#also slightly vindicating in socializing with this group:

[rfhusnik]

Eternal Soldier

Written By:  F. John Surells

         SPOKEN TO THE ETERNAL SOLDIER:  Eternal Soldier guide me through the temporal into the eternal. Guard me and all others, lest false prophets of everyday social, economic, religious, political, philosophical, psychological and mental suppositions lead us eventually to where the master of darkness reigns absent the sunshine of everlasting vindication.

And Eternal Soldier, I see you mainly through artful and political reflections. And to me you symbolize many things, factors, and possibilities. But I feel your most important representation is that of what I term “The Man Who Admits He Doesn’t Know What May Or May Not Have Happened As A Result Of Actions Either Taken Or Not Committed.” And as time has passed, I’ve found I’ve reached a point at which I can honestly say that I’d have rather spent eight or so hours a day engaged in honest labor, and seeking an honest lifestyle, than to have angered, disappointed, and betrayed my fellow members of humanity by furthering left-wing viewpoints in a legislative body wherein some years ago certain members apparently didn’t know the difference between Mars and Earth’s moon.

           SPOKEN TO THE READERS: Yes, we’ve all made choices, and often, when looking back upon them, I think we amplify the good they either facilitated or left undone, and forget to ponder what evil may have occurred had we not made them. And that’s why Eternity’s Soldier fights against all that’s hurtful and/or misunderstood. And in his struggle he exemplifies the fact that a life lived politically slightly right of center is a life lived well.

           But mental insights can easily slip away from one. And then, minus the compass of right living, it’s often difficult for mortals to remain as wayfarers upon life’s symbolic roadway, i.e. the straight and narrow. And, despite whether or not one remains on the rightful highway, one often reaches a point at which one begins to believe that the importance of human personalities, traits, and tendencies is outweighed by the consequences they engender. And that’s a realization which often aids mortals to accept that differences between them are natural separations.

           Yet, aren’t there also “awakenings” or junctures in time in which one realizes that, for better or worse, an era has ended? And doesn’t that realization then almost always instill a sense of small fear within one? Well, it’s at that point that I am today.

           I’m assuming that everyone has his or her own interpretations of what “truly significant” events are or have been. And, I believe most mortals can surely separate such events as have had a lasting impact upon humanity from those which have had no noticeable effect. And yes, that latter group does include the most mundane daily tasks. But it’s to such routine undertakings and, more precisely, to those which are more uncommon and may have had effects upon certain (usually localized) groups, whereof the next paragraph of this discourse speaks.

It’s my opinion, given an incident or group of incidents involving matters which will surely be of little importance to the masses, that a point is eventually reached at which continued speculation about it or them constitutes nothing more than gossip. Yet, that’s not to say that any action that ever occurred in the past should ever be lied about, given a new reason to replace the one which actually facilitated it, or be used in the present to justify actions other than the one it initially sought justification for.

           But whenever I think back to all I’ve seen, heard, said, and done, I find I’m simultaneously glad and sad about more than one would probably imagine. And I’ve spent a lifetime trying to understand life and time, yet still to this day know little of them except their perpetual motion. But I’ve known a lot of “good people” – at least that’s what they felt they were. And I never said much about or to them. Most of them considered themselves better mortals than I, and many of them no doubt were. But their stories and rumors didn’t change matters in the end. Oh, but maybe those verbal judgements made them feel good about themselves.

           Or did they feel so good about themselves that they thought they were right to throw tomato soup at a work of Van Gogh, or mashed potatoes at a work of Monet? Well, I hope the world has learned a lesson from the incidents just alluded to. Apparently there are some “trash people” who think that dishonoring past greatness will aid them in their future futility. They can’t match the creativity of great artists, and therefore in jealousy try to demean or destroy what those artists left as gifts to mankind. And, one wonders if the art vandals have any comprehension of, or perhaps just don’t care about how the creators of great paintings often suffered mentally and physically to produce what should be everlasting impressions on canvas.

           But I don’t know how much outsiders of my city “pay” for indiscretions. Certainly the world’s great works of art will now need to be more closely guarded. Yet, I also don’t know how some people are able to consider their acts of vandalism as glorious actions.

           Nonetheless, most likely the answers to those questions, as well as the answers to all others, lie in the free flow of time. A free flow which no one, despite his or her political viewpoint or stupidities, will ever be able to alter.

           And as time flows freely, so does the traffic on the highways into and out of my city. Our roadways are open here. And travelers travel upon them. But the residents of this city remain basically the same.

           And some may wonder how an area that stresses conservatism and individuality can function with what seems to be a sense of unity. I believe rightness of character and values makes it possible. Of course we face detractors. And today, in Washington D.C., a large group of leftists (some of them radicals), led by a befuddled and aging ringleader, is attempting to confiscate the freedoms of all Americans. And the ringleader is now trying to persuade voters to vote for candidates of his party. He thinks forgiving their debts and lowering their gas prices will do the trick. In reality however, it’s only his own ego he’s concerned with, just the same as those who are throwing things at works of art. Don’t be fooled by acts of stupidity. The people committing them care about themselves only – no one, and nothing else.

           And thus, it’s upon our struggle against these left-wing crackpots that the unification of this city is founded. And personally, I’ve come to adopt a fictional hero as my representation of the constant struggle against liberal, social, and commune isms. I call him The Eternal Soldier.

           But, in a manner of speaking, I’ve just relearned something I’ve always known! Only a Divine Being knows how many stories, along with their corresponding hopes and fears, lie within mankind’s reach of human time. And only eternity’s judges know of the specialness or commonplaceness of those stories. Yet, each mortal has been, or still is an actor upon his or her respective stage of performance; in a manner similar to which each grain of sand is but a second in the desert of passing time.  

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

The geneticist had got his colleague sitting in his consulting room with him today. I think he wanted a witness in case I started a complaint. I’m glad he realised things had been messy. I had the babies social worker with me, so I was drawing strength from her presence. We faced each other two against two across the room.

As I was walking to the appointment, I was doing deep calming breathing and reminding myself I am an adult, there is no reason to be scared, I can talk in a calm manner, I don’t need to be defensive, we are all on the same side. All the self talk. I had my therapist talking in my head.

We went in to the appointment. He gave us the news that the lab has reissued the baby’s report with the correct diagnosis (the one which I queried that it must be because the one that the lab/geneticist between them gave us just did not make sense) and that Sibling also has the same diagnosis. Then he was like “any questions?”.

He knows that I know that the lab f*cked up in the report they sent, and he f*cked up in not checking it before he interpreted it to us. If I (a non-geneticist) can check it against the Public Information leaflet they gave us and see that it’s wrong, then it would have been a matter of seconds for him to check that. He was still trying to imply that the exact diagnosis didn’t really matter anyway because it doesn’t change the management (this is despite the fact that he wrote a 4 page letter after the last appointment explaining why it wasn’t the first diagnosis and was this new diagnosis, so clearly it mattered enough for that then). His dismissiveness irritated me so I summoned my best therapy-improved thoughts and said “Well I think the two can co-exist, that it’s important to meet his needs as they present AND it’s important to have an accurate diagnosis”. He didn’t have a reply to that. He either doesn’t get, or can’t admit, that surely any family would want an accurate diagnosis for their child, even if it didn’t impact the treatment. That being able to join a support group, take part in research and access information leaflets and online is also important.

The social worker had various questions because the diagnosis will have an impact on potential adoptive families, so I mostly sat quietly while she asked her questions. I was really just basking slightly in the fact that I had just been vindicated on all the fronts I had been fighting on.

This has been a year-long quest to get answers and we finally have them.

[caiuscassiuss]

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.1

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Sicheng♡Female! Reader

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) paddling, fellatio, fingering), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo​ for helping me. This story wouldn’t have been possible without you!!!!

Also, this story contains heavy and graphic BDSM with violent contact play and uncomfortable dialogue. You might not like Sicheng very much here. 18+ please.)

Red, red light highlighted the contours of the woman’s back, and threw the rest of the room into dark, dark shadows.

Slap.

A long, drawn-out, strained moan resounded,.

A sinful smile crawled up the tall, slender man’s face as he looked down at her.

January 5th, 2020 

Raesung, Lee

Re: Important Office Notification — 

To: y/nl/[email protected], [email protected], [email protected]… view 389 more

To all whom it may concern,

It is my greatest displeasure to be announcing my resignation and consequent retirement from Sinochen Enterprises. I had been the Head of the Sales Department in this great company for over 10 years and it has been a pleasurable experience to work with all of 500 you, in order to better our enterprise.

Words cannot express how grateful I am to all of you, from the interns to my managers, for working hard and honestly over all these years. We experienced a 468% sales increase over my tenure, and it couldn’t have been possible without any of you.

My resignation will be announced tomorrow at noon, but I thought it would be better to get a heads up from myself. In the meantime, until a new successor is appointed, my vice president, Xiao Daiyu, will step in and act in my place. A new email regarding possible successors will soon circulate shortly, and I advise all of you to keep an eye out for it. 

Once again, I thank all of you deeply for these wonderful 10 years at Sinochen Enterprises, and I wish the utmost success for this company and all of you individually.

Regards,

Raesung Lee

Department Head of Salesforce at Sinochen Enterprises

Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

Office 1876, 18th floor

Phone: +852 XXXX XXXX ext. 1876

On one side of the island, a woman finished reading her work email. She remained calm, scrolled through her other emails, and shut down her laptop after seeing no such material.

She faced her high rise window, contemplating the Hong Kong skyline.

The email was written in the usual arrogant tone that her Korean boss took. Not a surprise, seeing as she worked with him nearly every day as the South Asia Region Sales Manager. She sighed, kicking up her feet on the coffee table.

A new successor? Y/N L/N hoped and prayed that it would be her.

On the other side of the island, a man finished reading his work email. He remained calm, scrolled through his other emails, and shut down his laptop after seeing no such material.

He faced his high rise window, contemplating the Hong Kong skyline.

Of course, the man was anticipating this as his East Asia Regional Sales Manager. The old coot was due for his retirement, so he could spend time with his many mistresses. He sighed and kicked up his feet on the coffee table.

A new successor? Dong Sicheng knew it like the sky was blue that it would be him.

January 6th, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong 

7 AM HKT

It was a rather chilly morning, as your assistant knocked softly on the oak door. You finished putting your light coat on the stand. As you hummed for her to come in, she slowly creaked open the door.

She smiled brightly at you. Genuine, to boot. “Morning, Miss L/N. Do you want any pastries, or breakfast goods, to go along with your usual macchiato?”

You considered BeiBei a good secretary—prompt, meticulous, and all what an assistant should be. Sociable, too. However, even with all her amiable requests for lunch or coffee, you couldn’t consider her as a good friend. After all, there was to be a balance of power to be maintained.

“Yes, that would be great.”

Like everything else in your life.

Work went on as usual in the office—you dealt with the clients, you dealt with HR, you dealt with this and that.

BeiBei knocked softly at the door. She peeked in through the door with her sunglasses perched atop her brunette locks and a scarf around her neck.

“Miss L/N? They asked all of the sales department to meet in Ballroom D for an announcement.”

It was noon already? Christ. “Alright, let me get my things and I’ll go along with you.”

You grabbed your cell phone and Dior sunglasses, then quickly headed out with BeiBei. You lagged behind her slightly as she socialized with her other coworkers, laughing uproariously at some inside joke between them.

You wondered what it was like to be able to make real bonds in the office.

Out of your periphery, a large group coming from the other side of the floor was bustling their way through. In the midst, you could see the blonde head of Dong Sicheng, looking down at his friends as if they were his royal subjects.

Psh, you could never see what was the fuss around this boy. To be fair, objectively, he was good-looking... in that pretty boy kind of way. All of his older, middle-aged coworkers looked like pigs next to his lean, pale figure. Yet, all of the sales department, and probably half of the office, thought he was the next best thing since the vibrator.

You thought he seemed too nice, too friendly to be true. Sicheng had the innocent flower boy looks, but you could see the dark edge he kept from everyone. You could see how his smiles never reached his eyes, how his words were always friendly but strained. Dong Sicheng was disingenuous as hell, and it bothered you, but why waste energy over such a matter?

You’d rather focus on other, more productive things.

Namely, the Sales Head promotion.

Your South Asia and his East Asia division converged in the middle of the lobby, forming an even more boisterous crowd. Everyone slowly piled into the elevators to go down.

You were reaching the chokehold of the crowd, but unfortunately you were a bit on the shorter side. It was hard to see where you were going in this crowd, and you wouldn’t dare raise yourself up on your tippy toes, like some fresh intern.

“Ladies first.”

You looked up to see Dong Sicheng smiling at you brightly—his arm extended to herd you into the crowded elevator. You couldn’t help but see a mocking tinge to the curl of his lips.

“Thank you,” you said.

After you had stepped into the elevator, he followed immediately afterwards. You had no choice but to be eye level with Sicheng’s chest. You two were so close that you could smell his cologne, and it briefly think of his cologne all around you—

No. Never. No. No. No. No. No. Nope. 

Dong Sicheng would not tempt you. 

January 6th, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong 

9 AM HKT

The department filed out of the ballroom, murmuring amongst themselves about the new development.

“Oh my god, we all know Xiao Daiyu will never be promoted. Yeah, she may be vice president, but Daiyu can’t do shit.”

“Well, who do you think will be promoted?”

“Certainly not you, Lina.”

“Hey, I—”

A new voice enters. “I, for one, think Y/N should be promoted. She’s smart, driven, and you actually get things done when you work with her.”

A hum of agreement went over the little group. Some of them nodded along quietly.

“That’s not a bad idea. She’s cold as hell and kind of intimidating, but I wouldn’t mind working under her.”

You pretended not to hear their conversation, but you felt ecstatic to hear your name in regards to the promotion. It was hard to admit it to anyone other than yourself, but you thrived off of attention and vindication more than what was healthy. The satisfaction of being praised, of getting the answer correct or being complimented was as heady as being drugged.

“Y/N is great and all, but you know who’d I rather have as sales head? Dong Sicheng.”

Your jaw clenched unconciously when you heard that blond asshole’s name.

“Kinda agree. Sicheng’s friendly and it’s easy to talk to him. We also get a lot of work done with him too!”

You could not hear any more of the conversation as they had walked out of earshot, but you felt… sour. You swore to god—if that asshole gets the promotion, you will leave the damn company.

Well, whatever. The likes of Dong Sicheng would be wiped from your mind after the fun you would have tonight with Dolos.

January 6th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

12 PM HKT

“Hey Sicheng, what did you order?” Some coworker of his said to him.

Sicheng felt an inward flush of irritation. Couldn’t people leave him the fuck alone and let him eat his meal in peace? Without interrupting him about how XX from the implementation team did this and YY from IT did that?

“Oh, hey, um—” What the fuck was his name again? Joon? Jin? “Jae, I ordered a teriyaki salad. It’s pretty good, I’d recommend it.” 

There. That answered any potential questions Jae may have and clearly signalled the end of the conversation so he could eat in peace.

“What about the grilled chicken salad? Have you tried it?”

Alas, not all well-thought out plans would be fruitful.

He continued conversation with his inane coworkers around him at the lunch bistro they always frequented. It was tiring, keeping up the facade of a friendly office boy. His impatience wilted slowly as the people tittered and tattered, laughing and gossiping, god—they were so stupid.

“I like your tie, Sicheng. It’s very nice.”

He turned back towards the conversation as soon as he heard his name.

The so-called department hottie was staring at him from her seat a couch away—her eyes slightly widened, in an attempt to be vexing.

“Thank you, Tzuyu. Might I add, you look very nice today,” he said, as he forced a smile on his lips.

The brunette blushed heavily and turned away in bashfulness. Ugh.

Don’t get him wrong.He rather liked blush on a woman. But, Tzuyu was the kind of woman that would not put up any type of fight, if he chose to seduce her. Sicheng liked the thrill of the fight, the thrill of gradually pressing his control into someone until they were submissive to only him.

God, but Y/N was someone he’d like seduce.

Sicheng thought back to the moment when he courteously gave his spot in line to her, yet she only thanked him off-handedly. Y/N was the only one in the whole damn complex that didn’t give a fuck about his amiable facade and treated him as callously as one would beneath them. He clenched his fist, thinking how uppity and standoffish you were to snub him. That was something that couldn’t ever be forgotten.

Luckily, he knew his darling Dove would be there tonight to take the edge off his anger.

Friday January 18th, 2020

A Busy Street

6 PM HKT

You huddled a light coat around yourself as you checked the address on your phone. 

353 Cornerstone Ave.

You looked up at the British colonial-style building, slightly reminiscent of the Ritz-Carlton a few blocks away. The building was probably a remnant of colonization. Nevertheless, it was beautiful.

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, as you dipped into the establishment named Black’s Spa. Swiping off your sunglasses, you beamed at the beautiful lady behind the receptionist desk.

“How may we help you today? Are there any services you would like provided?” she asked.

The corners of your lips turn up. You’ve always liked this part of the game, where you have to gain access into a club. It felt like you were a femme fatale in one of those old Bond movies your father loved.

“Hey, afternoon. I’ve been hearing about this rope treatment. I’ve heard it does wonders for your muscles.”

The girl’s pink tinted-lips twisted into a grin.

