#on my andrew is an old queen agenda

[theravenkin]

an aftg hc for y'all today:

andrew's nickname for kevin is "lady day" (a reference to doris day). (only andrew gets the reference.) (because he is gay and enjoys vague cultural references.) (the nickname eventually spawns a spin-off: "doris".)

#this goes hand in hand with my andrew gay voice post #in case you were wondering #on my andrew is an old queen agenda #andrew minyard #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andreil #kevin day #kandrew #kandreil

[waynes-multiverse]

Love On The Brain

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Dean and Y/N – hunting partners, bunker roommates & idiots in love. Sam is fed up with their constant “will they/won’t they” bullshit and decides to move things along with his own plan until these two fated lovers’ paths finally cross one night – naked.

Warnings: +18, smut (mentions of masturbation f & m, oral f, fingering, p in v), crack of the adorkable kind, nudity, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: Happy V-Day, babes! 💖 The V stands for... Welp, you know me well enough by now to know where I’m going with this 😝 This is a lot of moronic crack mixed with some sweet smut and fluff. We all know how much I love the “idiots in love” trope, and I fully dove into this one. So, grab your glass of favorite liquor & let’s settle in, shall we? ❤️😘 Written for a request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms after making some adjustments. Found Rihanna’s Love on the Brain fitting for this one, so that’s what we went with as a general mood. Hope you enjoy, m’ladies! 🖤

Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist

Freedom! Thank fucking God…

Y/N exhales a blissful sigh as she saunters to the Dean Cave with a bag of still-hot microwave popcorn in her arms. The Winchester brothers have decided on a little overnight road trip to the next, bigger town over to see a movie – and for some brotherly bonding or whatever – which means Y/N can finally enjoy some goddamn alone time in the bunker. Not that she doesn’t love Sam and Dean to bits and pieces, especially the latter one. They are like family to her, the only one she’s ever truly known, but even family can grow exhausting sometimes.

Living with two boys can grow exhausting, honestly, so Y/N has decided to spend her alone time doing a bunch of girly shit she can’t do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum around – at least not without enduring some judgmental looks.

So, first on the agenda? Watching a bunch of chick flicks, aka any movie the oldest Winchester wouldn’t approve of. Mean Girls, Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, You’ve Got Mail, and so on – you get the gist.

The second order of business is a long-ass bathroom time for a little much-needed self-care, including a hot and relaxing bath with an abundance of pink bubbles and soap that smells like the goddamn Queen’s flower garden. Then she’s going to shave and wax… everything. Admittedly, things got a little hairy in recent weeks. There wasn’t a lot of time between hunts and sharing close quarters with two men in motel rooms, and every time she did attempt a proper shave, Dean would yell outside the bathroom door, needing to pee or God knows what else, so she dropped the razor again. Honestly, it’s not like she’s being followed around by an array of suitors these days. It’s been months since anyone has seen her private parts or even her bare legs, including her. On the upside, at least her vibrator doesn’t mind the extra locks.

Oh God, she’s fucking sad, isn’t she? Yeah… It’s a sad affair all around, really.

Regardless, the mention of some self-love reminds her of her third to-do item on her list: sex. Well, technically masturbating to Ryan Gosling’s pictures. Maybe even Andrew Garfield, Sebastian Stan, that hot dude Jackson from Grey’s Anatomy… Leo in his prime. Brad Pitt – young and old. Seth Rogen… Whoa! Don’t judge, okay? It’s not all about looks. She loves when a guy can make her laugh, and his laugh is so sweet, deep, and… bear-y, alright?

Yeah, fine, she knows she needs to get fucked properly by a real dick instead of a fictional one – rather sooner than later before she goes for… the dick that’s been living right under the same roof, only three doors down from her own bedroom.

Shit.

Yep, Dean fucking Winchester – God of all Gods, monster hunter extraordinaire, hero of all innocent damsels, and idiotic clown of all clowns, shamelessly stole her heart since… well, pretty much the minute they met and she first laid eyes on him. It felt like being blinded by the sun, the golden freckles on his cheeks and nose resembling the twinkling, starry constellations in the night sky. In an instant, she was an unsuspecting, innocent moth to a blazing flame. How could she possibly resist that irresistible, boyish charm? There’s no vaccine against that green-eyed virus. She swears she’s seen women faint and gasp before him, and she certainly isn’t immune, either. No one truly is, not even other men, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately, Dean will never ever look at her in that way and see more than a friend in her. The thought alone is so ridiculous it makes her snort before she starts to uncontrollably sob and whine. But God, does she wish more than anything he could be hers and she could be his.

Admittedly, she feels a little lonely, especially with the ominous Valentine’s Day looming around the corner, or as Dean likes to call it – unattached drifter Christmas.

Dear fucking God, why did she have to fall in love with that dork? Why can’t it be some nice, normal guy without an abundance of commitment issues?

On the other hand, it’s a good thing the oldest Winchester isn’t here tonight, even though he’d probably love the fourth part of her evening: naturism.

Yup, walking around naked while you’re alone is the best fucking thing in the world and so goddamn freeing. Tits out. Let the ladies breathe a little, you know? Having the girls constantly locked up in bra prison is no way to go through life. And Y/N knows for sure Dean would not only agree with that sentiment but also highly support it. After all, he was the one that suggested Naked Tuesdays when she first moved in. Sam then established a rule that the oldest Winchester wasn’t allowed to “sexually harass” her. It was completely unnecessary but sweet nonetheless. Y/N knows Dean’s just a teasing goofball 99% of the time and would never seriously harm her or make her feel uncomfortable. In fact, she loves that the brothers are always looking out for her and have her best interest in mind.

So, as soon as she hears the big metal door of the bunker slam shut, Y/N excitedly begins her girl’s night alone, trying not to think too much about the green-eyed hunter and focusing on Gosling on the silver screen instead.

“So, this movie… is it like Zombieland?” Dean inquires with a wide grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he grabs a couple of beers and snacks from the fridge for their road trip to Wichita.

Sam’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? Dean, no… It’s not an action movie or a comedy. It’s an environmental documentary about how soil can counteract the climate crisis,” the younger Winchester explains, chuckling in amusement.

Dean’s face drops, his features morphing from excitement to shock as his eyes blink in rapid succession. “What?! But you said Woody Harrelson is in it! You lied to me!”

“Nooo,” Sam laughs, shaking his head, and corrects, “I said Woody Harrelson narrates it. It’s a good documentary. Trust me.”

“Fuck no! I don’t wanna watch a movie about dirt,” the older brother whines, his plump lips shaping into a pout. “Can’t we go see something with action and blood and guns? You know, something fun?”

“Dean, our whole life is action, blood, and guns. Would do you some good to care about the Earth and climate every once in a while,” Sam lectures him.

“Screw that! We’ve already saved the planet multiple times. All that Al Gore shit ain’t my problem,” Dean huffs, pops open a beer and takes a sip. “‘Sides, I don’t trust these environmental clowns. I know the first thing they’d wanna do is get rid of Baby, and then I swear I’m gonna start shootin’. I can’t stand for that insanity.”

“Fine,” Sam frowns and lets out a resigned sigh. “Then I guess you’ll have to stay here because I wanna watch that movie.”

“Fine by me,” Dean agrees with another sip of beer.

“Good. Since you’re not coming, I might even check out the Mid-America Fine Arts Museum,” Sam shares, the excitement gleaming in his hazel orbs.

“Yeah, nerd yourself out, little brother,” Dean snorts. “Did you know Wichita has a Pizza Hut Museum?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, you tell me that every time we go to Wichita, Dean,” Sam reminds him and suppresses the laugh. “Well, uh, have fun alone with Y/N then,” he smirks slyly, and Dean’s short-lived relief disappears as realization dawns, his brow knitting. “Who knows? Might even be a good opportunity for you to tell her you’re madly in love with her.”

“Wha-, uh, pffft, no?” Dean brushes his little brother’s lunatic accusations off the kitchen counter and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, clearing the fluster in his throat. “Dude, are you drunk? I’m so not in love with her, alright? Don’t be ridiculous, okay? Do I find her incredibly hot, smart, sweet, brave, kind, adorable, and funny? Sure… That’s why she’s our friend, right? But that doesn’t mean I like… love “love” her, okay? At least not like that.” He forms sarcastic air quotes around the cursed word and grimly swallows his uncomfortableness and the lies down with a big gulp of beer. “And for crying out loud, keep your voice down when you say shit like that. I don’t want her to hear us,” he hisses, his green orbs nervously eyeing the kitchen door. “It’s echo-y in here, you know?”

“Sure, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam casually shrugs his shoulders, clearly not buying a single one of the green-eyed hunter’s words, and it only annoys the older Winchester more.

“Don’t-… Nuh-uh, don’t gimme that fake ‘whatever you say’ bullshit shtick. There’s really nothing going on, alright?” Dean assures anew, growing more irritated by the minute.

Sam twitches his shoulders once more and then cockily folds his arms over his chest, a teasing smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, so you won’t mind if I set her up with Matt, right? It’s just-… She seems a little lonely lately.”

“Lonely?” Dean arches an eyebrow in apprehension and scoffs, “She’s fine, Sam. She’s got us.”

Sam frowns for what feels like the hundredth time during this conversation. “Dean, you honestly don’t think that’s enough for her.”

“Why not?” The older Winchester shrugs, refusing to see clearly. “It’s enough for me. Our life is awesome. You don’t see me complaining.”

“Yes, you’re obviously the golden standard for healthy relationships,” Sam mutters sarcastically and rolls his eyes back.

Dean purses and smacks his plump lips, scratching the bit of scruff on his throat. “Well, uh… shut up, okay? And don’t set her up with Matt. The guy’s a douche.”

“Alright, what about Josh? You like Josh,” Sam suggests next.

“Yeah, as a hunting partner, he’s alright, not as a boy toy for our friend, Sam,” Dean grits bitterly and rolls his eyes, chugging the rest of his beer. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? You’re not her pimp. Just leave her alone, alright?”  

“Look, if you don’t wanna date her – fine. That’s on you. Just don’t stand in the way of her happiness because you can’t stop self-sabotaging yourself, man,” Sam argues with a judgmentally raised brow.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Dean grumbles, the offense clearly written in every deep wrinkle on his face.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam deadpans and grabs his laptop bag, making his way out of the kitchen.

“Stop saying that!”

“Look, I’d love to discuss all your weird issues in detail with you, but I still have to pick up Eileen on my way to Wichita,” Sam notes nonchalantly as Dean trails behind him through the bunker’s corridors. “I’ve watched you two beat around the bush for years. It’s getting annoying. You guys are worse than Ross and Rachel.”

“Wait, Eileen? Did you plan all of this on purpose? Were you trying to trick me?” Dean’s voice rises with his exasperation. He hates when Sam puts his nose where it doesn’t belong, mainly in his business. It’s the typical little brother shit he had to deal with all his life. Siblings, man…

“Me? No, I would never,” his younger brother replies with feigned innocence, marching up the metal stairs to the exit, but Dean can hear the goddamn deceit in his words.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean grits with a sternly creased brow, narrowing his juniper eyes at his younger brother as he halts at the bottom of the steps.

“Okay, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam grins complacently and opens the door. “Just don’t be an idiot. Make the first move, alright? That’s all you need to do. Trust me. It’s gonna be fine. She likes you, too.”

With that, the youngest Winchester closes the door behind him, leaving Dean to ruminate in his convoluted misery.

The hunter then stomps through the hallways of the bunker, furiously mumbling to himself as he passes the Dean Cave on his way to his room. Hearing sounds coming from inside, he stops by the cracked door for a moment and realizes Y/N is watching a movie in there. He considers joining her before recognizing Gosling’s voice, a deep sigh leaving his lips. Of course, she’s watching chick flicks again, so he decides against his plan, knowing some silly rom-com could potentially be a slippery slope and lead to some dangerous innuendos.

He downright refuses to play into his little brother’s evil scheme. Sam’s not goddamn Lindsay Lohan, and this isn’t the fucking Parent Trap. It’s better and safer if Dean stays far away from Y/N for the entirety of Sam’s absence, so the hunter quietly retreats to his room.

Dean decided to watch a bunch of his favorite horror movies until late into the night, ignoring the boiling feelings under the surface. He then closes his laptop with a heavy sigh, ready to call it a night after a nice, warm shower.

With headphones on and some classic rock music drowning out his hammering thoughts, he takes off his clothes and wraps a towel around himself. During an earlier snack run to the kitchen, he noticed the Dean Cave had already been deserted, the room quiet and dark. Y/N luckily has withdrawn to her own room again, so he knows he won’t accidentally run into her. She still hasn’t left his mind, his head in a constant swirl since his stupid conversation with Sam.

So, naturally, Dean comes to the conclusion that only some self-completion down the shower drain might help to clear his thoughts and flush the huntress out of his mind for good. He’s not proud of it, but it’s certainly not the first time since he’s known her that he thinks about her while jerking off. Usually, it only happens when he has to spend too many nights in a row with her in a small motel room without a way to escape, but this time, though, he fully blames Sam and his big mouth for it.

Wandering down the hall to the bathroom, his head bobs to the rhythm of the music flowing through his ears, his green eyes fixed on his phone screen as he scrolls through his playlist. Mindlessly opening the door, he suddenly freezes as another body bumps straight into him.

It all happens pretty fast from there. There’s a loud, high-pitched shriek that filters through the music, his hand drops his phone, and his headphones fall down with it, severing the connection and leaving him in silence as his palms catch a taut-skinned body in his arms while the towel around his waist glides to the tiled floor. And then, he just stares into two big and shocked pupils, which are probably as wide as his own.

Fuck…

For a second, Dean feels incredibly exposed before noticing the warm skin that’s pressed flush against his own body. Yep, he doesn’t dare to check, but he’s certain Y/N’s completely naked, too.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…,” Y/N’s panicked voice chimes in his ears as both of them awkwardly avert their gazes in different directions to the ceiling and avoid eye contact at all costs while still clinging tightly onto each other, aware that if one of them moves, it’s game over and they’d see each other in their full glory. Basically, they’re each other’s damn shields – as uncomfortable as that may be. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

“I, uh…” That’s when Dean realizes Y/N probably didn’t even know he stayed behind and let Sam go to Wichita alone. “Sam wanted to watch a documentary.”

“I know!” Y/N yells in annoyance and grits, “You were supposed to go with him! Granted, I was surprised you agreed to it in the first place, but still, you’re not supposed to be home!”

“He didn’t tell me it was a documentary about dirt, alright? Otherwise, it would’ve been a straight-up ‘no’ from the start,” Dean explains and tries not to get hard as he feels Y/N’s tits press against his chest. Judging by the precise feeling that’s poking him, she must be somewhat cold.

“Yes, he did! I was right there when you agreed,” Y/N argues. “He talked about it for over an hour.”

“Oh,” Dean stumps and clears his throat rather awkwardly. Who could blame him for not listening, huh?

“You never listen to people! It’s so goddamn annoying!”

“Y/N, you need to stop talking, sweetheart,” Dean begs her, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrates on anything else for dear life.

Baseball, Sam drinking green smoothies, a scratch on Baby’s new coat of paint… He attempts to distract his mind from the unavoidable, but it’s no use. The skin-on-skin contact is his final nail in the coffin.

“Oh, I’m sure you would love that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N continues in a furious huff, “It’s not always about you–”

“Y/N, please… All that angry shaking isn’t helping, sweetheart.”

The huntress cocks an eyebrow high, almost reaching the messy bun on top of her head. “Helping with what?”

“Uhm…”

And that’s when he can’t control it any longer. There’s a distinctive twitch against her thigh, and he’s sure she’s felt it, too. Shit, shit, shit…

“Oooooh.” Y/N awkwardly presses her lips into a thin line, her fingertips tapping a nervous melody on his skin. Her single utterance makes his heart stop. It’s game over. She’s going to call him a gross perv, move out of the bunker, and then never speak to him again. “It’s-, uhm, it’s okay,” she says surprisingly, her head bobbing with a thick swallow as she reassuringly squeezes his biceps where her palms rest.

“Y/N, I’m-, uh… oh God… I’m so, so sorry,” he stammers, deciding to keep his eyes shut to escape some of the awkwardness.

“I-, no, it’s not-… This is a weird situation we’re in… It’s fine. Completely normal, right? Like, uhm, like a reflex?”

“Uh, yeah, guess so,” Dean gulps, his eyelids slowly fluttering open and gaze drifting back to the ceiling. It’s not a goddamn reflex, though. It’s all her. It’s the effect she has on him.

“We should, uh, probably, uhm, detangle…”

“Uh-huh, yup, nope, agree,” he says and clears his throat once more, hoping the fluster will leave his body soon. “You, uh, wanna bend down, and we both can grab our towels?”

Fuck, it’ll probably be awkward between them for months now. They’ll avoid each other during breakfast, lunch, dinner… They’ll stop watching movies together, Sam will have to be their buffer and hate it, and they probably won’t look directly into each other’s eyes till Christmas – and it’s only fucking February.

“Oh, uhm… I actually, technically didn’t, uh, come with a towel?”

His eyebrow twitches upward, head slightly tilting to the side as he thinks about her words. “Oh, uh… Wait… Were you, uhm, walking around like… naked through the bunker?”

Well, there’s an image Dean’s never gonna get out of his head. Now, he’ll forever wonder if she takes off her clothes as soon as he walks out the door.

“Look, I thought I was alone, okay?! Again – you’re not actually supposed to be here! Don’t judge me!” Y/N defends, the panic returning to her voice, and then adds something in an almost inaudible mumble, “Just wanted to let the girls breathe a little. Sue me…”

“What?” His head tilts some more, the fine creases on his brow deepening.

“Nothing… never mind,” she quickly splutters, her cheeks flushing bright red as she visibly swallows.

Dean snorts. He’s in love with a dork, isn’t he? God, she’s adorable.

And then, it fucking happens again. Dammit…

“Was that…”

“Again – I’m so, so sorry,” he apologizes once more, although he’s sure he can’t do it often enough. His dick is an escaped zoo animal and clearly on the prowl tonight.

“No, uh… So how do you wanna do this? We could, uhm, maybe turn 180 and then close our eyes and let go… I could, uhm, run really fast down the hall, and you could just quickly back into the bathro–”

Y/N doesn’t get to finish laying out her plan. Dean’s lips on hers stop any further words from spilling out of her mouth. The featherlight kiss doesn’t last longer than a painfully anxious second, his mind racing a mile a minute, his brain positively fried.

What the hell is he fucking doing? There’s only one rule in the bunker: don’t sexually harass Y/N. Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s breaking that rule right now and crossing too many goddamn lines. How’s he supposed to ever recover from this?

“What, uh…” Y/N’s speechless, every muscle frozen stiff in his embrace. Her eyebrows draw up and reach her hairline, eyes blown wide in shock. “Or that… you could do that…”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Dean groans in defeat and shame, hoping the Earth opens up and takes him straight to the burning fires of Hell. See? There aren’t enough apologies in this world to make up for his stupidity. “You know, this is all Sam’s fault… He just got into my head… I mean, this is obviously the wrong first move… I-I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just have a, you know, teeny-tiny crush on you, but still, this is obviously inappropriate.”

“You-, uhm, you have a crush on me?”

Dean swallows the hard lump in his throat. “Uh, yeah… Yeah, I do,” he admits bravely. “But don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just a temporary thing, alright?”

Y/N nods slightly in understanding. “For how long have you felt this way?”

“Well, uhm, like I said – not that long… Just a very short period of time… Like, since November 29th… 2012,” he gulps and shrugs sheepishly, watching her brow furrow in confusion.

“But… that’s the day we met,” Y/N points out.

Dean chuckles uncomfortably and rebuffs her concerns. “Is it? No…,” he rasps. “Well, uhm, anyways, that doesn’t change anything. Don’t worry, alright? No need to make this weird. I’m sure if we give it a couple more years, I’ll be completely over you.”

