#<-my new offshoots name :)

[sunnydayaoe]

Sorry this has no context but I had to </3

[lime1991]

what if other types of trolls evolved from a specific ancestor. my thought when i decided to make a Metal troll that looks like the polar opposite of a Classical troll. in my head, Metal trolls originated from Classical like thousands millions idk how many years ago, but somewhere along the way Classical began to shift and evolve into entirely new genres of trolls. one of which being a weird, possibly rock-influenced, set of Metal Trolls.

[kaluawoo]

I've been watching some Narooto on this train ride and now I really wanna redo my OC for the.

Me, cradling the cringiest OC ever:"I can fix her!"

(I have 0 regrets, she was FUN to play, I just have different tastes and standards for my OCs now that I'm not 14 anymore lmao)

[lovelytsunoda]

tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world) // tom “iceman” kazansky

summary: after thirty years of marriage, heather kazansky reflects on the time she spent and the love she shared with tom as she prepares to write her eulogy and say goodbye to her husband.

pairing: tom kazansky x wife!oc (named heather)

warnings: canon character death (Tom) and mentions of gooses death from the original movie, depictions of grief, mentions of mental health and medication,

authors note: this is the fic I firmly believe I was put on this earth to write. I wanted to do so much more with it, but honestly would have ended up with like 16k words or something like that.

April 2022, Miramar, California.

“is that the admirals wife?”

“jake, shut the fuck up.”

heather kazasnky had never thought of herself as an impressive woman. she always found herself timid, shy and a little anxious. it wasn’t until the first offshoots of gray started to sprout in her hair, and she’d watched all three of her children grow up that she truly thought sh had done something impressive with her life.

she sat alone at a table in the corner of the hard deck, oblivious to the wandering eyes of her husbands trainees as her slender fingers navigated the keyboard of her MacBook.

“heather?”

she started at the voice, cheeks marred with the flush of someone who had just been sobbing as she turned to look at the speaker.

“peter,” she hummed. “it’s good to see you, maverick.”

heather got to her feet, pulling the other pilot in for a tight hug. “nice to see you too, heather. how are you doing.”

“the best I can. the kids are supposed to be coming up tonight to help with the funerals.”

there were always going to be two funerals. the first was the formal military funeral, where her husband would be buried in the same cemetery as nick bradshaw, and the other was more like a reception, something more human and less structured. for the people who knew him not as admiral kazansky, but as tom.

“I miss him, mav. the house feels strange without him in it. I’ve spent so long being heather kazansky, I don’t know how to go back to being just heather.”

maverick shook his head, taking a seat next to her. “you’re still you, heather. you’re still a mother to three incredible kids, and grandmother to two.”

“with another on the way.” she coughed, somehow managing a smile. “joshua’s new girlfriend is expecting. he told tom before he died.”

“congratulations, heather. how are the kids doing?”

“as well as can be expected. as usual, mitchell is the glue holding us together. cassie’s a wreck. she always was her father’s daughter. and for it to happen so soon after she had jamie just seems cruel. tom was going to retire, did you know that? he was ready to put his papers in, we were going to go to greece. it was finally us time again. he gave so much of himself to this country, and I was so excited to finally have him back.”

pete rested a hand on heathers shoulder, squeezing it through the fur of her cardigan. she was strong despite her age, still well built and sturdy, face marred with laugh lines but not a single telltale old woman wrinkle. “I’m so sorry, heather.”

“thank you.”

she turned back to her laptop, showing the other pilot what she was doing. “I’m gathering pictures for the reception. but most of them are of me. tom always had his fucking camera with him. I should have let the kids do this part. all I’m doing is making myself cry.”

she cast her eyes back to her laptop screen, resisting the urge to reach out and run her finger over the photo, soaking in the good memories as they came flooding back. in the picture, she and tom stood on one side of the kitchen counter, laughing with each other as they cut gingerbread cookies.

it had been their first christmas together.

“oh my god,” maverick laughed. “is that iceman in a cable knit?”

“he was so nervous about meeting my dad for the first time. I had to talk him out of wearing his dress whites.”

December 1985, Richmond, Virginia.

they had been together for six months, give or take the few weeks his team had spent deployed in the gulf, and nothing had intimidated tom kazansky more than meeting his girlfriends father. he had wanted to wear his navy dress whites in an attempt to make a good impression before heather had laughed and made him change into jeans and a sweater before they left the apartment.

even then, he had changed sweaters four times before setting on the white cable knit he was currently wearing.

iceman knew how stressed his girl got during the holidays. her family could bring out the worst in her, and they were both highly strung when they walked in the door.

now, she was off to the side with her sister, cradling a mug of hot coco in her hands as she watched him with a smile, chuckling as he dropped a cup of flour down the front of his jeans.

“you really like him, don’t you?”

heather looked back at her sister, who raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her hot chocolate.

“I do. I really do, abigail. he makes me feel like I’m worth loving, if that makes sense. everything with tom is just so…easy.”

abigail frowned. “he’s a lieutenant, isn’t he? that means he’s going to be deployed a lot. are you sure you can handle that?”

heather sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “we’re trying. he was out in the gulf for a few weeks in september, and we got through it.”

“he’s barely taken his eyes off you since you got here. and when he looks at you, I don’t see anything other than pure, unfiltered love. I bet he’s got a polaroid of you in his cockpit.”

heather laughed, a warm and giddy feeling in her chest. it was clear how much her family loved iceman, and how quickly they were welcoming him into the fold.

“you know I’m losing him for two months in the new year. he’s off to california, got into some fancy fighter jet training program.”

“you can still go see him, right?”

“yeah, I’ve got a few vacation days saved u- oh fuck.” heather cursed, thrusting her mug into abigail’s arms as she saw what her boyfriend was doing. “give me one second, I’ve gotta stop him from screwing up the gingerbread.”

she pushed up the sleeves of her jacquard sweater, socks skidding across the kitchen tiles as she loosely knotted her hair behind her head.

“kaz, sweetie, give me the rolling pin. you’ve gotta knead the dough.” she smiles softly, putting herself between the pilot and the counter.

one of tom’s flour coated hands came to rest as her waist, his chin on the top of her head as she watched her dip her hands into the bowl of flour, and proceed to knead the gingerbread dough by hand. her lovers hands came to rest over hers, his lips soft and warm against her skin as they kneaded the gingerbread dough together.

“see, you don’t always know everything, lieutenant.” she hummed giddily, running her thumb over his wrist.

“yeah, but I know I love you, and that’s all I need.” Tom laughed, gently using his finger to guide her head towards his and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

April 2022, Miramar, California.

heather paused, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "i loved that man so much, pete."

the hard deck was getting busier, off-duty pilots and seamen flooding in from the base at miramar as shifts changed for the day. heather knew all about the dagger squad and the hazy series of events that brought pete mitchell back to the academy, often having to speak for her husband in meetings once his first cancer operation had left him unable to speak for himself.

"auntie heather!" a familiar face looked over from the pool table. bradley bradshaw was a spitting image of his father, right down to the way that his moustache was trimmed.

for heather, it sometimes felt like seeing a ghost.

"brad!" she perked up, waving him over to the table. "how are you?"

when she first came to visit her husband at miramar, somethign about carole bradshaw had pulled heather in. she hadn't known the bradshaw's long, but by the time that goose's accident happened, she felt like she had known that family her whole life.

she did what she could to help carole out afterwards, especially when it came to raising bradley, but as rooster got older and time flew by, it was so easy for carole and heather to fall out of touch.