“Right this way.”

The zen, stark white corridors of the spa that the dungeon pretended to be eventually led to an innocuous bookshelf. The lady felt around the shelf for the handle underneath the dark wood paneling. A hum of affirmation left her mouth as she closed her well-manicured hands around it.

With a click, the shelf gave way to a dimly lit room that looked like the parlor of a traditional British gentleman’s club. What little light there was was provided by candles and glittering chandeliers, which reflected off of the dark oak paneling of the room. Rich Persian rugs and velvet sofas dotted the room, and the hum and tinkles of conversation meandered around. However, little details quickly ruined the impression that this was a respectable establishment of any sort.

For one, many individuals here were scantily clad. Yes, some were in suits and proper evening wear, but that was contrasted heavily by the diffusion of revealing lingerie sets and sculpted chests. Second, there were casual warning signs posted about the room, asking patrons to practice safe, healthy, and consensual sex, alongside the expensive paintings.

Black’s was the best dungeon in East Asia, no doubt. It was such a bitch to gain access into the club. Yet, what made Black’s so popular was not its top amenities or the luxurious atmosphere—it was the utmost anonymity it provided. 

The depravity that happened in these walls stripped even the most upright individual to their most primal, lustful states. People became lumps of flesh, starving for the next release. The eclectic mix of businessmen, trust-fund kids, and professionals hungered for the anonymity that they would be hard-pressed to find in a regular dungeon (as regular as one could get for being a BDSM dungeon, anyway).

The best way Black’s maintained privacy? 

Masks.

You quickly donned your own dove gray mask, securing the silk ribbons in your hair to prevent it from falling off. Tonight, you were Dove. Tomorrow, you will be Y/N. It was easy to slip into the subspace once you donned your mask, but you couldn’t really immerse yourself into it—not until your master came to you.

A quick glance at your watch told you it was only 10 PM. Dolos had told you in his letter that he would find you at 10:10. He certainly was a curious individual—one with an obsession with symmetry and a penchant for old-fashioned tradition. For fuck’s sake, his letter was sealed by a green wax seal. 

But Dolos was everything you never knew you wanted.

Deciding to amuse yourself with one of the exhibition rooms, you wandered into one that seemed crowded. A girl was strung up on stage, hands bound with chains connected to the ceiling. Her black hair hung around her face and she was as naked as the day she was born. Her voluptuous figure bared to the hungry crowd—a metal table full of paraphernalia was next to the cross.

A brutish man, clad in a wifebeater and tight jeans, walked up to the stage. 

“My slave has been rather naughty,” he announced. “She had the nerve to touch herself without my permission.”

A murmur arose from the crowd, whispering and gasping and giggling heard amongst the shadows. For a slave to pleasure herself, without her master’s permission, was a serious ordeal around these parts. 

The man drew a finger against the side of her breasts, causing her to shiver and a gleam of arousal to run down her leg. “Today, my dear little slave will see what happens when she doesn’t obey her master seriously.”

“Let’s start with something light. Flogging.”

A curl of delight ran through you. You loved flogging; each hit stimulated different parts of your body that ultimately brought you to the brink of an edge. A bit of heat rose in your bosom imaging Dolos, with his Cat O’ Nine Tails, flogging your ass until you were red.

A whimper was heard as he struck her stomach lightly with a cat o’ nine tails. He began alternating strikes against her breasts and inner thighs, as she whimpered and cried, begging for her master to touch her there.

“Oh dear, only good girls get touched in their sweet spot. What’s the magic word?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, sir! Please!”

“Better.”

A strangled scream echoed throughout the hall, as he struck her repeatedly in between the crux of her legs. After the girl was left shaking, he whipped off the juices she left on the leather strands then threw it behind him. You shifted uncomfortably, crossing your legs tightly to ignore the burst of arousal.

“Bend over!” the man on stage barked, grabbing a paddle from the table.

The slave bent over a table immediately, unwilling to risk the possibility of more punishment.

He inserted a knee between her legs and forced them wide open—her pretty cunt exposed.

You could only see a flash of his swing as his paddle connected with her backside, a thunderous smack resounding. Her gleaming arousal was almost to her knee now, and the poor dear was visibly shaking and could hardly stand.

A high-pitched whimper came out of you and you quickly bit your lips, hoping you weren’t heard. Your panties suddenly rubbed you in the wrong places and your knees knocked together, in an effort to stop the heat emanating from your core.

“I see my little girl has lost herself on her way to the Salon.”

A gasp left your mouth as you stared back into a burgundy mask, burnished with gold.

Dolos.

“M-master, but it’s only 10 PM—”

He chuckled—a dark, delicious sound—and stretched him over the chaise you had settled yourself in. Slim, tapered fingers played with the ends of your hair as his plump lips curved into a dark smirk.

“Wrong, dearest. It’s 10:15. What time did I write in the letter?”

You hung your head, playing with the ribbons on your dress. “10:10, sir.”

He tugged on your hair, forcing a whine from you. He tsked.

“Your master has been waiting patiently for 2 weeks to play with his favorite little girl. And yet, she’s late?” You knew he was teasing you, but a sliver of real anger and irritation slipped into his voice. Immediately, you felt guilty and your bottom lip trembled. You had disappointed your master.

“And what do little girls who are late get?”

“T-they get punished, sir. I’m sorry—”

His lips turned downwards until he was sneering. “An apology isn’t going to cut it, Dove. We’re going to the Salon right now.” He roughly took your wrist and pulled you out of the room. Interested eyes followed his clearly irritated and furious gestures.

“Your safe word, darling?”

“Sappho.”

“Sappho, what?”

“Sir.”

His eyes, through the holes of his mask, darkened. “God, I will never get tired of hearing you say that.” Dolos turned around.

Dolos has been your dominant for the last 5 months, and fuck, he has been the best one you have had. Your participation in a public demonstration had led to him stealing the contract from your previous Dom, who was already supremely possessive at first glance. Your eyes, he had told you, were the most expressive he had ever seen. They were the ones that had convinced him to enter into an exclusive contract.

Your eyes traced his tall stature, the broadness of his back highlighted by his nondescript white shirt. The quote from Julius Caesar came to mind. “Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world/ like a Colossus, and we petty men.” Such power, such arrogance.

The Salon was Dolos’ room of choice, since he was a legacy member of Black’s. Filled with toys hidden behind halcyon scenes of the English or French country sides and tall, imposing dressers, the room merely looked like a noble bedroom but the things that occured in it… not so much.

“Bend over my lap, sweetheart. I’m thinking… hm, 10 slaps? Double the time you made me wait. What do you think?” He mused, throwing himself into an armchair.

You settled onto his lap, lifting your skirt and exposing your pretty, pink panties beneath. A mixture of nerves and arousal made your hands tremble, but the haze and glossiness of subspace settled over you easily, like your favorite blanket.

“Whatever you deem necessary, sir.”

His chest rumbled. “Good answer, little one. Such a good slut for me, huh?” He whispered to himself, running a paddle over your bare ass.

You barely heard his acclamation of “ten it is” before the paddle delivered a stinging slap to your left cheek. You unconsciously jerked up until his arms forced you down.

“Count for me, Dove.”

“One!”

Another one, but to the flesh of your thighs.

“Two!” you bit out.

Dolos’ hit parts that surrounded your core, but never actually reached touching it. Moisture began to dampen your lacy underthing and you had to bite down on your lips to stop from grinding yourself on his thigh like a brazen whore.

After the ninth slap, he palmed your ass carefully. His fingers dipped in between the folds of your pussy and you held your breath.

“Already, so wet? Christ. Clean me up and I’ll hit you the place I know you want me to.”

Swiping your tongue over his digits, you looked back at his mask and saw the tension at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” Without warning, he shifted aside your panties and struck the paddle against your throbbing pussy.

“TEN!” You sobbed, unable to keep from sagging into his lap. 

He hushed you and ran a comforting hand over your ass, smoothing over the red marks you were sure glowed.

“What a good, good girl you are,” Dolos cooed, caressing your cheek. His thumb wiped away your errant tears and he smirked, patting it.

“On your knees.”

You scrambled out of his lap and onto the carpet, wincing as your heels met your sore ass. You looked at him, wide-eyed, for his instruction.

“Suck my cock.”

A blush spread over your face at his frank wording and your hands moved to unzip his trousers, but Dolos made a noise of disapproval.

“With your mouth only, slut.”

Your hands bunched the fabric of your dress tightly and you squeezed your thighs together.

“Yes, master.”

As you took the button in between your teeth, you used a combination of your lips and tongue to unbutton his trousers. Once opened, you slowly dragged the zipper down all while looking up at him innocently.

His length, girthy and flushed an angry red, sprung out of his trousers. Licking your lips, you looked up to him for permission.

A sly smile came across his face. “Go, darling. This is your reward.”

You took the head of his cock in between your lips and swirled your tongue over the salty precum. He groaned, a gutteral noise from his chest, and his fingers clenched the plush arm rests of the chair tightly.

Gathering some of the precum on your tongue, you released his head and ducked down to take his testes in your mouth. You licked the length of his cock, finishing off with a playful suck to the head.

An angry glint flashed in his eyes. “Stop teasing, slut. Get to it.” 

Dolos clenched some of your hair at the back of your head in his fist, and the pain from the sudden action caused your eyes to water. You’d gotten the message loud and clear.

Spitting on his cock, you took half of him in your throat, bobbing and hollowing your cheeks. Your master made sounds of appreciation, loosening the grip on your just a little bit.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, relaxed your throat and went farther down on his thick cock. You were no novice, but you had trouble taking him so deep—even after such a long time together. The tip of your nose touched the base of his cock and you hummed in satisfaction.

The vibrations from your throat seemed to set him off. His previously relaxed grip tightened again and he forced down on his cock until your face was smashed in his crotch.

“Mmph!” You  gagged from his sudden, violent action.

“You’re such a fucking tease, fuck,” Dolos groaned, his head tilted back in pleausure.

Forcefully, he fucked your mouth without mercy. You could barely breathe, and the combination of the pain from your hair being pulled, your throat being abused, and the slick between your thighs caused tears to run down your cheeks.

“You know you like this, whore. You like gagging and choking on your master’s cock. You like being used like a little slut, don’t you?”

Unable to respond, you focused on trying to breath through your nose as he abused your mouth.

“Don’t you?! Answer me!” he shouted, pulling your head back.

More tears dripped out of your eyes at this pain, and you nodded quickly with his cock in his mouth. Dolos narrowed his eyes and forced you further on his length.

He quickly set a cadence and it felt like your mind was filled with cotton. The only sensations was the pain from your throat being stretched, his groans of satisfaction, and the throbbing in between your thighs.

“I bet you’re dripping right now. What a slut, getting off on her throat being fucked,” he sneered. His face was flushed as he neared his peak.

Your knees started to throb in pain, your joints aching at being on the ground for so long. His thrust even harder and faster into your lips, prompting a squeal.

“I’m getting close, slut,” he said between clenched teeth. You could feel the hard muscles in his thighs tensing in anticipation for his orgasm. You sucked even harder on his cock, swirling your tongue in figure eights on his length.

“FUCK!” he shouted, eyes clenched tightly. Both of his hands grasped your head and forced your head onto his cock until your nose touched the base. You gagged and prayed to breathe as warm liquid splashed down your throat. He thrusted his hips harder into your mouth, riding out his orgasm.

Dolos pulled out and left the tip of his cock on your opened mouth, tapping his length on your tongue as cum spurted out erratically as he groaned. You flinched as he slapped his cock along your cheeks for good measure. He slumped back in his chair after he rode out his orgasm, his broad chest breathing heavily. In the low light, he looked like a fallen angel with his head turned up towards the heavens.

I will show you how us mere mortals can reach the gardens of heaven from earth, he had said to you once.

You waited with your mouth open, still painted in his seed, for instruction. A few drops of his seed dripped on your chin and onto your chest.

Dolos took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your head side to side. He paid attention in particular to your smeared lipstick. A beatific smile crossed his lips and he was so beautiful in that moment, so wicked and debauched and depraved it made your heart ache. 

“What a gorgeous mess I’ve made.”

Tuesday January 21st, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

8 AM HKT

Raesung, Lee

CC: [email protected]

Re: Important Office Notification — 

To: y/nl/[email protected]

Y/LN,

It is with great pleasure for me to inform you today that you are being considered for the Head Salesforce position at Sinochen Enterprises. Your name has come heavily recommended to me, and your previous boss has given me a glowing review of your performance these past few years. I, myself, have enjoyed your hard-work and impressive work ethic in your year as Head of the South Asia Division. Two other people are being considered for the role, and you will hear more from Daiyu and I about several interviews and necessary materials. I know you will practice the utmost discretion regarding this email.

Regards,

Raesung Lee

Department Head of Salesforce at Sinochen Enterprises

Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

Office 1876, 18th floor

Phone: +852 XXXX XXXX ext. 1876

You squealed but quickly clamped a hand over your math. This was it. This was the culmination of your dreams coming true. Being the Salesforce director for one of the largest companies in Asia… shit. That would prove your mom and everyone in that shitty-ass town of yours wrong.

After quickly shutting the door and the windows, you did an undignified jig around your large office filled with fist pumps and silent screaming.

“Y/N-laoban, I have the files for—”

You froze.

“...For… uh… you know what, I’ll just come back later—”

“No, it’s fine, BeiBei.” You cleared your throat and sat back into the chair. “I just had exciting news, that’s all. Come, please hand me those files.”

Beibei quickly handed them to you and moved to scurry out of the room and back to her desk.

“Wait! Beibei, could you grab me an Iced Americano? I feel like I need a treat today.”

Her young face peered at you curiously and nodded furiously. 

“I-If it isn’t too much to ask, laoban, what’s the good news?”

Uncharacteristically, you beamed at her. She seemed a bit frightened at the sheer excitement you were exuding, so you toned it down a bit.

“Let’s just say I might not be the Head of just South Asia any longer.”

“I hear congratulations are in order?”

You looked up from your double-screens to see the extremely pretty face of Dong Sicheng. His plump lips pulled in a sort of mocking smile.

“For what? I don’t recall getting engaged nor getting pregnant,” you retorted.

“I overheard a little birdie telling her friends that her boss might move up in the world.” Sicheng pushed off the doorway and moved to place a long-fingered hand over the back of one of the couches.

A sigh left your mouth. Oh BeiBei. 

He drummed his fingers against the back of the couch. “Although, I am surprised Raesung is considering someone like you for the promotion.”

Your eyes snapped to his heavily lidded one. “Pardon?”

“You know, someone of your… type.”

“Elaborate.”

He sighed, like he was dealing with an ignorant child, and moved to lean over your desk.

“We all know when push comes to shove, no matter how icy your demeanor may be, individuals like you will eventually succumb to their emotions.” His mocking smile was an attempt at his nice-boy persona around the office— that made you want to throw your paper weight at his face.

Your jaw clenched. “I knew your family was traditional, Sicheng, but I didn’t expect they were this intransigent.”

He moved closer. “The old ways keep our heads at the right place, woman.”

A snort left your lips. “And I suppose customs guide the ignorant?”

His smile grew razor sharp. “Exactly.”

Your teeth clenched around your tongue. “Excuse me, Sicheng, but I’m afraid I have a meeting in a few minutes—not all of us are as lax as a board member's son.”

Ignoring the barb, he watched raptly as you stuck all your files into your purse calmly. As you moved to show him to the door, he stalled.

“I think you’re forgetting something, Y/N.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Sicheng. Please hurry.” 

“Don’t I get salutations as well? I’m the other person being considered.” He smirked.

Thursday January 23rd, 2020

Your House

9 PM HKT

“Hi, mother. How are you?” you asked.

“Aiyo, my old bones are holding up, but you know what would make me feel more at ease?”

“What, mama?” You kicked off your heels and threw yourself into your lumpy, comfy couch. It was time for that conversation again.

“If you settled down with a nice man and gave your grandfather and I grandkids.”

“I am busy.” 

She continued as if she hadn’t heard you. “I know there are a lot of nice men at that company of yours. Surely there is a rich laoban that you can settle down with? You are not unhandsome, after all.”

“I am my own laoban.”

A moment of silence. “Ah, that’s good I suppose.”

“Thank you, mama,” you replied dryly.

“Aiyo, but you know men won’t like that! The good sort of men want good, obedient wives. How are you going to serve your husband and raise your kids if you are working such a busy job?”

“You say that as if I will marry or have kids.”

A loud gasp came from the other end of the line. “Y/N, you will give me a heart attack early! Husband, Y/N will kill me early!”

You heard a faint grunt and your mother subsequently scolding him.

A migraine started to form. You loved your mother as much as one daughter could, but she was very traditional in the way she looked at things. She had raised you from a young age to be an obedient, well-trained wife of a village man like her. Mother had good intentions of course, because that was all she knew. This was the best way she could prepare you for a good life.

The only reason she let you move to the city was because she thought you would find “good quality” (her words, not yours) men in the city. She only approved of you applying to Sinochen because not only did she see the name emblazoned across her noodle and food packets, she also knew very rich men worked there.

You really had thought that once you had moved to Hong Kong, everyone would be Westernized with more flexibility in their mindsets. But the higher ups in your company diminished those hopes very quickly.