Y/N’s head bobs again, her lips pursing. “Okay, uhm… But what if you, uh, you know, maybe get over me in the literal sense… and I could get under you?”

The gears in his head start turning as he musingly squints his pine green eyes at her and studies her features. She seems nervous. There’s a bite of her lower lip and a light swallow in her throat, her pupils flickering insecurely. “Uhm, well… is that something you would like? I mean, to get-, uh, would you wanna get under me?”

“Uhm… yes? Yeah?” She looks up at him and meets his gaze, their eyes fully connecting for the first time since they have catapulted themselves into this mortifying situation.

“Is that a question?” Dean checks and chuckles lightly. “Because you kinda need to be sure about this, y’know?”

Another swallow and Y/N nods, determination gleaming in her eyes. He feels her weight shift forward, her feet rising on tip-toes as her palms move from his upper arms to the back of his neck. Her soft, pillowy lips catch his, a tender touch as their mouths carefully mold together. She sucks on his upper lip, nibbles on the bottom one before he feels the tip of her tongue lick between. He opens his mouth wider, lets her slip inside.

Dean’s hands then begin to travel, his confidence growing as Y/N’s fingers tug slightly on the short strands of hair in the nape of his neck, trying to draw him closer. One large hand cups her neck, the other one smoothing down her spine and pressing into the small of her back. He pushes her closer, deepens the kiss, and both of them moan needily while their tongues dance with each other. His grip on her becomes stronger, their bodies melting into one. Y/N gasps into his mouth, her hips pushing against his, skin on skin, as her bare pussy brushes his bulging dick.

“Shit…,” Dean mutters breathlessly against her lips, and Y/N breaks the kiss and meets his eyes with a hint of a smile.

Her lips are red and glistening, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. He cups her blushed cheek, thumb ghosting over the kiss-swollen flesh of her bottom lip as he mirrors her soft smile.

“You okay?” Y/N checks, giggling slightly.

Dean chuckles, palm still caressing her cheek. “Yeah, uh, just realized we’re incredibly naked.”

She snorts and nods, “Yeah, guess that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, huh?”

“Definitely not,” Dean agrees and laughs a little, his cheeks blushing with bashfulness. “But, look, we don’t have to do anything tonight, alright? We can take it slow.”

Y/N thoughtfully chews on her lip, her dimples showing a smile before she shakes her head. “No, I think we’ve been taking things slow for long enough.”

Dean’s face breaks into a grin before he pulls her back to his lips for a searing kiss. Y/N’s hands lock around his neck, allowing him to lift her up, and her legs instinctively wrap around his waist. His hand weaves into her hair, still damp in the back of her neck from her bath, as the scent of her delicious body wash and lotion seep into his nostrils with each intake of air.

“You smell nice,” he notes, his mouth trailing along her jawline and down her throat, leaving wet kisses in his wake as he sucks her pulse point black and blue. “Like a flower garden…”

Y/N giggles, the cute sound in his ears causing his heart to flutter. She clasps his jaw and draws his attention back to her face, nuzzling her nose against his, whispering, “Bedroom. Need you inside me…”

“Jesus, Y/N… Going in for the kill, huh? You can’t say stuff like that to a man in a compromising position,” he jokes, making her laugh more. “Okay, hold on, sweetheart. You ready?”

She confirms it with a nod, and Dean adjusts his grip on her body, grabbing her a little tighter before bolting down the bunker hallway like a little kid on Christmas morning. The huntress squeals and giggles in his arms as he kicks the door open to his bedroom, gently laying her down on the mattress. She lets herself fall back and stretches out on the bed, her shoulder blades indenting the memory foam, and he hopes the thing does as advertised and fucking remembers her forever.

“You’re fast,” Y/N teases him as he quickly makes his way on top of her.

Dean chuckles, placing soft kisses on her lips in between his laughs. “Yeah, well, I’d run a mile just to get a taste of you, sweetheart. But don’t worry – not all of it will be this fast, alright?”

“Oh, I didn’t think it would be,” she giggles and licks her lips. “Can you just do me a favor?”

“Anything, sweetheart,” Dean assures her and lovingly brushes her hair behind her ears.

“Just judging by, uhm, size-,” she interrupts her sentence for a giggle, and he joins in. She’s so fucking cute. “Can you go slow?”

“Oh, trust me. I would’ve taken my time either way, but tell you what – I’ll even do you one better,” he says. His fingers then slide up her arm, along her collarbone and down to one breast. She shivers underneath him, her skin breaking into delicate goosebumps, soon soothed by his warm lips. His thumb brushes her bud, plays with it until it hardens and then alleviates the sensation with his hot breath and wet tongue.

“Fuuuuck,” Y/N sighs blissfully, her toes curling as a smile shapes on her lips, fully relaxing under his care. “Feels so good, De.”

His chuckle vibrates against her ribcage, his mouth traveling down her upper body, his kisses not missing an inch of smooth skin. Every rib, every beauty mark, every freckle gets the attention they deserve, even teasingly dipping his tongue into her navel. The last tender kiss is placed on her mound as he moves between her legs and spreads her thighs a little wider.

A smirk forms on his face as he leers at her pussy, bright pink and already glistening with her arousal. He catches her watchful gaze, sees a bit of insecurity shimmering in it as she nibbles her fingernails and bottom lip almost bloody, so he cheekily wiggles his eyebrows and sends her a wink, causing her to giggle and roll her eyes at his antics before she lets herself fall back into the mattress with a calming, deep breath.

Licking his thumb pad, he presses it against her sensitive nub, her thighs jolting for a second at the initial touch as a hiss escapes her throat, followed shortly by a strangled whimper. Y/N’s hands fist the bedsheet a little tighter, her knuckles turning white, every muscle wired to the nth degree. Her chest heaves frantically as her breathing grows more erratic with each little circle of his digit. His index finger then stretches and reaches her dripping entrance, rubbing at the tight ring before he easily pushes inside and curls it, poking the spongey spot.

“Fuck, Dean…,” she manages to croak out, biting down on her tongue.

Dean only chuckles, a giddy feeling spreading in his stomach and loving how responsive she is to his touches. There’s a loud whimper when he kisses her pussy lips, tongue dipping between and giving her clit a kitten lick, distracting her enough to shove his middle finger inside her cunt as well, scissoring them once he’s knuckles-deep.

“Oh God… shit,” she groans and whines above him.

He laughs lightly and curiously observes the torment on her face. “Wanna cum, huh?”

“Dean, I swear… I-… please,” she begs, her initial threat morphing into a soft plea for mercy.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he assures her amusedly and swiftly presses his mouth back on her pussy, sucking her sensitive bundle of nerves between his plump lips and thrusting his digits harder and faster inside her. It only takes three, four pushes and one skilled suck before she convulses, trembles, and soaks his face and fingers in her juices. He groans at the sweet taste of her on his tongue, his cock twitches gleefully between his bow legs, only too eager to slide in next.

“Oh God! Fuck… shit… D-Dean!”

The green-eyed hunter grins broadly up at her, his face almost split in half as he bathes in her blissed-out expression and the rosy cheeks that accompany it.

“Wow,” she breathes and shakily catches his swollen and wet lips as he comes back up to her eye level, propping his arms up on the sides of her head.

“I think you’re ready for the big gun now,” he laughs and places a loving kiss on the tip of her nose and another one on her forehead.

“Uh-huh, I’m not so sure after this,” she giggles, still catching her breath. She cups his jaw, kisses him deeply, and licks her arousal from his pillowy lips. “You’re… amazing.”

“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he winks, the softness of his smile contrasting his cockiness. “Do we, uhm, need–”

Y/N shakes her head, anticipating his question. “No, uh, I’m on the pill. I just need you.”

With a smile, he nods and ducks his head, entangling her in a blazing kiss as he devours her lips. His hand pushes between their heated bodies, fisting his achingly hard cock before he threads his dickhead through her folds, coats it with her slick before it catches at her entrance. His thick and leaking tip pushes inside, slowly entering her drenched cunt inch by inch till he’s buried deep and touches her cervix, stretching her tight walls around his impressive girth and hearing her little gasps of sheer pleasure.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps at the feeling of her pussy enveloping his cock and gently brushes her hair out of her face, kissing her deeply. “Taking me so well… Such a good girl f’me.”

“God, you feel like heaven,” she whimpers and wraps her arms around his neck.

As he languidly pulls out to the tip, he kisses down her neck, sucking a mark into her skin. His hand wraps around one of hers, pinning it above her head to the mattress, fingers tightly interlocking before he thrusts back into her heat. His hips then work up a rhythm, a slow and soft song, as he fucks her deep and slams home harder at just the right spot.  

Her second orgasm builds slowly yet deeply, aiming to shatter her from within as she hears the ticking of a bomb in every muscle of her body, counting down the seconds before a massive explosion. She moans loudly as the earth-shattering climax hits her at full force, booming and wild as she curses his name over and over.

His fingers grip hers tighter, his thrusts growing sloppy as he lazily fucks her, her pulsating walls clenching around his firm cock. His hips begin to stutter, broad shoulders quaking as he spills deep inside her and stills. He grunts, her name falling from his lips, loud, strained, and primal when he cums, painting her walls with his milky seed.

“Wow,” Dean repeats her earlier sentiment, her giggle causing his heart to soar higher than the moon in the sky. “You okay?”

A wide smile spreads across her face, a tired nod moving her head. “Yeah, more than okay,” she assures him and seeks out his lips.

Dean places one last kiss on her hairline before removing his limp and drenched dick from her center, rolling to his side and pulling her onto his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her frame. “Hey, Y/N?”

She wearily lifts her heavy head to meet his green eyes. “Hm?”

“Were you, uhm, lonely?” Dean asks, his fingertips drawing tender patterns on her back.

“I guess… a little, yeah,” she admits. “Why?”

He kisses her forehead and pulls her closer. “Nothing. Just… I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere, okay? You wanna move into my room?”

Y/N’s beam is blinding, her cheeks blushing brightly pink. “Yeah, I’d love that,” she replies and snuggles back into his chest.

Dean then notices her eyes falling shut, losing the battle against sleep as her breathing calms in his embrace, his own mind following her into dreamland soon after.

In the morning, Y/N and Dean are still soundly asleep, entangled in sheets and limbs, when there are a few abrupt knocks on the door before it pops open to its full extent, the youngest Winchester’s voice drowning in from the hall.

“Hey, Dean? I’m back! Look, I figured we could talk. I’m sorry about yesterd–… ay… Whoa!”

“Wha-!” Y/N jolts up from the bed at the unexpected intrusion, her elbow hitting Dean straight in the face as he rises behind her. The force of the blow knocks him out of bed, the hunter tumbling to the cold ground.

Y/N clasps her palm over her mouth, staring at Sam’s shocked expression, their eyes both wide before she glances over her shoulder to her lover on the ground.

“Ow! Jesus…”

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Sam,” the huntress smiles awkwardly at the younger Winchester, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders as she hides her naked body underneath the sheets. “Good morning. How-, uh, how was the documentary?”

“Uhm, good?” Sam doesn’t look any less freaked out by what his hazel eyes are witnessing, though.

Dean groans behind her, rubbing a palm over his aching face before sending his little brother a lazy grin. “Hiya, Sammy.”

Sam then lets out a long sigh through his nose and mutters, “About damn time…”

“Yeah, about that, little brother… Might call Eileen and book yourself a room for at least a week somewhere,” Dean tells him, smirking.

Sam’s brow furrows, “What? Why?”

“Oh, because I’m gonna rail Y/N in every room we have,” Dean explains casually, watching Sam’s eyes widen.

“Oh?” Y/N sends her boyfriend an intrigued look, which he responds to with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows and a wink. “Even the dungeon? Are you, like, gonna tie me up and stuff?”

Dean’s eyes look at her lovingly, causing her cheeks to flush with heat. “Where have you been all my life, sweetheart?”

“Oh God, what have I done…,” Sam groans with a thick swallow.

PHEW! And we’re done with one shot week, babes! 😮‍💨 I honestly hadn’t planned this but found some inspiration over the weekend and finished some WIPs, and since they were all about different kinds of love, I figured they were perfect for Valentine’s Day 💖

Hope you enjoyed these various journeys, and if you did, please consider telling me here and leaving me with some kind words 🥰 Now excuse me while I go work on a few Soldier Boy one shots. I’ve missed my toxic Ben-Ben. Read you soon, babes! 😝🖤

Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @avanatural​

Dean Tags: @parinarain​ @hobby27​ @fromcaintodean​

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fic #dean winchester reader insert #dean x reader #dean x y/n #writing request #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic

[hshqgossip]

SPOTTED! SPECIAL EDITION: new year’s eve, kinshasa

CHASING THAT FAME, HE STAYED THE SAME

may you live in interesting times. proximity to the equator results in warmer temperatures, and let’s just say the program DELIVERED this new year’s eve. should it be described as starting off with a bang? there was…a LOT of discussion and conduction of sexual activity. the only thing that surprised me was the lack of a menagé a trois this time. i suppose 2023 is the year of getting cuffed - with only a single pair of handcuffs. vanilla readers, beware. ahead lies all the naughty and nice the world’s elite got up to last night… it’s a long one babes, strap in for some sex, drugs and rock’n’roll bc the only resolutions this group can keep are the ones they don’t make xoxo 💋

ALL OF ME CHANGED LIKE MIDNIGHT

🌐 the headlines.

🚺 2023 Biel Political Agenda: Charity for Women 🚺

inspired by all star feminist hafiz, biel very charitably kissed gwen

furthermore, he and ex-fiancé effie are in discussion for collaboration on 🍆 👉a charitable joint venture 👌🍑

👱 European Blondes vs. Westerosi Lannisters: Spot the Difference!👱

can we blame ari for getting it on with her ex-fiancé bash (blue eyed blonde blue balled by blue eyed blonde, say that five times fast fanni) instead of her boo beau? no.

can we blame her for watching biel and copying him? ew, yes.

can we blame barbie for also watching him? ALSO, yes.

so we already know effie doesn’t mind leaving doors unlocked, but it must run in the family because older sister catherine enjoys the same exhibitionist thrill in cars

💥 Top Fails of NYE 💥

nominee #1…hafiz! our favorite hottie with a body baby had a rough night. friendship break up with fumiko 💔relationship break up with baby daddy?? all we know is that she spent most of the night as biel’s charity case, and midnight kissing miguel!

nominee #2….araya! there was no reason she needed to be BLINDED by those portuguese-scottish pasty asses bumping uglies rip to ur eyes queen 👁️👁️also maybe lost her bf unclear

nominee #3….gwen! after her pity kiss with biel, gwen turned to age old cure of bitching with bitches, whining with wine 🍷 just one problem. her bestie effie-fuckin-stuart just had her back blown out by biel 😩

and the winner is….aurel! after accidentally pushing his totally-casual-this-doesn’t-mean-anything-i-swear-my-broseph gf araya, bestie silje dumped aurel publicly by announcing it to the whole party. at least detention was served by certified milf (thnx to robbie) wiebke. who’s been a bad boy? 🐶

💄 gossip girl grades.

💯 Best Dressed 💯

alexander has women THROWING THEMSELVES at him?? what is it?? big dick?? known pussy eater?? man isn’t even 6’ tf    - manon claimed to be engaged to him, ofc he thought she was a rabid fan    - marisol kissed HIM instead of the fiancé she’d been doing lines with (click for live footage of her and arthur)    - levente literally offered fanni’s hand in marriage plus a DOWRY 🐐🐐🐐 did the countdown take us back to 1723??

who doesn’t find round 3174374 of mwezi vs zulu hot (especially when minnie is wearing that dress) but we’re still waiting for their karaoke video 🎤🎤🎤

nadya romanova’s shoes and meixu’s dress. this is what i imagine was going thru uriah’s brain 

no wonder jelani ended up with sol at midnight who wouldn’t want to unwrap that present 🎁

👙 Best Undressed 👙

my respect for the whore’s revenge dress

according to the norwegian princess, hans has some. very tasteful noods on his phone. uhhhh when will pax aeterna start wikileaking royal phones 🤤 these are the real issues!!

ok but also remember when silje wasn’t dressed as a nun

who else spent five minutes trying to figure out if sylvie’s underwear was visible or if it was just the design of the dress

honorable mentions:🦶ireti and ilija only need people to take their shoes off to get them horny 🦶 & andrew smartly suggesting skinny dipping to save outfits

⛔ Worst Dressed ⛔

lowkey one of barbie’s more blah looks, just bc ur married doesn’t mean u need to dress like ur sex life is over

dianna, i’m not mad. just disappointed. we both know you can do better.

yes, yes, i’m a slut for jelani 🙄 but! he’s RIGHT and he should say it! 👏👏👏 showing up in actual chains and s&m references was a bit too much klaus 😬

📈 2023 trends.

💊 MDMA >>> Weed 🌿

✨gwen and ana maria were really feelin it ✨

apparently it takes HARD DRUGS to get a family reunion with the jins. wish lixue had been wearing black like xiuying & meixu for an addams-family-esque reunion

sergi and an intoxicated matilde are open minded af and arnauld thought he could benefit from a fresh, young perspective…but the man is a fossil 🦴🦴🦴 the audacity to think matilde would open her legs for him 💀she has self respect

a very wet fanni 💦 ended up in a very wet arnauld’s bedroom after her happy pill. lmfao. honestly can’t tell who i pity more, the drunk has-been who can’t get pussy unless they’re high, or the attention-seeking coquette who’s willing to suffer through limp dick 🥒for the sake of validation 😇

we’ll get to levente in a moment

😇 Good Girls Going Bad 😈

yk what they say about church girls….let’s continue to keep up with the cröys real quick:    - ines was exposed for the needy fuckhole she is (her husband’s words not mine 🙊) in front of experienced bad girls verona and catherine    - olimpia and jelani got cozy….but he ultimately chose kebab pizza(??) and with her fiancé still mia, she chose to “rub elbows” with a different italian.

an early 00’s classic: the usa president’s daughter got wasted on shots, too bad bodyguards #1 and #2 weren’t around to help…omg there’s even one left over for ionie

did anyone get a final count of how many people éloa kissed in the first minute past midnight?

👠 DOMME MOMS 🥵 ( george & zhaohui ur time has come )

verona (olimpia’s milf-in-law if u forgot) has confirmed her domme instincts: she’s into cucking. to those of us who recall marcello crawling on the floor, this comes as no surprise 💅

sugar mommy!lixue 💸 made her sugar baby dress less provocative….but somehow that’s what got lixun going. so ig silje has herself a dom daddy too lol bets on whether silje finds ines’ kinks relatable?? 😛kristoffer seemed pretty pleased with the results, maybe he should consider submitting to lixue too ⛓️

klaus should be into this but…helena is not a milf technically oops should have gone w ana maria (thick thighs save lives 🫦 js she deserves a throne 👅)

🕊️MALEWIVES #simps4lyfe 💍

is max just like…super into preggo ladies? uh…thore should probably keep his plans for tekla on the DL for now 😶

speaking of whom, fucking finally! getting w the program! he should ask his dad if he knows anything about ‘ happy wife happy life ’

layla knows what i mean am i right 🍆

ronan obvs simps for maite, a++ for calling out nikolai for simping too

atm daisuke for hafiz, lmao - maybe they took a tip from verona re: cucking 😛

rip to freja who may be the only one losing a malewife, ig lucien feels things have gone a cock fuck suck cuck too far

anniversary tips from leobela: in a successful marriage the wife forgets to get a present and the groom buys expensive jewelry 🤑

the fact that the czar even showed up to this party! we assume credit goes to anneli’s tits 🍒being at eye level 👀the entire time

ennio will BECOME a malewife this year. manifesting for nat 🔮💍 👰

❌ Return of the Exes ❌

current count: biel/effie, ari/bash, farnauld

bets on gimi breaking up AGAIN since he p much told arnauld she’s his fwb…maybe barbie girl should take inspiration from irl barbie and take advantage of a norwegian-ken-doll or her western transdanubian serenader

omari is around…..but is checking out fumiko 👀

reggie/yasmin when?? manifesting for 2023 🔮like to charge, comment to cast

CREDITS:

manips: x x

#spotted

[skippyv20]

Who are the backers?