"you look just like your dad." she hummed, hugging the pilot. "it's like seeing nick again."

bradley nodded solemnly. "i was sorry to hear about admiral kazansky."

"thank you. it had been a long time coming, but there's no way to properly prepare to lose the man you love."

rooster gestures to the group behind him, the mismatched group of people coming to meet him at the table. “aunt heather, I’d like you to meet the dagger squad: jake, natasha, robert, reuben and javy. we knew the admiral well.”

“hi.” heather said weakly, introducing herself. “I’m heather, the admirals wife. or, widow, I guess. I’m still not used to saying that.”

“are you getting ready for the funeral?” jake asked, promptly getting jabbed in the rib cage by natasha.

“what hangman means to say is: we all respected your husband very much, and we would be honoured to help you plan his memorial service.” phoenix corrected, taking heathers hand between both of her own.

“thank you for the offer, natasha.” heather smiled. “bradley, I want to show you something.”

she sat back in front of her laptop, using the touchscreen to pull up a video taken the first summer she came to visit miramar. she had timed the visit to coincide with her birthday, a small selfish part of her unable to fathom spending her birthday without tom.

bradley pulled up a chair next to the table, watching as the screen crackled to life, the date stamp in the corner reading june of 1986. they were inside the o bar, the video opening with heather resting her head on tom’s shoulder, then panning over to the massive birthday cake and sparklers set in front of her. carole bradshaw sat on one side of her, and charlie blackwood was at the head of the table, sitting next to maverick.

“is that my mom?” Bradley smiled fondly. “she looks so full of life.”

“she was.” heather laughed. “and you might remember charlie, she was one of mavericks many lovers.”

“hey!” pete scoffed. “things just didn’t work out.”

“she was always too good for you, pete.” heather laughed, pointing to another space on the screen. the group was singing happy birthday, supported by a rockabilly piano backing track. “bradley, there’s your dad.”

goose was sitting in front of the grand piano, a toothpick hanging between his teeth as he hammered away at the ivory keys, aviator glasses over his eyes.

“happy birthday dear heather, happy birthday to you.”

the camera panned back to heather and tom as she blew out the cake candles. tom pulled her in to a soft kiss while the rest of the table cheered, and then the video cut to black.

“mitchell has been digitizing all of this stuff for us. I caught tom watching our wedding videos before he died.”

“remember when slider and wolfman got absolutely shitfaced at your wedding and tripped down the reception stairs?” maverick laughed to himself “did anybody ever get that on video?”

heather shook her head, a bright smile on her tear stained face as she hunted through the original wedding folder. “I’ve got you one better.”

September 1987, Monterrey, California.

mrs. heather kazansky. she could get used to that.

she was sitting with her sister and tom’s parents, the former two who were conversing with each other in polish. she twirled her wedding band on her finger, face flushed and spirits high as she looked on at her husband.

tom was with maverick and slider, the group of aviators dressed in their best white uniforms, beer bottles lifted high as they drunkenly hollered the words to an old rod stewart song.

“and I know your name is rita, because your perfume smells sweeter.”

abigail was filming, zooming the camera lens in on heather as she asked: “are you sure you don’t wanna back out now? till death do you part, you’re bound to this dumbass now.”

heather laughed, playfully smacking at the camera. “yes, I’m sure!”

“stay with me, come on stay with me!”

sliders voice was three decibels louder than everybody else, and he was also significantly drunker. one of the bridesmaids had her eyes on him, and there wasn’t a doubt in anybody’s mind that ron kerner would have somebody in his bed that night.

iceman’s face was flushed, his arm thrown around maverick as they rocked on their feet, skin sweaty and hair mussed.

but in the midst of all this chaos, he still managed to look over at his new wife, blowing her the softest kiss. she smiled, catching the kiss in her hands and pressing it to her heart, a moment her sister was able to capture frame for frame on digital video.

tom had watched the video hundreds of times as he sat alone in his office, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he’d be leaving not just the love of his life, but his three beautiful children as well.

April 2022. Miramar, California.

“that’s the kind of love that people only dream about.” natasha smiled softly. “you’re lucky you got to spend as much time with him as you did. most couples don’t make it as long as you guys did.”

heather smiled shakily, reaching for her drink. she’d left the sprite so long that the ice had half melted, condensation dripping down the glass.

“he was so good with the kids, you know. I was on and off depressed for a while after joshua was born. my mental health had never been perfect and I was on a low dose anti-anxiety medication for a long time. but after Josh was born, everything just got so much harder and I could barley get out of bed in the mornings. tom would take the kids to school, make their lunches. he was teaching full time at top gun by then, so he took a few days off to stay with me, make me feel like myself again.”

“he was a good man.” robert smiled, rubbing her shoulder.

“yeah, he was.” heather bit her bottom lip, pulling a photo up on her laptop that had the dagger squad letting out a chorus of ‘awe’s’

the picture was taken in 1989. tom was dressed in a gray waffle knit shirt, a pair of pit viper sunglasses on his forehead as he held a smiling baby in his arms. mitchell’s wide eyes looked up at his dad, his tiny fingers wrapped around in of tom’s larger ones.

his name was mitchell ronald kazansky, because tom had made a lame bet with maverick and slider (that he lost) and had to name his firstborn after both of them (because he was a fucking idiot at times, but she loved him anyways).

the boys were both easy children, but cassandra? she was a daddy’s girl through and through, and tom would have moved heaven and earth for his little girl. whatever cassie wanted, she often got, well into adulthood even. she was the spitting image of her father, from her honey blonde hair right down to the birthmark on the underside of her jaw.

when tom walked her down the aisle at her wedding three years ago, he cried all the way to the altar. but not half as much as he sobbed when he held his granddaughter for the first time, cancer-stricken and barely able to speak, but still brimming with joy as he held jamie to his chest.

“he lead a good life. one he was proud of. he used his last words to tell me as much.” heather choked out, overwhelmed by emotions. “I just wish we’d had more time.”

pete placed his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly as natasha rubbed her back, and rooster gently squeezed her shoulder.

there was still so much love that heather kazansky still had to give.

still so much love that she was surrounded by.

and maybe that was tom’s way, even from the grave, to tell her that everything would still be alright.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @thatsdemko @lorarri

[macabresymphonies]

The Magnus Protocol Alchemical Theory Ramble

I've been really into alchemy recentyl due to it's connections to The Magnus Protocol (probably to woe of my thesis supervisor), but the more I read the more some stuff that already have happened is starting to make sense to me. This post will be probably due to an update once I get further in my research, but I wanted to get some stuff out of my system as it's still fresh in my mind (people also wanted an update on my previous post where I spoke how there is a lot of connections between history of alchemy and TMAGP so here it is).

Keep in mind this is very brief explanation cause history of alchemy is MASSIVE, so I will be mostly focusing on a brief period in 12-14th century where alchemy was kind of the talk of the ruling class (mostly church). I will also not be explaning much the alchemical goals, but the purpouse of this post I will say chrysopoeia (transmutation of metals into gold) and connected concept of a Philosopher's Stone were two of the main ones.