Especially for country-bumpkin you.

You hadn’t known the Hong Kong dialect Mandarin, the new slang and modern mannerisms. Adding onto the fact that you were a woman, Sinochen did not treat you very kindly until you started to learn that being kind would get you nowhere.

And look at what you are now—a highly-paid business woman at one of the largest companies in Asia, living in a luxurious apartment within some of the most exclusive real estate on the island, along with all the pretty handbags and shoes you’ve always wanted. You even knew you were reasonably pretty and attractive, if the way Dolos looked at you was true. You kicked ass.

“Y/N, please visit us! Your father and I miss you terribly.”

You grimaced at the thought of your dirty and dusty hometown in the mainland. But still, you missed your father, who had supported you silently in whatever ways he could, and your mother, who loved you something deep.

“I forgot to mention! Kunhuang has been asking after you. Aiyo, what a good boy. He comes to our house once a month and gives us fruits, you know? Such a kind, kind boy.”

You smiled at the thought of Kunhuang and his childish face streaked in dirt and playing Catch the Dragon’s Tail in the woods near your village.

“Tell him I said hello, mother.”

“That boy— he owns most of the farms around us, wah—he tells us he misses you. Why couldn’t you have married him? You could've been closer to us, you know. Kunhuang and you would have made such cute grandkids—”

You sighed heavily. “I had dreams to chase, mama. I still do.”

Friday, January 24th, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

Sicheng frowned at the vellum letter in his hand. His dearest Dove was unable to make it this week, citing she had work responsibilities she could not miss.

The letter crumpled in his hand. 

He quickly stood up from the armchair near the cozy fireplace at Black’s, dodging various couples or individuals that attempted to coax him into joining them for the night. There was no need for him to be there tonight.

What a pitiful mess he was—over a woman, nonetheless.

When he had first received a recommendation from his uncle to join Black’s, he was ecstatic. Sicheng knew of the rich history and tradition of the club. It was a holdover from colonial times, when bored British aristocrats created a gentleman’s club that quickly turned into a pseudo-bordello as the 19th century chugged on. Legacy and tradition were paramount to the club. 

His father was too fastidious to enter Black’s, even though his own father was a frequent patron of the club. For all his faults, he was a loyal man to his wife. Sicheng, on the other hand, was a randy twenty years old looking to unleash his private fantasies onto the prestigious dungeon.

The mask and name he wore were given to him by his Uncle, who retired from the club as Sicheng entered. Dolos was the other side of his personality that Sicheng hid from the rest of the world.

But never had Dolos been so enraptured by his contracted submissive, Dove.

Dove was… perfect. While other women just laid there and received his attention like a rag doll, she responded in kind. Whether it was an adorable gasp from her lips or precious, minute twitches, Dolos never had a problem ascertaining what Dove was feeling. She was also such a good girl for him, as well. 

So, so good. Incomparable.

No other woman would do it for him. Well...

Sicheng slammed open the door a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Fuck, not her. Anyone but that prissy bitch. Roughly bidding goodbye to the receptionist of the so-called spa, Sicheng quickly slid into the passenger seat of his Maserati and zoomed off into the lights of Hong Kong.

As much as he’d like to put her in her place, Y/N would never do it for him.

Monday January 27th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

10 AM HKT

Your ears perked up to hear the sound of muffled yelling outside your office. Quickly standing, you peeked your head out the doorway to see Sicheng fitfully waving a crumpled paper in his fist at two employees, towering over them with his mouth pulled into a sneer.

“—I do NOT pay your salaries for you to laze around and produce substandard work! If my secretary had not caught this mistake within the analysis, I would’ve been fucking HUMILIATED at the board meeting for faulty figures! My ass would’ve been on the line—”

Glancing over, you saw the other girls in the office whispering behind their hands with shocked eyes. In any other situation, you would’ve done the same. Pretty boy Sicheng? Nice, kind Sicheng who dimpled at everyone each morning? It would’ve been unimaginable for that Sicheng to be putting two of his employees (Tzuyu and Xiaogui, you think, but can’t see past their bowed heads) on blast—but this one stood in the morning light, proudly and harshly, with a terrible mask of rage.

BeiBei, who was standing outside the doorway of your office and head bowed with her friend, giggled softly.

“Wah, Sicheng looks so attractive like that. He’s usually nice but, ugh, what I wouldn’t do to get him,” BeiBei pointed at the now snarling Sicheng,“—bending me over at my desk.”

Her friend squealed and fanned herself. “I may need to change my panties after this, oh my god.”

BeiBei nodded sagely. “I knew he was in a bad mood earlier, when I accidentally bumped into him in the elevator, but my god I didn’t expect for him to blow up like this.”

“I wonder what made him so mad? I remember when Jae accidentally spilled coffee over his phone and Sicheng didn’t even get angry—just smiled and patted him on the back.”

You frowned, remembering that day. While he did pat Jae on the back, Sicheng’s fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white and the veins on his forearms stood out. There was a hidden layer behind his seemingly placid eyes, and your suspicions were confirmed after you saw the janitor taking out a broken lamp from his office late one night.

It was that incident, along with so many other tiny occurrences, that clued you into Sicheng’s secret side. You distrusted him solely on that basis. Otherwise, what kind of trustworthy man would hide something like that?

From the corner of your eye, you could tell that Sicheng looked dangerously close to punching something. You decided to intervene before HR got called. Even you had a heart, no matter how cold you were. However, you couldn’t look like you were bailing them out...

“Tzuyu! Xiaogui!” you barked, startling the gossiping women next to you.

Everyone’s heads snapped towards you, along with Sicheng.

You pursed your lips and adjusted your stance. “The Yang reports were supposed to be in my hand an hour ago. My hands are currently empty.”

Tzuyu looked close to crying, while Xiaogui shifted his eyes to the side.

“Go. Before I tell the finance department and you won’t get your full bonus for the year.”

They bowed to Sicheng, then to you, and scrambled off.

There was a moment of silence, until Sicheng had turned his angry attention towards you.

“Well? Why are all of you just standing there? We have deliverables to fulfill, people!” You scowled at the crowd, which disbursed from your shout.

Sichend had not taken his eyes off of you, not even when everyone left.

“Y/N, can I see you in my office for a moment?” he asked with his jaw clenched.

You narrowed your eyes, but acquiesced, standing by the window overlooking Kowloon Bay as he shut the door.

Sicheng paused for a moment by the doorway, his broad chest heaving. He let out a strangled breath before standing near his desk.

“You do not encroach on MY authority in this office, woman. I know the old men in other departments let you step all over them because you’re willing to put out—”

Your jaw dropped and motioned to defend yourself, but he rolled right over you.

“—but you do NOT get to do that here. Unlike the other fuckers in this office, I think with my fucking head not my dick. I handle my goddamn subordinates the way I see fit, understand?”

Your hands gripped the plush chair you stood next to.

“Where the hell do you get off talking to me like that? They’re under my supervision as well, have you fucking forgotten that? Criticize me however you want, but I draw the fucking line on attacks on my character!” you hissed, stepping closer to Sicheng.

“I talk to you however the hell I want, woman! This is my office. I’m in charge!”

Scoffing, you sat on the arm of the chair. “I know you’re sour you didn’t get the region you wanted. But that's real life, Sicheng. It must suck getting told no, daddy’s boy? Huh?”

“You shut the fuck up, Y/N. You do not get to talk to me like that,” he growled, towering over your deceptively lax figure.

You examined your nails nonchalantly. “Whatever, Sicheng. Let’s see who gets to talk when I get the promotion.”

“Ha! You wouldn’t last a fucking week in that position. No one can stand your uptight ass.”

Your placid demeanor snapped and you pushed a manicured finger into his (surprisingly) built chest. 

“Fuck off, Sicheng! Some of us worked our ‘uptight’ asses off to get to where we are. You wouldn’t be shit without daddy dearest!”

“You wanna bet on that, woman?!”

Too little, too late—you didn’t notice how close the two of you were. His right arms clenched the back of the seat behind you and your noses were inches apart. If someone walked in right now, it would’ve looked like Sicheng was trying to kiss you.

You both were breathing heavily and, for the first time, you observed him from up close—his frustratingly clear skin, straight nose and slender jaw line, mouth drawn into a snarl looking like he wanted to corner you into your chair.

It was… hot.

Unwittingly, you bit your bottom lip and his intense eyes were drawn to the movement. Your legs shifted to rub together at the crux and his pants tented, while his eyes narrowed. He breathed heavily through his nose and, god, what you wouldn’t give for him to push you up against a wall and—

What the fuck!

You recoiled the same time he did, jumping away from each other like opposite poles repelling. A cold sweat formed on your back as you realized you were fucking attracted to the man that called you a whore all but in name a few moments ago.

The feral desire on his face morphed into disgust and the two of you gazed at each other in shock and revulsion.

Rushing out of his office like a bat out of hell, you slammed the door to your office shut and collapsed into your chair. Here you were, wanting to vomit in disgust but your panties were fucking soaking. You groaned and pulled at your hair. How the fuck were you supposed to last until Friday without Dolos? He would somehow fucking know you got yourself off and he would paddle you black and blue.

You dialed the private line for Black’s. 

Your last resort...

Monday January 27th, 2020

Black’s

7:55 PM HKT

Sicheng drummed his finger restlessly against the leather couch, glancing at the clock. His knee bounced in anticipation and he was unaware of the dark energy he exuded.

The man felt like he could explode right now—no thanks to Y/N in his office earlier. Sicheng couldn’t believe he was reduced to a pathetic bundle of nerves all over Y/N and her red lipstick and fuck me! Eyes.

He wanted to crack open that ice-cold facade that you hid behind. He wanted to pick apart every aspect of your being, from your veiled eyes to your restless hands and—

He rubbed a hand over his face. Fuck, not Y/N again. Where the hell was his Dove? Although, he supposed he couldn’t ask for anymore than her now. He was about to break their schedule of Friday nights only, but, by some saving grace, the manager of Black’s called to notify him of Dove’s request to meet here tonight at 8 PM.

Sicheng couldn’t get out of the office fast enough. He usually worked late, but as soon as the clock turned six, he revved his Audi to get home and shower. Now he was here, looking groomed as hell for his favorite little girl.

“Master?”

There she were—standing off to the side, wearing a simple skirt and blouse, yet looking like sex personified.

He was so relieved that he didn’t even check the clock to check if his darling girl was late.

“Sit on my lap, sweetheart. Master has missed you.”

She straddled his lap and he buried his nose into her neck, inhaling deeply. He could feel the tension melting away in his muscles as she sat in his lap.

“Are you stressed, sir?” she asked innocuously, stroking his chest.

He hummed affirmative, tracing his nose over her collarbones. “Master’s had a rough day, baby. Why don’t you be a good girl and help me out, hm?”

Dove grinned, and Sicheng could see her twinkling eyes under the grey mask. “Anything for you sir.”

Sicheng heaved her over his shoulder, a squeal to coming out of her mouth unbidden. He smirked. She was lucky he hadn’t stopped her from making noise.

As soon as he got to the room, he made her strip as he pulled down a silk tie from the ceiling. Sicheng roughly forced her hands up, exposing her breasts to the cold air. As he finished binding Dove’s wrists together, he smirked and flicked a finger over her hard peaks.

A small mewl came out of the girl’s mouth, but Sicheng heard it clear as day. A smirk crawled over his plump lips.

“What was that, little girl? You want me to use a riding crop on your ass? Huh?”

Her eyes widened, she held still.

Sicheng languorously looked her over, eyes tracing the dips and curves of her body. “That’s what I thought.”

From a wooden panel, he produced a riding crop, setting aside on a side table as he rolled up his sleeves and loosened the collar on his button-up. Brandishing the crop again, he placed it on her collarbone, the cold leather a stark contrast to Dove’s heated skin.

“Safeword?”

“Sappho, sir.”

The tip of the crop forced her chin up, his intense eyes meeting hers. “Good girl.”

She preened.

He traced it down her chest, circling her sensitive breasts. He chuckled. They were so perfect for him, begging for his attention. She clenched her eyes shut.

Out of nowhere, he sides of both her breasts in two quick snaps of the wrist. Her eyes flew open and she gasped.

“Eyes on me, girl.”

Down and down he went, tracing over her stomach and waist. Sicheng skipped over her mons and started at her feet. He tapped the crop softly against her calves and thighs; he smiled, seeing her keep her stance. Sicheng would delay her orgasm if she so much as bent her legs. The irritating tapping continued until he got to her ass, where he delivered two sharp blows.

He could see her swallow down a moan, her eyes begging him to touch her there. Push and pull, Sicheng reminded himself. Push and fucking pull.

The man looked her dead in the eyes as he snapped the crop all over her ass and waist. Sicheng was unsatisfied. She could withstand the sharp, short pain of the crop and Dove wouldn’t act out.

Throwing the crop to the ground, Sicheng grabbed a ball-gag and paddle from the wall and stalked towards her.

Stuffing the ball-gag into her mouth, he smirked. “Keep your fucking legs straight.”

With that, he wasted no time and swung the paddle straight over her ass. her moan, muffled yet a masterful concerto to his ears, filled the room. Again and again, he paddled her ass until it was hot to touch, taking out his anger at Y/N on her poor ass. She couldn’t think—a buzz filled her ears and a subspace settled over her mind as he kept delivering.

Sicheng smirked as he saw the clear, viscous fluid of her pussy tread down the inside of her thighs. Unable to help himself, he swiped a finger through it and sucked on it.

However, the paddle had hit right next to her throbbing pussy and she cried out, pushing her legs together to relieve the tension.

His slim fingers grabbed her chin. His eyes were wild and his lips were drawn into a familiar snarl. The thought left her head as he hissed. “What the fuck did I just say about keeping your legs straight? You wanna be bad? Disobey my order? I’ll show you bad.”

Uncharacteristically, he threw away the paddle and wrapped a strong arm around her chest. She felt the rough, calloused skin of his palm smack her ass and she couldn’t take it.

 Moans and whines forced themselves past her lips as he kept on going, smacking her ass in quick succession with his bare palms. It was a useless mission trying to keep her legs together but he kept going until she was trembling. The only thing keeping her up was his arm around her waist.

“What a naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered into her ear. “You deliberately disobeyed my fucking orders, huh? Fucking put your legs together because you were too impatient for master to touch you.”

“Sir, please,” she sobbed through the gag, saliva dripping down her chin.

Sicheng thrust two fingers into her mouth and she rushed to spit and lube them up. He quickly spread the lips of her labia apart with his finger, and his thumb brushed slightly over her little pearl. The ‘accidental’ move nearly made her pass out, a loud scream echoing along the walls.

“What sweet, sweet screams are elicited from that throat of yours,” he murmured.

Suddenly, he roughly stuffed two fingers into her dripping wet pussy making her scream even louder from the sudden intrusion. Pumping harshly, in and out, an undulating rhythm that made her legs collapse and lean on him totally for support. She cried into his shoulder as he just kept on going, feeling the lush walls of her pussy pulsate against his fingers. Once again, his thumb brushed over her clit and her throat felt raw from her shouting. He rubbed her little pearl viciously while two fingers were still deep in her pussy. Her muffled screaming echoed through out the room and he quickly unbuckled the gag from her mouth.

“Master, sir—please, let me come! I’ll be your good girl, I’ll doing anything you want, I’ll keep my legs apart, I’ll—”

“Come, sweetheart. Come for your master,” he said, his breathing finally a bit labored.

She let out a keening wail and her nails dug into his broad shoulders, shaking uncontrollably against him. He held her close.

Monday January 27th, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

All that could be heard was the crackling fire in the corner of the room. You slumped bonelessly against Dolos on the leather couch, head on his chest, knees pulled up to rest on his lap. As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you could feel his fingers stroke your hair and the comforting sound of his heartbeat thrumming steadily. 

“Sir, I… I missed you,” you whispered.

He said nothing. But, as you turned your head up to his, he gazed at you with an unreadable gleam in his eye.

You blushed, and buried your head in his chest. God, that was too sincere. It actually sounded like you needed him outside the walls of this playroom. You knew what happened when you mixed feelings with sex. Trouble.

Trouble was Minghao. Trouble was dark and mysterious—the kind of boy that made girls go starry-eyed and ga-ga over him. The girls would constantly daydream Minghao “fixing” himself for them, “piecing” himself back together in order to be with the girl of his dreams.

Except they were wrong. So, so wrong.

Minghao wasn’t like that. He was cool, he was cruel, and he was mean. He was the first to initiate your eager eyes into BDSM. He was the one that discovered how good of a submissive you were. He was your first in everything.

In the end, he was too much for you. Minghao would’ve destroyed you had you stayed for any longer—would’ve ruined your already fraying self-esteem and confidence. Yet, when the two of you parted ways, it felt like something had been torn out of your chest. You had dedicated yourself to serving this man, thrown your confidence and dignity on an altar and sacrificed it to him, but he had deigned to not even treat you with a modicum of respect outside of playtime.

Never again.

“Never mind, sir. My mouth ran away from me for a moment.”

His right hand rose to cup your jaw, and his fathomless eyes searched yours.

“You are the only thing real in this world, you know that?”