 Hi Skippy, you don’t have to publish this on your blog but perhaps you may already know of what I write or may be interested in researching it.

I already submitted to your blog Welby’s ties to the World Economic Forum - WEF.  Welby had a career in the oil industry.

Klaus Schwab, an 82 year old German set up the WEF in 1971.  I encourage everyone to look into Schwab’s idea of the Fourth Industrial Revolution and that by 2030 we will own nothing.  The elites that attend the forums are basically technocrats which is exactly what MM is trying to become, with her army of bots, “her truth”, the Sussex Squad and dictating what is published about her.

January 2020 WEF …. “The meeting – described as the place where billionaires tell millionaires how the middle classes should live their lives…"  is summed up in this article of 25 Jan 2020:

https://www.theguardian.com/business/2020/jan/24/what-did-we-learn-from-davos-2020

Research on the WEF takes up quite a bit of time but here’s a link to their website where a member of the Danish parliament’s imagines a future scenario for mankind:

https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2016/11/how-life-could-change-2030/

The WEF talks a lot of the word salad MM does on their site.  It sounds great, all the talk about equality, globalism, digitalisation, ending racism, saving the planet etc but the consequences for us as free humans are quite dire if you look into it carefully, and what the consequences will be for us plebs (vs the elites that are the WEF).

Here is the bit that, as a huge supporter of Queen Elizabeth, has me confused.  Again, I urge everyone to look into it for themselves instead of automatic dismissal due to supporting the Monarchy. 

On the 3rd of June 2020, the WEF published an article on its website that “The Great Reset” will be the theme of a unique twin summit in January 2021, convened by the World Economic Forum” and that “the announcement of the Great Reset was made by HRH The Prince of Wales and Professor Schwab during a virtual meeting, followed by statements by UN Secretary-General António Guterres and IMF Managing Director Kristalina Georgieva.”

https://www.weforum.org/press/2020/06/the-great-reset-a-unique-twin-summit-to-begin-2021

The WEF website also had a link to this website supposedly belonging to Prince Charles, I have no idea if it is genuine or not, it did seem a bit like Meghan’s tricks to appear officially Royal.  Maybe someone else can say if it is or isn’t.

princeofwales.gov.uk/thegreatreset   

I can’t insert a screenshot of that page here but it is a post supposedly on Prince Charles’ twitter dated 4th June 2020 announcing the Great Reset.  You can click directly onto his twitter from there and so I did, and scrolled right back through the timeline.  Prince Charles twitter begins on the 27th June 2020 with a post about soldiers.

Naturally, I thought the WEF were appropriating Prince Charles’ sustainability initiative - hijacking his work so to speak for their own benefit.  A bit like Meghan has done to the RF.

A look around the internet however, and there are many articles about Prince Charles’ Great Reset statement, here are two:

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/jun/03/pandemic-is-chance-to-reset-global-economy-says-prince-charles

skynews.com.au/details/_6199544116001?id=632374

Finally, the WEF forum did not take place in January 2021, it has been postponed until sometime in Spring as the elites are getting “cold feet” about the plan (according to Sky News).

I do wonder who the RF member is that London Scoop said would have to fall on their sword.  Is it Prince Harry, Prince Andrew (I don’t think so), is it the bumbling along, well known greenie Prince Charles?  I do not wonder though who MM’s backers are, to me it is obvious.  Just my opinion.

Thank you..I posted as it is very interesting....😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

3/20/21

[ladybevr]

Your comment about this being an attack on the monarchy for an agenda is the smartest I've read anywhere. Notice how all her answers and reveals were evasive? This would never cut the mustard in court because she's so obviously lying.

I didn’t watch or listen to it. I am basing my comments from what others reported her saying.  But from what they said in their posts I also don’t think OW asked any really challenging questions.  I think OW was in on it all and it was a collaboration between Ow, CBS, and MM to attack the Royal Family and weaken the Monarchy.  I think several sections were quickly redone after the bullying charges came out and were quickly edited in.  I bet that they started work on the reshoot yesterday and finished it up just before they went to air. The early clips released were to find out how the BRF and the people would react and just what measures the Queen might take after it was released.  OW and CBS are no friend of the BRF or the people of the UK.  It was planned as a distraction for the people of the USA and the UK and to damage the Monarchy and lend strength to those wanting a Republic in the UK.  A Republic government like the USA has is easier to control and manipulate.  Only those that can raise billions of dollars will win the primaries.  Those who accept all that money in donations to their campaigns then owe those who donated favors once elected.  They then have to work for those people and are controlled by those people. If they don’t then they will not be re elected.  That is how all the governments in the west are controlled. These same people control all the media sites.  In Britain and Canada it is harder to control basically buy the Politians.  The USA is heading for another war in the middle east.  It will serve as a distraction and as an excuse to not be able to fulfill their campaign promises.  It will also serve to make the controllers of the government richer. There are many forms of slavery. One such form is when the middle class shrinks and the lower class grows and wages drop compared to the cost of living. People are scared of losing their jobs and not being able to find new ones. The Masters only pay a low wage but they don’t have to pay for housing, food and medical  which  in the past the slave owner had to pay for.  But in many instances they can get the government to pay for some or all of it for them. Since they don’t pay their fair share of taxes it falls on the middle class to pay for the lower class modern day slaves.  The feudal system was a kind of slavery as well. The peasants were dependant on the Lords for land to rent,, housing, food, and medical. and jobs/wages.  The new elites want to be Lords even if they are not called that. They don’t want to have to bow to a Monarch or Prince. They want to be above them. They want the power to control the government.  They want far more power than what the current Monarch has.  So they will try to destroy the Monarchy and any form of government that  they control. The people in the USA think that they control. by their vote the government. But they don’t. The elites control who runs in the primaries and the elections and they control the media so that the people elect who they want elected. Those elected are controlled by those who donated billions to their campaigns. Often those billions come from the people in the form of donations to the companies or organizations pacs. Donations to pacs are often required of employees by the companies. No poor man who has not promised his soul to the elites/Lords  will not get the donations and therefore can not run a successful campaign and win.  Sorry for carrying on.  I am just in a bad mood tonight.  Will be better tomorrow. I doubt that a whole lot will change. The Queen and Charles are to scared and to arrogant that they don’t think anyone would dare say such disrespectful things about them, especially not Harry.  Ha ha.  They have buried their heads in the sand. They have paid and supported the persons that are damaging them.  Meghan and Harry are just tools for those wanting to see the Monarchy abolished. M and H have been flattered and manipulated by the abolishers. The abolishers have used their hatred and jealousy and need for attention to get them to do the dirty work  And the biggest joke is that Charles and the Queen thus the UK taxpayers have paid for it all. The Queen won’t act because if she does then she has to do the same to Andrew plus it sets up a dangerous precedent for the future.  Plus I think Phillip was the real strength behind the Queen through out her reign, not her.  She should never have given Harry any titles and should have cut off all funding right from day one.  But she was to scared and she let herself be manipulated and lied tp by Harry.  Charles is a weakling and a coward. He is probably celebrating that he escaped and that William and Catherine were the ones attacked the most.  The Queen is old and tired and not to much longer to live.  But once she is gone their is going to be a major fight to keep Charles from becoming King. That is when the major fight to abolish the Monarchy and institute the Republic will occur.  Those wanting the Republic have some major support including financial from the USA and Europe.  Then the real battle will begin.  Canada is also under attack in some ways from people from outside Canada to make the Canadian government be a Republic and it will probably happen after the Queen dies. I expect that Canada will have a referendum at that time and the majority of Canadians will vote for the abolishment of the Monarch as our head of state and for an elected Senate. We will probably end up a Republic just like the USA.

[poemsforpersephone]

The third and final book rec list for fans of The Last Sun!

The Infinite Noise by Lauren Shippen has really cool empathy powers which, although not the two way bond Brand and Rune share, does remind me of the emotion reading aspect in TLS. The m/m relationship in it is also super sweet. 

The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzie Lee. This one I’m recommending because the protagonist is a snarky asshole just like Rune, and the writing style is so well done. It’s m/m and genuinely such a fun and quirky book. Also the cover art is gorgeous!

Silver in the wood by Emily Tesh. This is an LGBT novella where a wild man called Tobias lives in a place called “Greenhollow,” , where, and I quote, “Old secrets better left buried are dug up, and Tobias is forced to reckon with his troubled past—both the green magic of the woods, and the dark things that rest in its heart.” So im recommending this one simply because of the involvement of secrets and troubled pasts haha. 

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. The front cover of this one gives me The Hanged Man vibes like, all the way to the bone, which is initially what prompted me to rec it on this list. But also: “Gideon has a sword, some dirty magazines, and no more time for undead bullshit.” Idk about the dirty magazines but the rest of it scREAMS Rune. and the main character is a lesbian!!! yay!! 

The Black Veins by Ashia Monet. “In a world where magic thrives in secret city corners, a group of magicians embark on a road trip—and it’s the "no-love-interest", found family adventure you’ve been searching for.” It’s like someone looked into my heart and picked out my deepest desire and then wrote it and gave it life. This book is super diverse and super awesome. 

The Deathless Girls by Kiran Millwood Hargrave is a f/f take on Dracula basically. I’m recommending it because the main character and her sister go through a traumatic event similar to the loss of the sun court, when men come and burn their home to the ground along with their people and they’re captured and taken as slaves. It’s about family, friendship and survival, and it’s beautiful. 

The Never Tilting World by Rin Chupeco. An LGBT book where climate change deniers are the villains? ... you have my atttention. 

Prosper’s Demon by K.J. Parker. This is about a morally questionable exorcist!  It’s a satirical, interesting take on the topic of possession with a kick ass cover. 

The Wishing Heart by J.C Welker. An LGBT fantasy novel where our protag, Rebel, finds a jinni’s vessel and is thus thrust into a whole new world of trying to keep said jinni from everyone else and find a way to free her! The world building is awesome and so are the characters.

Tarnished are the Stars by Rosiee Thor. “A secret beats inside Anna Thatcher's chest: an illegal clockwork heart. Anna works cog by cog -- donning the moniker Technician -- to supply black market medical technology to the sick and injured, against the Commissioner's tyrannical laws.” i have the hardbook version of this and the cover??? is so?? beautiful.

The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum. TALKING OF PRETTY COVERS. “Ryann Bird dreams of traveling across the stars. But a career in space isn’t an option for a girl who lives in a trailer park on the wrong side of town. So Ryann becomes her circumstances and settles for acting out and skipping school to hang out with her delinquent friends.”

Predatory by Brooklyn Ray. WERELEOPARDS FRIENDS!!!! god damn wereleopards im?? so happy. m/m 

The Lost Coast by Amy Rose Capetta. FOUND FAMILY QUEER WITCHES. need i say more. 

Portraits of a Faerie Queen by Tay LaRoi. The fey run amok in this one! f/f with a gorgeous front cover.

Unbroken by Brooklyn Ray. step 1: rent haunted house. step 2: fall in love with witch-turned-demon who inhabits it. step 3: profit???

The High King’s Golden Tongue by Megan Derr. This one is lovely! Nice world building with an emphasis on languages and kingdoms, and a lovely m/m romance that builds from kind-of-enemies-but-not-really to lovers. the audiobook of this is great. 

Salt Magic, Skin Magic by Lee Welch. SORRY YOUR BOOK IS SET WHERE? MY HOMELAND? MY COUNTRY MY COUNTY MY HEART? we never get any attention imma go cry in the corner. its a historical fantasy m/m romance in YORKSHIRE gosh im here for it. And let me tell you... this is one fantastic book. I really, really enjoyed it.

Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner. fantasy, m/m, lotsa swords!

Of Fire and Stars by Audrey Coulthurst. f/f fantasy with a princess who has fire magic in a kingdom where magic is forbidden! 

Freedom’s Fate by Jennie Taylor. SPAAAAAAACE i love books in space.

Pegasi and Prefects by Eleanor Beresford. “Charley's final year at Fernleigh Manor is complicated by a runaway pegasus, unwanted Games Captainship, a dangerous new rival and, most of all, falling head over heels in love with another girl. What is a reluctant Senior Prefect to do?” catch me while i swoon.

The Necromancers Dance by SJ Himes. m/m vampire/necromancer romance, urban magic and fantasy, very fun and smooth read, a little bit insta love but not totally. 

The Star Host by F.T. Lukens. “Ren grew up listening to his mother tell stories about the Star Hosts – a mythical group of people possessed by the power of the stars.” a m/m fantasy book set to a sci fi fantasy background.

Empty Vessels by Nicholas Williams. “Lucas Mahler babysits clones all day, but he's trapped under the legacy of his body-builder father and his genius girlfriend. When Lucas tries to rise above, he's murdered. Waking up in the body of a clone, Lucas embarks on a mystery full of blood, old friends and lost loves.” idk the whole clone thing in this just always reminds me of lord tower making all the different fake versions of people he knows lmao. 

BOOKS NOT YET OUT

So, the thing is. 2020 is very close friends, and some awesome books are even closer. These below are books I’ve not read yet, since they’re not out and I am a poor ARCless girl, but they’re books you definitely want to keep an eye on.

Witches of Ash and Ruin by E. Latimer. Bisexual OCD protagonist who is a witch D: its everything i could want. 

Wild Sky by Zaya Feli. LGBT fantasy with dragons! It sounds so, so fun.

Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust. “A captivating and utterly original fairy tale about a girl cursed to be poisonous to the touch, and who discovers what power might lie in such a curse...”

The Fascinators by Andrew Eliopulos. “The Raven Boys meets Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, about an openly gay high school senior in small-town Georgia.” m/m fantasy which looks super sweet.

Cemetery Boys by Auden Thomas. “Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can’t get rid of him.” THIS SOUNDS SO COOL oh my god. Yes PLEASE. 

When We Were Magic by Sarah Gailey. “A sly, witchy dark comedy about four teens whose magic goes wildly awry.” Magic, darkness, comedy, what’s not to love for fans of the tarot sequence??

The Extraordinaries by T.J. Klune. I absolutely love T.J.  Klune’s writing so I can’t wait to get my hands on this. m/m superheros!! friends!!! get excited!! I think anyone who likes how witty K.D. is will enjoy this writing style. 

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune. YES ANOTHER ONE this looks so good too we are BLESSED. “A magical island. A dangerous task. A burning secret.”

Fragile Remedy by Maria Ingrande Mora. “Sixteen-year-old Nate is a GEM—Genetically Engineered Medi-tissue created by the scientists of Gathos City as a cure for the elite from the fatal lung rot ravaging the population. As a child, he was smuggled out of the laboratory where he was held captive and into the Withers—a quarantined, lawless region.” The idea of the Withers kind of reminds me of the westlands.

The Fell of Dark by Caleb Roehrig. UHM im always here for lgbt vampires in young adult fantasy fiction. The author says that “this book is gay and filled with monsters” which also fits the last sun so i figured it belongs on the list lmao. 

Ruinsong by Julia Ember. “In a world where magic is sung, a powerful mage named Cadence is forced to use her power to torture her country’s disgraced nobility at her ruthless queen’s bidding.”

#book recs #lgbt book recs #scionsofatlantis #hangedmanpromo

[thewales]

Harry and Meghan book: their raw rage leaps off the page.

I hope it was worth it for the prince

Roya Nikkhah, Royal Correspondent

Sunday July 26 2020,  The Sunday Times

For a couple so totally devoted to their privacy, this book, seemingly written with Prince Harry and Meghan’s blessing, is an extraordinary invasion of their own privacy.

No personal detail is spared. From their son Archie’s expression as he entered the world, to the name of their labrador, sensitive conversations with members of the royal family and even the exact “perfect pose” that yogi Meghan stretched her body into after discussing marriage with Harry on holiday in Africa — it is all in there.

The authors tell us that they have spoken to more than 100 sources, including “close friends of Harry and Meghan’s, royal aides and palace staff (past and present)”. As “fact-driven, objective journalists”, they say, “all information in this book has at least two sources”. Hmm. I wonder who they might be?

The official line from the Sussexes is that Finding Freedom is not an “authorised or endorsed book” and the authors insist they have not had on or off-the-record “interviews” with the couple, although Team Sussex told me Harry and Meghan were “relaxed” about the authors’ access to their nearest and dearest.

On the eve of its serialisation, a Sussex spokesman said: “The Duke and Duchess of Sussex were not interviewed and did not contribute to Finding Freedom. This book is based on the authors’ own experiences as members of the royal press corps and their own independent reporting.”

“These are versions of events both of us believe to be true,” say the authors. The book is certainly an authentic version of events — it is Harry and Meghan’s version.

The authors of Finding Freedom are Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand. Scobie, 39 ( cambridgelife comment: OMID IS OLD AHAHAHAHA, he still looks like ken) , a former celebrity reporter for Heat magazine, is the royal editor of Harper’s Bazaar. Durand is a US journalist based in America who previously worked for ABC News in London and writes for Elle. The pair are keen to champion the Sussexes’ philanthropic and campaigning agenda. “The aim of this book was to portray the real Harry and Meghan, a couple who have often been inaccurately portrayed and victims of those with personal agendas,” they say. That may have been the original aim, but over 24 chapters of score-settling and swipes at the royal family, the institution of monarchy, royal aides and the media, their admirable charitable endeavours are swamped by bitter recriminations. The book is likely to make particularly hurtful reading for the Queen, the grandmother Harry has said he “adores”, if indeed a copy finds its way to Balmoral, where she is about to decamp for her summer break with most of her family. The ink is barely dry on the January “Megxit” deal, where the monarch made a public point of sending the Sussexes on their way across the pond with the affectionate words: “Harry, Meghan and Archie will always be much loved members of my family”, thanking them for their “dedicated work” and concluding a painful and turbulent chapter in the royal family’s history with her “hope” that the agreement would allow them “to start building a happy and peaceful new life”. Whatever the past turmoil, the Queen’s hope was certainly shared by the rest of her family. But they come under heavy artillery fire in Finding Freedom, page after page. We are told Harry has lost respect for part of the institution and certain family members, and that the Sussexes left the UK “battered and bruised by . . . lack of support from members of the royal family”. The body blows come thick and fast for the Duke of Cambridge, who will need to be braced, though I am told “nothing has the power to surprise him any more”. Not so long ago, Harry said his brother was “the one person on this earth” he could talk to about anything. “Every year we get closer . . . we understand each other.” How sad those words seem now. Harry’s feelings of indignation towards his brother in the book are palpable. As William encourages his younger brother to take all the time he needs in his new relationship — something their parents did not do, with devastating results — Harry does not see a protective sibling and an understandably cautious future monarch looking out for him and the institution. Instead he sees “a snob”. Perhaps William wishes he handled things differently now, but if two brothers cannot sit down for an honest heart-to-heart about one of the most important decisions in life, who can? The suggestion that the Cambridges cold-shouldered Harry and Meghan from the start will also raise bemused eyebrows. William and Kate hosted the couple at Anmer Hall, their Norfolk home, for Christmas in 2017, and the “Fab Four” — remember them? — strode out from Sandringham to church on Christmas morning as one.Grenades are also lobbed at Prince Charles, who memorably saved the day for his “darling boy”, accompanying Meghan down the aisle at St George’s Chapel in Windsor when her own father was a no-show. “Thank you, Pa,” Harry beamed at Charles as his bride joined him at the altar. But now, a source in the book tells us, Charles is so focused on his public image that at times Harry feels that takes precedence over everything, including the relationship with his younger son. That will sting the Prince of Wales.Harry and Meghan’s exit deal is due to be reviewed next year, and the Queen and the royal family are said to have made it clear to the couple the door will always remain open to them. Once this book is published next month, neither the prospect of a reconciliation nor the resumption of their royal life seem promising soon.“The old Harry would never do this,” a disappointed, bemused but still fond friend tells me. “It’s needless drama, drama, drama. He’s so far gone. They got most of what they asked for, they got the Queen’s public support and they’re out in California with Archie planning their new life the way they wanted it. But they can’t let go of the past and move on. It’s so sad.”It is true that Harry and Meghan’s still raw rage leaps off the pages — it is “us against the world” at every turn — and readers may wonder whatever happened to the royal mantra, “Never complain, never explain”.I have interviewed Harry three times in my decade as a royal correspondent, and always found him entertaining, engaging, honest and definitely keen to get it all off his chest.So perhaps the Sussexes will feel relieved everything is now out in the open. Perhaps it will give them the “closure” they need. Perhaps it will lay ghosts to rest and, in time, help to heal the gaping wounds that are clearly still sore from their premature wrenching from the royal fold. Perhaps. But was it really worth it?