Natural vs Artificial

The main concern with alchemy in the eyes of the church at the time was the issue of "natural" vs "artificial" gold. You see there were few loosely documented cases where alchemists seemingly reached one of their main goals and trasmutated some metals into gold. The problem was this "alchemical gold" was either devauling natural gold (if real), which was also an issue of "playing God" it was by divine design a fixed amount of gold in the world existed, or an elaborate way to counterfiet coins (if not real). This combined with the concerns of using artificial gold in medicine pushed alchemy into an underground by a decree of pope John XXII by forbidding alchemists from selling this alchemical gold (and silver). Roger Bacon and Albertus Magnus (known alchemists) were however both subscribed to idea that not only is alchemical gold equal to the natural one, it's actually better than natural one.

I see a connection here between "natural" fears (Smirk's 14) and "artificial" fears (clearly a faction of people who experiment on people, forcibly turning them into some type of creatures that resemble TMA's avatars). If we see Entities as apexes of their domains, these "offshoots" we've seen so far could be read as attempts of creating new entities by amature "alchemists" of this universe. This leads us very nicely into the second section.

Deckname, hiding in plain sight

You see, because alchemy was becoming quite controversial alchemists needed to hide their recipies. Deckname describes a way alchemists hid some of their exact recipies by using allegories, same names for multiple ingredients or (quite the opposite) one name for multiple ingredients. This concept wasn't new as in even in arabic writings on alchemy we can observer use of Deckname, but in ~13th century it was quite prelevant and even sometimes mixed with religious imagery (which will be important later). The general idea was to hide infromation with this type of "code", but not in such a way as it would be virtually impossible to decipher (as this would deem it useless). It also connects with the idea of "scattering" information (ingredients) as to send some scholars on this wild goose chase for Philosopher's Stone.

I don't think I need to talk much on how German way of hiding information might connect to the fact Freddie is a mysterious program written in German code that seemingly does not make much sense (with Deckname being intensively decribed by an arabist named KRAUS of all things). What I would like to point out that even very early on I believed that Freddie is used to crossreference attempts at creation of Philosopher's Stone and it's becoming much more likely this is a case, especially if you consider the next point.

The battle against the Antichrist

You see, alchemy wasn't like a one school of thought with a proper way to perform it, it was a science much like chemistry is today (alchemy is like a granddaddy of chemistry anyway). One of the concept that caught on, especially with the faction of Franciscan Spirituals (which is like hardcore Franciscans who liked to predict end of the world a lot) was the idea that Antichrist is coming and that all knowledge will be needed to stop him. Franciscan friar Roger Bacon even wrote a letter to the pope about it. This connected to with alchemy created a notion of a Philosopher's Stone as a tool in stopping the Antichrist which will be important later.

The Magnus Institute did tests on children that were mostly measuring three things: their developemnt, their empathy and how compliant they are. Given the history of the Institute in TMA it's hard to believe they were doing it for selfless and pure reasons, so I believe they were monitoring children to catch the possible "antichrist" and use their potnential for their own gain (note that I do not believe this "antichrist" is like a christian concept in TMAGP universe, I think it's something more aligned with entities or a purely symbolic title for some type of individual).

The torment of Messiah

For every Antichrist there's gotta be a-christ and alchemy actually did have a concept of one. You see, combining Deckname and the battle with Antichrist the Philosopher's Stone was very often hidden under the allegory of the Passion of Christ. Alchemists believed they are in a way tormenting metals by subduing them to all these processes (this is where the word crucible comes from by the way, it's "the little place of torment"), combine that with Antichrist theory and Jesus became a great allegory for creation of The Stone. Alchemists believe that metal (most often mercury) would have to go through four stages of torment before "ascending" similar how Jesus did (the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the ascension). This were in fact only believed to be instructions hidden in religious imagery.

I believe TMAGP does reverse of that concept. We've seen the Intitute use chemical terms like agent and catalyst do describe either the paranormal items or their wielders. I believe that the faction currently pulling the strings is using alchemical writings to experiment on people through tormenting them and exposing them to what is left of TMA Entities after traversing the universes. Some of those parts were used to make Freddie, that's why we got The Voices, but some are used to make eldritch abominations like we've seen so far. I'm not sure if Messiah in this sense is to be considered a benevolent concept, perhaps it's simply a being that will stop the apocalypse, but I believe that Antichrist is probably rebirth of The Prime Fear all Entities came from in TMA.

Closing thoughts

You can take that with a grain of salt, as I'm not a proficient alchemy scholar, but I won't deny the fact all of this so far fits pretty well and I can already see how this could play into many arcs (like how Celia has a baby that could be the "natural" antichrist and Sam with "chosen boy" issues could become the chosen "artificial" Messiah). If there are other points anyone with more knowledge on alchemy would like to mention in this post feel free to do so!

[pmpknsoup]

my possible island list, btw:

• costa rica

—> reasoning: has black beaches in guanacaste and limón due to volcanic activity, has a warm climate, and grows malanga

• panama

—> reasoning: same as above

• puerto rico

—> reasoning: same as above

• new zealand

—> reasoning: ocean based culture, would have easy access to boats, reasonably warm climate, grows malanga, has black beaches

• guadalupe

—> reasoning: offshoot of france + makes sense geographically (though the layout of the other countries doesnt seem to be real life accurate, so this point is null)

• georgia

—> reasoning: same as costa rica, sans malanga (i think, im having trouble finding information because of the u.s state of the same name)

• cuba (one of my personal favs)

—> reasoning: this is where malanga fritters themself come from!! theres black beaches (la playa bibijagua), and it's mountainous

• the philippines

—> reasoning: same as cuba

• malaysia

—> reasoning: same as above

• indonesia

—> reasoning: same as above

honorable mentions:

• guatemala

• el salvador

• iceland (i believe this was confirmed as not it by the dev)

• greece (same as iceland)

• portugal

• spain

• cyprus

[neonscandal]

Hello, I'm new here and I really liked your tumblr. I would like it if you could answer my question. Don't you think Saturo is a little needy, you know he always wants to get people's attention, he always wants to force a friendship, that scares me a little, he can even be unnecessary sometimes.

Hiii! I literally have no idea how you came across my blog but I'm happy if it made you feel welcome ❤️ Thanks for reaching out.

Don't be scared by the tall man with the impossible eyes and bulk volume suffering. He's here to help! ✨

I mean, you pretty accurately described Gojo, tbqh. He is needy, I wouldn't say he wants to get people's attention... but he has it, anyway, he is desperately reaching out for human connection, he frequently ponders and is consumed by the unnecessary (just as much as the necessary) and people tend to conflate his strength with his identity.

How do we put one at ease with this larger than life personality? We speedrun it, of course. The best way to empathize with someone is to understand how they got from point A to point D and this is as it applies in real life, too. Consider this my humble offering toward this threat I made a few years ago. Going to avoid spoilers beyond what's been animated but this is still going to be a long one so strap in! JK there's a minor spoiler that's marked (⚠️) but it's not a major plot point.

IN DEFENSE OF GOJO

A mostly unsolicited essay ✨

Before we get into how Gojo became Gojo, let's look at the basic information we know about jujutsu society in universe.

Curses are formed by negative emotional runoff, typically from people who can't control cursed energy.

There are humans who are born with cursed techniques but the brains of humans so their powers were dormant until Kenjaku!Geto activated them in the last episode of season 2.

Those with power that are beyond the comprehension of the elders happen to find themselves carrying death sentences (as it applies to Yuta Okkotsu and Yuji Itadori, specifically).

There are 3 Big Families: the Gojo, Kamo, and Zenin Clans, likened to nobility, which have been active since the Golden Age of Jujutsu hundreds of years ago.