Your thumb stroked his sharp cheekbones and Dolos sighed. He quickly gathered you up in his arms and crushed you into his chest. You froze, unsure what he planned to do. 

“Fuck,” he said. “What are you doing to me?”

You gazed into the fire lapping at the stone of the fireplace, snapping and crackling. What the hell was he doing to you? Dolos was the first dom in years to make so weak—so attached.

He gave a bitter laugh.

“I came here for control.”

Burying his face into your hair, he inhaled deeply like you would disappear in thin air.

“So why are you taking it away from me?”

Wednesday January 29th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

3 PM HKT

You sighed and played mindlessly with your pen as the clock ticked forward. Sicheng had gone to the bathroom before your quick progress check with him which left you to scrutinize his office.

If there was one word to describe his office, it would be monotonous. White, black, and red with no personal effects in sight. The only thing that made the space not some page from a design catalogue was the simple calligraphy painting bearing a proverb in harsh, strong strokes.

人算不如天算.

Man proposes and god disposes.

Huh. Funny, for a man whom you thought was fettered by nothing but himself.

The scroll painting was also dead set in the middle of room, with two dark bookshelves flanking it. In fact, everything in the room was perfectly symmetrical. The two chairs faced the desk straight on. There were two pens that stood side by side, unnaturally neat at the center of his desk. Even his recycling bin was perfectly in the center of two tables—

A ball of paper, different from the other stark white sheets in the bin, caught your eye. Weirdly enough, the paper broke the bizarre, polished neatness of the room by laying on the floor adjacent to the bin.

Insatiable curiosity gripped you in its clutches, and you bent down to pick up the odd bit of parchment.

Immediately, you felt the quality of the paper. It was heavy and smooth like silk, not something an individual wrote on casually. Hell, it was aged as well. What was Dong Sicheng doing with this?

Opening the crumpled paper (which had felt like it had been crumpled and straightened many times), you took a look at the contents of the paper.

Your own handwriting stared up at you mockingly.

Dropping the paper like it was a burning ember, you fell gracelessly to the carpeted floor. Your eyes widened and your hand clamped over your mouth to prevent you from gasping.

No. That could not be Dove’s letter. It couldn’t. It couldn’t because—

You heard muffled footsteps echoing coming down the hallway outside the office, and you scrambled off the floor and into your chair. Having no time to think, you stuffed the letter into your coat pocket.

“Y/N, thank you for waiting,” Sicheng greeted, striding confidently into his office.

His casual oxford and black trousers were a slap in the face. How could you not notice the similarities between Dolos and Sicheng? The way they walked, the way they talked, the way they looked at you.

With Sicheng, looking into his eyes was like gazing through a veil. Silhouettes and hints of something indiscernible danced in his eyes, alien to his warm demeanor. Looking into Dolos’ eyes was as if the veil had been lifted, naked and hungry desire running rampant and burning with its ferocity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide underneath his stare.

Even his forearms. The way they flexed as he lowered himself into his office chair and took one of the freakishly aligned pens in his sinuous fingers. You could see them twisting and rippling as he paddled your—

“Y/N?”

Your eyes refocused on Sicheng watching you intently, concern written on his face.

“N-no problem, really.”

You wanted to facepalm yourself. Your voice almost fucking cracked and sounded shy, like the twittering of the office girls around him. Fuck, where was your ice queen when you needed her?

A slight smile played upon his pink lips, and hell if you couldn’t imagine him calling you a little slut.

The informal progress meeting continued on in the same vein, you acting uncharacteristically bashful and him hiding his befuddled amusement badly.

The paper felt like it was a brand burning through your blazer pocket the rest of the day.

Love, your Darling Dove.

Friday January 31st, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

Friday night once again found him at Black’s, awaiting his weekly tête-á-tête with his darling Dove. But this time, he planned to make it different.

He restlessly toyed with the red, signature box embossed with gold etching. He had never spent this much money on something for someone other than his mother and older sister, but Dove once again compelled him. The necklace with gold filigree had a simple pendant of a blossom, its leaves done in malachite and its petals in iridescent opal. Sicheng imagined Dove in nothing but his necklace, her pretty lips contorted in a moan, and he instantly got hard again.

Fuck. He could not wait to get her to the Salon and kiss every inch of her skin, worshipping her with his mouth and his hands. And after, when she was sated and curled contentedly in his arms, he would ask to remove her mask.

And hopefully, she would say yes.

Then she would be his.

His mouth salivated at the thought, his heart beating just a tiny bit faster at the thought of untying the ribbon of her grey mask and the stupid lace falling down so he could bask in her features. A thousand different features flashed before his eyes, each one as perfect than the next.

Y/N’s cold gaze flashed unbidden before his eyes.

Sicheng’s teeth clenched until he couldn't feel his tongue. As much as he’d like to put her in her rightful place, why was she in his thoughts? Dove was perfect and submissive to his whims, and he was about to make her his. Y/N had no business being even a passing thought.

Although, she acted quite off this week. She was her normal, bitchy self around the office, ruthlessly demanding results while everyone obeyed in a mixture of fear and awe, but Y/N was almost… shy.

She refused to look him straight in the eye, even if, in the past, she had no problem getting all up in his face. Her posture was slumped and hesitant, her hands twiddled and twitched in his presence.

While he liked it a bit more than he should, this was not the Y/N he knew. He had no idea what made her like this and it made him... uncomfortable. Did he do something?

“Dolos, sir.”

He looked up from his broody contemplation into the fire and to the distinguished, older man’s face. This was not some errand boy, this was the owner of the damn establishment. Sir Theodore Lau himself.

“Mr. Lau, nice to see you,” he said, rising up to greet him properly.

“Quite well, and you?”

“In good spirits.”

Mr. Lau’s face took on a pained expression.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Lau?”

The usually unflappable gentleman looked discomfited. “You… I have received this. For you.”

Sicheng cautiously took the letter from Lau’s hands, and broke the wax seal to the aged vellum inside

    Dear Dolos,

   I am sorry you could not receive the contents of this letter in person, but circumstances have not allowed for it.

   Dolos, I’m sorry to inform you I am no longer a patron of Black’s and consequently not your submissive anymore. No, it is not an issue of money. Neither have I been treated untowardly in this establishment. No, I have had to leave because of some personal conflicts.

   I have had the best six months of my life with you. You have made me feel comfortable in my submission, with no shame or judgement in those eyes of ours. I looked forward to our Friday rendezvous, embarrassingly eager for when I could be in your arms again. But that shall sadly never happen again.

   Please do not get angry, but if our six months together meant anything to you, please do not seek me out. It’s best for the both of us.

   Thank you master,

   Dove

Sicheng could only gape at the paper, the letters rerunning and jumbling in his mind until they were all a blur. He could literally feel the blood freezing in his veins and the unnatural stillness he was stuck in.

“She… she said she was sorry. Very sorry.”

Mr. Lau could have been speaking gibberish for all he cared, because Sicheng could not hear anything other than the pounding of his blood.

“What the fuck,” Sicheng hissed after a long time of not speaking.

Mr. Lau could only look on piteously. Sicheng’s face was grotesquely beautiful in the firelight, highlighting his angelic features contorted tortuously. The owner had never seen such raw, unfiltered emotion from Sicheng— from anyone in his life, really. This was the face of a man who had the rug taken out from beneath his feet.

He put a fatherly hand on Sicheng’s shoulder. Lau had known the boy since the boy was an adolescent and a submissive had never left him in such a state.

“We have other girls—men as well—who would be more than happy to serve you tonight—”

“I don’t want to fuck tonight,” Sicheng seethed, brushing the older man’s hand off roughly. “I don’t want any of them. I want Dove.”

How could she do this? Just leave him high and dry with just a letter and unforgettable memories? He thought they were more.

Evidently not, Sicheng thought bitterly.

However, something was off in the letter. There were blotches of water around the page and even in the handwriting, as if a droplet had smeared the page. Of perhaps, a tear.

“Can I meet with you privately in your office?” Sicheng said lowly after he got his rage under control.

Mr. Lau sighed. “Of course. Come along.”

Sicheng refused his invitation to sit, but did accept a finger of bourbon. He took a sip, contemplated the glass in his hand, and hurled it at the wall.

Mr. Lau jumped out of his chair, shocked. “Sicheng, those glasses were from my grandfather!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Like air suddenly leaving a balloon, Sicheng deflated and collapsed into the armchair. The blond youth rubbed a hand over his tired face.

“May I ask you for a favor, Mr. Lau?”

The man, inspecting the now ruined silk wallpaper, snorted. “Unless you replace my decanter set, no.”

Sicheng waved a careless hand. “Consider it done. 1890s, correct? I’ll even pay for the cleaning service.”

Harrumphing, the owner sat in his office chair and steepled his fingers. “So, what may I do for you?”

Sicheng’s burning eyes turned towards him.

“Tell me who Dove is.”

Mr. Lau winced. “Anything but that Sicheng, anything. Not her identity.”

“Well, say goodbye to your father’s decanter set, then,” Sicheng murmured petulantly.

“I can live with that. However, I will never disclose her identity— or anyone’s, for that matter.”

“Please, you don’t understand. I need her.”

Oh, how beautiful he looked like this. A tortured angel materialized from a Michaelangelo painting.

Mr. Lau felt all his years weighing him all at once, and two sides of him warred.

“I’m sorry, but no matter how good your intentions are, I personally and legally cannot do that.”

“Even though my family and I have been patrons of the club for decades?”

“Even then. You know this.”

The blond man’s eyes shifted to the side, and his jaw tightened. His knuckles grew white clutching the wood armrests of the chair he sat in.

“Fuck this!” he shouted, suddenly throwing the chair back with a resounding clash. He motioned to stomp his way out of the room, but Mr. Lau’s voice stopped him.

“She’s a good girl, Sicheng. If she wanted to be found by you, she would’ve.”

Sicheng grasped the door and said ominously, “I will not accept this. Never.”

The older gentleman sighed, and took in the destruction a man’s broken heart had left in its wake.

*cackles evilly* to be continued...

#nct #nct smut #winwin #nct x reader #sicheng #winwin x reader #neowritingsnet #sicheng x reader #johnny #taeil #taeyong #jaehyun #yuta #haechan #mark #kpop fics #kpop imagine #cznnet #lucas #hendery #kun

[prophecydungeon]

watched the haikyuu S4 dub this week(end) and it was super good tbh! 

it sucks in general that dubs get a bad/weird reputation in the US, and it also sucks that anime VAs are so sorely underpaid, but imo all dubbing (not just anime) is deeply undervalued in the US (see recent articles re: dub VAs being paid $150-$300 total for their work on a season) because the US does not consume foreign media and it really shows

it’s bullshit on a lot of levels but especially on the level that everyone in the US just magically expects everything to be in english, and when it’s not, then you get fuckos reacting like they did to parasite requiring people to (gasp) read subtitles. anglophones have never had to watch a movie with a lektor and i, for one, think everyone should have that experience BUT this is a larger conversation on anglocentrism and monolingualism and i’m here to talk about the volleyball anime

so first off i want to say that i’ve watched the entire series over in japanese a slightly embarrassing amount of times, so my first impression was mostly just that jarring feeling of “wait, different voices” even though i watched bits and pieces of the S1 and S2 dub, but once i got past that, everyone’s voices were really fitting.

my biggest fear was that the S4 newcomers were going to be underwhelming since they’re some of my faves in the series, and this was a slightly founded fear considering that ushijima’s dub voice just does not work for me and the S4 cast has some. like. energies. HOWEVER, hoshiumi’s VA knocked it out of the fucking park and 100% matched the level of unhinged™ that was necessary there, and sakusa’s voice was very different but not terrible by any means; a bit low-energy and raspy as opposed to, like, the “you’re not worth raising my voice” energy in japanese, but the “WHO ARE THEY, WHAT YEAR, WHAT POSITION” bit was really fucking funny because it veered straight into, like, a snooty/mocking tone, and that was that for our boy’s (checks notes) five whole lines in this season

i’ll get to That Bastard in particular in a sec but i truly cannot express the SHEER VINDICATION that i was given by inarizaki not having southern accents. this is legitimately going to fuel me for YEARS to come. the thing about regional accents is that there is never, EVER a one-to-one comparison because. like. languages and cultures are different. you can’t just map one regional variety onto another. it fundamentally does not work like that. overwhelmingly, a “vague” southern american english (i.e., ain’t + -ing-dropping + hodgepodge of other features) is used for “insert non-english regional variety” purely because it’s a highly marked form of american english and it’s done without any regard for the broader american social perception of the overall group of varieties, and without any regard for how the original variety (kinki group of dialects) is perceived among its matrix society. tl;dr IT SUCKS, IT’S LAZY, NO ONE (me) WANTS THIS, and it leads to fandom branding characters like this (all of inarizaki in this case) as “hicks” and [screams into hands]

(firstly: you know who’s canonically from BFE? all of karasuno. they are literally, textually (affectionately) called country bumpkins. they did the equivalent of looking at an office building and going “holy shit is that the empire state building”)

(secondly: inarizaki vs karasuno was called an “east vs west showdown” so what it should have been was karasuno repping western massachusetts and inarizaki with the most obnoxious and incomprehensible socal broness.) 

so inarizaki’s voices: all good. VERY good. kita was soft-spoken in a different way from the subs, but really good, and the one thing in the entire dub that really gave me pause was that aran was localized as alan -- and i didn’t realize that in the jpn manga his name is actually アラン so... that really just makes me wonder why it’s aran in the english manga when it was clearly meant to like, actually be alan all along. (fucky-wucky on their part ig??) suna had really good “you can’t make me give a shit” energy that was a truly incredible contrast to atsumu in particular, aran was just as excitable as the subs, very good all around.

the twins knocked it out of the park. i literally have nothing more to say. they were both SO fucking good. i’ll get into Bastardo in a bit but osamu had a particular type of intensity that really worked, again especially in contrast to atsumu, and vibed well alongside aran and suna as, like, the Normal Ones.

localization is obvs not and should not be one-to-one, so i expected some changes to the lines even aside from, you know, what must have been changed while translating the manga to english, AND SO here is a selection of the moments that i really liked (scraped from discord) for reasons including (but not limited to): clownery, Good Words, idiocy, vibes, etc.

kageyama: i’ll see you from the top.

this one made me Feel Something. the implicit assumption that hinata is gonna meet him at the top is. Something.

tsukishima: how stupid are you?! hinata: well, i didn't wanna get arrested.

tendou’s hyena laugh when hinata says he crashed the camp

when hinata goes 🥺 and goshiki falls in love with him

kindaichi: why are you like this? hinata: 👁👁 like what

kageyama: so, uh, tell me something - what was it you meant before, calling me goody-two-shoes? atsumu: hmm? exactly what it sounds like. you're serious, obedient, and a real good boy.

reader, the delivery on this.

in the subs, atsumu’s response is kinda matter of fact, and “hey don’t overthink it, it wasn’t a diss, we’re cool” and this was. 😳

kageyama: if you want to, you can fly even higher.

it’s something about the “if you want to” that just (clenches fist) you know

kageyama: so when you jump, it's like [very high-pitched] bo-boing~! hinata, in response to further explanation: [thinking] not that this is new, but his sound effects game is super weak.

they don’t even have the capacity to share the brain cell.

kageyama: if i know you, you can jump even higher.

once again: it’s something about the “if i know you”

komori: [extremely nonchalant]  he's hiding over there, absolutely hates crowds, surprised he hasn't fainted yet

bokuto: well, well, seems like my number-one pupil made it here, after all! akaashi: hinata, when he's an ass, you can tell him to shut up.

extra: that's bokuto from fukuroudani... he seems like kind of a nutjob.

atsumu: interesting... that's not the look [kageyama] had back at the intensive. some scary stuff. and then... [lowers voice] who is this guy?

again. delivery. my good dude.

atsumu’s horrible little gremlin laugh when he stuffs the kagehina quick

ukai: ginger and not-ginger, settle down! don’t get so worked up!

every time in this season that kuroo looks at kenma with the most wrenchingly adoring look on his face

yaku: 😒 this isn't the time to be reminiscing about how much your underclassman has grown. kuroo: whatever, yaku, y'ever heard of feelings before?

atsumu: man, doesn't it feel great to get an ace on a serve? especially against strong players! 😌 aran, suna et al: 😶 suna: ...there it is. atsumu: huh? what? suna: i'm talking about how you can be... the way i'd put it is "shockingly inconsiderate," sometimes. atsumu: [150% energy] WHAT? EXCUSE ME? HOW DARE YOU-

atsumu: what's wrong with calling a piece of trash a piece of trash? osamu: look in the mirror some time, dumbass! atsumu: oh just go live in a dumpster where you belong—

atsumu take your own advice challenge

also, suna cackling in the background

osamu: when it comes to skill, we're equal. atsumu: [loudly] naaaaah, everyone knows i'm better— osamu: would you let me finish?! it's just- you love volleyball. (quietly, firmly) you do. and you love it more than me.

ok this is one of the changes i really, REALLY liked. in the subs (and manga) osamu says “you love volleyball more than i do” in a kind of... jokingly grudging way? like he’s loath to admit that atsumu does something More than him, but his meaning is clear anyways. whereas the way it’s phrased in the dub (and the delivery!!!!) just came off as a very sweet sibling moment and i really loved it

suna: i'm really amazed that you set a ball from that low. you could just go underhanded. atsumu: [slightly frustrated] no i couldn't, because i'm a setter, and it's my job to set. i'm responsible for getting the ball to the best spot. suna: ...so? atsumu: so, underhand, i only have my two arms. (growing more excited) overhand, i've got ten fingers. i want the most contact points to get better support. (audibly excited) 'cause i'm a setter!

i think this is about my favorite change -- i love the way that this is a frustrated rebuttal (i know what you’re trying to say and you’re wrong), and it really works for atsumu as a character

inarizaki’s coach: if yesterday satisfies us, what happens tomorrow?