[jemej3m]

Date Night

one of my fave headcanons that andreil go on weekly not-dates, because they’re definitely not a thing. 

Neil didn’t really understand the shallow forms of entertainment that were provided around campus until he found himself participating in them with Andrew. 

Movies, picnics, markets. It was, as Andrew tended to reiterate, incredibly fickle. Sometimes Neil felt like an idiot attempting the games and activities, especially considering Andrew usually opted out to watch. But sometimes it made Andrew crack that tiny, tiny smile, and Neil couldn’t deny that his embarrassment was worth it.

It was the reason they both upgraded to smart-phones, so that Andrew could film Neil falling onto his ass (ice-skating), or almost knocking over a kid by flinging his arm the wrong way (bowling), or slipping over in a mud puddle (an evening walk in the summer rain). Now they both had an app called Snapchat, where their messages were various saved videos of Neil doing stupid shit. 

Neil looked up from where he had sunk into the beanbag at the jangle of Andrew’s keys. His - boyfriend? No, not boyfriend - was glaring at the back of Kevin’s head, silently daring him to say something. 

Kevin looked at Neil. “You’re wasting precious time.” 

All he said was “Sue me.”, clambering onto his feet. He snatched a grey hoodie - Andrew’s - and put on socks before stuffing his feet into black boots - also Andrew’s. He was not impressed at the sight of what Neil was wearing, pushing him out the door and slamming it behind them. 

“What’s the date-night agenda for this week?” Neil jeered, knowing it would rile him up.

“I hate you.” Andrew said calmly, chucking the keys at Neil as they reached the bottom of the Tower’s stairs. “Drive.”

Neil did as he was told. And if their fingers were linked over the gearstick for the entirety of the half-hour drive, neither of them mentioned it. 

Andrew, a man of simplicity, had always liked the crisp fall weather. South Carolina’s fall was nothing like California’s, where the heat laid over your skin like heavy-weighted hands. Andrew liked the contrast between the cool breeze and the warmth of Neil’s hand as they walked from the car to the carnival grounds: He liked Neil in his sweater and his boots. He’d liked Neil in his car, too, though that was an old satisfaction now. 

There was a particular scar that Andrew always brushed his thumb over: his fist knuckle, where a half-formed circle raised up from the skin. The dash-board lighter hadn’t created a whole circle, instead, a crescent shape. He would circle it, then cross it, then circle it again. He wondered if Neil noticed it.

He probably had: For someone who had remained so insistently oblivious, he was sure as hell perceptive now. Maybe when he understood something, he broke it down into tiny, manageable pieces so that he could continue to interpret it. 

“Hey.” Neil hadn’t mentioned where they were, or what they were doing. Instead, he was letting his eyes flit from one brightly lit stall to another. They’d arrived at the ticket booth. “Cash?” 

Andrew let go of Neil’s hand to take out his wallet, which was where Neil kept most of his crap, too. God, Andrew would have murdered Neil himself if he’d been on the run with the fucker. He was so annoying, keeping every receipt and business card to dispose of properly, later. Even if he no longer had to hide a paper trail, his old habits kept up with him. 

Two adult tickets. Andrew ignored the weird glances: Neil, who was growing used to the reactions to his scars, ignored them too. They walked into the grounds, and found themselves silently overwhelmed. 

“I was never allowed to go to one of these as a kid.” Neil admitted. 

“Of course not. Your entire existence is tragic.” 

“Drama queen.” Neil muttered, tugging on Andrew’s sleeve and carefully avoiding his armbands. Always so fucking careful. Andrew hated him for it. 

“I’ve only been to one.” Truth for truth. Conversation rolled off Andrew’s tongue easily now. Everything was easier with Neil. Not easy, but - easier. “I snuck it. Got cotton candy with two dollars I’d stolen from my foster mother. Got kicked out because it was actually three dollars, and I’d used a piece of printed money.” 

“Tragic.” Neil grinned.

Andrew made Neil buy him a candied apple for that. There was a small ferris wheel, which they avoided. Neil refused to go apple bobbing unless they both did it, so Andrew dunked Neil’s head in when they lined up to start. Neil still won anyway. 

He also won at darts: Go figure. Andrew forced him to get the enormous teddy-bear, almost as big as he was, and to carry it around for the rest of the evening. 

When they both retired with some cotton candy at the edge of the field, they leant the stupid teddy-bear against a tree. Andrew leaned into it, and then Neil leaned into Andrew. He did try some of the cotton candy but hated it - of course - so he resigned to looking up as Andrew finished it off. For minutes he would stare at Andrew, and then avert his gaze to the sky, before having it gravitate back towards Andrew. 

“What.” Andrew said flatly, wiping sticky fingers on Neil’s ratty jeans. 

“You can’t think all of this is that stupid, if you continue to do it.” Neil accused, reaching up over Andrew’s head to pull at tufts of the teddy-bear. 

Andrew did think it was stupid; Over-priced, commercialised games to keep people entertained, like carrot-on-a-stick for pigs. But Neil made it tolerable. Being with someone had never been a tangible prospect for Andrew, and yet here he was, under the stars at a fall festival, leaning on a giant teddy-bear that Neil had won for him. Contemplating how he was supposed to hide it from Nicky, who would squeal and fuss. Stroking his fingers through Neil’s red curls. 

“Maybe I’m just making up for lost time.” 

That was true, too. All these things he’d watched others experience and own as he grew up. Now he was an adult, he could do them all. It just wasn’t as enticing when everyone his age had grown out of it, having experienced these things at the appropriate age. 

“Me too.” Neil said. 

Well. Almost everyone. But really, was Neil even human? Andrew was still unconvinced he wasn’t a figment of his imagination. 

Andrew shoved him off, under the guise that his leg was going numb. They jostled one-another all the way back to the car, working together to shove the bear into the boot. 

Andrew drove and let Neil sleep on the way back, drooling all over his leather seats. Like he’d said before; Would have killed the fucker if he’d had to live on the run with him. 

Andrew kept his focus on the road. 

“Say nothing to no one.” Neil heard Andrew threaten, stifling his laughter with the back of his hand. They were at Wymack’s, having been unable to think of another way to conceal the bear at the Tower. Andrew reappeared outside their coach’s apartment a moment later and Neil heard Wymack grumble as he slammed his door shut, grabbing Andrew’s hand. 

“Roof?” Neil asked. 

“Tired.” Andrew said. They resorted to the Tower, where they would sit by the window on Neil’s desk together. With Kevin going to night-practise with Matt and various other Foxes, they’d have the dorm to themselves for a little while, and could smoke inside. 

Seated and comfortable, they had a good view of Palmetto’s campus. Andrew breathed smoke into Neil’s mouth, who then ghosted his lips down Andrew’s neck. 

“Thanks for tonight.” Neil whispered. 

“Whatever.” And if either of them heard the strain in Andrew’s voice that betrayed his nonchalance, neither mentioned it.

ooft its been awhile since ive written just a basic andreil one shot, rather than au’s.  

fyi, none of my shit is proofread. it’s the internet, not my final thesis. 

#andreil #cute #future #andrew minyard #neil josten #fluff #date night #headcanon #david wymack #foxes #all for the game #the foxhole court #jem writes

[xhxhxhx]

I removed some books today.

I think of myself as a minimalist, but that doesn’t happen to be true. I have acquired more books than I will ever read. They still sit, stacked and unreachable, in piles by the walls, two dozen books tall and sometimes two books deep.

I don’t think I know where they all came from. I think more came from online than from any physical store. I bought them from Abebooks, the sales search platform that Amazon owns now. Abebooks tell you the names of the sellers, but they seem unconnected to any real place.

From Better World Books. From Thrift Books and Bookbarn. From Silver Arch Books, Motor City Books, Free State Books, Sierra Nevada Books, Yankee Clipper Books, and the Atlanta Book Company. From Green Earth Books and Housing Works Books. From Goldstone Books and Powell’s Books and Kennys Bookshop and Art Galleries. From Satellite Books and the Orchard Bookshop. From Blue Cloud Books and Hippo Books and Wonder Book.

They’re from all over, from places you’ve never been, places you’ll never be. They’re names on a box. But then there are the books from more intimate places, intimately connected

From library’s old bookstore, which sold paperbacks for fifty cents, hardcovers for a dollar. From the basement of the old independent bookstore down on Front Street, where they sold remaindered and overstocked books marked down with red-orange tape. From the thrift store across the street, which charged too much.

From the Chapters at the mall in your hometown, or the Chapters and Indigo in the places you’ve been to, from the shelves of marked-down items where you looked for bargains, for the books you knew you should read, and all the books you never would. Places where you could drink sweet cream and coffee and pretend to read.

From the Borders in Syracuse, where you idled while the family went to the fair, where they always said they were going to build the largest mall in America, but never did. There was another Borders in South Florida, where they were stripping fixtures from the walls because the books had not sold, and so the Borders had to be. They still have bookstores. I’m not sure what they sell now. Postcards, I think.

The books still in my room had postcards from people I will never know, dedications to people I will never see, business cards from people who have moved on to other work. But their spines are unbroken, their pages unmarked. I guess I wanted them that way. I bought them like that.

I sometimes worried they would break through the floor. I would wake up to the collapse of everything I have ever owned as I plummeted a few short feet to my death. I guess it would probably take longer than that. I would have to wait for them to crush me. That mass of books would fall on me, blotting out the light. Crushed beneath nearly everything I have ever owned.

That’s what happened to the clerk Toshiko Sasaki in John Hershey’s Hiroshima, who was seated at her desk on August 6, 1945, in front of a couple of bookcases from the factor library:

Everything fell, and Miss Sasaki lost consciousness. The ceiling dropped suddenly and the wooden floor above collapsed in splinters and the people up there came down and the roof above them gave way; but principally and first of all, the bookcases right behind her swooped forward and the contents threw her down, with her left leg horribly twisted and breaking underneath her. There, in the tin factory, in the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books.

Miss Sasaki made out alright, although not so well as to not ask the question “If your God is so good and kind, how can he let people suffer like this?” But then, I have more books than she did.

I removed some books today. I still have more I want to remove. I just don’t have the boxes for them. I took the boxes I did have in the back of my car to a mass-market thrift store, where they will end up on the shelves by the leather jackets. 

Perhaps they will end on some other shelf, like a postcard from somewhere unknown, in someone else’s memory. But I don’t think they will. I don’t think they’ll sell. There aren’t enough people here who spend money pretending to read.

I don’t know what will happen to them. I suppose they will pulp them. Or perhaps they will end in a landfill, crushed beneath their own weight, suffocating beneath the earth we have made for them until life reclaims them.

I wrote out a partial list of the books I threw out. I don’t know what it says about me. There’s a double significance here: These are books I bought, for some amount of money, but these are also books I am throwing away, because I asked the question the woman told me to ask, which was whether they sparked joy, and I answered no.

Those books in the photo are the books that have not yet been thrown away. Here, below the fold, are the books that have:

Judith Fitzgerald’s Sarah McLachlan: Building a Mystery

Mordecai Richler’s Oh Canada! Oh Quebec!

Jonathan Coe’s The Rotter’s Club

Misha Glenny’s McMafia

Joinville and Villehardouin’s Chronicles of the Crusades

Michael Ignatieff’s The Lesser Evil

Russell Dalton’s Citizen Politics in Western Democracies: Public Opinion and Political Parties in the United States, Great Britain, West Germany, and France

Richard Finn’s Winners in Peace: MacArthur, Yoshida, and Postwar Japan

Ramachandra Guha’s India After Gandhi

Fox Butterfield’s China: Alive in the Bitter Sea

Anthony Sampson’s The Changing Anatomy of Britain

Masanori Hashimoto’s The Japanese Labor Market in a Comparative Perspective with the United States

Donald Keene’s Dawn to the West: Japanese Literature of the Modern Era: Poetry, Drama, Criticism

Andrei Shleifer’s Without a Map: Political Tactics and Economic Reform in Russia

Peter Newman’s The Secret Mulroney Tapes

Nicholas Negroponte’s Being Digital

Lesley Downer’s The Brothers: The Hidden World of Japan’s Richest Family

Harold Vogel’s Entertainment Industry Economics

Stephen Goldsmith and William D. Eggers’s Governing by Network: The New Shape of the Public Sector

Donald Harman Akenson, Saint Saul: A Skeleton Key to the Historical Jesus

Philip Ziegler’s King Edward VIII

David Wessel’s In FED We Trust

Robert Dallek’s Flawed Giant: Lyndon Johnson and His Times, 1961--1973

David Halberstam’s The Reckoning

David Bell’s The First Total War: Napoleon’s Europe and the Birth of Warfare as We Know It

Kevin Phillips’s The Cousins’ Wars

Yirmiyahu Yovel, Spinoza and Other Heretics: The Adventures of Immanence

Michael Oren’s Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East

Lawrence McDonald’s A Colossal Failure of Common Sense: The Inside Story of the Collapse of Lehman Brothers

Richard Posner’s The Crisis of Capitalist Democracy

William Chester Jordan’s Europe in the High Middle Ages

William Cohan’s House of Cards: A Tale of Hubris and Wretched Excess on Wall Street

Bryan Burrough and John Helyar’s Barbarians at the Gate: The Fall of RJR Nabisco

Linda Lear’s Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature

Jane Mayer’s The Dark Side: The Inside Story of How the War on Terror Turned into a War on American Ideals

Allan Brandt’s The Cigarette Century: The Rise, Fall, and Deadly Persistence of the Product That Defined America

Garry Wills’s Head and Heart: American Christianities

Sarah Bradford’s Elizabeth: A Biography of Britain’s Queen

Andrew Gordon’s The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan: Heavy Industry, 1853--1955

John Ardagh’s France in the New Century: Portrait of a Changing Society

Bob Woodward’s The Agenda: Inside the Clinton White House

John Julius Norwich’s Byzantium: The Early Centuries

Taylor Branch’s Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years, 1963--65

Michael Lewis’s Liar’s Poker

Tim Blanning’s The Pursuit of Glory: Europe, 1648--1815

Robert Fagles’s translation of Virgil’s The Aeneid

Karl Popper’s The Poverty of Historicism

P. D. Smith’s Doomsday Men: The Real Dr. Strangelove and the Dream of the Superweapon

Richard Rhodes’s Arsenals of Folly: The Making of the Nuclear Arms Race

Margaret Thatcher’s Downing Street Years

Alistair Horne’s Harold Macmillan, 1957--1986

Taylor Branch’s The Clinton Tapes: Wrestling History with the President

Ian Kershaw’s Hitler, 1936--1945: Nemesis

David Grossman’s To the End of the Land

Sean Wilentz’s The Rise of American Democracy: Jefferson to Lincoln

Philipp Blom’s The Vertigo Years: Europe, 1900--1914

Jacob M. Schlesinger’s Shadow Shoguns: The Rise and Fall of Japan’s Postwar Political Machine

Peter Jenkins’s Mrs. Thatcher’s Revolution: The Ending of the Socialist Era

Martin Lawrence’s Iron Man: The Defiant Reign of Jean Chrétien

Marin Lawrence’s Chrétien: The Will to Win

Alastair Campbell’s The Blair Years

Tony Blair’s A Journey

David Kennedy’s Don’t Shoot: One Man, a Street Fellowship, and the End of Violence in Inner-City America

Joshua Ferris’s Then We Came to the End

Kate McCafferty’s Testimony of an Irish Slave Girl

Martin Wolf’s Why Globalization Works

Charles Fishman’s The Wal-Mart Effect: How the World’s Most Powerful Company Really Works -- and How It’s Transforming the American Economy

William Easterly’s The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good

Karel van Wolferen’s The Enigma of Japanese Power: People and Politics in a Stateless Nation

Jeffrey Sachs’s The End of Poverty: How We Can Make It Happen in Our Lifetime

[elegantshapeshifter]

Who Was Aradia? The History and Development of a Legend

The Pomegranate: The Journal of Pagan Studies, Issue 18, Feb. 2002.

by Sabina Magliocco California State University, Northridge

The author wishes to thank Ronald Hutton and Chas S. Clifton for their helpful critiques of an earlier draft of this work.

Aradia is familiar to most contemporary Pagans and Witches as the principal figure in Charles G. Leland’s Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches, first published in 1899. Leland presents her as the daughter of Diana, the goddess of the moon, by her brother Lucifer, “the god of the Sun and of the Moon, the god of Light” (Leland, 1899, 1998:1), who is sent to earth to teach the poor to resist the oppression of the wealthy classes through magic and witchcraft. Through Leland’s work, Aradia’s name and legend became central to the Witchcraft revival. Between 1950 and 1960, “Aradia” was probably the secret name of the Goddess in Gardnerian Craft (it has since been changed), and she has also given her name to numerous contemporary Witchcraft traditions (Clifton, 1998:73).

Leland’s Aradia also inspired a number of 20th century works of Pagan literature. In a privately published electronic document entitled The Gospel of Diana [which according to Silvio Baldassare originated as a spoof of the Gnostic Gospels (Baldassare, 1997:15)], Aidan Kelly expands on Leland’s idea of Aradia as a religious leader and heroine of an Italian peasant resistance. Kelly’s Aradia, however, is a notably erotic character; according to her teachings, the sexual act becomes not only an expression of the divine life force, but an act of resistance against all forms of oppression and the primary focus of ritual. Kelly’s document has not achieved broad diffusion in contemporary Pagan circles, however. Much more influential in the perpetuation of Aradia’s legend is the work of Raven Grimassi. Grimassi, the author of a series of popular books on Stregheria, or Italian-American Witchcraft, presents Aradia as a wise woman who lived in Italy during the 14th century, and who brought about a revival of the Old Religion. He claims to practice a tradition founded by Aradia’s followers (Grimassi, 1995:xviii). In Hereditary Witchcraft, Grimassi expands on Leland’s version and the material he presented in Ways of the Strega by adding a chapter on Aradia’s teachings (Grimassi, 1999:191-201), which include a series of predictions about the future of humankind and the return of the Old Religion (1999:207-208). After Aradia’s mysterious disappearance, her twelve disciples spread her gospel, explaining the diffusion of the Old Religion throughout Italy and Europe (1999:203-210).