Generally, the Gojo clan inherits the Limitless technique. Six Eyes is a lot less frequent and both techniques haven't manifested in one user in over 100 years until Gojo was born. (Purple or Hollow Purple is another hidden move which each family has some extra razzle dazzle offshoots from their main cursed technique.)

Kamo clan passes along Blood Manipulation (re: Choso, Noritoshi Kamo, the Kyoto student, and Noritoshi Kamo, the blemish on the Kamo clan who created the cursed womb paintings)

Zenin clan has the Ten Shadows Technique (re: Megumi. Bear in mind, previously a Zenin Ten Shadows user fought a Gojo Six Eyes + Limitless user and the fight ended in a stalemate that resulted in both of their deaths).

Anomalies, like that of Maki and Toji, exist even in these age old clans where an heir is born without the ability to manipulate cursed energy and/or see curses.

Of the above and those of the main cast specifically, the inheritors of these generations' old techniques have pretty shit origin stories. They are privileged but cursed in a way. Heavy is the head, and all.

BIG THREE FAMILY CULTURE

We haven't gotten a lot of insight into the Gojo clan except that it's basically a clan of one: Satoru Gojo.

Noritoshi, the Kyoto student, bears the name of the blot of the Kamo clan and is a bastard son who happened to inherit the familial technique. Because of this, he is shepherded into the fold of the Kamo the family, foisted into a position of responsibility, and separated from his "disgrace" of mother. She leaves him, knowing her presence would hold him back, and hopes that her sacrifice in doing so will enable him to better help others. ⚠️ However, when Kenjaku!Geto used remote Idle Transfiguration to awaken dormant vessels and dormant cursed technique users, the proper firstborn heir of the Kamo clan's inherited technique was awakened which swiftly saw Noritoshi's expulsion from his status and the clan.

The most damning evidence we have of the culture of these families is from the Zenin clan:

They terrorized Toji Zenin, despite his inhuman strength, simply because he was born without the ability to manipulate cursed energy. To the extent that an incident from his childhood left his face scarred and likely radicalized him into the sorcerer killer he is today.

Mai and Maki were gravely mistreated because, in addition to being girls, they were born twins which is considered highly unfavorable.

The twin superstition is "justified" by Mai's weak cursed technique and Maki's inability to see curses or manipulate cursed energy.

The misogynistic treatment of the girls is likely not uncommon within the Big Three families given 1) what we've seen happen to Kamo's mom, 2) the treatment of the twins' mother, and 3) the way that Gojo vehemently advises that Tsumiki would never be happy with the Zenin clan (as both a jujutsu outside and because she's a girl as determined by events that haven't been animated yet).

Empirically, from the above, we can extrapolate that familial ties don't mean shit in the Big Three Families, blood relations are tenuous at best. Tradition, power and hereditary techniques reign supreme to maintain status. Those outside of the blessed few are at the mercy of more powerful members of the family which will be more evident in season 3.

💡 As an aside, kinda interesting to think about Geto's ideology applied to these traditional families. In fact, I wonder if Geto cultivated his beliefs based on what Gojo told him about his family.

UNDERSTANDING THE CHARACTERIZATION OF GOJO

Now that we understand society as Gojo would have known it, let's get into how he experiences the world from birth.

Canonically, his birth shifted the power balance between sorcerers and curses. A lot of readers assume he has a god complex which, in addition to being categorically false, is more a reflection of his canonical in universe power. He is neither a god nor does he necessarily perceive himself to be one. But that's not to say he doesn't have a bit of an attitude problem.

He is born with both the Limitless and Six Eyes techniques which, again, hasn't happened in over 100 years. Subsequently, stronger curses are on the rise to compensate for this dramatic shift in power.

💡 Lowkey, I kinda headcanon that the influx of more powerful curses comes from the bitter resentment that periphery individuals must have harbored against Gojo because, let's be real. He's clearly Mappa's favorite and it brings out the anti in everybody IRL lol I can only imagine in universe if you were born to a jujutsu family and lost out on the genetic lottery when it came to cursed energy.

He explicitly draws the ire of curses and cursed users alike with a bounty that immediately incites an onslaught of first come, first serve mercenaries. As a child. Even Toji, the great sorcerer killer, tries to get the drop on a young Satoru Gojo but none are successful at coming close. Not even the invisible man.

From what we know of the Big Three above, the miracle of Gojo's inheritance would likely push him into a place of great power and influence within his clan, even from an early age. Further, we've seen what the burden of responsibility an inherited technique looks like as it applies to Noritoshi Kamo. Gojo would have been burdened with this status and, simultaneously, constantly placated by others so as to appease the miraculous heir.

Additionally, as we saw with Noritoshi, other clans may also have a vested interest in currying favor with the young heir because even proximity to Gojo creates a sense of power and status.

By blood, Yuta is a distant, distant cousin of Gojo's from a branch family and we see how OP he is.... Later in the story, Gege makes it a point to use the Great Satoru Gojo as a measure of power and, subsequently, more explicitly how close other characters' power, prowess or technique come close to that of Gojo's.

Subsequently, as the Kamo clan heir, Noritoshi tries to ingratiate himself to Megumi despite the fact that he's no longer even connected to the Zenin clan. He curses that Mai didn't inherit Ten Shadows to make relations a bit smoother. Gojo would likely have several people vying for his attention and grace whether he wants it or not.

I think you can see how, a smart kid like Gojo who literally has nothing but time to process and compute the ways of the world around him, would come to understand the motivations of others as it specifically relates to him and his power. It would be understandable if he were innately wary and distrustful of others, especially when you consider his initial experience as the target of an onslaught of, albeit unsuccessful, assassination attempts.

Here, I think, is what really gives life to the isolation that Gojo feels from a very young age which is only known by those with immense power like Sukuna and other characters who've yet to be revealed. Gojo is less an individual and more a means to an end. He is a monolith for power, protection and status. His power is so incomprehensible for other sorcerers of the era that his potential for vulnerability is taken for granted.

With a culture that prioritizes strength over, perhaps, morality, it makes sense why, when we see Gojo years later as a high school student, he is relatively disrespectful toward his elders and thinks it is silly that the strong should have to diminish themselves for the comfort of the weak. Bear in mind, this disrespect is likely because no one was really checking him on manners from a young age. Further, from his experience, strength has always been commodified, why would you diminish that? He was and remains head of the Gojo clan with all the pomp and circumstance that comes with that.

Enter Suguru Geto, the smoking gun as to why we know Gojo doesn't have a god complex. Suguru, like Geto, is the only other special grade sorcerer aside from Yuki Tsukumo (and she makes it a point to not take missions). Qualified as equals, the two are constantly doled out missions that higher ups are not even equipped to handle. Try not catching an ego about that.

Even though their power may not necessarily be on par with one another, it is enough that Gojo deems Geto an equal. Their friendship tempers Gojo's character in ways his family could not.

THE HUMANITY OF A GOD

Gojo is not a god but, to those around him, he's certainly lauded as such. Part of that entails inherently overlooking that which makes him vulnerable, makes him human. As someone who can, at will, literally turn off the ability to be touched at all, the premise is ironic. But the fact remains, from all the above and his behavior therein, it seems as though Gojo had to wait until high school to act like a kid at all and that is all thanks to Geto.

As an outsider, Geto's opposing ideology suggests that the strong are meant to protect the weak and keep others who are strong in check. Gojo is frequently shown taking Geto's criticism and point of view under critical advisement. In fact, realizing how out of touch he is with the reality of others, he defers to Geto as a moral compass, trusting implicitly in his judgement.