ALSO a change i really love -- i can’t remember the original word for word rn, but this change is just so good in light of “we don’t need memories”

osamu: he plays volleyball like he’d starve without it.

again, good change. original was (iirc) “he plays volleyball like he’s eating a good meal” but something about this phrasing just feels so much more... primal?

atsumu: ha! osamu: hmm? what's up? atsumu: [audibly worked up] it's not because he believes in the setter, he just knows - he knows that the ball will come to him. he just assumes they'll get him the ball! atsumu: [thinking] you have my condolences, kageyama. that is one. terrifying. partner. you've got there. osamu: and what's so weird about that? atsumu: [groans loudly] all of you need to stop and think some more about other peoples' feelings! osamu: [scoffs] that's funny from a heartless bastard like you. atsumu: I WAS NOT MAKING A JOKE.

idiots.

the delivery on “one terrifying partner”

atsumu: i promise you this: i’m gonna be setting to you one day.

[lies facedown on the floor] it’s fine

akaashi: you can't underestimate january. bokuto: what? it's january?!

in conclusion i still want to crush atsumu like a tin can (derogatory) (affectionate) but somehow it’s even worse now

#haikyuu!! #i never made a fuckoff huge post about this series when i first read it so i was truly overdue #me: (sits down to work on fic) let's make a quick Poast first

[speciesofleastconcern]

What would happen if the southern United States declared their secession from the union and created a Confederacy 2.0 in 2021 and they declared that Donald Trump was their president?

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE THIRTY HOURS’ WAR (slightly updated)

9:27 AM: Governor Greg Abbott announces a surprise press conference to be held at noon. The Texas State Capitol is a whirlwind of activity, but no one will explain. Journalists stationed in the capitol buildings of several other Southern states notice a sudden fever of activity, but again, no word on what is taking place.

12:07 PM: Abbott enters the press room, faces the cameras, and delivers a speech televised around the world—a speech that makes the assembled journalists gasp.

“I have been in private communication with the governors of several other Southern states for the past few weeks, and we have an announcement of great consequence. I may announce that we are of one accord, united in our purpose, not without sorrow, and yet filled with pride and determination at the step we are undertaking this day. We are a free people, we Texans, and we wish only to live according to our traditional laws and the laws of a just and righteous God. For too long have we put up with abuse and threats from the Federal government in Washington, that hotbed of liberal elites and so-called “experts” who believe that they know better than we know what freedom truly consists of. It has gone on for too long, and we shall not continue any further. President Trump fought for our rights; the lies of the liberal media brought him down; but when one man lets the stainless banner fall, other hands must take it up, as we have done this day.

“The Lone Star State is the first star in the heavens of a new constellation of freedom and liberty—the first of the New Confederated States of America. We hereby announce the severing of all ties to the Washington government, and ask only to be allowed to depart in peace to seek our own liberty and prosperity.

“We are the first, but not alone. Governor Asa Hutchinson of Arkansas, Governor Tate Reeves of Mississippi, Governor Kevin Stitt of Oklahoma, and Governor Ron DeSantis of Florida have joined with me in forming a new nation, conceived in liberty with God as our vindicator, with each State acting in its sovereign and independent character. The governors of Louisiana, Missouri, Tennessee, Alabama, and South Carolina are considering our proposal now, but a great groundswell of support is coming from the citizens of these states. We trust that they will soon join us.

“We hereby announce that all Federal property within the boundaries of our state, including all national parks and forests, Indian reservations, and military bases, is forfeit to our state government. Orders have gone out to the Texas State Guard and State Police to secure these properties, and they are backed by thousands of citizen militia forces who have mobilized have taken up arms to secure what is rightfully ours. For freedom and justice for ourselves and our descendants, invoking the favor and guidance of Almighty God, we pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”

12:17 PM: The President of the United States is whisked from a routine meeting with the Department of Agriculture to an emergency meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

12:31 PM: Emergency orders are issued to cancel all civilian flights to the states of Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and Mississippi. All inbound flights are ordered to divert immediately, leading to crowded and difficult scenes at airports such as Wichita, Albuquerque, Denver, St. Louis, and Cleveland.

1:47 PM: Chaos reigns on Interstates 10 and 40 and smaller highways, as thousands of Texas motorists flee for the New Mexico border, only to be stopped by armored New Mexico National Guard units, reinforced by heavily armed troops from Fort Bliss. Motorists fleeing eastward are stopped by the Louisiana National Guard, backed up with troops from Fort Polk. Motorists heading north towards Kansas or east through Arkansas also report blockades.

3:12 PM: There are reports of rioting in Austin and Houston, as columns of unregulated militia march or ride through urban neighborhoods where protests are expected. No one knows or will admit who shot first, but neighborhoods are soon ablaze, and fire trucks that attempt to reach the fires report being shot at. In other cities and towns, a watchful, tense quiet prevails as everyone awaits the next announcement. Footage of the riots and attacks is widely disseminated on social media.

4:29 PM: A column of militia in assorted vehicles approaches Fort Hood to demand its surrender. Seeing the main gates deserted, the lead vehicle drives onto the fort, and the driver, 47-year-old Braxton Beauregard, hoists the Lone Star Confederate flag over the guardhouse.

4:29:17 PM: The guardhouse, the flag, and the first ten vehicles of the convoy are simultaneously obliterated by Hellfire missiles. The remaining vehicles beat a hasty retreat to Killeen, although not before seven more vehicles are wiped out. That evening at the local Whataburger, one of the traumatized survivors is heard to mumble, “well, shit, this may be tougher than we thought.”

5:25 PM: The President emerges from his meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and gives a brief address to the nation. It’s short on details. He says only that he has been fully briefed on the situation and is deeply troubled, but is considering his legal options, and will provide a full reply to Governor Abbott’s announcement tomorrow morning. He pleads for calm and prays for peace and unity. The country remains on edge.

1:37 AM: Fort Hood’s gates open.

2:12 AM: A lone C-17 Globemaster III makes a pass over Austin, Texas, at 30,000 feet. Similar aircraft pass over Little Rock, Arkansas; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; and Jackson, Mississippi. Their flight paths are later traced to Fort Benning.

6:48 AM: Journalists based in Austin report seeing a huge column of tanks and trucks moving into the city on Interstate 35, as helicopters fly cover.

7:24 AM: Tanks have surrounded the Texas State Capitol. The skies are torn by noise as F-15s and F-18Es fly combat air patrols over the city; they hold their fire for now. Heavily armored infantry patrols deploy onto the streets, although they, too, hold their fire and simply observe.

7:37 AM: A unit of unorganized militia patrolling the streets of Austin encounters soldiers from III Corps Special Troops Battalion on the corner of 14th and Guadalupe Street. One of the militiamen raises his AR-15 and fires at the troops, slightly wounding one soldier.

7:37:15 AM: Six militia members are killed or wounded in the ensuing firefight. Survivors are spotted fleeing towards the 7–11 convenience store on 15th Street, where it seems their commander has set up his base.

7:42:37 AM: The 7–11 convenience store on 15th Street is struck by multiple Hellfire missiles. Scenes like this play out all day throughout the capital city, with minor variations. By noon, few militia are willing to advertise their presence; discarded weapons and body armor can be found on the streets as erstwhile militiamen try to blend back into the general population.

8:31 AM: A group of Army Rangers exit the Texas Governor’s Mansion, escorting a handcuffed Governor Greg Abbott to a waiting flight of HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopters that have materialized on the lawn.

9:17 AM: Several other Texas state officials are removed from the State Capitol or other government buildings by Rangers and escorted to waiting helicopters. Similar scenes are playing out in Oklahoma City and Little Rock and Jackson.

9:19 AM: An emergency press conference is held in Houston. The Hon. Sherry Radack, Chief Justice for the 1st District Court of Appeals in Houston, announces that under the line of succession as spelled out in the Texas state constitution, it appears that she is now the governor. Choking back tears, she announces the immediate cessation of hostilities, pleads for citizens to put down their weapons, orders the surrender of all State Guard forces, and expresses eagerness to remain a part of the United States.

11:10 AM: The governors of Louisiana, Missouri, and Tennessee deny any knowledge of Texas's plan, announce that their states will not be joining Texas, and pledge their states’ loyalty to the Federal government. At about the same time, the governor of Florida announces that his state’s inclusion in the list of seceding states was entirely the fault of unnamed “liberal agitators,” that he never agreed to leave the Union, and that despite all their differences of opinion he has pledged his state’s loyalty to the Federal government. Rumors that Navy SEALS were aiming at him from concealed firing positions as he was making this profession of loyalty were never substantiated.

12:37 PM: The President appears again on TV, thanking the loyal units of the US military, who have executed “a textbook counterinsurgency mission with minimal loss of life and destruction of property.” He assures the people that order will be restored and life will return to normal as soon as possible, and states that steps are already underway to restore the state governments. He promises to bring the rebels who actually took up arms to justice, while proposing that Congress immediately establish a bipartisan Truth and Reconciliation Commission to reintegrate the rebel states into the US as smoothly as possible. (He does not say this, but commentators note that with the sudden disappearance of Congressional delegations from the rebel states, he should have the votes to get what he wants.) He ends his speech by pleading once again for peace, adding that “I understand the despair and anger and paranoia that many Americans feel—but this is not the way to express those. Let us come together as one nation, one people, united by our devotion to the principles of democracy and liberty, from sea to shining sea. God bless America!” (Fun fanfic from quora)

#alternate history #mess with texas

[mycosmicvoid]

The Real Kentucky Goblin Case, “Hellier,” and Interdimensional Beings

“Remember, something really did happen that night! Enjoy + Believe!” writes Geraldine Sutton Stith on the inside cover of my copy of her book, “Alien Legacy.”[1] Geraldine is the daughter of Elmer “Lucky” Sutton, and “Alien Legacy” is an account of, as she autographed, what “really did happen” on the night of August 21st, 1955, better known as “the Kelly Hopkinsville UFO case,” “the invasion of the Kelly Green Men” or simply: “the Hopkinsville goblin case.” Through reading her family’s story after I thought I knew it well enough, I felt my own compulsion to vindicate them, just as she does. In the prologue, she asks the reader to “see if you can feel and possibly understand what this family went through. And with that being said, this is my story, this was what was left for me. This is my legacy.”[1]

As the reader you can’t help but feel a bit of guilt thinking about the constant fetishization of real stories existing in real family lineage, UFO-related or not. However, sentimentality aside, I was determined to know the real story. First, the set-up of events in the book were slightly confusing, as I previously was not aware of exactly who everyone was. Geraldine is the daughter of Lucky and Glorine (who was not present, although his current wife at the time, Vera, was). Lucky and his friend Billy Ray were the two to battle the creatures that invaded the property that night after Billy Ray witnessed something “round and metallic”[1] fly across the sky followed by a streak of rainbow light. Lucky’s mom was called Miss Glennie, June is Billy Ray Taylor’s wife, JC is Lucky’s brother, Alene is his wife, O.P. is Alene’s brother, and Lonnie, Charlton and Mary are Glennie’s children and Lucky’s little siblings from her second marriage, who were all present that night.

The first I heard of this case was in the first episode of “Hellier”[2]- After all, it was the very case that influenced the crew to follow their email lead, which happens to be a plea from a man named “David Christie” (in quotations as it is now understood to be an alias), asking for help from Greg Newkirk and his paranormal hunting group, as little creatures have allegedly been harassing his family. Greg acknowledges the similarities and differences between the descriptions of creatures in David and the Suttons’ story: David’s were “the size and stature of a small child, devoid of any facial features save for large, oily eyes and lipless mouths. They frighten my children by peering through their bedroom windows, chirping at one another. They actively attempt to enter my home… I assure you [they] are not ‘wild animals.’”[2] He claims his daughter witnessed them playing together in the yard, and called them “‘bald like grandpa and weren’t wearing any clothes.’”[2] When he finally “witnessed” them for himself, David describes a “chirping” sound, “much like a skunk, if more guttural,”[2] and a “small, humanoid figure, with sickly pale skin, completely hairless...”[2] In the last correspondence with Greg before disappearing and deleting his email account, David sends pictures of a three-toed footprint[2] allegedly found on his property and claims he is fleeing.

The “Hellier” crew never claimed that the creatures from the two stories were the same - just too similar to ignore. Geraldine doesn’t go as far into detail with physical description, however I have not read her other works. The one I did read describes the creatures as “a figure standing about three feet tall.”[1] “It glowed, and as it got closer, they could see that it had its arms in the air as if to surrender.”[1] It looked as if it had “two huge eyes that glowed yellow”[1] and “its legs weren’t moving; it seemed to float on top of the ground!”[1] The men would shoot at them, and “it sounded like a metal bucket being hit…” They explained to the police that the “little men” were “one color all over except for the glowing eyes”[1] and they had “a luminous glow, but when a light hit them, it changed to a dull metallic.”[1] The glow “got brighter when they were shot at or yelled at,”[1] and Lucky thought this may be their way of responding. Unless I had let the detail slip by, Geraldine makes no mention of the creatures chirping, or any sound. Moreover, these creatures made no effort to enter the house despite the windows and doors being open, and made no effort to physically hurt the family - they seemed to be toying with them, by returning unaffected after being shot at, touching Billy Ray’s hair, scratching the roof, and peering twice into the living room window. As terrified as the family was, Miss Glennie felt no need for Lucky to be shooting at them: “I don’t think they’re here to hurt us. Didn’t you all see how they were holding their arms up in the air? I think they are as much afraid of us as we are of them.”[1] In David’s case, the creatures went so far as to allegedly take his dog and break into his home.

Greg mentions the term “goblin” as a label witnesses used due to having no other way to identify the creatures.[2] Lucky thought they “look like some kind of little goblin or demon!”[1] and in Billy Ray’s response to Glennie wanting to see what the two men saw, he exclaims, “I hope that God-awful thing went back to whatever deep dark depths it came from!”[1] Despite Greg mentioning that the family thought they were from outer space[1], all Geraldine mentions (in this account, at least) is that the family knew for sure the creatures were “not of this Earth,”[1] but also clarifies that since they were deemed goblins or demons, “I guess at first it was easier to think that they were something from hell than from another planet.”[1] Another factor regarding the description of the “goblins” was that they were silver/metallic, not green. Early writing describing them as “little green men” stuck, and this infuriated Lucky; he wanted every detail to be told as it happened. In fact, early police drawings of the goblins display very large, pointy ears,[2] however this is another detail not mentioned in “Alien Legacy.” The morning after the attack, the family decided to try and carry on as normal. Billy Ray went hunting nearby with a friend while Lucky, JC and O.P. went to Evansville, and because Billy Ray was the first to return home, he was the first to hit the interviewers’ notepads. As everyone seemed frustrated with repeating themselves and not being taken seriously, he seemed to be enjoying the attention. Lucky came home to Billy giving a description that was slightly different, and he was being “a little more colorful than the rest.”[1] Billy’s descriptions were starting to be “a little more than what they seemed,”[1] much to Glennie and Lucky’s disapproval. This part of the story, to me, feels like an important detail often looked over, and because I hadn’t seen or read much of the story apart from what was described in “Hellier” until now, I assumed the large protruding ears were part of Billy Ray’s fabrication. Upon searching the drawings with captions included from Bud Ledwith (announcer from Hopkinsville radio station WHOP) who interviewed the family, Lucky, JC and O.P.’s goblin[3] did have “ears,” however much smaller and less pointed than Billy Ray’s.[4] In a correspondence between Greg and Geraldine, described in a 2015 article by Greg, Greg actually proposes, “...What if the creatures’ ears aren’t actually ears at all? What if they were part of a helmet? In fact, what if the creatures were in some kind of a suit? It would make sense of the glowing eyes and the tin-can sound when Lucky and Billy Ray shot at them.”[5] This was slightly strange to me, as the article does not mention Geraldine’s reply regarding the ears and suit, or it is possible she didn’t have one. However, it is explicitly quoted in “Alien Legacy” (published in 2007) that when Lucky was describing the goblins to police, he explained that “their body surface looked like skin, not a suit.”[1] If they also had the luminous glow that got brighter when shot at, their “suit” would be a little more visible in the moments they were hit. Nevertheless, Greg had an incredibly interesting theory: that the Kelly goblins had goggles and a helmet, but had evolved enough not to need them by the time they reached David’s house 60 years later, which is assumed to be directly connected to the 1955 location by the underground Mammoth Cave System.

