feel my eyes roll back in my head; his taste is like a drug. Suddenly, I feel him drawing back. Shit! Is this not doing it for him? But, as he pulls away, he captures my bottom lip and sucks it, letting his teeth tug on my tender skin. I feel a vibration as Raff groans deeply against my mouth, causing me to match it with my own.

The next kiss is on Raff’s terms as he plunges his tongue inside me, dueling with mine until overpowering me. Sucking my tongue, he releases me and moves his mouth away and down my chin. Scraping his teeth on day-old stubble and moaning as he goes. Continuing his licking and biting, he reaches the spot right below my ear. His mouth stills as he licks my sensitive skin before blowing cool air over the moistened patch. My hands clutch him to me as he moves down to the junction of my neck and shoulder, kissing every part of my skin as I crave ever more.

Pulling his head back up to mine, I plunder his mouth, hot and hard. My lips feel bruised and swollen; I never want this to end but I wrest away to breathe huge gulps of air into my lungs as we gaze at each other. Raff’s chest heaves as much as mine, his lips parted as he pants. Watching his tongue slide over his plump bottom lip, I want to bite it. But I don’t. I lean away, putting some space between us.

The lust-fueled fog dissipates as we continue to study each other almost cautiously—where do we go from here? Am I ready to have him in my bed? As much as I want him, I know I’m not ready for that. Raff’s hands scrub his thighs and then move up to rake through his hair. He pulls the band holding his hair back and, as it falls softly to his shoulder, I smell the lemons and herbs from his shampoo. Inhaling deeply before sighing, my fingers move up and capture a tendril of the still slightly damp hair and rub it between my fingers, reveling in the softness of the curls.

“I love your hair.” The words slip from my mouth before I’m even aware of them. Raff’s eyes widen and he catches hold of my hand, dropping a kiss on my knuckles.

“I’m glad, I’d hate to have to cut it.” He smirks then gathers it back up and ties it again. “Come on, let’s clear up this mess; it’s gotten late and I’ve been awake far too long over the last few days. I need sleep and I’m sure you do, too.”

FGMAMTC

Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

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fangirlmomentsandmytwocents · 7 years

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Out of the Dark by J.J. Harper Cover Reveal