Not only that but, from what we saw during the Kyoto Goodwill Event, it is not uncommon for sorcerers to be wary of disclosing what their cursed technique is to other sorcerers. You can never be too careful nor can you know who's a cursed user in the making, even amongst your own classmates. With inherited techniques, word gets around but... Geto, an outsider, was intimately aware of the drawback Gojo experienced when overusing his technique and that speaks volumes about how comfortable Gojo was being vulnerable with him.

Geto encourages Gojo to speak more politely to his elders, again, a pushback he clearly wasn't getting anywhere else or, perhaps, direction he simply wasn't taking from anyone else.

Because Gojo recognizes Geto as an equal, he is more relaxed and able to behave accordingly which Geto graciously allows and creates a safe space for. Imagine all the steam this little weirdo has been holding in out of obligation? Moreover, as someone who has always undeniably been the strongest person in any room, imagine the relief in finally knowing that there is someone else you can rely on? Feel safe with? Someone you can be needy and greedy with. Gojo found his One and Only best friend.

Geto allows him to authentically be himself AND HE STARES AT HIM LIKE THIS WHILE DOING SO!

Additionally, we talk about Gojo being unnecessary at time, which he is. I poke a lot of fun at how Gojo will take in what someone like Yaga explains to him and then the output is some Digimon reference a lot. He literally speaks in gibberish half the time but Geto just... understands him. Or makes it a point to try. Bear in mind, Gojo's silly goofiness belies his penchant for serious contemplation, as well, as he's knowledgeable about historical poetry, prominent figures and events. The dichotomy of this is whiplash inducing to Ijichi. If you think about the adage, those who don't know history are destined to repeat it, it shines an interesting light on why Gojo seems to have such a wealth and emphasis on the history of not only jujutsu sorcerers but also other politics at play dating back centuries. Even more so if you consider ItaFushi to be SatoSugu 2.0 as... the story kind of feels that way, doesn't it? BACK TO THE POINT, Gojo behaves like a fool but he isn't stupid.

I think this arrogance and silly facade is a product of being plugged into the reality of what it truly means for the few to protect the greater good. He's probably hyper aware of the prospective survival rate of his peers based on empirical information he has at his disposal. It's why he pointblank tells Ijichi not to become a sorcerer. I think it's also why he's frivolous with having and creating fun. Not just for his kohais but later for his students. With Geto, he experiences a closeness he hadn't had with anyone else and it improves his ability to connect with others by extension.

I know this is not from the canon material but I think this is the perfect inclusion as to Gojo's proclivity for frivolity. LOOK AT HIM.

MISSION FAILURE AND FALL OUT

Based on the information we have currently, Gojo didn't exactly have the same splintered origins that Megumi and Noritoshi had. But from the above and his socialization with people outside of the Gojo clan, we see how coming from a place of privilege can still create deficiencies. But it isn't enough to simply learn and benefit from the good times. Maybe people take for granted that which isn't tested or taken away. We can't fully understand adult Gojo without understanding the failures of teenage Gojo.

Tasked with a mission that literally impacts the fate of the world and is relayed as such, the two special grade sorcerers take on the Star Plasma Vessel mission. As we saw in season 2, it didn't exactly end well. From this we can glean the following:

From the beginning and despite that which hung in the balance if they were unsuccessful, Gojo and Geto were willing to blow it all, come what may, if the vessel opted out of the merger. They were willing to fight Tengen themselves to spare one life even if it destabilized everything else. The idea of which seems Icarian in nature and we saw how that worked out for Icarus.

Toji's plan of attrition (wearing Gojo down specifically) was successful partly because of the false sense of security engineered by Shiu Kong that allowed them to recapture Kuroi.

However, based on Gojo's hubris, Gojo and Geto were already living in a false sense of security. Any attempts Geto made to temper Gojo's ego were appeased by the fact that, he wasn't alone. Finally. He had Geto and Gojo was insulated in the comfort and security he found in Geto's company. He could take on Tengen, he could risk another night in Okinawa burning through his stamina. It did not matter if he had Geto to rely on. They were the strongest.

Turns out it did matter and they were both foiled, thoroughly. The fall out of these events results in the following:

Gojo's evolution wherein he learns how to control reversed curse energy which shoots him past his previous limits.

Gojo avenges his loss to Toji and Riko, by extension (that order feels important to mention). He achieves a level of enlightenment and transcendence which saw the successful use of the Red Technique that he'd been unable to use in a fight against a lackey during the same mission which also made it possible to execute the finisher attack Hollow Purple, resulting in the fight's end.

Upon reclaiming Riko's body from the Time Vessel Association, Gojo, in the haze of his victory, asks Geto if they should slaughter the people celebrating Riko's death. Showing that, regardless of his power up, he still needs Geto's guidance and values the opinion of his equal. I say this even though we know Gojo lies about Shoko treating his injuries. Even he's aware that this latest evolution creates a greater disparity between their relative strength but he defers to him anyway.

Geto begins questioning whether the lives of non-sorcerers who are capable of such evil are really worth fighting and/or dying for.

The acknowledgement that, even though there is nothing beyond special grade classification, Gojo became the strongest.

Foundationally, Gojo came to terms with the vulnerability that Toji was able to exploit and subsequently trained to remediate that. Simultaneously, Geto fell deeper and deeper into a despair over a persisting moral crisis that Gojo, with Six Eyes at his disposal, was incapable of seeing or understanding. The occurrence of which is maddening to me, personally but such is the way of a fatal flaw.

Geto's subsequent and "sudden" defection pulled the rug from beneath Gojo's feet.

We have seen him dust off countless attempts on his life as a child, shoulder the burden of the Gojo clan as a child, execute his obligations as a sorcerer regardless of his beliefs as a child, and bear the brunt of jujutsu society because of the magnitude of his strength as a child and he never batted an eye. Not to say he didn't have something flippant to say about it but he endured it.

But with Geto's abandonment, whatever security he'd finally found was abruptly destabilized and it's important to note that only when it comes to Geto do we see Gojo's nonchalant facade falter. When he learns of the attack on the village with Yaga, when he confronts Geto in the streets of Shinjuku, when he encounters Kenjaku wearing Geto's corpse, he's not so silly goofy anymore is he?

Finding Geto was like finally feeling the warmth of the summer sun on your face after living in the shadows of a cave all your life. For Gojo, his departure was like never knowing that warmth again.

Not to mention, his immense power and status of being the only other special grade sorcerer meant he also had to carry the weight of being his best friend's executioner. Please.

He spends his adult life cultivating strength in others, rescuing kids from a society that seeks to destroy what they refuse to understand, uniting other so they aren't burdened by the same loneliness that plagues him and, whenever possible, trying to bring light and fun to the lives of kids who may never make it out of high school because that's the reality of sorcerers. That's the burden of responsibility they carry so, in between missions, he tries to be silly, he tricks them, he leads them on wild goose chases so they actually get out and experience their youth properly.

You're not meant to fear Gojo. Fear the society that allowed for these things to happen because he's trying to fix it. If anything, pity the man who is not allowed to be weak or vulnerable because he has always known the weight of the world. He could have been a god but he chose instead to love and it was his undoing.

If you'd like to pity Gojo further, dive into an expansive list of all the SatoSugu brainrot I could think of.