Super-specific story details, while important, were not the main point of Geraldine’s retelling. She focuses largely on the aftermath of psychological and social torture the family endured after the incident. Like many cases, and despite its popularity now, it was swept under the rug, given the label of a hoax, and/or brushed off with multiple “reasonable” explanations. When hearing the many different versions of the story, it is assumed that when the family sought help from the Hopkinsville police, only the Chief and a few officers were called to investigate. Chief Russell Greenwell was the current Chief, and he contacted the Madisonville headquarters of Kentucky State Police, all state troopers available, and Fort Campbell Army Base, from which four military police were dispatched. Christian County Sheriff’s office also sent a deputy sheriff, and plenty of others showed up at the scene, including a hoard of residents from the surrounding area. Chief Greenwell apparently had mentioned that Air Force intelligence from Fort Campbell were present, but according to “Alien Legacy,” 1975 Blue Book documents state that the incident was never officially reported to the Air Force. Geraldine wonders, “There was no official investigation ever made… But if there was no investigation made, how was it possible to get copies of the investigation?!”[1] The government’s general response was that there was an issue of credibility. Glennie was described as a God-fearing woman who never wanted to do wrong in the eyes of God - she didn’t even want the two young men shooting at the creatures. “Glennie Lankford would not lie… And she certainly wouldn’t have raised her children to tell false stories.”[1] “Was it a lack of credibility because Billy Ray and Lucky worked for the carnival?... It was said they made up the tale from something they had heard before… Was it because the carnival traveled and they probably heard all kinds of tales?... They didn’t want any kind of publicity, and they definitely didn’t make any kind of profit from this story.”[1] Geraldine wonders if they were treated this way because they were poor and not well educated. “How does being poor and uneducated make you less honest? How many rich ‘honest’ people do you know?”[1] The Sutton property was littered with people from the moment the family returned from seeking help. It is often told that the morning after the incident was chaotic and crowded, but it lasted far longer than this - the commotion did not slow down for weeks after that night. Often mentioned in articles is the fact that the family began charging admission, but according to Geraldine, this was their method of keeping people away as not many had money to spare at the time. “[The Suttons] never collected one penny. This made people think that it was all a big hoax after all, and it just made things worse for the family.”[1] People ignored their wishes and privacy, continuing to camp overnight at the property, walking into the home, and even taking things.

To add to this, I personally do not understand why the story is deemed “the Hopkinsville goblin case,” as the family property was in Kelly, Kentucky. The family drove about 8 miles to the Hopkinsville police station to ask for help, and drove back with police (except for June, who was terrified and refused to ride back until later), where the goblins had apparently fled before the family returned. A version of the story that I’ve come across explains the “battle” as something more urgent, where police were called and arrived to join a shootout with goblins. The police found nothing and didn’t return until the next day, however the goblins did return, peered at Glennie through the window at 3:30am, and the battle continued until 5:15am, when they disappeared with the darkness of night. The Kelly goblin case was actually featured in season 2, episode 4 of History Channel’s “Project Blue Book,” but to my disappointment, it adhered to the narrative that maybe the witnesses had too much to drink on a hot night and hallucinated the creatures. When the police checked the Sutton house the night of the invasion, “it was suggested that they check for alcohol. None was found; nothing was found to suggest that there had been anything wrong going on there that night. The family was asked all kinds of questions, and they all stuck to the same story.”[1] “Miss Glennie didn’t believe in drinking or smoking or any of the bad things you could do to your body.”[1] 

The way “Hellier” describes the Sutton story was just their general way of conveying the similarities to David’s email, and in no way am I attempting to pick apart their details or “prove” them differently. I think they did a wonderful job making the connections, and I can say with good confidence that the series changed my life. However, I would like to point out that a large part of the stories mentioned in the series was the downright terrifying detail of the goblins terrorizing the children. While explaining Geraldine’s story, Greg reports that the goblins were “were looking in the windows, especially at the children,”[2] and compares it to David’s claims of the children being targeted and frightened of the creatures. It is often mentioned that the Sutton story is peculiar because all eleven family members had witnessed the goblins. According to “Alien Legacy,” “The children didn’t really see much, because they were hidden away in the back bedroom most of the night. All they really remembered was hearing the shouts and the gunshots.”[1] It is a possibility that the David email was a “creepypasta”-esque retelling of the Kelly case, in which he either overlooked the actual details, or made his story just different enough to pass as original, if it were meant to be a hoax after all.

Aside from all the misconceptions that undoubtedly come with stories like the Suttons’, the heartbreaking reality is that the family was forever haunted by not only the terror they experienced that night, but the everlasting public scrutiny and harassment. When Lucky and friends had to leave Glennie’s to go back to traveling for work, Glennie became worried that JC and O.P. wouldn’t be able to handle the situation like Lucky and Billy Ray could. She and her younger children moved to a Hopkinsville apartment, and she and JC sold the house to her niece and nephew. JC and Alene found a place to stay, but JC struggled with holding a job, the incident continuing to haunt him. Lucky refused to talk about it for years, but would occasionally tell his kids his story, realizing he “wouldn’t be with us forever.”[1] “The night changed his life, and the days after that made him bitter.”[1] Lucky passed in 1995, and Geraldine reveals to Greg that there are two other living relatives, but they refuse to talk because they were made fun of so much in the media.[2] “This family wasn’t only invaded by something possibly from another world, but by our own kind.”[1]

When the “Hellier” crew decided to do some “goblin hunting” in a sizzle reel for a separate production company, they went to Cave City, Kentucky, near the middle of the Mammoth Cave System. In a strange off-camera moment, a little girl approaches them and mentions excitedly that they’re monster hunters, and she replies that her parents, friends, and herself see “monsters” all the time. Jokingly, Greg asks if they’re under her bed. She replies, “No! They come out of the caves!”[2] She is asked to draw them, and first, strangely, she starts with feet that have three rounded toes,[6] incredibly similar to David’s footprint pictures, and to throw my hat in the ring: my sister’s drawing. The feet my sister drew[7] have four toes rather than three like these other two examples, but none of them show an existence of heels, and it’s uncanny. The child they met in Kentucky draws a head, with bulging round eyes and large ears.[8] My sister’s drawing also has these features[7], and so do the interview drawings from the Kelly goblin case.[3][4]

The second episode of “Hellier”[9] brings the crew to Hellier, Kentucky to investigate David’s claims and learn more about what these “goblins” really are. Documentaries like “The UFO Deception”[10] and “The UFO Conspiracy”[11] explain a bit about Jacques Vallee’s Interdimensional Hypothesis (IDH): Vallee speculated that beings that mask as aliens may be interdimensional rather than extraterrestrial, and that their appearance throughout history is planned to fit with cultural and religious perceptions of specific time periods (in 50’s religious Kentucky, a being with a description of “goblin” or “demon” fits perfectly into culture). Researchers that support IDH believe that beings that mask as aliens are not technically specifically from another planet, they are from other dimensions or realities that coexist alongside our own. With this hypothesis, Vallee compared UFOs to phenomena created by mythological creatures such as gnomes or faeries (that are also known to abduct). “Hellier” episode 2 documents the investigators asking the residents about local folklore and if they know of any stories or have seen anything strange themselves. Among the stories is the strange and all too common detail of hearing a baby’s cry coming from caves, where strange creatures are sighted most often. Greg’s wife and fellow crew member Dana begins making connections. Hearing crying babies “is a common thing that often happens around elementals or nature spirits.”[9] Greg interjects, “It feels very fairie-ish!”[9] and they mention that it “sounds like there’s a level of trickery there… Trying to trick you to go into a certain place, knowing how to play on human emotions to lead you to certain areas that you probably shouldn’t be in.”[9] Going back to Vallee, John Keel mentions Vallee’s term “metalogic” in his famed “The Mothman Prophecies,” explaining it as a concept suggesting that entities have a logic system different than ours, so when they try to explain something to humans, it ends up being absurd. However, either way, they have a need for deceit and urge to manipulate us through our beliefs or acceptances.[12] In short, they may create crying sounds to lure humans intentionally, knowing most humans would not ignore it. Keel is mentioned in “Hellier” as well, noting his concept of “audio hallucination” and his claim that the two most common sounds heard during times of high strangeness are a baby crying and car door slamming. Keel writes himself that since ultraterrestrials live outside of our space-time continuum, they fail to adjust, slowing speech and noises down or speeding them up too much.[12] They make all sorts of similar mistakes due to confusion of the time period, similar ideas to Vallee’s IDH. These theories point to possibilities that the “cries” could be malicious and intentional, but if not, they may be due to distorted attempts at communication or mimicking noises familiar to humans. The “Hellier” team decides to stay in Kentucky in a secluded cabin, and figure it makes the most sense to do some searching in their own backyard. Dana makes a general offering to earth elementals as she isn’t quite sure specifically what kind of entity they’re dealing with. Connor, another crew member, begins an experiment he and his ghost hunting partner Karl invented, the Estes Method.[13] It’s an incredible session for the group, but there was one part that stood out to me after reading “Alien Legacy.” Connor asks the entity in contact, “Who’s in the caves? Who’s in the mines?”[14] and it replies, “Talking rooster.” There is a second of confusion, then “it” follows up with, “No it’s not.” Everyone laughs, however this reminded me of the theories and explanations in response to the Sutton story. They all sounded ridiculous to Geraldine, except for one at first: the theory that the “little men” were actually eagle owls.[1] Could this entity be telling them that the creatures coming from the caves, and the ones seen in Kelly in 1955 are absolutely not owls? As mentioned above, it is believed that interdimensionals would have trouble communicating. Surely they would not be able to name every (if not any) specific animal by name with much ease. Later in the series, Dana performs a session with a device called a God Helmet[15], and senses that “they” communicate in what feels like colors or emotions, and only refer to a small database of English words.[16]

Regarding the type of creature goblins really are, I want to point out that they are not the only ones of their kind; they appear in folklore, UFO lore, cryptozoology and the practice of invoking elementals. Often when discussing goblins, I have noticed that John Keel and garudas are mentioned. Garudas are bird/human-like creatures popular in Hindu mythology, and he uses them to describe the bird-like creatures that plagued West Virginia from 1966-1967, which we have come to known as mothman sightings.[12] However, Keel does describe ikals: tiny black men endowed with the power of flight who live in caves and kidnap humans.[12] After Dana makes an offering to earth elementals in the cabin’s woods, they begin hearing wooden knocks. Greg decides to whistle to see if he would get a response, and he hears one back. Connor didn’t hear it as a whistle, but more like a “guttural croak” mimic,[14] immediately reminding me that David used “guttural” to describe the sounds his creatures made.[2] Later on, during Connor’s Estes Method session, Dana hears something peculiar: “It sounds like they’re throwing rocks the size of baseballs.”[14] This made me think of rock babies, popular folklore creatures in the Great Basin area that are faerie-like creatures with the ability to pass through rock. Apparently they are heard from caves, have the ability to steal human babies and replace them with non-human look-alikes, and will reward you with new skills (primarily musical) if you successfully enter their caves. At one point in their journey, the “Hellier” group enters a cave, and through the Estes Method, an entity instructs them to perform what they call “the tones,” a three-note melody, and “it” replies with “Very good,” when they sing it correctly.[17] This brings me to another connection: “faeliens,” a concept author Joshua Cutchin spoke on in an online lecture[18] to explain the ever-present connection between faerie and alien lore: for one, stature doesn’t have to be of a certain size. Light phenomenon is present in UFO, ghost, witch, and faerie lore (“faerie lights”). A sort of weapon/prop, or more commonly, “wands” are found in both alien and faerie lore. They are used to paralyze, which Joshua defines as being “faerie struck.” Both creatures worship the stars and are often seen as negative for not being directly connected to a certain religion, and they can fly, levitate other creatures or objects, and/or teleport. Faery rings and crop circles are not the same things, but both are very similar happenings. Faeries and aliens are both known to exist in underground habitats: “faerie land” is often considered to be underground or in caves, and the idea of underground bases has been a staple of alien lore or conspiracy. They are both popularly connected to animal mutilations and an obsession with children and reproduction. Changelings are a type of fae that are known to take children and replace them with sickly faerie babies (it has been a popular thought in culture that sickly children were deemed the evil work of changelings). This all connects to folklore creatures like rock babies, or the supposed alien obsession with human reproduction and creating alien/human hybrids. Along with many other similarities, alien and faerie lore share the common ability to create “missing time” for humans, and draw them to places (reflected in Dana’s concern with the crying sounds), an experience Joshua explains as being “pixy-led.” In “Hellier,” when discussing different terms that have been used for these specific “goblins” in question, Greg mentions tommyknockers.[2] Author Alexandra Chauran offers a kind of encyclopedia of elementals, and I found some interesting similarities in the descriptions. Knockers, black dwarves, coblynaus, gommes, paras, or wichlein, are earth elementals that dwell underground, popularly in European mines. They are short, seemingly appear out of thin air, enjoy making funny faces at people, and are named because they make knocking noises to communicate with miners. They “can be a friend or enemy”[19] depending on how they are treated, and if befriended, they will knock to warn miners of danger. They appreciate offerings, and dislike swearing or whistling (which would make sense of the croak in response to Greg’s whistle). Goblins do not necessarily match Alexandra’s description of gnomes, but I found two details especially interesting. Gnomes are earth elementals that “seek to understand the nature of earth’s molecules and with it, perform magic and alchemy,”[19] which is seemingly what the goblins in Kelly were doing when showing so much interest in the humans, floating, and deflecting bullets, almost like magic. They “experience time and space differently,”[19] which gives them the time to focus on “monitoring earth’s processes,”[19] but in her description, unlike the goblins, gnomes are not exclusively interested in humans. However, the concept of gnomes differing in time and space connects directly to Keel and Vallee’s breakdown of interdimensionals. Alexandra makes a point to mention that elementals can be dangerous, and one reason for this is the fact that they will often choose to stick to one person or place for a lifetime, (giving reason as to why the goblins stuck around the Mammoth Caves for so long) which can be detrimental as they have the ability to cause “negative real life events.”[19] This is a broad statement, but the series of events after the Kelly situation seemed to have tormented the Suttons forever, and belief in David’s story or not, he supposedly was traumatized enough to pack up and leave town.

As you can see, there are endless connections that can be made when discussing fringe topics, and maybe that’s why people have such a hard time accepting and understanding them. For example, Keel uses the term ultraterrestrial, and it can apply to a myriad of creatures, things, and phenomena. Joshua Cutchin, even when discussing “faeliens,” does not keep the discussion exclusively to faeries or aliens, and often even connects them to bigfoot lore. Everything makes more sense when you understand that it all, essentially, is interconnected. When the “Hellier” investigators venture to the woods surrounding their cabin, they have a moment of contemplation about what they’re really there looking for. Connor confidently tells Greg that it doesn’t matter - he received the email for a reason. “Maybe that’s this trip. Maybe that’s to find out what’s going on in this place.” Greg, seemingly more calm now, agrees: “Maybe it’s more than goblins. Maybe the goblins were just the key to getting people here… Maybe there is something stranger than goblins here. Or more important than goblins here.”[14] They soon realize that this rings true, but there is an overarching point here. It’s never really about the goblins. As the great Allen “F******” Greenfield says, you cannot chase one entity or phenomenon without researching and/or connecting everything, so: “Stop mistaking one phenomenon as the whole deal.”[20]

[1] Geraldine Sutton Stith, “Alien Legacy”

[2] “Hellier Season 1: Episode 1 | The Midnight Children”

“Goblin” print photo sent from “David Christie” to Greg Newkirk, as shown in Episode 1:

[3] “Little Men” as described by Elmer “Lucky” Sutton, JC Sutton, and O.P. Baker:

[4] “Little Men” as described by Billy Ray Taylor:

[5] “Return of the Kentucky Goblins: New Leads in a Case of Strange Creatures, Crashed UFOs, and the Men in Black” - Week in Weird

[6] Child’s “goblin” foot drawing:

[7] My little sister’s “goblin” drawing:

[8] Child’s “goblin” head drawing:

[9] “Hellier Season 1: Episode 2 | Ink and Black”

[10] “The UFO Deception” (2018)

[11] “The UFO Conspiracy” (2004)

[12] John A. Keel, “The Mothman Prophecies”

[13] The Estes Method

[14] “Hellier Season 1: Episode 3 | Trapped in a Maze”

[15] The God Helmet

[16] “Hellier Season 2: Episode 3 | Borderlands”

[17] “Hellier Season 2: Episode 6 | The Altar”

[18] This lecture is no longer publicly available, but you can find Joshua Cutchin here

[19] Alexandra Chauran, “Faeries & Elementals for Beginners: Learn About & Communicate with Nature Spirits”

[20] This lecture is no longer available, but you can find Allen Greenfield here

Elmer Sutton, John Sutton, and O.P. Baker

Kentucky Goblin, Greg Newkirk, Geraldine Sutton Stith, and Dana Newkirk (photo shown in “Hellier Season 1: Episode 1 | The Midnight Children”)

Handmade goblin by Geraldine alongside her book, “Alien Legacy”

Ufologist Ivan Sanderson with a scale model of a goblin

You can find the Alien Legacy website here

You can read the famed Kentucky New Era August 22, 1955 article here

#posts #hellier #kentuckygoblins #geraldinesuttonstith #hopkinsvilleky #davidchristie #gregnewkirk #alienlegacy #demons #mammothcavesystem #usairforce #projectbluebook #kellyky #jacquesvallee #idh #elementals #johnkeel #metalogic #ultraterrestrials #audiohallucination

[sciencespies]

Nude Statue Honoring 'Mother of Feminism' Mary Wollstonecraft Sparks Controversy

https://sciencespies.com/history/nude-statue-honoring-mother-of-feminism-mary-wollstonecraft-sparks-controversy/

Nude Statue Honoring 'Mother of Feminism' Mary Wollstonecraft Sparks Controversy

A statue honoring 18th-century Enlightenment philosopher Mary Wollstonecraft is attracting ire following its installation in London this week. Featuring a nude woman standing atop a twisted mass of female forms, the artwork quickly drew criticism from observers who viewed it as an inappropriate tribute to an intellectual often called the “mother of feminism.”