But who was Aradia? Was she the legendary figure of Leland’s Gospel, or a 14th century teacher of the Craft, as Grimassi proposes? Or is her story more complicated? In this paper, I explore the roots of the legend of Aradia, and in the process attempt to shed light on the formation of some of the most important motifs in the legendcomplex surrounding witchcraft, both traditional and contemporary. While my conclusions differ from those of Leland, Kelly and Grimassi, they may reveal a surprising possibility underlying the legend that has not been considered before. My approach is grounded in the academic discipline of folklore, which regards stories about historical or alleged historical figures as legends. A legend is a story set in the real world about an extraordinary or numinous event. Legends are typically told as true, with many features that root them in a specific time and place and lend them authenticity; but they are not necessarily believed by all who tell them. In fact, according to legend scholars Linda Degh and Andrew Vazsonyi, it is the tension between belief and disbelief that keeps legends alive and circulating, as each new listener must decide “Is this true? Could this have happened?” (Degh and Vazsonyi, 1976). Within any given community, there are legend believers and disbelievers; our community is, of course, no exception when it comes to this particular legend. The truth content of legends—that is, how closely they correspond to actual historical events— can vary widely; although some contain a kernel of reality, many legends are “true” only in the most metaphorical sense, in that they are an accurate reflection of popular attitudes, values and morality at a given time and place.

Legends can take many forms. Most typically, they occur as narratives, either in the first person (“This actually happened to me”) or third person (“This actually happened to a friend of a friend/ long ago, etc.”). Logically, many legends start out as first person accounts and become third person accounts; but just as often, a narrator may retell a third person account as though it had actually happened to him/her, making the story more vivid for the audience. Legends can also exist as simple statements (“The house on the hill is haunted”), and occasionally become dramatic enactments known as “ostension” (Degh and Vazsonyi, 1986), which I will describe later at some length. Legends appear in multiple variants; no one variant is any more correct than any other. At times, legends may cluster together to form what folklorists call a legend complex: a group of interrelated legends and beliefs centered around a particular theme. The multiple legend complexes centering around witchcraft are among the most enduring in Western history. Legends are extraordinarily responsive to social change; in fact, they are one of the most sensitive indices of transformations in cultural values and worldview (Dundes, 1971; Magliocco, 1993). For that reason, it is imperative to understand them in the cultural, political and social context in which they appear. In considering the development of the legend of Aradia, I will be applying all of the above principles, but especially the latter. My goal is to show how each successive historical era added and subtracted elements to this tale in keeping with the cultural preoccupations of the time, giving us not only today’s concept of Aradia, but also a much broader legend complex surrounding the nature of witchcraft itself.

ORIGINS: HERODIAS AND DIANA

The origin of the name “Aradia” is veiled in mystery. I have not been able to find it in written form before the publication of Leland’s Gospel in 1899. However, Leland himself equates Aradia with the legendary figure Herodias, a central character in the development of the witchcraft legend complex in Europe (Leland, 1899/1998:1). According to the Gospel of St. Matthew, Herodias was the sister-in-law of King Herod, the wife of his brother Philip (Matthew 14:3-12). Apparently she hated John the Baptist, and asked Herod to arrest John when the holy man was found in his dominion. But Herodias wanted John dead, so she concocted a plan in which she urged her daughter Salome to dance for King Herod. In exchange, the girl was to demand the head of John the Baptist on a platter. The plan worked: Salome danced, Herod delivered, and here the gospel stops. But according to an early Christian legend derived from the gospel, when Salome saw the head brought before her, she had a fit of remorse, and began to weep and bemoan her sin. A terrible wind began to blow from the saint’s mouth, so strong that it blew the famous dancer into the air, where she is condemned to wander forever (Cattabiani, 1994:208). Since in Roman usage, the wives and daughters of a house were commonly known by the name of the male head of the household, it is easy to see how Salome became confused with her mother Herodias. In medieval Italian, Herodias is rendered as “Erodiade,” only a short linguistic step away from Aradia.

One of the earliest mentions of Herodias is in the work of Raterius of Liegi, Bishop of Verona (890-974 CE). He laments that many believe that Herodias, wife of Herod, is a queen or a goddess, and say that one third of the earth is under her charge (Bonomo, 1959:19). Herodias gets linked with Diana in the Canon Episcopi, a document attributed to the Council of Ancyra in 314 CE, but probably a much later forgery, since the earliest written record of it appears around 872 CE (Caro Baroja, 1961:62). Regino, Abbot of Pr¸m, writing in 899 CE, cites the Canon, telling bishops to warn their flocks against the false beliefs of women who think they follow “Diana the pagan goddess, or Herodias” on their night-time travels. These women believed they rode out on the backs of animals over long distances, following the orders of their mistress who called them to service on certain appointed nights. Three centuries later, Ugo da San Vittore, a 12th century Italian abbot, refers to women who believe they go out at night riding on the backs of animals with “Erodiade,” whom he conflates with Diana and Minerva (Bonomo, 1959:18-19).

In each of these cases, legends about women who travel in spirit at night following Herodias or Diana are being recorded by clerics whose agenda is to eradicate what they see as false beliefs. It is difficult to gauge whether these reports represent a wide diffusion of the legends in north-central Italy and southern Germany between the 9th and 12th centuries, or whether the authors of early medieval decrees and encyclicals simply quoted each other, reproducing the same material. However, the work of German historian Wolfgang Behringer demonstrates that legends of night-flying societies, including followers of Diana, were in oral circulation in the western Alps (a region that now includes parts of Germany, Switzerland and Italy) in the 16th century, and probably well before it as well (Behringer, 1998:52-59). Herodias appears in these legends, as in the New Testament, as a symbol of wantonness (so she remained; as late as the 19th century, prostitutes in Paris were euphemistically referred to by Eliphas Levy as les filles d’Herodiade, “the daughters of Herodias”)—but also as a tragic figure, condemned to wander through the air forever as punishment for her sins. Regino equates her with Diana, and Ugo adds Minerva; we cannot know, based on the evidence, if this was their own interpretation, formed as a result of their educated knowledge of Roman mythology, or whether tellers themselves were merging Herodias with other Roman goddesses in their narratives. It is telling, in any case, that pagan goddesses are being syncretized with one of the most wicked characters in the New Testament.

Whether the association was of scholarly origin or arose from oral tradition, Herodias and Diana are linked in folk legend from the 9th century CE onward; and it is through Diana that the connection to witchcraft is formed. The goddess Diana is associated with witchcraft from early Classical Roman literature. She was often conflated with Selene (a deity from Asia Minor) and Hecate, all three of whom were associated with the moon. Hecate was also the queen of the spirits of the dead, present at tombs and at the hearth, where pre-Roman peoples buried their ancestors. At night she would appear at crossroads, followed by her train of spirits flying through the air and her terrifying, howling dogs (Caro Baroja, 1961:26). Folklore about Diana’s night rides may be a permutation of earlier tales about Hecate and the rade of the unquiet dead, which survived in Europe well into the middle ages and, in northern Europe, fused with the legend of the wild hunt. All three goddesses were known for helping witches: Horace, writing about the witch Canidia, has her invoke “night and Diana, ye faithful witnesses of all my enterprises” to assist her in thwarting her enemies (Horace, Epode 5, vv.49-54; cited in Caro Baroja, 1961:26). In Roman times, women of all social classes worshipped Diana on the kalends of August at her sanctuary near Lake Nemi. Her rituals were conducted at night; the lake was ringed by torches. Archeologists have found votive offerings of tablets seeking Diana’s aid as well as clay statuettes of mother and child (Diana protected women in childbirth) and of uteri, as well as horned stags representing Actaeon, the youth whose desire the goddess punished by transforming him into a stag. Since the rites were women’s mysteries, little information remains to us about their nature (Bernstein, 2000:154). However, we do know that men were often suspicious of women’s mystery rites, and may have circulated legends about them like those cited by Juvenal about the rites of the Bona Dea, another goddess worshipped in secret exclusively by Roman women. According to this 1st century BCE Roman author, men imagined the rites to be of a sexual nature, with feasting, dancing and wild orgies (Juvenal 6.314, cited in Bernstein, 2000:220). It is important to remember that this is a male fantasy of secret women’s rites, rather than a description of their actual content, and that Juvenal was writing about the rites of the Bona Dea and not those of Diana. Nevertheless, it is not impossible that similar kinds of stories circulated about many women’s mysteries, including the rites of Diana. The motif of rites of sexual pleasure may thus have become associated with the legend of Diana and her followers. This motif surfaces again centuries later in association with the witches" sabbat.

Christian legends of Herodias, the flying dancer, may have begun to merge with those of the pagan goddess Diana because of their shared theme of night flight. With the merging of the two traditions, additional motifs become part of the legend complex: a connection with the moon; the practice of witchcraft; the presence of additional spirits, i.e. the spirits of the unquiet dead from Hecate’s rade; and gatherings of women that included feasting, dancing, and sexual license. By the 10th century CE, legends of Diana and Herodias were in wide circulation in Europe, and this continued well into the 12th century. At this point, the legends began to incorporate material from yet another legend complex.

THE FAIRIES

During the 12th century, authors begin to report folk legends about spiritual beings, variously called bonae res (“good things”), dominae nocturnae (“night women”) or fatae (“fairies”), that would visit homes at night to feast. If food was plentiful and the house was in good order, these visits were thought to bring good luck, since the bonae res would restore everything they consumed before the night was out. The bonae res could also punish householders whose homes were not orderly, or who did not have plenty to eat and drink, by withdrawing their blessing. The spirits were sometimes said to be led by a queen who had different names, depending on the source of the legend: Bensoria, Diana or Herodiana (combining Herodias and Diana) in Italy; Satia and Dame Abonde in France; Holde or Berchta in what is now Germany (Bonomo, 1959:22) These female figures were the protectors of spinners and of orderly homes, distributors of fertility and plenty who rewarded the good and punished the lazy. Diana and Herodias became identified, in parts of Europe, as leaders of these spiritual assemblies (Bonomo, 1959:29).

In 1249, William of Alverina, Bishop of Paris, discussed beliefs in night rides by the followers of “Domina Abundia,” who brings abundance and good luck to the homes she visits if there is plenty to eat, but whose followers abandon and scorn houses where they receive no hospitality (Bonomo, 1959:22). Vincent of Beauvais (1190-1264) reports an instance of ostension involving this legend: a group of young men forced their way into the home of a rich farmer, helping themselves to whatever was lying around while dancing and singing “unem premes, cent en rendes” (“we take one, return a hundredfold”). The thieves ransacked the place while the credulous farmer told his wife to keep quiet, for the visitors were bonae res and would increase their riches a hundredfold (Bonomo, 1959:25-26).

A similar story appears in Boccaccio’s Decameron (1348-54) as the “Queen’s Tale” (#9). Two common laborers, Bruno and Buffalmacco, explain to a learned doctor that despite their poverty, they are able to live happily, because they go in corso (“on course,” “on a journey”). “From this we draw anything we want or need, without any harm to others, and from this comes our happy lifestyle which you see,” explains Bruno. The doctor wants to know what this is all about, but Bruno tells him it is a great secret, and that he could never reveal it. The doctor swears he won"t tell a soul, so at last Bruno confides the details to him. He and Buffalmacco are part of a brigade of 25 men with a captain and two council members elected every six months, guided by two disciples of a great necromancer. Twice a month, the brigade assembles; each person states their wishes and all are provided for. The assembly then feasts on delicious food and fine wine, while sweet music plays and beautiful women are available for erotic fun. The doctor can"t wait to go “in corso” himself, and begins to ply the laborers with gifts and money, hoping they will take him. Finally they agree. They tell him that on an appointed night, a dark, hairy beast will appear and carry him to a secret location, but he must not mention God or the saints. On the designated night, Buffalmacco and Bruno appear dressed in a bear-skin and carry the gullible doctor on their backs, leaping and yelping, until they dump him into a sewage ditch while they escape, laughing at his foolishness.

Legends about fairies who reward neatness and plenty and punish want and slovenliness seem to address issues of class conflict and social inequality in pre-modern Europe. One family’s good fortune could be explained as the result of supernatural intervention. At the same time, such legends also gave hope to the lower classes that if they keep a neat enough house, they too might be blessed by the bonae res. In this sense, the stories acted as a form of social control, reinforcing values of orderliness and hospitality while threatening sanction against householders who violated them. The stories also contained compensatory fantasies for the lower classes, a theme that will appear again a few centuries later. For people whose very survival depended on subsistence farming, and who often suffered from hunger and privation, the idea of breaking into the homes of the wealthy and enjoying some of their benefits, even in spirit, must have been a compelling one indeed, especially as the food magically restored itself by morning. It is not surprising that instances of ostension like the one described by Vincent of Beauvais occurred.

These versions also demonstrate that legends about night-time travels in the company of spirits had both believers and skeptics. Moreover, there may have been class differences between the two: lower classes were more likely to know about them and believe in them than the educated classes, for reasons I explained above. In Boccaccio’s tale, the learned doctor, who has never heard of the legend, is taken advantage of by shrewd laborers, who themselves are non-believers, although they are familiar with the legend. They successfully fool and humiliate the learned doctor, reversing the usual power relationships between social classes. However, nowhere in Boccaccio’s version is there mention of a company of women, or of a female leader of the spiritual assembly; instead the company is led by a great necromancer, and the doctor is told he will be borne to the assembly by a hairy beast, perhaps a reference to the diabolization of these legends that was taking place during Boccaccio’s lifetime.

In all accounts discussed so far, the point of view of the Canon Episcopi prevails: the night travels are spiritual journeys; they do not take place in the flesh. The stupidity of the gullible is exactly that they mistake a spiritual tradition for an actual practice. Moreover, while the clerics decried belief in these legends because they diverted parishioners" attention away from God, they were not taken as evidence of the practice of witchcraft, nor did they have any diabolical content. But as the 12th century advanced, a new view began to emerge and compete with that of the Canon. According to this emergent worldview, the women’s nightly journeys were not spiritual, but real. At the same time, older legends about the Society of Diana and Herodias, the bonae res and Dame Abonde begin to merge with tales about maleficent witches. These legends took on a menacing tone. Combined with new attitudes about the nature of the night journeys, they became the building blocks of the witches" sabbat in the subversion myth of diabolical witchcraft.

FAIRIES, HEALING AND SECRET SOCIETIES

Until the 11th century, legends of the society of Diana or Herodias existed side by side with legends about a very different kind of character: women who entered homes at night in sprit form to harm the inhabitants by sucking blood, eating bodies and cooking them before restoring to them the appearance of life. Their victims eventually became ill and died. These are related to the Classical Roman legends of striae, women who could transform into birds of prey to fly out at night and eat their victims, often infants, in their beds (Bonomo, 1959:33). Their victims often appeared perfectly healthy, but over a period of time sickened and died: their souls were thought to have been eaten and, in some cases, cooked by the maleficent beings.

In some parts of Sicily, Sardinia, and Friuli, these two strains still existed separately as recently as the 19th century. In Sardinian folklore, cogas (lit. “cooks;” vampire-like witches) and janas (fairies; from dianas, “followers of Diana;” cf. Neapolitan ianare) are very different types of creatures: while cogas are uniformly malevolent, janas live in caves or Neolithic shaft tombs in the mountains, are expert weavers and singers, and can interact with and even marry humans (Liori, 1992:107- 111). The 19th century country doctor and folklore collector Giuseppe Pitré reported that Sicilian peasants distinguished between the vampiric, maleficent witch (stria, nserra) and the donna di fuori. Sicilian donne di fuori (“women from the outside”) or belle signore (“beautiful ladies”) documented by Pitré are creatures somewhere between fairies and witches. They appear as beautiful women who can enter homes at night through the keyhole. If all is in order, they reward the householders, but they punish dirt and disorder. They love babies, but too much attention from the donne di fuori can also harm children (Pitré, 1889: iv:153). Gustav Henningsen, in his careful review of Spanish Inquisition documents from Sicily, reveals that during the 16th century, the term “donne di fuori” referred to both fairies and people of both genders who were believed to ride out with them at night (Henningsen 1993:195). These individuals were usually folk healers who could cure illnesses caused by the fairies, often as a result of some unwitting offense against them (Henningsen, 1993:195). The usual cure involved a ritual supper offered to the fairies by the victim. The fairies, accompanied by the healers in spirit form, would come to the victim’s home on an appointed night where they would dance, celebrate and spiritually consume the food, thus curing the afflicted person (Henningsen, 1993:200-01).

These medieval Sicilian beliefs have interesting parallels throughout the modern Mediterranean. In rural Greece, as recently as the 1960’s, certain folk healers specialized in curing ills brought about by the fairies, known as exotica (“those from outside;” cf. donne di fuori) (Henningsen, 1993:210). Anthropologist Vincent Crapanzano, working in Morocco in the 1960’s, documented a belief system centered around the jinn (fairies) and their human followers, folk healers belonging to religious brotherhoods who could cure illness by performing a trance-dance to special music. The queen of the jinn, known as ëA"isha Qandisha, could appear either as a beautiful woman or a hideous hag, but always had a non-human feature, such as camel toes. Healers consulted ëA"isha Qandisha in their dreams, where she explained the cause of the illness and its cure (Crapanzano, 1975:147). In the 1970’s, folklorist Gail Kligman documented Romanian brotherhoods of trance dancers who specialized in curing ailments thought to be caused by iele (fairies), whose patron saint was Diana or Irodeasa [cf. Erodiade] (Kligman, 1981). And in Sardinia in the 1980’s, folklorist Clara Gallini studied argismo, a belief system based on the idea that the (often metaphorical) bite of certain insects could be cured only through ecstatic dancing, done to music played by groups of specialized musician-healers (Gallini, 1988). There may also be parallels to tarantismo, the folk belief system documented in southern Italy, especially Calabria, by folklorist Ernesto De Martino (1961); but this is a topic beyond the scope of this paper.

The broad diffusion of similar motifs in the circum-Mediterranean suggests that we are dealing with a belief-system of significant antiquity which may once have existed in many parts of Europe. It involved beliefs about illnesses caused by fairies or spirits, folk healers who specialized in communicating with these spirits through dreams and trances, and the enactment of ritual cures, which may have included special meals, music and trance-dancing. In many cases, healers themselves belonged to a society which may have met either in spirit or in actual ritual enactments of the cures.

THE DIABOLIZATION OF A LEGEND COMPLEX

But in most of Europe, belief systems involving night-time spiritual journeys, folk healers and fairies began to change during the 12th century, merging with motifs about maleficent witches and with the growing diabolical interpretation of witchcraft generated by the Church. John of Salisbury (1110-1180) combines the two by attributing to Herodias the leadership of night-time cannibalistic banquets, where babies were offered to the lamiae, female-headed serpents of Classical provenance. By the 14th century in Italy, Jacopo Passavanti first mentions the tregenda (sabbat) in conjunction with his merging of the two legendary strains. In his description, demons take the place of humans at these gatherings, leaving humans asleep in their beds. The intent of the demons is diabolical: to lead people astray. He mentions that certain women believe they travel with this company, and that its leaders are Herodias and Diana (Bonomo, 1959:64).

An examination of some Italian trial records shows the gradual transformation of legends about the society of Herodias/ Diana into diabolical sabbats, where feasting, drinking and dancing are accompanied by sex acts and cannibalism. Two early trials which have captured a great deal of scholarly attention are those of Sibillia and Pierina of Milan (Bonomo, 1959; Caro Baroja, 1961; Muraro Vaiani, 1976; Ginzburg, 1989). Both trials took place in the late 14th century; both women were probably first identified and persecuted because they practiced divination or folk healing (Muraro Vaiani, 1976:153). Sibillia’s first trial took place in 1384. Accused of heresy, Sibillia confessed to having believed in and told legends about the games of Signora Oriente (“milady of the East”), not thinking it was a sin. Signora Oriente or La Signora del Giuoco (“the lady of the game”) presided over these gatherings, where there was feasting on all manner of delicacies, music and dancing; she could predict the future, reveal secrets and resurrect the animals that had been eaten by the assembly, so that in the morning, all appeared exactly as before.