Lowkey, this feels like a call out, because why am I also terrible like this?? Am I being cyber bullied? I feel like this took me several days to write.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Thank you! So here I am to infodump, full of gratitude, and you can post this if you want no problem it's just a bunch of scattered ideas so yeah. Feel free to chuck suggestions at me too! I really don't know what to do with these... building blocks just yet.

Akatani Mikumo is Midoriya Hisashi.

Toshinori gets sandwiches by the Midoriya couple and it turns into an OT3 but that's much later down the line.

Hisashi is a journalist, keeps getting into everybody's business and Knows™ more than he frankly should.

Hisashi is a Cryptid™. But of a different energy from his son who is all lightning-in-a-bottle jittery On The Verge Of Throwing Hands feral sort of cryptid, Hisashi is mostly of this... supernaturally unflappable blank-faced chill entity.

Who keeps spooking people bc No Footstep sounds.

And might possibly be partially mute or just ridiculously soft-spoken bc when he tries to speak at normal volumehis fire-breathing quirk goes ballistic.

Might or might not have bloodline relations to AFO. Origins ambiguous, Inko just literally plucked the (then) teen off a back alley like he was a stray cat.

Also might or might not have more than one quirk, see the probable AFO connection.

Izuku got his mumbling thing from Hisashi.

A cryptid man who seems normal enough except a little off-kilter, like two inches to the left of what's a “normal” man? Weirdo but nobody can pinpoint how or why. That's the sort of vibe I want with this Hisashi.

And some Wack™ backstory lore I came up w for Hisashi, I dunno what I'll do w it but:

Cw: mention of infant murder, bc I'm Me™ and I was thinking about Yotsumegami (it's my favorite game) and how my version of Hisashi would tie in with it.

Yanno how in Yotsumegami “unwanted children” (children with disabilities, the younger of a twin pair or every sibling except the eldest in triplets or higher, etc) would be killed (it's a real historical practice in Japan, mabiki, they called it) or something like that? Would be kinda fun if an offshoot of that variety existed in the BnHA world, even if it's not outright child murder kids would be abandoned, especially in the chaos of the Dawn of Quirks. People who were scared of quirked people would abandon their quirked child, quirkist folk abandoned their quirkless children, it's chaos.

It would be more prominent during the initial chaos, though I guess laws and stuff would've been passed later on to prevent it or at least cut down the numbers— and the practice fizzled out but there's still a few remote rural villages who accept “unwanted” children.

One such secret community could be like, giving the surname “Akatani” (red valley, for the red of spider lilies used in mabiki in times past) to the children that were discarded at their metaphorical door. Do they still practice mabiki? Debatable. But it's like a giant secret orphanage with questionable, cult-like mentalities.

Akatani Hisashi was one of those until he miraculously escaped and tried to survive in the outside world.

Or maybe he didn't have the Akatani surname at first bc nobody in the remote village had any surname but once he got out he might've created the surname as a way to hm, not quite honor but carry his origins into his new life.

(maybe Yoichi was almost mabiki'd too, like I said I'm still not entirely sure where I'm going with this)

So Izuku gets to grow up w two parents who care a great deal for him. Maybe they move away, resulting in Izuku not having to deal w Bakugou in his childhood. Maybe Izuku makes friends with some other future 1-A classmate.

The Commission keeps trying to track down this one rogue “vigilante reporter” whose name is unknown. And they keep failing because Hisashi (along with his son and excessive gaggle of... comrades? followers? does the Midoriya family accidentally create an organization of rabid info gatherers?) is a certified cryptid.

Izuku has his hands in so many pots. He's a lot more nosey than in canon probably?

Endeavor had better be prepared bc his entire way of life is about to go up in smoke

I don't know why but I just have this very strong feeling that Stain doesn't like Hisashi for one reason or another.

I... wouldn't be entirely opposed to the AU just chucking Bakugou out the window so that he's not in 1-A (or in UA at all, fuck that pomeranian) and instead is replaced by another loud blond...

Fucking Monoma, LMAO.

A lot of the AU is just ?????? for now and most of it is Hisashi backstory but hnnnnng I want to do something with these jigsaw pieces I just don't know what

Also I'll be sending in Hisashi's design in a non-anon ask but could you append it to this ask's answer instead? Thanks!

I adore everything about this!?!?!

Also I didn't get another ask, anon or not, so Tumblr might have eaten it

[dandelion-wings]

I was thinking about a fic I'll never write at the barn this morning, and a line of dialogue required the name of horse breed, which led me very quickly to contemplating horse breeds of Teyvat. Which I have before! But today I got a little more in depth.

Bear with me on spelling issues, I'm on mobile and my phone can't cope with having Tumblr and Firefox open at the same time.

We are starting in Liyue, home of the Karst Pony, which is almost certainly the predecessor breed of all the others listed here and very certainly the oldest extant breed. "Breed" in fact is a loose term, as a number still live wild in the mountains of Jueyun Karst, and domestic and semi-domestic herds kept by small mountain villages (including Qingce Village) tend to have a range of characteristics as the smaller populations start to diverge--but the mountain stock never goes too far from true, as new wild stock is occasionally added either through capture to supplement others or through wild stallions wandering through. The Karst Pony is small, shaggy, sturdy, agile, and smart to a sometimes frustrating extent; they can be ridden, but not by very heavy, or armored, people, and are more often used as beasts of burden. They tend to be dun in the wild, but blacks and grays occasionally pop up, and in domestication are often bred for.

Karst Ponies are the direct ancestors of the Guili Plains Horse, bred to be larger and more refined and used for agriculture and transport on the plains back when Liyue civilization was centered there. The Archon War devastated their population and the changes in Liyuean lifestyle as they moved off the plains and prioritized trade and mining over the sort of agriculture where you need larger horses. However, they are considered a valuable part of Liyue's cultural heritage, and the last two hundred-ish remaining were seized some centuries ago by the Liyue Qixing and used as the base for a government program to revitalize the breed. Today they are primarily used by Millelith officers and couriers, but private individuals have again begun to be allowed to purchase and breed them for their own use. They are known for being steady and intelligent; the breed standard includes a notable Roman nose, and they are primarily dun, buckskin, bay, or black.

The Chenyu Draught is a bit smaller than the Guili Plains Horse, but much heavier, and was likewise bred directly from the Karst Pony; while the Guili Plains breeders wanted a more multi-purpose horse, the Chenyu breeders were aiming exclusively for a workhorse, and Chenyu Draughts are not customarily trained for riding. They are slow, steady animals known for catching a nap whenever they stop long enough, even in harness; they are primarily dun, grey, or black.

Moving on to other nations: the Fontaine Water Horse is in fact a pony by all reasonable standards, but Focalors forbid you call it that to a Fontainian's face. It may arguably be its own branch off some further-distant horse ancestor rather than a descendant of the Karst Pony, though it may also be just a very ancient offshoot, and is the only other wild breed currently extant in Teyvat. It lives wild along the shores of the many islands in southern Fontaine, and is an extremely adept swimmer, with a unique fifth gait that helps it traverse sandy shores swiftly and easily. It is very light-boned, shy and quick to startle, but, in domestic populations acclimated to humans, known to be very mischievous. All Water Horses are white, by which I mean gray (as most 'white' horses without some specific genetic stuff going on are born gray and have their coats pale over time; Water Horses pale out very quickly, within the first two years of life). Their population is a shadow of what it once was, as vast swathes were wiped out by Elynas, and it was largely preserved by a breeding program mandated by the Iudex and conducted in its later stages by Melusines, who released their end result back into the wild.