The silver-toned bronze sculpture, created by British artist Maggi Hambling, is located on Newington Green, Islington, close to where the author once lived. Its base is engraved with a quote from Wollstonecraft: “I do not wish women to have power over men, but over themselves.”

Speaking with the Guardian’s Alexandra Topping, feminist writer Caroline Criado-Perez, who previously led efforts to install a statue of suffragist Millicent Fawcett in London’s Parliament Square, says, “I don’t for a second want to take away from the huge effort that they put into doing this, it is an amazing achievement, but what a waste of all the hard work.”

She adds, “I honestly feel that actually this representation is insulting to her. I can’t see her feeling happy to be represented by this naked, perfectly formed wet dream of a woman.”

Hambling, for her part, tells the Evening Standard’s Robert Dex that the nude figure is not meant to depict Wollstonecraft, but women of all eras.

“She’s [an] everywoman and clothes would have restricted her,” the artist says. “Statues in historic costume look like they belong to history because of their clothes.”

Regarding the slim, muscular body of the woman depicted in the statue, Hambling says, “As far as I know, she’s more or less the shape we’d all like to be.”

The polarizing statue is the result of a decade-long effort by the Mary on the Green campaign, which raised £143,300 (about $189,200 USD) for the artwork. Organizers pointed out that more than 90 percent of London’s statues commemorate men, while key female figures like Wollstonecraft have often gone unrecognized.

Wollstonecraft is best known as the author of A Vindication of the Rights of Women.

(edenpictures via Flickr under CC BY 2.0)

“Mary Wollstonecraft was a rebel and a pioneer, and she deserves a pioneering work of art,” Mary on the Green campaign chair Bee Rowlatt tells BBC News. “This work is an attempt to celebrate her contribution to society with something that goes beyond the Victorian traditions of putting people on pedestals.”

In an interview with the Guardian, Rowlatt adds, “We could have done something really, really boring and ordinary, and, and very Victorian and old fashioned. And, you know, I would be having a slightly easier day today.”

Many people on social media pointed to the contrast between the Wollstonecraft statue and those honoring significant male historical figures.

“Imagine if there was a statue of a hot young naked guy ‘in tribute’ to eg Churchill,” wrote columnist and author Caitlin Moran on Twitter. “It would look mad. This, also, looks mad.”

Wollstonecraft is best known for A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, a 1792 essay that advocated equal education for girls and the admission of women into professional occupations. She was part of an influential, London-based group of radical thinkers that counted Thomas Paine, William Goodwin and William Blake among its other members; her writing laid the groundwork for 19th-century campaigns for women’s suffrage and rights under the law. Wollstonecraft died in September 1797 at just 38 years old, 11 days after giving birth to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, author of Frankenstein.

Last month, a statue titled Medusa With the Head of Perseus sparked a similar spate of controversy after it was installed across the street from the New York City courthouse where Harvey Weinstein stood trial. Designed by artist Luciano Garbati, the seven-foot bronze sculpture shows the snake-haired gorgon naked, wielding a sword in one hand and holding Perseus’ severed head in the other. Though some observers heralded the work as a stunning example of feminist art, others questioned the value of placing a male artist’s likeness of a naked, conventionally beautiful woman in such a prominent location for the #MeToo movement.

Writing for the Guardian, columnist Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett calls attention to parallels between the two statues: “Medusa is shown as a slender, toned, idealized figure, suggesting her creator suffers from the same problem as Hambling: a lack of creativity, a consequent falling back on the visual symbols that we are told epitomize great art (perky breasts) with the false belief that fidelity to those conventions will prevent anyone from pointing out their banality.”

Cosslett concludes, “I call it the ‘It’s a naked lady, so it must be art’ syndrome.”

#History

#History

[timeclonemike]

The Last Machine: The People

For background on the setting, click HERE.

For background on the Chimera Virus, click HERE.

Lost Eagle Country and its de facto capital of Postville are thriving because they are in a prime position to benefit from the skills and talents of all the surrounding communities. This alone has done much to overcome the knee-jerk isolationism that those communities adopted after the Chimera Virus started changing things, in an attempt to keep the virus out. It helps that these communities have all cultivated an immunity, and wild strains of the virus are less common than they once were. Still, old habits die hard, and when travelers left their isolated refuges to meet up and start trading, they brought more than a few customs along with their augmented DNA.

Humans: Superficially unchanged from The World That Was, the humans of Lost Eagle Country are still fundamentally different from their precursors on a genetic level. In many cases this expresses itself as a form of hair, iris, or skin pigmentation that would not occur naturally before the virus. Some communities that managed to get a quarantine established and maintain it have avoided even these changes, but by 2125 the vast majority have collapsed for one reason or another; resource exhaustion is the most common, followed by infighting, and finally by breach of Quarantine. Only one “Holdout” community of humans is known to exist in Lost Eagle Country, and they don’t much care for visitors. The rest of the humans either hail from the farming town of Millstone, or wandered in from some other place and decided to stick around.

Dwarves: Descended from humans that took refuge in underground shelters, Dwarves are proportionately smaller than humans of the same weight, by about a foot on average. Their bones and muscles are, by comparison, stronger and tougher compared to a human, although being slightly smaller does mean they do not have the same leverage, so this increased strength is more apparent in some situations than others. Dispute what rumors say, dwarven beards are not unisex, but they are considered symbols of authority and virility, at least in the more traditional freeholds. Outside of them, it’s not uncommon to see clean-shaven dwarves, or dwarves with fake beards, especially in the somewhat more cosmopolitan Postville where social circles are wider and the threat of censure or exile from the freeholds carries less weight. These freeholds can be found just about anywhere, but the largest Dwarven Freehold is deep under Mt. Glory (not its original name) which provides Lost Eagle Country with the largest single percentage of its raw mineral wealth.

Elves: Elves are taller than humans by about a foot on average, while maintaining the same weight; they have increased leverage but comparable strength, which is more useful in some situations than others. More obviously, their ears tend to be leaf-shaped, and they exhibit a few other traits that make them seem tree-like or plant-like such as photosynthesis; this is a result of elves being descended from humans who took refuge from the Chimera Virus by living close to nature and far away from other people. When the virus did reach them, it was through flora based vectors, rather than fauna. At the time, this was considered a vindication of the survivor’s attitudes about society as much as a viable survival strategy, and as a result the first generation of elves tended to be insufferably arrogant to the point of elitist. This lasted all of one generation before elven society underwent a schism, resulting in the Light Elves and the Dark Elves. Light Elves tend to retain the same attitudes of superior scorn towards literally every other living creature on the planet, and remain close to their original home in what they call the Forest Primeval, and what literally everyone else calls St. John’s Woods. The Dark Elves are much more social compared to the Light Elves, and are fairly easy to identify by the tattoos that they give themselves using a bio-luminescent bacteria. While this makes the “Dark” Elves stand out more, the resulting symbiosis with their photosynthesis means that they can be more active at night or in the dark than the Light Elves can.

Gnomes: Gnomes appear similar to humans, with webbed membranes between their fingers, increased lung capacity, and an ability to tolerate much higher salt levels in drinking water. This is due to the nautical nature of their original community. Before the Chimera Plague, there was a group of people who organized a contingency plan in the event of a completely different type of epidemic; a zombie apocalypse. The plan was, in the event of the living dead rising from the grave, they would all get together, head out to sea, and wait until the undead all returned to the dust of the earth. This plan might have actually worked to outlast the Chimera Plague as well, only the Zombie Survival Fleet lost one of their Farm Barges within a few days of putting to sea. This crippled their ability to survive away from land for an extended period of time, and they were forced to cobble together a hasty Plan B; making their way upriver back into the mainland and establishing themselves there. By the time they managed to find a suitable place to drop anchor, the Chimera Virus had already been making the rounds among the crew of the various ships. The Gnome town of Romero (named for... well, take a wild guess) is one of the major shipping routes in and out of Lost Eagle Country, and does as much for the local food supply through fishing and aquaculture as Millstone does through cereal grains and vegetables. Despite what rumors say, Gnomes do not have gills, but it is true gnome children are often taught to swim before they can walk on their own.

Dragons: Dragons, despite the name, are not massive winged reptiles. In size, shape, and general proportions, they resemble humans. The obvious differences are scale-covered skin and sometimes tails. Despite their reptilian appearance, Dragons are decidedly warm blooded and are not incapacitated by temperature extremes any more than anyone else in Lost Eagle Country. They make their home in the town of Elsie on the side of Mt. Humble, in the same mountain chain as Mt. Glory that the Dwarves live under, and while they do provide Lost Eagle Country with most of its lumber (considering the elves in St. John’s Woods tend to be very possessive) they are most known for the power of flight. That is to say, the Dragons were the first to rebuild the infrastructure for air travel and air freight, and their airships and ultralights are a common sight in the skies. The reason for this is as simple as a head start; the original settlers of Elsie were the crew and passengers of an experimental aircraft that was used to escape the chaos of the Chimera Plague, which made an emergency landing on Mt. Humble. The technical knowledge of aerodynamics and aeronautical engineering was passed down through the generations until the community was stable enough to harness it, which proved fortunate for Lost Eagle Country as a whole as the Invader’s army was first spotted from the air, and the Dragon’s air force continues to provide Postville with up to date intelligence while denying the Invader the element of surprise.

Beastkin: A somewhat pejorative term that was eventually appropriated by the people it was used to describe, mostly because it was the least worst of the available options. (And yes, “furry” was one of the options.) Beastkin are descended from those who were exposed to the full brunt of the Chimera Virus as it ran roughshod over the planet, rather than being quarantined from it in an isolated region. As a result, Beastkin come in a bewildering variety of shapes and sizes, which has had a number of social and biological consequences. First and foremost, Beastkin do not come from a culture of isolation and exclusion; their survival actually hinged on the opposite, establishing and maintaining connections with other survivors while The World That Was fell apart around them. Second, because the Chimera virus never burned itself out in the creation of a shared chimeric genotype, Beastkin have not been able to standardize anything they use around a specific common body type, in size or shape or ability to interact with. As a result, Beastkin settlements are unique among post-apocalyptic towns and cities for being accessible to those who may not have the same type or number of limbs and sense organs. Finally, being out in the world as it fell apart left the Beastkin in the best position to rebuild and also gave them first pick of places and materials to salvage. This allowed them to maintain a fairly advanced technical and scientific infrastructure by post-apocalyptic standards. Beastkin can be found all over Lost Eagle Country, but their “home” city of Arcadia lies beyond the Banshee Desert, and it is from there that Postville gets its most advanced medication, precision instruments, and books.

#The Last Machine #Summary #The People

[forest-of-stories]

The “Evolution” of a Problematic Shipper

[I’ve been working on this lengthy post, which is about my early adventures in X-Men: Evolution fanfiction, for a very long time.  So, here it is, friends.  Please note a content warning for some discussion of abuse, mostly in fiction.  Also, my individual recollections are my own, and extremely subjective; others might remember the fandom differently than I do.]

Quite a few years ago, I wrote about how X-Men: Evolution was “the first fandom in which I participated heavily: watching the show as it aired, obsessing with other fans about the stories and relationships within, and writing reams and reams of (mostly very bad) fic.”  I still think that this is somewhat true; XME certainly inspired me to do all of those things more publicly and enthusiastically than I ever had before, especially where my One True Pairing was concerned.

For those who don’t know, X-Men: Evolution, which ran from 2000 to 2003, was essentially an animated High School AU of the X-Men comics in which our heroes lived and trained at the Xavier Institute but attended classes at their local high school.  For the first couple of seasons, mutants weren’t public knowledge as they are in the comics or movies, so a few characters used their powers for the first time without understanding what was going on.

The second episode, “The X-Impulse,” introduced viewers to (this world’s version of) Kitty Pryde, a lonely, sheltered fifteen-year-old who was terrified of her newly awakened ability to walk through walls, and to Lance Alvers, a juvenile delinquent whose own powers caused him to make awkward faces and terrible puns (and also earthquakes, I guess).  When they met, Lance seemed happy and excited to meet someone else with super-powers, but he quickly developed a plan to manipulate Kitty into helping him in his criminal shenanigans.  He presented himself as helpful and supportive, gained her trust, and, when she refused him help him, became aggressive and violent toward her and her family.  The episode ended with Kitty recruited by the X-Men and Lance joining the bad guys, and the two of them spent the rest of the season as enemies.

Watching this episode for the first time as a teenager, I knew that Lance’s behavior toward Kitty was wrong and abusive.  And yet, there was something about their early interactions that captured my imagination.  Maybe it was the fact that, whatever else might have happened, he was the first person to show her how to find confidence and joy in her powers.  Maybe it was the hug that they shared, or his line, “Once you own it, nothing can own you,” or the possibility, thwarted though it might have been, that they could have formed an understanding despite very different backgrounds and attitudes.  I liked forbidden romances, and I liked flipping the script to make unquestioned heroes seem villainous and villains seem sympathetic, and I liked when characters rebelled against controlling authority figures and communities, which is how I reimagined the X-Men when I first started writing about them.  I’m not saying that I explored any of those ideas well, but they were what started me writing: at first in collaboration with a friend from summer camp, who still deserves a lot of the credit, and then on my own.  I posted my solo stories on Fanfiction.net, where this fandom would enjoy some remarkable popularity that I’m not sure has ever transferred to any other platform.

I wrote about Lance infiltrating the X-Men (with psychic shields in place), and having to choose between his original mission and his romance with Kitty, whose own commitment to her team and its mission was starting to waver.  I wrote about her trying to figure out her identity beyond her friends’ expectations of her, even as Lance tried to be a better and less destructive person.  I wrote about Charles Xavier mind-controlling Kitty into dismissing Lance and falling back into unquestioning loyalty, giving way to several well-received sequels in which some of the characters tried to free themselves and each other from Xavier’s telepathic chokehold.  I wrote without much direction or concern for established continuity and characterization, and assumed the whole time that the show would never explore what I saw as the unrecognized potential of my OTP.  When canon actually went there, I was as surprised as anybody.

--

After Lance had spent the entire premiere of Season 2, “Growing Pains,” acting like a complete jerk to Kitty and her friends, his destructiveness endangered her life, and he saved her.  They became romantically involved soon afterward, and he became noticeably less of a jerk toward her and slightly less of a jerk toward others.  The series of fics that I was working on had decisively departed from continuity by this point, but I still incorporated elements of the season premiere into the installment that I was posting at the time.  And my fellow Lance/Kitty shippers, believing that canon had vindicated us, were transported with joy.  

If XME were popular today, I believe that there would be a lot more pushback against Lance/Kitty, in both good and bad ways.  Even at the time, the pairing was not universally beloved.  There were probably those who thought that its dysfunctional beginnings outweighed any potential for functionality or sweetness, and there were definitely those who thought that both characters would be better off with someone else.  It’s tempting to rewrite history with claims that “in my day, we shipped and let ship,” and it’s true that yesterday’s shipping conflicts didn’t use all of the same weapons that today’s do, but the fandom was still full of snarky, self-important brats who, no matter which side of any given argument we were on, believed that only we understood these characters and this world.

I say “we,” because I was not exempt from these behaviors.  I’ve sometimes thought that participation in this fandom brought out some of my worst habits.  But a lot of positive things came out of it as well.  It gave me the inspiration and confidence to write more prolifically than I ever had before (or maybe even since), and a chance to explore ideas that became deeply important to me: perhaps most importantly, I don’t think I’d written so extensively or publicly about the horrors of mind control.  Mutual devotion to our show and its fandom, and mutual conviction that Lance and Kitty were meant to be, connected me with a number of friends with whom I started exchanging emails and IMs and LiveJournal comments, and I’ve kept in touch with a couple of them to this day.  And even though I didn’t always respond constructively to attention and validation, XME fandom gave me what I think fandom has given a lot of creative young people: a wider audience for my writing, and a community who cared about the lives and feelings of cartoon characters as much as I did, and in many of the same ways.  My experience in this fandom was as uneven and as flawed (dare one say… problematic?), and often as delightful, as the show that inspired it.

And, for me, it had all started with Lance and Kitty.   As the show progressed, and for years after it ended, I continued to write more canon-compliant one-shot stories about them: missing scenes or predictions for the future. Their relationship was a given in more or less everything I wrote, whether or not they were the focus, and even when I’d fallen deeply into other fandoms, I still regarded it with nostalgic fondness.