In 1390, Pierina de Bugatis, also of Milan, confessed under questioning to participating in the “game of Erodiade.” The gatherings would slaughter and feast on livestock, whose bones Signora Oriente would put back into their skins before resurrecting them with her magic wand. The party would visit the homes of the wealthy, where they would eat and drink; they would bless homes that were neat and clean. Signora Oriente instructed her followers about the properties of various herbs and answered their questions about illness and thefts. But the followers were sworn to secrecy. To attend the assembly, Pierina would call upon a spirit named “Lucifelus,” who appeared in the form of a man to take her there.

The tales told by Sibillia and Pierina illustrate the merging of a number of motifs from different traditions into a single legend complex: the night journeys, the company of women led by a female leader, who seems to control both abundance and rebirth, as well as revealing the future and dispensing advice on healing; the magical feasting in which appetites are satisfied; the resurrection of dead animals after the banquet; the fairy visits to the homes of the rich, where hospitality is rewarded and all returns as before at the evening’s conclusion. In Pierina’s version, we have the first appearance of “Lucifelus,” a variant of Lucifero, or Lucifer, as the agent of transport to the games—a minor figure, at this point, who is diabolical in name only.

Italian historian Luisa Muraro Vaiani believes the judges hearing these depositions had a hard time understanding their nature. The women at times spoke as though they were reporting folklore, while at other times they spoke as though they themselves had experienced these night journeys—a characteristic of legend performance I have already remarked upon, and one which makes sense if we accept the hypothesis that both women were folk healers who continued an ancient tradition of consulting with spiritual beings for healing advice. Their tales were dreamlike, mixing familiar elements with supernatural ones. To us, they may even suggest events that took place in an altered state of consciousness, and like many such experiences, they alternate in perspective between the self and a kind of detachment from the self. But the judges, working with a binary system of opposites in which illusion and reality were mutually exclusive concepts, didn"t know what to make of these dream-like visions that seemed so real to the accused. They ended up assuming they were real. Sibillia was sentenced to prison at her first trial for having believed in and told people about the society of Diana, acts that were considered apostasy, not witchcraft. But at her second trial in 1390, she was sentenced to death for recidivism and for having actually participated in the games. Thus, the transition between attitudes of the Canon and later ones hinged on the understanding of legendary material as fact (Muraro Vaiani, 1976:137-142)—a critical transition which had ominous consequences in the development of the witchcraft persecutions.

One of the best-known of the Italian witch trials took place two centuries after Sibillia and Pierina were tried and executed. In 1540, Bellezza Orsini of Colle Vecchio (Perugia), a widely respected folk healer who cured using herb-infused oils, was accused of poisoning. At first she swore her innocence, but under torture, she confessed to being part of a secret society of witches. The secret society she described was a hierar- chical one in which the initiate-to-be apprenticed with a master strega. Initiation involved a formal renunciation of Church teachings, a renegation of baptism, and the invocation of the devil, who was called Mauometto (“Mohammed”), and appeared as a handsome man dressed in black. At the time of Bellezza’s trial, the Islamic Ottoman empire was expanding its reach towards Europe. The use of the name “Mohammed” for the devil reflects widespread popular fear and prejudice towards Muslims in16th century Europe. Sexual intercourse with the devil was part of the initiation. Afterwards, the assembled company would fly off, with the help of flying ointment, to the magic walnut tree of Benevento where they would dance with other devils. Initiates chose new, non-Christian names so they could be used when members got together again. Orsini described witches as organized into teams according to their place of origin. Each team was led by a captain with 20-30 students under her. A “witch queen,” called Befania, ruled over all the teams. Each November 1, there was a “reconciliation,” or gathering of witches, during which a new witch queen would be elected. According to Orsini, the members of the witch society were sworn to help one another, and to help less fortunate teams by sharing baby-meatballs and other ingredients. By then, witch gatherings included cannibalistic feasting, and the dead were no longer brought back to life.

It is evident that drastic changes had taken place in the Diana/Herodias legend complex between 1390 and 1540. Gone are the earlier legends of all-female societies of revelers whose presence brought good luck to the homes they visited, and where all that was consumed was magically restored—a kind of compensatory fantasy for the poor not unlike other contemporary portrayals of utopias of plenty, such as Cuccagna and Bengodi (Del Giudice, 2001). By 1540, Herodias and Diana are no longer players in the dangerous “game.” Instead, it has acquired menacing, diabolical elements introduced by ecclesiastical revisions which interpreted all deviations from Christian doctrine as evidence of a world-wide diabolical conspiracy whose agents were witches. The witch gathering is now presided over by the devil, whose name is identical to that of the Islamic prophet Mohammed—evidence of the demonization of Islam in the popular imagination by the 16th century. Besides the devils" followers, the women present include the witch-queen Befania, a corruption of the word epifania (“epiphany”), and witches who initiate their charges into the diabolical society. According to Cattabiani, there may well be a connection between Befana, the Italian Christmas witch, and earlier legends of Herodias. This link is preserved in the names for the Befana in the region of the Italian Alps near Belluno, where to this day she is known as “Redodesa,” “Redosa,” or “Redosola"—possible corruptions of "Erodiade” (cf. Romanian “Irodeasa”) (Cattabiani, 1994:13). The witches gather at Benevento and fly around the magical walnut tree with the help of flying ointment; cannibalism and sexual intercourse with the devil are integral features of their assemblies. The witch society is a secret society; initiates are brought in by a teacher, and secret names are used to conceal everyday identity. November 1 is now a recognized time for witches" gatherings. Bellezza Orsini’s confession reveals the growing diabolization of the legend of the night journeys, as well as the crystallization of certain folk motifs which continue to be central in contemporary revival Witchcraft: secrecy, the use of ritual names, initiation through a teacher, and the importance of October 31/ November 1 in the year cycle. The transition in the content of the legends was accompanied by a change in the attitudes of the clerics and the elite: material previously understood as legendary was now being understood as fact. The tension between belief and disbelief that had kept the legends circulating was beginning to solidify into an acceptance of the witches" sabbat as an actual event. By 1525, the Canon Episcopi was being called into question: Paolo Grillando writes in De sortilegiis eorumque poenas that the Canon was mistaken about the illusory nature of the witches" sabbats, and that they were in fact real (Bonomo, 1959:110). 

BETWEEN DREAM AND REALITY

But what if the judges were right? If the games of Diana/ Herodias were in fact experiences of the imagination, whether dreams or other alternate states of consciousness, why did many women confess to having attended them? Is it possible that the Society of Diana/ Herodias was a real secret society of women, and that Sibillia, Pierina and Bellezza were members? Could Herodias/ Erodiade/ Aradia have been the secret name of an actual leader of such a society, who then became legendary? If this were true, it would give us an intriguing source for Leland’s legend of Aradia, as well as revolutionizing our understanding of the history of the witch trials and our sense of gender relations in Europe during the middle ages. Let us carefully examine the evidence both for and against this hypothesis. First, it is important to remember that not all women confessed to the reality of their experiences; many maintained their dream-like nature to the bitter end. Other confessions, like Bellezza’s, were produced under torture, and are thus unreliable as historical evidence. Victims would often confess to outrageous acts under torture because the narration of fantastic episodes brought respite from agony and bought the accused time. A strange compact often developed between judges and their victims which may have led some women to manufacture diabolical details they thought would satisfy their accusers, leading to the creation of fantastic trivia such as the baby meatballs in Bellezza’s confession. Other details might have been drawn from the victim’s knowledge of everyday reality; for example, the complex organization of the witch society described by Bellezza parallels the organization of other medieval social institutions such as trade guilds and religious fraternities and sororities, which were led by elected officials chosen at yearly assemblies. These guilds and fraternities functioned as mutual aid societies, much as Bellezza describes for the secret society of witches. Thus we need to be selective in interpreting the nature of these narratives. Some details suggest that certain aspects of the Society of Diana/ Herodias may have been real. The women who reported on it constituted only a small minority of all those accused of witchcraft. Moreover, the narrators had an important element in common: they were folk healers and diviners. A key function of the night-time journeys was the obtaining of answers to divinatory questions and information on cures. This structure parallels that of similar belief-complexes about spirits, healers and night journeys from the circum- Mediterranean. In several of these examples, we know that folk healers indeed were members of a society that convened in the flesh to play music, dance ecstatically and conduct healing rites. In other cases, the societies reported by healers existed only in spirit, and included spiritual members, whether fairies, jinn, exotica or iele. These details, shared with other circum- Mediterranean healing traditions, suggest that the accused may indeed have been part of a secret society of folk healers—either actual, spiritual, or both.

At the same time, other legend elements have content that is clearly dream-like and fantastic: all wishes are granted; food magically regenerates; humans fly. These motifs point to the spiritual nature of at least some of the experiences. Additional elements suggest the creation of a legendary peasant utopia: there is food and drink aplenty for all assembled; humans and nature exist in harmony; death is followed by resurrection or rebirth; relationships, though hierarchical, are based on mutual trust and dignity; knowledge is available to all members; gratification is ubiquitous, and the Christian notion of earthly pleasures as sinful is completely absent. These descriptions suggest a kind of utopia, an “imagined state” whose conditions inversely reflect those of its source (Del Giudice and Porter, 2001:4-5). Muraro Vaiani suggests that Diana/ Herodias was to her followers as Christ was to his, albeit in a parallel universe: the Lady did not judge or deny the Christian universe, but offered an alternative (Muraro Vaiani, 1976:153). Legends of the secret society may have constituted a kind of compensatory fantasy for women— one in which women had power and the ultimate authority rested with a benevolent supernatural female leader. Through legends and perhaps even dreams, they may have offered solace and compensation to women whose real-life experiences reflected the hardships of gender and class oppression in medieval Europe, much as narratives of earthly paradises such as Cuccagna and Bengodi, where rivers flowed with wine and mountains were made of cheese, were created by Italian peasants whose everyday lives were filled with hunger and privation (Del Giudice, 2001:12).

How can we better understand the nature of these narratives, which even after six centuries seem to take place in a world between dream and reality? I would suggest that it is not unreasonable to assume the existence in medieval Italy of legend complexes similar to those in other parts of the circum-Mediterranean, concerning fairies, spiritual journeys and healing. As we have already seen, aspects of these belief systems existed in parts of Europe and North Africa until the end of the 20th century. Henningsen’s work confirms the existence of similar beliefs in Sicily during the 16th century, and Behringer documents their presence in the western Alps. If Sibillia, Pierina and Bellezza were indeed members of such a society, their stories begin to make a certain amount of sense. This is especially true if we consider two additional tentative assumptions: the idea of ostension and that of the autonomous imagination. Ostension is Degh and Vazonyi’s term for the enactment of legends. For example, a Halloween haunted house may portray legends about ghosts, vampires and werewolves, or a Pagan ritual may dramatize the legend of Robin Hood. Ostension always derives from a pre-existing legend: the legend precedes the existence of its enactment. Thus, for instance, legends of contaminated Halloween candy predated the finding of actual contaminants in treats by at least ten years (Degh and Vazsonyi, 1986/1995). Individuals who placed needles, razor blades and other dangerous objects in treats as pranks engaged in a form of ostension. The theory of ostension explains how easily certain elements can pass from legend to ritualized action. Hypothetically, legends about spiritual journeys to dance with the fairies and receive healing can easily be transformed by creative individuals into healing rituals with food offerings to the fairies and ecstatic dancing to special music. What if some women, inspired by utopian legends of the Society of Diana/ Herodias, decided to try to replicate such a society in medieval Europe? Though we have no proof such a society ever existed, it is not inconceivable that a few inspired individuals might have decided to dramatize, once or repeatedly, the gatherings described in legends. The use of the term giuoco (“game”) by Sibillia and Pierina suggests the playful, prankish character of ostension. A “game” based on legends of Diana/ Herodias and the fairies would probably have been secret and limited to the friends and associates of the creative instigators, who might well have been folk healers. One or more women might even have played the role of Diana or Herodias, presiding over the gathering and giving advice. Feasting, drinking and dancing might have taken place, and the women may have exchanged advice on matters of healing and divination. The “game” might even have had a healing intent, as was the case for many comparable circum- Mediterranean rituals, and may have involved trance-dancing. This is one possible explanation for the remarkably consistent reports of Sibillia and Pierina, tried within a few years of each other. The existence of ostension in connection to these legends could also mean that Grimassi’s claim that Aradia was a real person may, in fact, not be entirely out of the question; a healer who was part of the society might have chosen to play the part of, or even take on the name of, Erodiade.

However, it is important to remember that even if a group decided to enact aspects of the legend of Diana/ Herodias, it would not have been a revival of pre-Christian paganism, but an attempt to act out certain ritual aspects described in the legends. Moreover, the more magical aspects from the trial reports—night flights on the backs of animals, ever-replenishing banquets, resurrection of dead livestock—could not have been achieved through ostension. We need to consider these as fantastical legend motifs, reports of experiences from trances or dreams, or both.

One way to explain these motifs is to consider the role of the autonomous imagination in blending cultural and personal material. This term, coined by anthropologist Michele Stephen, refers to a part of the human imagination that operates without our conscious control (Stephen, 1989:55- 61). It emerges in dreams and in alternate states of consciousness such as vision trances and religious ecstasy. The visions it produces are vivid and detailed, appearing “more real than reality” to experiencers. They seem to arise independently of any conscious volition on the part of the subject. The autonomous imagination is more creative and synthetic than ordinary thought processes, easily combining elements from the subject’s personal life with cultural and religious material. Thus dreams and visions seem to speak directly to our most intimate concerns, but also bring religious and cultural symbols to bear upon them. Furthermore, the autonomous imagination processes time and memory differently from ordinary conscious thought. Past, present and future events may blend together; personal memories may combine with cultural material in unusual ways.

It is possible that some of the experiences of the Society of Diana/ Herodias described by the accused are attributable to the autonomous imagination of the experiencers. Please note that I am not claiming that the accusers invented the experiences; in fact, I am saying quite the opposite. To women such as Pierina and Sibillia, the experience of flying out to the games of Herodias may have seemed more real than ordinary, everyday reality if it took place in trance visions. While it is possible that vision trances may have played a part in a hypothetical, ostensive Society of Diana/ Herodias, it is also conceivable that women who were active narrators of these legends as well as folk healers might have experienced altered states of consciousness, either through the use of herbs or by using meditative techniques. This is consistent with the discoveries of Behringer, who studied the trial transcripts of Conrad Stoeckhlin, a 16th century horse herder from Oberstdorf, in the western Alps, who was executed for practicing witchcraft. Stoeckhlin, a folk healer, reported that an angel led him on a series of trance journeys and gave him advice on healing and divination (Behringer, 1998:17-21; 138). We also know that some contemporary Italian folk healers used such techniques well into the 20th century, and that they reported contacting spirits who helped them with their healing (Henningsen, 1993; De Martino, 1961, 1966; Selis, 1978; DiNola, 1993:41).

Of course, spiritual experiences (and their interpretations) vary widely according to culture and historical period. It is not unlikely that contemporary legend material about Diana, Herodias and the fairies may have made its way into the trance visions of medieval Italian folk healers through the mechanism of the autonomous imagination, giving rise to their reports of actually participating in the game of Herodias. The healers were telling the truth; their experiences were real. Both Behringer, in his research on the visionary horse herder Stoeckhlin, and Stuart Clark, in his monumental study of early European demonology, propose early modern European folk culture did not always distinguish sharply between experiences that took place in dreams, ecstatic visions or trances and reality (Behringer, 1998:158-59; Clark, 1997:193-96). The dualistic conception in which “dreamtime” was opposed to “reality” was a product of medieval Church reforms that culminated in the formation of the myth of diabolical witchcraft. Here we must return to Muraro Vaiani’s hypothesis that it was the judges who did not know how to understand the ecstatic experiences of the accused because they fell outside of their dualistic conception of the nature of reality. Therefore, they interpreted them as sorcery—the only mechanism they understood through which illusion could be made to seem real. 

CONCLUSIONS

What can we conclude from this evidence about the legend of Aradia? The evidence I have examined and presented here suggests that the legend of Aradia has roots in archaic, pre-Christian materials concerning societies of healers who trafficked with spirits in order to cure. Healing may have involved trance-journeys as well as ecstatic dancing. These ancient materials combined with Classical legends of Diana and Hecate, and during the middle ages became attached to the New Testament story of Herodias, the eternal dancer. By the 11th century, these elements had become part of a widespread legend complex in Europe that may have involved episodes of ostension, or the enactment of certain legend motifs, probably for the purposes of healing. As clerical and popular attitudes towards the nature of nighttime spiritual journeys changed, these legends merged with parallel folk materials about maleficent witches, and became the building blocks of the subversion myth of the diabolical sabbat, responsible for the death of tens of thousands of innocent women and men between 1300 and 1750.

What Leland collected from Maddalena may represent a 19th century version of this legend that incorporated later materials influenced by medieval diabolism: the presence of “Lucifero,” the Christian devil; the practice of sorcery; the naked dances under the full moon. While there may have been instances of ostension regarding this legend, the evidence does not support the idea that Aradia was an early teacher of the Craft, although some women may have called themselves Erodiade during ostensive episodes. There is no evidence of a widespread revival of pre-Christian religion as a result of the proliferation of this legend. In fact, it is ironic that a compensatory legend that envisioned a society led by women, featuring relationships based on equality, access to knowledge for all, and the fulfillment of all earthly desires became twisted into the subversion myth of the diabolical sabbat, which was responsible for the murder of so many innocent women during the witch craze.

Legends and beliefs about healing, fairies and nighttime spiritual journeys may have continued to exist in pockets throughout Italy until the late 20th century. Because legends always change to reflect their social environment, they became Christianized, and incorporated references to saints. In some cases, saints may have replaced the earlier fairies. Some version of this legend complex may be at the core of both Leland’s discovery of a “witch cult” in Tuscany in the late 1800’s, and Grimassi’s claims that his family practiced a form of folk healing that involved spirits, dancing, and the goddess Diana (Grimassi, pers. communication 8/25/00). These were not, as Leland suggested, survivals of Etruscan religion, but elements of great antiquity reworked into systems that made sense for Italian peasants of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. Some parts of these belief systems may even have survived the journey to America, forming the basis of Stregheria, or Italian American revival Witchcraft.

Folklore, of course, seldom dies; it transforms itself according to new paradigms and cultural discourses. So it is not surprising to read new versions of this legend emerging today. Grimassi’s expansion of Leland’s materials must be understood in exactly such a context—as the continuation of the legend begun so long ago. It is intriguing to note that while both Leland’s and Grimassi’s versions may appear to be strictly Neo- Pagan in content, both also contain very strong Christian influences. In the Gospel of the Witches, Diana sends her only daughter Aradia to earth to teach people to resist their oppressors just as in the New Testament, God sends his son Jesus to earth for much the same purpose. In Hereditary Witchcraft, Grimassi describes Aradia as having twelve disciples—six male-female couples—who help spread her teachings after her mysterious disappearance. Do these elements invalidate the legends? Quite the contrary, I would argue. They simply demonstrate how easily legend material absorbs motifs from the surrounding culture. These elaborated new versions show that the legend of Aradia is a living tradition that continues to evolve today, changing to adapt to the individual needs of the narrator as well as the larger changes in society.

REFERENCES CITED

Baldassare, Silvio. 1997. Review of R. Grimassi, Ways of the Strega. In Songs of the Dayshift Foreman: Journal of a Rainforest Witch 69: 12-16.

Behringer, Wolfgang. 1998. Shaman of Oberstdorf. Translated by H.C. Erik Midelfort. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press.

Bernstein, Frances. 2000. Classical Living. San Francisco: Harper.

Bonomo, Giuseppe. 1959. Caccia alle streghe. Palermo: Palumbo.

Caro Baroja, Julio. 1961. The World of the Witches. Translated by O.N.V. Glendinning.Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Cattabiani, Alfredo. 1994. Lunario. Milano: Arnoldo Mondadori.