(Some say say Water Horses were different before the Melusines got involved, but no one can say how. They match the old records in every characteristic. It's just... a vibe.)

While some Water Horses have been domesticated, their size and light frames mean they can only be ridden by small children and Melusines--they are in fact the only horses who will tolerate Melusine handling--the humans of Fontaine used them as base stock to breed a larger horse called the Fontainian Pacer, so called because the Water Horse's unique fifth gait was bred for ardently and exaggerated into a much showier gait that we will call the danse. As with our gaited horses, some breeders have taken this to ridiculous heights, and thus there are two breed 'types'. the Court Pacer has an extremely exaggerated danse and is further bred for looks, being taller, thinner-boned, with a much higher-set head and tail, and often a blue-eyed cremello (one of those whites-with-genetic-stuff), though pale gray and perlino (cremello-adjacent) are both acceptable colors in show; the Classic Pacer is a bit shorter, heavier (relatively speaking, it's still very light), with a less exaggerated gait, exclusively that quickly-paled-out-grey, and overall much closer to the original Water Horse. Both types are not very bright and very flighty.

Which necessitated another, more practical breed for functional use: the Oractrice Charger was originally bred from Chenyu Draughts crossed with the Fontainian Pacer and the Mondstadt Hunter, with some Water Horse in there to get a more water-comfortable animal, though it doesn't have the unique gait and is mostly used in northern Fontaine, where horses are more useful, and as a police horse. It was in fact bred for Maison use, hence the name, though the combination of Fontaine's mekanization and the growing influx of Melusines in the government mean it's slowly been phased out. It's kept alive by rich nobles and its general popularity for outcrosses. It is a reasonably large and heavy animal, though not draft-sized, noted for its good temperament and stolid calm, though it tends to be quite stubborn. They are typically grey, black, bay, or chestnut.

Mondstadt's ancient pony breed is now extinct, but the Stormcrest Pony was definitely an offshoot of the Karst Pony, larger and with much thicker, shaggier coats to survive the pre-Barbatos wilderness. That adaptation meant they were doomed when Barbatos changed the landscape and climate, but they were the base breed, with some added Guili Plains Horse blood (and, given their coloring, probably some Desheret Red), for the Mondstadt Hunter, a medium-weight animal with a good temperament and a lot of energy. They were generally bay, brown, or chestnut, with the 'prototypical' Hunter being liver chestnut, and were bred primarily for hunting, though they were considered good all-purpose riding horses. Unfortunately, they were originally bred and primarily used by the Lawrences, and a combination of that association and a cultural shift to hunting on foot (mostly because hunting on horseback was associated with the aristocracy) led largely to their demise. The main remaining population is actually in Fontaine, where a few nobles liked the imports used to breed the Oratrice Charger enough to maintain their own small breeding programs.

Ragvindr, who I will always headcanon as the reason the Knights have a cavalry company, tried to maintain the breed, but for both political and practical reasons the Ragnvinds had to shift tacks early on. They eventually imported Oratrice Chargers and crossed them with Hunter mares, producing Mondstadt's current all-around horse, the Dawntrotter, a medium-sized animal with a steady temperament that is sturdy enough to serve both as a workhorse on the nation's wineries and a cavalry mount for armored knights. There are three breed 'types,' one nearly a draft and primarily used for winery work, one much lighter and considered an ideal riding mount, and in the middle a dedicated cavalry mount bred exclusively by three stables in Mondstadt, one of them the Dawn Winery. They are primarily bay or chestnut, occasionally brown or black.

Modern Sumeru relies upon the Sumpter Beast, which is comfortable in both jungle and desert, carries many times more than a horse does, and is a much, much easier keeper. However, the historical record makes clear that the desert civilizations once bred what's now known as the Desheret Red, a light, fast, smart, highly independent horse highly endurant in heat and desert conditions. It was exclusively chestnut and presumably contributed its blood to the Mondstadt Hunter simply because those red genes had to come from somewhere. Unfortunately, when the great desert civilizations collapsed, it dwindled into extinction. If any local wild ponies preceded them, they're not on the record, but even those would go back to imported Karst Ponies in the end.

(Rumors of blood-red 'rift horses' seen around the Tunigi Hollow are just that. No one has ever verified that they exist.)

Inazuma has imported horses over the centuries, but they've never been popular there--they don't have the terrain or, more importantly, the pasture space. Largely they've served as status symbols, and fallen out of favor amid the conservative influence Ei's policies exert. In any case, no one has made a dedicated effort to create an Inazuman breed.

Depending on their locations, I like the idea of Snezhnaya and Natlan having descendant breeds of the Stormcrest Pony and Desheret Red respectively, but we'll see! XD

[larkingame]

Larkin's Relationship to Mormonism & the Children of Cain

Hi Friends, it was brought to my attention that there were some concerns with Larkin, its characters and the Children of Cain. I wanted to address some things first, clarify and talk about certain aspects, and talk about steps moving forward. 

Recently someone brought up the idea that the concept of the 'Children of Cain' is not a new concept. In fact, it's an idea conceived and embraced by the Mormon Church as a harmful term for black people. It was used to ostracize and embrace ideas that are overall harmful to People of Color across the board. This was used to justify and encourage countless crimes against not only black people, but indigenous people and other people of color and supported a racist rhetoric that still persists to this day. 

In context of the story—the Children of Cain call themselves that based on Lore relevant to Vampires, something that seems silly in the face of the actual racism that people faced previously and still face today. 

 While much of Larkin (and the Abrams Family) is based on the early days of the Mormon Church, the cult of personality of Joseph Smith and the offshoots of the Church of the Latter Day Saints, and is in part meant to be a critique of those institutions, this is something that I completely overlooked when I first conceived Larkin. But just because I was ignorant of something does not excuse me from taking responsibility for it and the harm I've done with it. So I want to take this opportunity to whole-heartedly apologize, accept that I've done wrong and move forward with and demonstrate changes that'll be made today and in the future.

First and foremost, I'll be changing the name of the Cult the 'Children of Cain' were previously supposed to represent. It was foolish of me to do this, but when putting Larkin originally together I hadn't put much thought into their title other than in the context of the Bible—I thought it flowed well, and had a nice ring to it without doing much research in parallel to the concepts and themes I wanted to discuss in Larkin. I'll also be reworking some of the texts and concepts around the cult in a new version of the game. 

That being said, I'll be privating both the public and alpha versions of the game until they can be reworked and have any of these harmful terms and ideas removed. I’m also going to pause Patreon subscriptions for the moment until this new version is ready, as I don’t feel comfortable making money off of something that brings other people harm. 

I appreciate that this was brought to my attention--and I want to reiterate that I have an open-door policy, and while I strive to not do anything to cause anyone harm or make anyone uncomfortable--if that is ever the case, please do not hesitate to reach out to me in the future--as my dms are always open. 

I want to apologize once more for any harm I've caused in this process, especially to any members of the black community that I've hurt with my ignorance of this topic and my actions.

Thank you. 