--

I think that a lot of us have faced an uncomfortable tension between our social consciences and our nostalgia for the uncomplicated adoration with which we viewed our “problematic faves” as children.  I can’t provide a one-size-fits-all solution for that conflict.  I don’t know if one exists.

“Although I'm not going to say that I never thought that I'd be engaging with XME again in any way,” I blogged in late 2013, as my local cartoon-watching group began the first season, “I was somewhat surprised that I had any feelings about this show left, or anything else to say.”  But I did, and I said a lot of it in short ficlets of less than 500 words, which - since I was in graduate school at the time - were usually all that my energy levels would allow.

At around the same time, I started reading fandom-related posts on Tumblr, including the ones that stated or implied that redemption arcs in fiction, and/or shipping characters with people who had mistreated them, were universally bad because they would increase the likelihood of real-life abuse.  It’s not like I had never thought about that aspect of Lance and Kitty’s relationship (I’d addressed it more than once in the intervening time), but something about phrasing of those posts - or maybe something about my own mental state when I saw them - sent me into a spiral of self-doubt.  I wondered I would have to publicly apologize for and cast aside my affection for a pairing and a narrative that had been so deeply formative for me.  I wondered if my friends would consider me an abuse apologist if I didn’t, or even whether I might secretly be one.  

One of the reasons why it took me a long time to write this retrospective is that I wanted to avoid too many lengthy tangents or blanket statements about critical consumption of media, the toxic elements of “anti-shipping,” and the relationship between fiction and reality.  I do believe that such a relationship exists, but it’s much more complicated than “impure fiction is dangerous, especially if people might be enjoying it in ways that are not politically conscious or wholesome enough.”  Anybody who reads my blog knows that I am intensely critical of purity culture, and I do not believe in being unkind to real people on behalf of fictional characters (and I say this as someone who used to do exactly that).  Also, if you were going to ask, “So you’re saying you support [taboo and/or illegal act]?” please don’t.  I am not saying that, and we are not having that conversation.  Not all “problematic” stories are interchangeable or should be talked about in the same way, and all of the issues that surround them are bigger and more complex than any individual character or romantic arc.

So I am not suggesting that Lance and Kitty’s own romantic arc should not have happened, or that people shouldn’t enjoy it, when I point out that was built on some incredibly inappropriate behavior that reflects toxic cultural attitudes  even if it doesn’t “normalize” or “promote” them, and I can understand why some people (including at least one of my Cartoon Night buddies) would see it as irresponsible storytelling.   In “Growing Pains,” Lance harassed Kitty despite her trying to tell him off, used his powers in publicly destructive ways in order to hold her attention, and tried to keep her from leaving school with her friends.  Even when his protective leap caused her to regard him as something besides an enemy, it seemed to be setting up an arc in which her love - or the possibility of her love - would make him a better person. 

In reality, of course, it’s unrealistic at best for anyone to expect that they can “change” or “improve” the morality of a partner who has treated them (or others) badly.  But it’s an enjoyable and compelling fantasy, as are the “opposites attract” and “forbidden love” aspects of the pairing, all of which we shippers ate up with a spoon.  It’s vital for shippers to recognize the difference between reality and fiction, but it is not my place to assume - based solely upon the nature of the fantasy - that they’re unable to do so.

And, in-universe, I can absolutely understand why sheltered, idealistic Kitty might have given in to this fantasy.  But it doesn’t play out in the way that she - or I - initially expected.

I’ve seen the Season 2 episode “Joyride” so many times that I didn’t have to rewatch it in order to write this essay.  That’s the one in which Lance briefly joined the X-Men, in order to be close to Kitty and, hopefully, to become the kind of person that she might admire.  The story was full of cute moments in which they flirted, bantered, and ultimately worked together to solve a crisis.  It also spotlighted one of the biggest obstacles to their relationship, and despite what a lot of fanfic - including my own - suggested, that did not come from their respective teams’ objections.  Professor Xavier even encouraged Lance’s potential for redemption (which didn’t stop me from reading, writing, and endorsing fic in which he regularly meddled in his students’ love lives), and the other characters reacted to the situation in a variety of understandable, if not always admirable, ways.  No, the telling moment occurred when the team was running through aquatic rescue scenarios, and Lance cheerfully broke rank and “drowned” two other people in order to pull Kitty out of the water.  Here was his entire approach to redemption and to their relationship, summed up in one gesture: he wanted to ensure her safety and well-being, but didn’t always care what or whom he knocked down in the process.  This became even clearer toward the end of the season, when he tried unsuccessfully to chase her (and only her) away from a fight between their two teams, although her friends would still be in danger. This tension exploded in the third episode of Season 3, when Lance and his friends once again attacked the X-Men on school grounds, and Kitty shouted, “This is the real you, isn’t it?” Lance responded, “That’s right! I’m never going to be good enough for you!” (I typed that out from memory, too.)

Naturally, my fellow shippers and I were devastated by this development, and I, for one, wrote lots of angsty fic (often interspersed with the lyrics to late 1990s/early 2000s pop music)  in which the former couple pined for each other despite having been Torn Apart By Circumstances.  Years later, however, I’m proud of Kitty, and of the writers, for drawing that line in the sand, and for realizing that - although, as Charles pointed out, it would have been a good start - it wasn’t enough for Lance to be good for her.  Whether or not this was an intentional writing choice, the later seasons reflected an awareness that he was primarily the one responsible for making himself a better person.  

Yes, after Lance and his comrades joined the climactic battle even though he’d insisted at first that he didn’t care, he and Kitty got back together in the series finale. There were probably viewers who thought their reconciliation hadn’t been earned, as well as those who thought it had been.  Obviously, eighteen-year-old Nevanna (by then in her first semester of college) was one of the latter.  But I appreciate the time that they spent apart, and the fact that it came at least as much from from internal motivations as from external pressure, far more as an adult than I did as a teenager.

To be clear: you don’t have to like Lance/Kitty or pairings like it.  When I say that I regard it differently now, I am not trying to assert that “my ship is Unproblematic after all, so there!” because it isn’t.  Nor am I trying to suggest, “It’s okay that I had a Bad Ship, because I regret it now, and the rest of you are filthy sinners who should do the same.” I don’t, and you’re not, and you shouldn’t.  Or, rather, how you feel about your past shipping, and what kind of person it makes you, is not for me to decide.

I loved and built upon this pairing both despite and because of its problems, and that is one of the reasons why I try not to condemn other people - as long as they maintain that all-important boundary between fantasy and reality - for loving and building upon stories that have similar problems, or different ones altogether.

--

I was sixteen when I first started writing XME fanfic.  I’m thirty-three now.  I can easily imagine some of you asking, “When are you going to get over these imaginary fake not-real cartoon characters and get a life, Nevanna?” That is, I hope that my friends, whom I love and who love me, aren’t thinking along those lines, but it’s certainly a question that I have asked myself more than once.

Even when I was cheerfully participating in fandom in my youth, I still feared that my obsessions with fictional characters were bad for me, a sign that I wasn’t equipped to deal with or care about “real life.” In one diary entry, I wrote with certainty that I would have to abandon my fannish interests entirely when I started college.  If a large contingent of fans had loudly insisted that my interests were not only bad for me but bad for the world, that I was actively hurting others simply by writing about my chosen subject matter, that I was likely to enable or engage in actual criminal activity… I’m not sure what I would have done, but it probably wouldn’t have been what they wanted me to do, and it likely would have made me an even more unpleasant person to be around.

I tried my best to balance academic obligations with fandom and creativity when I did enter college, and sometimes failed spectacularly, but that owed as much to anxiety and poor time management skills, both of which are still everyday challenges for me, as it did to caring “too much” about stories.  I eventually earned a master’s degree, and found a series of jobs, in a field that is just a bit concerned with making sure people get to read whatever they want.  If I’m still “getting a life,” which I believe is an ongoing process, then my fandoms are just one part of it.  And after all this time, X-Men: Evolution is still one of those fandoms.  I find it easy and comforting and fun to write about these characters, and the only person who gets to decide whether I’m “over” them is myself.  

The last time I wrote anything that focused specifically on Lance and Kitty was a little more than two years ago, and the fic didn’t shy away from the troubled history of their relationship.  I have a preference for stories that at least acknowledge that history and the tension that comes with it, but I would never barge in and assume that because a content creator doesn’t check those boxes, they support real-life abusive relationships.

Would I still ship Lance and Kitty if I encountered them for the first time today? It’s difficult to say. Many aspects of their relationship are still things that I enjoy in fiction.  But my early interest in them was based on a specific set of assumptions about the characters, their world, and even the purpose of fanfiction, as well as, yes, some amount of ignorance about how romance and attraction worked.  I don’t want to enjoy their story, or others, solely in the way that I did when I was younger.  Most of the time, I prefer the all the ways that I enjoy stories now.

As I said earlier, I’m not proud of some of my actions in the XME fandom.  I regret sneering at the fanbase for another popular pairing that had dysfunctional beginnings, as if my OTP didn’t.  (The two pairings didn’t even have any common characters, so it’s not as if they challenged each other as far as I know, not that my attitude would have been okay even if they had.  I think I partly just enjoyed hating what so many people liked.)  I regret participating in an LJ community that publicly mocked specific people’s writing.  I regret sticking my nose into people’s reviews just to beg them to read my latest chapter, but not as much as I regret leaving at least one hostile review, with a very thin veneer of playfulness, when half of my OTP hooked up with another character in the middle of a multi-chapter fic.   And, all of that aside, there is a much longer list of regrettable choices that I made as a writer.  But I don’t regret looking at Lance and Kitty in their introductory episode and thinking, “There’s a story there, and I want to find out where it might go.”

#xmen evolution #all our faves are problematic #nevanna life #nostalgic fun times

[losbella]

[the-nostalgic-sentimentalist]

1813 km down Memory Lane

 Last month, I travelled down south to attend the reunion of people who have received the MRN scholarship since its inception 10 years ago.  I had missed every single one of the reunions ever since because, well, I was living in self-inflicted exile. But this year, this year I was going to attend and so I took my girlfriend up on her insanely kind offer and borrowed her car. 

Travelling down south is not only a huge leap geographically (750km, give or take), it is also always a journey into my past. It’s like slipping inside the cocoon of my own self and inspecting the stages of how I became who I am today.

It’s a trip down Memory Lane of epic proportions because everything feels viscerally familiar while at the same time demanding enormous attention and energy. I don’t speak the language fluently anymore, but I will be damned before I admit it. I don’t really know my way around and need to rely on GoogleMaps so much, my data is used up before I get back home. 

None of the people from my generation are there, I mingle with people who are younger than my sister. It is bizarre. The organisers give little speeches at the opening, including the Head of Corporate Social Responsibility MEE for SAP who instantly remembers me when my name is mentioned. “Bundeskanzlerin” she yells excitedly. Referring to my adolescent desire to become chancellor of Germany once I grew up. I would settle for a job in the Ministry for the Environment, to be honest. Growing up makes you so much more practically minded. I realised that I stepped into a version of this world, where I am 16 and the people I converse with knew me as the tough, idealistic teenager who had big dreams and big plans and endless energy to pursue them.

I am now 26 and tired. I have lived in three countries, obtained two high school diplomas, followed by two academic titles. I was engaged and then not. I was away and now I am back. I envisioned none of the things my life consists of these days back then when I was asked where I want my life to go and yet, when asked how I am I can only pause for a second and say “I am really, really happy.”

In a way, setting foot into my past, and wandering around this still-life like snapshot of what people remember, what I remember, that I was and wanted to be, it’s sobering. It reminds me that I my plans will never be grander than the reality. That no matter what I desire, wish or fear, reality will always find a way to be weirder, happier, sadder, and more magnificent. 

And then there is Ise, the woman who easily reaches the top five of people who have influenced my life. She single handedly saved my year abroad after a bout of fever ruined my chances at obtaining the scholarship I so desperately needed. I found out later that I had led the ranking all weekend, until a sudden onset of misery pulled me into myself and severely diminished my performance. Ise stepped in and suggested I apply for the scholarship I ended up getting an ungodly portion of - maybe that’s why none of my fellow beneficiaries showed up. 

And with Ise’s presence, I am forced to come face to face with an ugly part of my past self. I never thanked her properly. I let years pass by without adequately thanking her for the enormity of a blessing she had bestowed upon me. I seize the moment and notice with relief that my 26 year old self has gratitude down. She smiles and nods and tells me that she knew I would turn out alright. It means so much I choke up.

Later, after dinner, we go round and a few people brought items that remind them of their year abroad. They introduce themselves and the item and explain what it means. Bracelets, an American Football, traditional clothing of their host country, etc. I brought nothing and escape having to address the group. My year abroad lies 10 years in the past and I only have a few items that hold any significance. Mostly because the souvenirs of that time are baked into my DNA. They have imprinted on who I am as a person and I carry them with me wherever I go. And I speak to an official from the organisation that sent me, and explain to her how the year I spend living with the Staats Family in 2008/2009 still bears on how I live my life every day. It ranges from my obsession with US politics, to my breath-takingly strong desire to have a family one day and be as loving and caring as my host parents had been. That year translates into world view and values, it honed my ability to assess a situation and read a room, it shaped my desire to serve my community because I saw that modelled in an unparalleled manner by my host parents. I will forever see the world differently because of that experience.

Once everyone has finished, the organiser addresses the room again, pivots to me and says “I think you should have the last world.” I feel a brief moment of dread, but my age and the accumulation of experiences has prepared me for this. I stand up and look around the room filled with people I have never met before. 

“Hi, my name is Bärbel, I used to want to become Chancellor of Germany. Now I would happily just work for the Ministry for the Environment. I was a member of the first generation of ambassadors and spent my year abroad in Wisconsin, in 2008/2009 - yes, I am that old.”

I feel almost at ease and continue. 

“That year was a ridiculous privilege for me that would not have been possible without the generous help of the people here and my gratitude has not diminished during this past decade, on the contrary, I feel it growing the deeper the impact of that year sinks into my personality. My American family has this family motto “Bloom where you’re planted“ and it’s a challenge to bring our best selves no matter where we go and what we do. It’s an invitation to make the world kinder wherever we are. I cannot purport that I succeed every day, but it is a magical thing to try again every day. We have been given the chance to expand our world, to add corners to our universe that will forever be sacred to us. It is an intense privilege and we should never squander it. Especially in times when the world seems to be on fire, our experience breathing, tasting, sensing a different air than the one we were born in, makes us excellent at bridging gaps, translating misunderstandings and working toward a more understanding world. Wherever we are. And with that I come to a close and just give you one task - go, and bloom where you’re planted.”

I feel slightly numb, but get validation when the organiser exclaims, “I knew I could trust you with this task.”

I drive back to my uncle and aunt’s place that night and feel elated. Like I peered into an unwritten part of my story knowing it will end well. I feel encouraged because the people who remembered me from back then, seemed pleased to see who I had become. They approved. They felt vindicated. Like their high expectations had been met. I shed a few tears of relief. There is peace that washes over me. I feel both at home and ready to leave. It’s time, I have some blooming to do.

[identityresearch]

Richard Prince’s New Portraits have proven to be nothing short of sensational. The artist’s controversial series has seen him take other people’s Instagram posts, print them on six-foot canvases and sell them for up to $90,000. The only changes made to these images of everyone from Pamela Anderson to total unknowns are the bewildering or lewd remarks Prince adds to the comments thread. As of last Friday, ten of these new works are on show at Gagosian London. “The iPhone became my studio,” Prince says somewhere in the seven-page stream of consciousness that makes up the press release.

For the last 40 years the New York artist has inspired everything from acclaim to outrage for the unapologetic appropriation that has defined much of his work. As the man who reprinted copies of JD Salinger’s classic teenage anthem Catcher in the Rye with his own name in place of the author’s, Prince has found himself on the wrong side of copyright lawsuits multiple times. Resulting opinions of him tend to violently swing between genius and good-for-nothing. In the case of the New Portraits series, Peter Schjeldahl writing for the New Yorker’s response to the screenshot-cum-paintings was “something like a wish to be dead,” whilst sex writer Karley Sciortino has said she felt honoured to be included in the series.

In an unexpected but fitting turn, people seemed to feel slightly vindicated when some of Prince’s unauthorised Instagram reproductions were recently reproduced and resold by some of their original subjects, namely the LA-based group of alternative pin-up girls and burlesque dancers operating under the moniker SuicideGirls. “Payback!” headlines screamed, but this ceaseless loop of feedback and mirroring perfectly plays to Prince’s raison d’être. Even this is not the artist’s own, and in his ideas about enshrining banality and popular culture he is most definitely walking in Warhol’s slightly worn-out silver shoes.

Mining the internet for source material is not new either, but as abhorrent as they may be, Prince’s portraits eloquently teach a powerful lesson in the trappings of social networking. They test public and private limits and have started an important and much-needed conversation about copyright and art in the digital age. They have also been sharp reminders that our self-exposure and digital exhibitionism doesn’t exist in the vacuums of our various feeds, but very much enters into public territory.

The most absurd part in all of this postmodernist pageantry however, happened during my exchange with Gagosian’s PR when I asked for press images and was told, “I’m afraid that we don’t have permission to use any images of any individual works.” Irony is a beautiful, twisted thing.

https://www.itsnicethat.com/articles/richard-prince-new-portraits