Clark, Stuart. 1997. Thinking with Demons: the Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Clifton, Chas S. 1998. “The Significance of Aradia.” In Aradia, of the Gospel of the Witches, by Charles G. Leland, translated by Mario Pazzaglini and Dina Pazzaglini, 59- 80. Blaine, WA: Phoenix Publishing.

Crapanzano, Vincent. 1975. “Saints, Jnun, and Dreams: an Essay in Moroccan Ethnopsychology.” Psychiatry 38:145-159.

Degh, Linda and Andrew Vazsonyi. 1976. “Legend and Belief.” In Folklore Genres, ed. by Dan Ben Amos, 93-124. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

_____. 1995 [1986]. “Does the Word “Dog” Bite? Ostensive Action: a Means of Legend Telling.” In Narratives in Society: a Performer-Centered Study of Narration, 236- 262. Helsinki: Finnish Academy of Sciences. (Reprinted from Journal of Folklore Research, Fall 1983)

Del Giudice, Luisa. 2001. “Mountains of Cheese, Rivers of Wine: Paesi di Cuccagna and Other Gastronomic Utopias.” In Imagined States: Nationalism, Utopia and Longing in Oral Cultures, ed. Luisa Del Giudice and Gerald Porter, 11-63. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press.

_____ and Gerald Porter. 2001. “Introduction.” In Imagined States: Nationalism, Utopia and Longing in Oral Cultures, ed. Luisa Del Giudice and Gerald Porter, 1-10. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press.

De Martino, Ernesto. 1987 [1966] Sud e magia. Milano: Feltrinelli. _____. 1961. La terra del rimorso. Milano: Feltrinelli.

Di Nola, Alfonso. 1993. Lo specchio e l’olio: le superstizioni italiane. Bari: Laterza.

Dundes, Alan. 1971. “On the Psychology of Legend.” In American Folk Legend: a Symposium, ed. by Wayland Hand, 21-36. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Gallini, Clara. 1988. La ballerina variopinta. Naples: Liguori.

Ginzburg, Carlo. 1989. Storia notturna: una decifrazione del sabba. Tornio: Einaudi. _____. 1993.. “Deciphering the Sabbath.” In European Witchcraft: Centers and Peripheries. ed. by Gustav Hennigsen and Bengt Ankarloo, 121-137. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Grimassi, Raven. 1999. Hereditary Witchcraft. St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Press.

_____. 1995. Ways of the Strega. St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Press.

Henningsen, Gustav. 1993. “"The Ladies from Outside”: An Archaic Pattern of the Witches" Sabbath.“ In European Witchcraft: Centers and Peripheries. ed. by Gustav Henningsen and Bengt Ankarloo,191-215. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Kelly, Aidan. 1992. The Gospel of Diana. Privately published manuscript on disk.

Kilgman, Gail. 1981. Calus: Symbolic Transformation in Romanian Ritual. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Leland, Charles G. 1899, 1990. Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches. Blaine, WA: Phoenix Publishing [reprint of original edition].

Liori, Antonangelo. 1992. Demoni, miti e riti magici della Sardegna. Rome: Newton Compton.

Magliocco, Sabina. 1993. "Eels, Bananas and Cucumbers: a Sexual Legend and Changing Women’s Values in Rural Sardinia.” Fabula 34-½, 66-77.

Muraro Vaiani, Luisa. 1976. La signora del gioco: episodi della caccia alle streghe. Milano: Feltrinelli.

Pitré, Giuseppe. 1889. Usi, costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano. Palermo: Giuffé.

Selis, Luisa. 1978. “Prime ricerche sulla presenza delle streghe in Sardegna oggi.” In L"erba delle donne: maghe, streghe, guaritrici. Roma: Roberto Napoleone Editore, 137-147.

Stephen, Michele. 1989. “Self, the Sacred Other and Autonomous Imagination.” In The Religious Imagination in New Guinea. ed. Michele Stephen and Gilbert Herdt, 41-64. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.

Sabina Magliocco is Associate Professor of Anthropology at California State University - Northridge. She has done fieldwork in Sardinia (Italy) as well as among contemporary Pagans in the San Francisco Bay area, and is the author of a forthcoming book Neopagan Sacred Art and Altars: Making Things Whole (University Press of Mississippi) and a number of articles. She is a Gardnerian initiate.

www.AradiaGoddess.com

[renaroo]

The Search (13/16)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence - Alternate S15] The Reds and Blues saved Chorus, but it has been a year and they are still missing. A motley crew has been gathered with the common goal of finding the war heroes, though the road is more troubled than anyone seems to realize.

A/N: I’m sorry for the late but we’re so close, guys! Just a few chapters left and this one... well I’d say you guys are finally going to get some satisfaction but I think you’ll find it comes at a cost ; ) 

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, MKDemigodZ-Warrior, DisneyFreak-Lover, zowiaki, and Yin for the comments and feedback!

The Final Countdown

Her head was splitting, but as disoriented as she was, the only real question to ask was pounding into her head. As much as she hated to have to ask it at all.

Did she really let some two-bit mercenary take her by surprise again? Did she really not see the fact that he would have enhancements as much as she did surprise her?

They might have been the type of questions that, ordinarily, would keep Carolina up at night, but in that moment they were the far of queries of a mind that really had another agenda entirely. Figuring out what the hell Kaikaina was screaming about so loudly that it was rousing Carolina from unconsciousness by sheer volume alone.

“They can’t kill us! Killing us would be the lamest thing they ever did! Do you know what kind of lame things are on their records of lame? It shouldn’t be possible for them to be more lame! This is fucking stupid! Dexter Grif, if you try to kill anybody over here I’ll personally kick your ass! If you kill me I’m going to kick your ass and punch you! Twice!”

“Private Grif, please calm down, you may trigger something,” Doctor Grey’s more soothing tone said, closer to Carolina than Kaikaina’s.

It was enough to fully bring Carolina into the moment as she opened her eyes. She was being held up, or at least her head was, in someone’s lap. There were cracks in her helmet, her HUD broken for certain, which meant that she was only seeing what her eyes could. There was no feedlot from her suit, all instinct driven.

Doctor Grey was not looking down to her but instead toward the rest of the circled up group, all of which were standing behind Washington. With his arms and legs out, Wash seemed to be trying as desperately as he could to spread himself out as a wall covering all of them. But most concerning of all was that his battle rifle was holstered against his back. He had no weapons drawn whatsoever. Which, by Carolina’s estimates, usually did not spell out well for them.

“They haven’t shot us yet,” Dylan Andrews said in a flat tone, still looking around and assessing the situation herself. “Despite the order. There may be some semblance of control for them still. They might be preventing themselves from attacking.” She then turned her head suspiciously toward Li’l Grif. “Assuming that no one else triggers some sort of response from them.”

“I don’t trigger people, I’m a fucking social justice queen, bitches!” Kai snapped back.

“Kaikaina, not now!” Washington hissed.

“Yes, now, officer! My brother has a gun trained on you! and Junior’s kidnapped by his dad. Do you know how fucking weird that sounds? But it’s what’s happening, because everything that happens to us is effing weird,” Kai continued loudly. “I shit you not, one time I got naked for Doc. That’s how weird things are. Doc saw my vagina, and he’s like the fourth last person I’d want in this room right now to see the twat!”

At first Wash seemed to have finally learned to let Kaikaina’s crudeness go by unhindered, but then he tilted his head over his shoulder just enough to look her way. “Who are the three before him?”

“Are you actually asking that question right now?” Andrews demanded.

“Completely out of line, Agent Washington!” Grey squeaked out.

“Agreed,” Carolina said groggily, finally pulling herself up into a sitting position out of Grey’s lap.

“Carolina! Are you alright?” Wash asked, still not moving.

“I got my ass kicked by a complete prick. No, Wash, I’m not okay, I’m fucking pissed!” Carolina seethed.

“Awesome! Well, we’re all about to die right now so you’re in, like, super great company. Just saying,” Kai announced, hands on her hips.

“”You never answered my question,” Wash pointed out to Kai.

“You’re such a closet pervert, it’s kinda hot. For a cop,” she answered, head tilted in amusement. “It’s Sarge, Caboose, and Grif, by the way. So watch out. The crotch is still an option for you.”

“I was hoping I was on the list, not—“ Washington began to argue before freezing up at the sound of crunching boots. He turned just as Carolina and Grey got to their feet in unison, shocked as Sarge, Caboose, and Grif stepped forward, weapons high. “Damn it, Kaikaina!”

“Dude, what the fuck, you asked me the question!” she cried out.

Barely able to breathe, Carolina searched her mind for any way out of the situation at hand and she focused on Wash’s holstered weapon once again. “Wash! Take out your gun and shoot them in the legs so they are out of commission!” she ordered.

“No!” Wash angrily snapped back. “I’m not fighting my family, are you mental? We did not come all this way for me to take a close range shot at them, possibly shatter bone or tear open an artery — just no, Carolina! I won’t do it. Not even for myself. Not anymore!”

“You overdramatic fuck, we could just take them out so they don’t kill us and stay zombies forever!” Carolina yelled in return. “Are you literally trying to tell me it’s not worth that risk at the very least?”

Before they could continue to argue, however, Carolina gaped as she saw that Caboose’s finger was on the trigger. And that was not Freckles. And it was definitely aimed directly at Washington’s head.

Without HUD guidance, all but going in blind, her body still rigid and sore from her unconsciousness, Carolina leaped between her first step and her second to go into super speed. She could feel her armor reacting, but the speedometer, the braking controls, everything she relied on for safety were gone. Only her instincts driving her with a HUD and without an Epsilon.

But instincts, apparently, were exactly what she needed because only a few steps into the run, she was already tackling Caboose to the ground and sending his gun shooting toward the ceiling.

The rest of their group began screaming in surprise but Carolina’s full attention was on wrestling the behemoth that Caboose was away from his gun.

There was a near serene sound next of what seemed like clattering glass. But as Carolina looked up she saw that it was not glass but the icicles that formed in the doorways where the remaining Reds were all standing still without orders. They were going to fall right onto them.

“Simmons! Donut! Doc! Step forward!” Washington yelled out with quick thinking.

Just in the nick of time, Donut and Simmons stepped forward before the large icicles came crashing down where they had been. Doc stood in place until the icicles hit him mainly in the helmet. He let out a cry and collapsed to the floor, helmet falling off after being severely broken.

Everyone flinched for him.

“Sorry, I didn’t know his last name,” Wash muttered in partial embarrassment.

Kaikaina, again who had known him the longest, only tilted her head in confusion. “Doc’s name isn’t Doc? What the eff.”

“Ow… what happened?” Doc groaned from the floor, reaching up and grabbing his head. “Ugh. I need some adderall so I don’t freak out again like I did in the operating room. Boy was that a difficult movie to watch in one sitting.”

“Wait what,” Dylan Andrews said, having proven the true danger of staying around their group too long. “He’s speaking like he’s his own person again. The helmets are somehow responsible for the control—“

“HYAAHHHH!” Doctor Grey screamed, just before there was a loud THUNK and Carolina jus saw Sarge’s bright red helmet flying across the floor just in front of her.

Carolina looked back and saw that Doctor Grey had managed to roundhouse kick Sarge’s helmet off of his head, making the old colonel sway in place, holding onto his forehead. “What in sam hill…” he muttered, not realizing he was standing right over Carolina with a shotgun aimed at her head.

“One of your doctorates was in mixed martial arts?” Dylan asked, impressed.

“Oh, silly, no. I just have a black belt like every other multitasking super genius,” Grey assured her.

Without wasting another moment, Carolina turned back to Caboose and grabbed onto his helmet, viciously ripping it off his head to free him from its control.

The big Blue just blinked a few times before squinting at Carolina. “Agent Caro-lady? You came to prison for us?” he asked tiredly.

“Caboose, I’d come to hell for you,” she breathed a sigh of relief.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to do that,” Caboose responded, still sounding exhausted. “Church used to say we should go there, but if you went there you wouldn’t find us there yet. So I’m glad you found us here. Wherever this… cold dark… scary wet cold dark place is. It definitely helped you find us faster than going to Hell.”

Carolina looked at Caboose in simple amazement for a moment before her shoulders began to shudder and her eyes blurred. She couldn’t help herself, she began to laugh, a real, genuine laugh, and possibly the first one she had had since the Reds and Blues had disappeared. At least, there had not been one with so much warmth and relief in her chest as she gave it. Even as the sobs came through.

She could see in her periphery as Kai ripped off Grif’s helmet and immediately pulled him into a confused hug and as Wash took the duty of removing both Donut and Simmons’ helmets.

They were all being released. They were all being brought back to them piece by piece.

“What’s going on here? Why is my sister on one of our stupid fucking adventures?” Grif shouted out, even as he hugged his sister back.

“It’s an incredibly long story and it’s not over yet,” Wash informed them all.

“Yeah, fortunately we’e got some kinda storyteller with us, right, Dylan?” Kai shouted only to turn and see what Carolina and the rest of them were only beginning to realize at the same time. “Dylan? Miss Andrews? Where’d she go?”

“To do something we’d do,” Carolina said out loud, eyes widening in concern. “Something very stupid.”

Journalistic integrity and ethics were something of the defining features in Dylan Andrews’ life. They were what made her literal bread and butter. They were what got her involved with the unraveling story of Project Freelancer and ominous Reds and Blues. It was also how Carolina and Washington came across her.

And part of being an investigative journalist happened to be objectivity. Happened to be the ability to stand down, to step back, and accept that inserting herself into the narrative was dangerous to the vitality of the report.

Dylan Andrews lived and breathed being a journalist, but in the moment, as she raced through the chilled halls of an alien temple on a planet she probably wouldn’t have been able to pronounce, she was a part of the story. She was involved. She was subjective. She was—

She was likely to be doing something very stupid, but it was most likely the the right thing to do.

Which made it all the more shocking and breathtaking when she at last reached the end of the hall and heard for herself the instruction of Malcolm Hargrove ordering the death of a child.

“No,” Andrews gasped, trying to run faster.

Only steps away from the room, Dylan had to slide into a halt, scrambling into the shadows as she saw that Siris, the man in black from before, was standing at the entrance with his gun in tow. Dylan was more than ready to tackle him, maybe wrestle his gun free from him, when he surprised her by stepping forward.

Lavernius Tucker stood with his gun coldly trained on the shuddering Junior.

“Hold it,” Siris barked at Tucker. He then looked toward Hargrove. “This is not the right move.”

“Siri, I have no idea why, compared to your colleagues, you have such a difficult time comprehending this simple fact, but I will remind you that you are not hired for your morality, you are hired for your lack of it!” Hargrove snapped angrily. “I have no need of a useless loose string, and so long as this creature is alive and refusing to cooperate then that is precisely what it is.”

“You don’t know that there’s no use for the kid yet, you just know that he’s acting like a scared kid. And even if he doesn’t turn on the towers, he still holds value to the UNSC,” Siris said plainly. “My colleagues suggested me for your employ. That doesn’t mean I take my day job any less seriously. Especially when you’re willing to do something stupid enough to restart a war and get the whole human race killed. What good is that to me? I get paid more than I’ll ever need so I can Scrooge McDuck it and die on mountain of money I’m diving into? That doesn’t sound like a deal to me.”

“Mercenaries and your paydays,” Hargrove snarled. “Very well, then. I hear your point.” The businessman turned to face a large alien construct then glanced over his shoulder toward Tucker. “Shoot him.”

Before the mercenary was able to react, there were three ringing shots and the man was sent falling backward in a grunt of pain, hitting the floor just in front Dylan. She looked at him wide eyed as he clutched at the holes in his armor beginning to bubble up crimson blood. “Fuck you, Har…” he looked at Dylan for a moment, breathing heavily. “What the…”

Not sure what else to do, Dylan tried to hold a finger up to her helmet to silence the shot man.

Hargrove, though, wasn’t done yet. “Now, Mister Tucker, I do believe you’re free to shoot your abomination.”

Realizing that staying in the observer’s seat wasn’t going to help any longer, if it ever had, Dylan lunged into the room to get between Tucker and his son. Junior let out a shocked honk before clicking his jowls together in a way that Dylan was sure the rest of their shipmates would pretend was meaningful. But for the moment her heart was pounding too hard and she was shaking in her knees. Still, she stood firm.

“Tucker, you can’t do this,” she said seriously. “You don’t know who I am, and I’m sure there’s a lot of confusion because you’re being mind controlled by a chip in your brain that’s being controlled by something weird they did to your helmet and I can’t even begin to pretend I understand the logic behind any of it. But the one thing that I do know, from all my work and all my research is that you are one thing for certain in every story, in every record, in absolutely everything I can find.”

Hargrove looked somewhere between angry and baffled. “Who the devil is this?”

Dylan ignored him, seeing that Tucker’s full attention was on her instead. “You’re a pervert, Lavernius Tucker. Ini absolutely everything I have learned about you, and judging by the very little I understand of your son’s language, you definitely are sex obsessed. Ad it’s a little bit sad. But it’s offset by all the other records that say you’re a good father. The… kind of father that would not be able to resist a chance to use a catchphrase. Which is why I knew if I came all this way, if I could get to you before you were forced to do something terrible and wrong and against your character, I could maybe have a chance to tell you something you needed to hear. That even though we have been searching on a very dangerous journey and I probably will have to file for unemployment when I get back to my life…” she took a deep, heralding breath, holding on the pause enough that even Junior was leaning in some out of curiosity.

Exhaling sharply, Dylan tilted her had back up to look Tucker in the face. “I’m glad I came.”

Tucker’s body flinched awkwardly, his head tilting as a snort came through the filters of his helmet. “Bow…Bow Chicka Bow Wow!”

His finger laid off the trigger and his shoulders rolled back into a more comfortable, natural position as he swayed on his feet, a little dazed. “What… How… Who—“

“Oh for the love of god, if you want something done!” Hargrove snarled, grabbing the gun from Tucker’s unguarded hands and immediately firing at Dylan.

She stood in shock for a moment before feeling an unnatural warmth pooling out at her side. She reached for her waist, looking down to see for herself that blood was beginning to seep through her kevlar mesh, torn through much easier than the hard, battle ready armor the mercenary had been wearing. Then she fell to her knees, feeling shaky and cold.

Junior let out a cry, grabbing Dylan’s shoulder and arm as she began to slump.

“You shot at my kid you son of a bitch!” Tucker roared just before there was a distinct, whisking sound of energy. It was odd enough to draw Dylan’s fuzzing attention toward it and she saw Tucker brandish the plasma sword she’d written about before in her articles.

“No! You idiot, don’t!” Siris roared from the hall.

But it was too late, Tucker stabbed his sword directly through the unsuspecting Hargrove, impaling him against the alien artifact behind him.

Then, just as surely as the life was draining from both Dylan and her shooter, the room began to rumble as a foreign, unnatural glow began to leak out through the inscribed words and lines of the artifact and into the room as a whole.

“It’s done,” Hargrove gasped with his last breaths. “You’ve…unlocked it…”

The man left Tucker standing in a room of injured, dead, and dying, and Dylan with so many questions — the kinds a journalist who hadn’t gotten too involved in her own story would have had time to ask.

#writing #RvB: The Search #rvb fic #Agent Washington #Dylan Andrews #Agent Wash #Kaikaina Grif #Emily Grey

[ts1989fanatic]

ts1989fanatic Sorry about posting this but it pissed me off so much I had to share it with other or have my head explode. I’m pretty sure I have seen other Daily Beast articles in the past by this same so called writer that were just as critical (WRONGLY) of Taylor Swift.

It’s Time for Taylor Swift to Denounce Her Neo-Nazi Admirers

The pop superstar is worshipped as an ‘Aryan goddess’ by the white supremacist community. In the wake of Charlottesville, the least she could do is speak out.

In a world overrun by the idiotic and underqualified, it’s tempting to credit public figures with nonexistent cunning or forethought.

As nice as it is to imagine that the president of the United States isn’t just “ad-libbing” on North Korea, the facts maintain that there isn’t any sort of political chess at play here—everyone and everything really is as dumb as it seems.

With one exception. In an era of unbridled ids, impetuous boys, and impromptu boasts, there is one woman who is consistently 10 steps ahead: a pop music Machiavelli and Svengali of mutually beneficial relationships who also happens to be a pretty talented EDM scribe.

Naturally we’re talking about Taylor Alison Swift (alias: Nils Sjoberg), a 27-year-old singer-songwriter with a rare talent for self-preservation. Taylor Swift famously maintains strict control over her brand, and has been criticized in the past for her superficiality and attention to detail. From drafting an A-list squad of giraffe-legged pals to threatening to take legal action against some ardent fans on Etsy, Swift seems like a woman who knows exactly what she wants. Taylor Swift might look like a harmless, sugary-sweet pop princess, but make no mistake: This woman keeps Ryan Reynolds’ soul in a calligraphy-labeled Mason jar on her Rhode Island estate. She is not fucking around.

Somehow, through sheer strength of will, Taylor Swift convinced her millions of fans that she was a very sweet and chill girl next door. She realized that feminism was in and began marketing herself as a proponent of girl power, a victim of narcissistic and entitled dudes who would, nevertheless and against all odds, persist. But Swift’s delicate house of vaguely feminist aphorisms and carefully posed lady-Instagrams came tumbling down last summer, when Kim Kardashian outed Swift on Snapchat. The details of that social media checkmate—Swift condemned Kanye’s lyrics, harnessed this victimhood for her public image, was thwarted by leaked footage of Kanye running the track by her in the studio and then reduced to a Notes app statement—are already the stuff of legend. It was the “Kim you’re doing amazing sweetie” heard ’round the world. Unexpectedly pushed into an abyss of unlikability and overexposure, Swift quickly went into crisis/self-imposed exile mode: R.I.P. Hiddleswift, highly publicized squad parties, post-workout crab walks, and the days of underestimating Mrs. Kim Kardashian West.

Luckily for those of us with an appetite for drama and Tracy Flick-style anti-heroines, Taylor Swift plays a long game. Last week, Swift made her first major move since the summer of her Snapchat discontent, testifying in court against former radio DJ David Mueller. The jury ultimately sided with Swift, who alleged that Mueller had “intentionally reached under [Swift’s] skirt, and groped with his hand an intimate part of her body in an inappropriate manner, against her will, and without her permission” during a 2013 meet-and-greet. What happened to Swift was horrible and, as her suit stresses, against her will. But how the pop star chose to present herself in court worked completely to her advantage. When asked about her knowledge of police procedurals, Swift joked about her love of Law & Order: SVU—relatable! When pressed on why no one else witnessed the groping, Swift countered, “Because my ass is located in the back of my body.” Humor, wit, poise, just enough venom and an anatomy lesson to boot? Is it just me, or is 2017 “taking the stand” Taylor Swift actually likable?

At a time when many of us are just barely surviving off a steady diet of revenge fantasies and rage, it makes perfect sense for Swift to rebrand herself a pretty blonde vengeance demon. Why be a saccharine singer-songwriter when you can be an Arya Stark? Likability is so close that TayTay can probably taste it, and I think I’ve come up with a way to finally put her over the edge: All Taylor Swift has to do is denounce neo-Nazis.

Denouncing neo-Nazis might sound like a low bar or a meaningless declaration—if you don’t happen to be rocking a Fred Perry polo and holding a tiki torch your buddy Cole picked up for you at Party City and/or the president of the United States, you should have no problem condemning Nazism. And why should a pop singer have to personally clarify her position on white supremacy? This question would be perfectly valid if we were talking about Selena Gomez, Katy Perry, Beyoncé, or any other major female celebrity who hasn’t been heralded in certain dark corners of the internet as an Aryan princess/secret neo-Nazi. Unfortunately, Taylor Swift has long taken on a starring role in some pretty sick Nazi fan fiction.

In an in-depth 2016 Broadly article, neo-Nazi Andrew Anglin of The Daily Stormer explained Swift’s fashy appeal: “Firstly, Taylor Swift is a pure Aryan goddess, like something out of classical Greek poetry. Athena reborn. That’s the most important thing,” Anglin insisted. “It is also an established fact that Taylor Swift is secretly a Nazi and is simply waiting for the time when Donald Trump makes it safe for her to come out and announce her Aryan agenda to the world. Probably, she will be betrothed to Trump’s son, and they will be crowned American royalty.”

Now, it follows that Swift wouldn’t want to dignify these lunatic ravings with a response, or spend any more time than absolutely necessary contemplating a relationship with either of Donald Trump’s large adult sons. But at a certain point—preferably before a white supremacist website publishes dozens of posts praising her Aryan bloodline—it might behoove a celebrity to publicly condemn the racist anti-Semites who are claiming her as their queen. People like Anglin seem to genuinely believe that Swift will be on their side come race war Armageddon. And now that Nazis and counter-protestors are actually fighting in the streets, there’s no time like the present for Taylor Swift to finally come out as anti-Nazi.

After an act of domestic terrorism in Charlottesville left one woman dead, The Daily Stormer—aka Taylor Swift’s unofficial fan site—mocked the victim of the white nationalist attack. For GoDaddy, The Daily Stormer’s obscene and disturbing language was enough to convince them to finally dump the neo-Nazi website. Taylor Swift needs to get in on all this Nazi condemnation action. Why should Jennifer Lawrence get all the likes?

Now, in the past, Swift has scrupulously avoided any sort of political statement. She expresses her “feminism” through sanitized non-statements like, “I’m proud to be a woman today, and every day.” Not only did she refuse to endorse a presidential candidate—she wouldn’t even denounce the candidate who was accused of serial sexual assault. Given Swift’s history of failing to do the bare minimum, and her past swastika mini-scandal, it’s unlikely that she’ll make an anti-Nazi statement. Then again, the bar has never been so low. No one is expecting Taylor Swift to go on the campaign trail for Kamala Harris or exhibit a working knowledge of intersectionality—just to condemn the neo-Nazi community that’s already claimed her as one of their own.

Say it after me, TayTay: “I, Taylor Swift, denounce Nazis. And I am not attracted to Eric Trump.”

ts1989fanatic THIS IS TOTAL BULLSHIT AND Taylor should ignore this crap.

[karadin]

Historians have been too polite to write about the ugliness seething just below the veneer of the right wing Republicans who gave rise to Trump

Consider, for example, an essay published in 1926 by Hiram Evans, the imperial wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, in the exceedingly mainstream North American Review. His subject was the decline of “Americanism.” 

Evans claimed to speak for an abused white majority, “the so-called Nordic race,” which, “with all its faults, has given the world almost the whole of modern civilization.” Evans, a former dentist, proposed that his was “a movement of plain people,” and acknowledged that this “lays us open to the charge of being hicks and ‘rubes’ and ‘drivers of secondhand Fords.’ ” But over the course of the last generation, he wrote, these good people “have found themselves increasingly uncomfortable, and finally deeply distressed,” watching a “moral breakdown” that was destroying a once-great nation. First, there was “confusion in thought and opinion, a groping and hesitancy about national affairs and private life alike, in sharp contrast to the clear, straightforward purposes of our earlier years.”

 Next, they found “the control of much of our industry and commerce taken over by strangers, who stacked the cards of success and prosperity against us,” and ultimately these strangers “came to dominate our government.” The only thing that would make America great again, as it were, was “a return of power into the hands of everyday, not highly cultured, not overly intellectualized, but entirely unspoiled and not de-Americanized average citizens of old stock.”

This “Second Klan” (the first was formed during Reconstruction) scrambles our pre-Trump sense of what right-wing ideology does and does not comprise. (Its doctrines, for example, included support for public education, to weaken Catholic parochial schools.) The Klan also put the predations of the international banking class at the center of its rhetoric. Its worldview resembles, in fact, the right-wing politics of contemporary Europe — a tradition, heretofore judged foreign to American politics, called “herrenvolk republicanism,” that reserved social democracy solely for the white majority. By reaching back to the reactionary traditions of the 1920s, we might better understand the alliance between the “alt-right” figures that emerged as fervent Trump supporters during last year’s election and the ascendant far-right nativist political parties in Europe.

None of this history is hidden. Indeed, in the 1990s, a rich scholarly literature emerged on the 1920s Klan and its extraordinary, and decidedly national, influence. (One hotbed of Klan activity, for example, was Anaheim, Calif. McGirr’s “Suburban Warriors” mentions this but doesn’t discuss it; neither did I in my own account of Orange County conservatism in “Before the Storm.” Again, it just didn’t seem relevant to the subject of the modern conservative movement.) The general belief among historians, however, was that the Klan’s national influence faded in the years after 1925, when Indiana’s grand dragon, D.C. Stephenson, who served as the de facto political boss for the entire state, was convicted of murdering a young woman.

But the Klan remained relevant far beyond the South. In 1936 a group called the Black Legion, active in the industrial Midwest, burst into public consciousness after members assassinated a Works Progress Administration official in Detroit. The group, which considered itself a Klan enforcement arm, dominated the news that year. The F.B.I. estimated its membership at 135,000, including a large number of public officials, possibly including Detroit’s police chief. The Associated Press reported in 1936 that the group was suspected of assassinating as many as 50 people. In 1937, Humphrey Bogart starred in a film about it. In an informal survey, however, I found that many leading historians of the right — including one who wrote an important book covering the 1930s — hadn’t heard of the Black Legion.

Stephen H. Norwood, one of the few historians who did study the Black Legion, also mined another rich seam of neglected history in which far-right vigilantism and outright fascism routinely infiltrated the mainstream of American life. The story begins with Father Charles Coughlin, the Detroit-based “radio priest” who at his peak reached as many as 30 million weekly listeners. In 1938, Coughlin’s magazine, Social Justice, began reprinting “Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion,” a forged tract about a global Jewish conspiracy first popularized in the United States by Henry Ford. After presenting this fictitious threat, Coughlin’s paper called for action, in the form of a “crusade against the anti-Christian forces of the red revolution” — a call that was answered, in New York and Boston, by a new organization, the Christian Front. Its members were among the most enthusiastic participants in a 1939 pro-Hitler rally that packed Madison Square Garden, where the leader of the German-American Bund spoke in front of an enormous portrait of George Washington flanked by swastikas.

The Bund took a mortal hit that same year — its leader was caught embezzling — but the Christian Front soldiered on. In 1940, a New York chapter was raided by the F.B.I. for plotting to overthrow the government. The organization survived, and throughout World War II carried out what the New York Yiddish paper The Day called “small pogroms” in Boston and New York that left Jews in “mortal fear” of “almost daily” beatings. Victims who complained to authorities, according to news reports, were “insulted and beaten again.” Young Irish-Catholic men inspired by the Christian Front desecrated nearly every synagogue in Washington Heights. The New York Catholic hierarchy, the mayor of Boston and the governor of Massachusetts largely looked the other way.

Why hasn’t the presence of organized mobs with backing in powerful places disturbed historians’ conclusion that the American right was dormant during this period? In fact, the “far right” was never that far from the American mainstream. The historian Richard Steigmann-Gall, writing in the journal Social History, points out that “scholars of American history are by and large in agreement that, in spite of a welter of fringe radical groups on the right in the United States between the wars, fascism never ‘took’ here.” And, unlike in Europe, fascists did not achieve governmental power. Nevertheless, Steigmann-Gall continues, “fascism had a very real presence in the U.S.A., comparable to that on continental Europe.” He cites no less mainstream an organization than the American Legion, whose “National Commander” Alvin Owsley proclaimed in 1922, “the Fascisti are to Italy what the American Legion is to the United States.” A decade later, Chicago named a thoroughfare after the Fascist military leader Italo Balbo. In 2011, Italian-American groups in Chicago protested a movement to rename it.

Anti-Semitism in America declined after World War II. But as Leo Ribuffo points out, the underlying narrative — of a diabolical transnational cabal of aliens plotting to undermine the very foundations of Christian civilization — survived in the anti-Communist diatribes of Joseph McCarthy. The alien narrative continues today in the work of National Review writers like Andrew McCarthy (“How Obama Embraces Islam’s Sharia Agenda”) and Lisa Schiffren (who argued that Obama’s parents could be secret Communists because “for a white woman to marry a black man in 1958, or ’60, there was almost inevitably a connection to explicit Communist politics”). And it found its most potent expression in Donald Trump’s stubborn insistence that Barack Obama was not born in the United States.

Trump’s connection to this alternate right-wing genealogy is not just rhetorical. In 1927, 1,000 hooded Klansmen fought police in Queens in what The Times reported as a “free for all.” One of those arrested at the scene was the president’s father, Fred Trump. (Trump’s role in the melee is unclear; the charge — “refusing to disperse” — was later dropped.) In the 1950s, Woody Guthrie, at the time a resident of the Beach Haven housing complex the elder Trump built near Coney Island, wrote a song about “Old Man Trump” and the “Racial hate/He stirred up/In the bloodpot of human hearts/When he drawed/That color line” in one of his housing developments. In 1973, when Donald Trump was working at Fred’s side, both father and son were named in a federal housing-discrimination suit. The family settled with the Justice Department in the face of evidence that black applicants were told units were not available even as whites were welcomed with open arms.

The 1960s and ’70s New York in which Donald Trump came of age, as much as Klan-ridden Indiana in the 1920s or Barry Goldwater’s Arizona in the 1950s, was at conservatism’s cutting edge, setting the emotional tone for a politics of rage. In 1966, when Trump was 20, Mayor John Lindsay placed civilians on a board to more effectively monitor police abuse. The president of the Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association — responding, “I am sick and tired of giving in to minority groups and their gripes and their shouting” — led a referendum effort to dissolve the board that won 63 percent of the vote. Two years later, fights between supporters and protesters of George Wallace at a Madison Square Garden rally grew so violent that, The New Republic observed, “never again will you read about Berlin in the ’30s without remembering this wild confrontation here of two irrational forces.”

The rest of the country followed New York’s lead. In 1970, after the shooting deaths of four students during antiwar protests at Kent State University in Ohio, a Gallup poll found that 58 percent of Americans blamed the students for their own deaths. (“If they didn’t do what the Guards told them, they should have been mowed down,” one parent of Kent State students told an interviewer.) Days later, hundreds of construction workers from the World Trade Center site beat antiwar protesters at City Hall with their hard hats. (“It was just like Iwo Jima,” an impressed witness remarked.) That year, reports the historian Katherine Scott, 76 percent of Americans “said they did not support the First Amendment right to assemble and dissent from government policies.”

In 1989, a young white woman was raped in Central Park. Five teenagers, four black and one Latino, confessed to participating in the crime. At the height of the controversy, Donald Trump took out full-page ads in all the major New York daily papers calling for the return of the death penalty. It was later proved the police had essentially tortured the five into their confessions, and they were eventually cleared by DNA evidence. Trump, however, continues to insist upon their guilt. That confidence resonates deeply with what the sociologist Lawrence Rosenthal calls New York’s “hard-hat populism” — an attitude, Rosenthal hypothesizes, that Trump learned working alongside the tradesmen in his father’s real estate empire. But the case itself also resonates deeply with narratives dating back to the first Ku Klux Klan of white womanhood defiled by dark savages. Trump’s public call for the supposed perpetrators’ hides, no matter the proof of guilt or innocence, mimics the rituals of Southern lynchings.

 At the beginning of the 20th century, millions of impoverished immigrants, mostly Catholic and Jewish, entered an overwhelmingly Protestant country. It was only when that demographic transformation was suspended by the 1924 Immigration Act that majorities of Americans proved willing to vote for many liberal policies. In 1965, Congress once more allowed large-scale immigration to the United States — and it is no accident that this date coincides with the increasing conservative backlash against liberalism itself, now that its spoils would be more widely distributed among nonwhites.

The liberalization of immigration law is an obsession of the alt-right. Trump has echoed their rage. “We’ve admitted 59 million immigrants to the United States between 1965 and 2015,” he noted last summer, with rare specificity. “ ‘Come on in, anybody. Just come on in.’ Not anymore.” This was a stark contrast to Reagan, who venerated immigrants, proudly signing a 1986 bill, sponsored by the conservative Republican senator Alan Simpson, that granted many undocumented immigrants citizenship. Shortly before announcing his 1980 presidential run, Reagan even boasted of his wish “to create, literally, a common market situation here in the Americas with an open border between ourselves and Mexico.” But on immigration, at least, it is Trump, not Reagan, who is the apotheosis of the brand of conservatism that now prevails.

A puzzle remains. If Donald Trump was elected as a Marine Le Pen-style — or Hiram Evans-style — herrenvolk republican, what are we to make of the fact that he placed so many bankers and billionaires in his cabinet, and has relentlessly pursued so many 1-percent-friendly policies?

 More to the point, what are we to the make of the fact that his supporters don’t seem to mind?

. The history of bait-and-switch between conservative electioneering and conservative governance is another rich seam that calls out for fresh scholarly excavation: not of how conservative voters see their leaders, but of the neglected history of how conservative leaders see their voters.

 Much excellent scholarship, well worth revisiting in the age of Trump, suggests an explanation for Reagan’s subsequent success at cutting back social programs in the face of hostile public opinion: It was business leaders, not the general public, who moved to the right, and they became increasingly aggressive and skilled in manipulating the political process behind the scenes.

But another answer hides in plain sight. The often-cynical negotiation between populist electioneering and plutocratic governance on the right has long been not so much a matter of policy as it has been a matter of show business. The media scholar Tim Raphael, in his 2009 book, “The President Electric: Ronald Reagan and the Politics of Performance,” calls the three-minute commercials that interrupted episodes of The General Electric Theater — starring Reagan and his family in their state-of-the-art Pacific Palisades home, outfitted for them by G.E. — television’s first “reality show.” For the California voters who soon made him governor, the ads created a sense of Reagan as a certain kind of character: the kindly paterfamilias, a trustworthy and nonthreatening guardian of the white middle-class suburban enclave. Years later, the producers of “The Apprentice” carefully crafted a Trump character who was the quintessence of steely resolve and all-knowing mastery. American voters noticed. Linda Lucchese, a Trump convention delegate from Illinois who had never previously been involved in politics, told me that she watched “The Apprentice” and decided that Trump would make a perfect president. “All those celebrities,” she told me: “They showed him respect.”

It is a short leap from advertising and reality TV to darker forms of manipulation. Consider the parallels since the 1970s between conservative activism and the traditional techniques of con men.

Note also the more recent connection between Republican politics and “multilevel marketing” operations like Amway (Trump’s education secretary, Betsy DeVos, is the wife of Amway’s former president and the daughter-in-law of its co-founder); and how easily some of these marketing schemes shade into the promotion of dubious miracle cures (Ben Carson, secretary of housing and urban development, with “glyconutrients”; Mike Huckabee shilling for a “solution kit” to “reverse” diabetes; Trump himself taking on a short-lived nutritional-supplements multilevel marketing scheme in 2009). The dubious grifting of Donald Trump, in short, is a part of the structure of conservative history.

Future historians won’t find all that much of a foundation for Trumpism in the grim essays of William F. Buckley, the scrupulous constitutionalist principles of Barry Goldwater or the bright-eyed optimism of Ronald Reagan. They’ll need instead to study conservative history’s political surrealists and intellectual embarrassments, its con artists and tribunes of white rage. It will not be a pleasant story. But if those historians are to construct new arguments to make sense of Trump, the first step may be to risk being impolite.

x

#history #republicans #trump #right wing #conservative politics #usa politicians #trump fail #kkk #klu klux klan #racsim