[eggcats]

I'm still working on chap3 (I have a bunch of unconnected little things, but I'm a bit stuck on how to connect them quite yet - but hopefully soon I'll he able to write and edit)

But instead I decided to write a "current day" slice of life fic, based on my AU, where they meet Charlie and the Happy Hotel

(some ideas came from @shizukasobsessions and my replies in the comments of my fic♥️)

There's so many different pieces here tho, lmao - like, Alastor killed Valentino and took Angel's soul to replace him as the overlord of porn, to prevent Angel from failing he gave him Husk to guide him on being an overlord, (Alastor refers to Angel as solely Anthony, the less he thinks of the pornography offshoot of their media empire, the better)

Vox is still the face of their company, Voxtek is still named after him (Alastor has no issues taking a more behind the scenes role, there's a reason he WAS the radio demon but mostly got that name from torturing souls on the radio, not by trying to force everyone to only listen to his radio show - he has no issues with Vox doing just that with television/hypnosis but he doesn't mind allowing him to truly embrace his cult-leader personality here. Vox is still his housewife behind closed doors, tho, Alastor just doesn't want to hobble him in any way)

So it's really funny to think Charlie is just dealing with overlord after overlord (and one former) as she's trying to run her hotel

I'm thinking in this AU, Angel/Anthony decides to let some of his employees stay and try out the whole "redemption " thing, as long as Charlie gives them a safe place to stay rent free - in my AU, Angel was originally owned by Valentino when Alastor killed him, so Angel not only knows what brings people to his studio, he knows he can't protect them all - hence his agreement with the princess of hell

However, Angel and Vox are friends (Husk's #1 piece of advice to him, while Angel was freaking out that his soul chain changed hands along with a bunch of new responsibilities, was "make Vox like you - if Vox likes you then you're almost entirely safe from Alastor, trust me, I know it looks the other way but it's not")

(Angel now does genuinely like Vox, and they get along pretty well, but he will admit - if only to himself - that he originally became his friend to prevent from being torn to pieces like he watched happen to Valentino)

Alastor still obviously doesn't believe in redemption, but the only reason he's there at the hotel is because Vox asked him to be (and Vox is there because Angel asked him on behalf of Charlie for some advertising for the hotel)

And @proshipper-on-ship mentioned the Chaggie parallels of Charlie finding Vaggie at a dumpster, and Alastor doing the same, and I thought it'd be really funny to have their first meetings come up

Charlie, awkward but trying to come to terms with the truly alarming amount of Overlords in her hotel: "So...how'd you two meet?"

Alastor, smiling as he finally can set up his punchline: "Found him in an alley and brought him home with me."

Charlie, super excited: "OHMIGOSH, that's basically how I met Vaggie!! How'd you find him?! I was looking for anyone to help after the Extermination!"

Alastor: "I sensed someone using my radio waves and immediately went in search of who."

Charlie, actively looking at Alastor like he's as harmless as a kitten: "OhEmGee that's so sweet! And you were just going to take him under your wing but then you fell in love?!"

Alastor, deadpan: "No, I was going to kill him."

Charlie, looking exactly like 😦: "What."

Alastor: "He wasn't a radio, though, so I decided to let him live."

Vox, with his screen in his hands: "Alastor, you gotta stop telling people that."

Alastor, thinks it's secretly very funny: "Why not, it's the truth, darling?"

I just love the idea that Charlie, for a second, thinks Alastor might be as soft and kindhearted as herself as she sees similarities in their relationships, and then Alastor just immediately breaking the illusion.

[sunnydayaoe]

Learning to fly again

[jo-harrington]

Pinprick (A Gutterballs Story)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Jo!Reader

Summary: You're sitting down to listen to one of your favorite podcasts when you hear your name as one of a long line of Eddie's loves, and you have a moment of reflection.

Note: This is a very very very late post in dedication to one of my fandom loves @dr-aculaaa (who is very much on hiatus but still deserves all of the love us resident weirdos have to give) and not only one of my favorite fics Sunday Morning but the offshoot she made for Valentine's Day: Gutterballs.

IT STARTS OUT SWEET BUT ITS A LITTLE ANGSTY AT THE END. SORRY DRAC. WE SORT OF TALKED ABOUT THIS. THE TIMELINE.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You're sitting on the floor.

To be completely honest, you shouldn't be on the floor. You knew that, your doctor knew that, your team knew that. In fact, they yelled at you when you got down there, legs akimbo in a way that was comfortable for you to sit in but uncomfortable for them to look at, so you could start ripping the sleeves off of this fucking jacket.

You're alone in the studio now, hours after everyone left.

It's just you, a bottle of Tums, your favorite fucking jacket, and the dulcet tones of the man who gave it to you coming from your phone.

“Welcome back to another episode of Gutterballs! My name is Eddie Munson..."

As if he had to introduce himself.

"Nerd," you scoffed fondly.

It's your Wednesday night ritual. Well, not the jacket or the floor or the tums...Gutterballs. At the least, you owed it to your former client; at the most, you owed it to your ex.

And Eddie Munson was both of those things.

Although "ex" is a relative term.

An ex wouldn't still send you a gift basket full of goodies every award season when you barely took care of yourself, the way Eddie did for you.

An ex wouldn't shoot an email with wardrobe recommendations when they hear about some charity concert or something, like you did for Eddie and Corroded Coffin.

Still telling me what to wear Jo?

He would email back almost immediately.

Doesn't seem like anyone else is. I saw you at Lolla Ed. Not cute.

Would be your response.

You don't think I'm cute anymore?

That would go unanswered though.

Until next time.

Because you were exes.

But an ex didn't keep the jacket their ex got them because it was their favorite. Exes didn't take apart said favorite jacket because it got a rip in the sleeve, and then plan to just cut two new sleeves for it. Nor did they spend the last 20-ish years mending the jacket that their ex-slash-former-client got them as an apology for a spontaneous kiss before a red carpet.

---

The CFCA awards ceremony wasn't the band's usual haunt but they had composing credits for a film score that was up for nomination. It was a big deal. Something that would take them to a new caliber of their career; not just rowdy rockstars, but well-rounded musicians.

So of course, they were running late.

Their suits all needed a bit of alteration, Eddie was chattering nervously as you hemmed his pants, Gareth drummed a beat on his leg with two of the hangers from your roll rack and Phil, the band's manager, yelling for you all to get a move on.

"Do you want them to look good or not!" You yelled right back. "I'm not having them go up for their award looking like shit Phil!"

"Yeah remember the Grammy's," Jeff pointed out. "That's why you got us a stylist in the first place."

"You'd have thought you paid them to be here or something," Phil grumbled at you from across the room.

"I do pay," you shot up at Eddie with a conspiratorial smile. "With my sanity."

This was your schtick. He let you dress him in whatever dark-romantic victorian-gothic-inspired outfits your former-Catholic heart could dream up, and in return you let him be the spieling midwestern boy that he really wasn't allowed to be anywhere else. Because yeah the band was in charge here really--they were the talent, the money--but Eddie didn't like the whole pomp and circumstance of celebrity. Not anymore, according to him at least.

"The drugs are fun until they're not," he told you once. "We're just...guys from Indiana."

So you'd let them be that in the safety of your studio, shithead manager be damned.

You severed the thread with a swift bite of your teeth and wished the guys good luck with hugs before sending them on their way.

But Eddie...Eddie chose that moment to kiss you.

Well, you kissed each other.

As everyone walked out of the studio to get down to the car, you kissed each other.

And you froze.

Both of you.

Because it was a romantic, world-ending kiss. A kiss of declaration. A kiss of familiarity. The kiss you gave someone when you loved them for a long time and didn't know how to tell them.

Only...you hadn't loved each other for a long time.

Had you?

Hadn't said anything of the sort at least.

That wasn't love...was it?

He left for the awards ceremony and you absolutely spiraled questioning it all. You thought about all the long walks down State Street discussing ideas for this event and that one. The way he got you a membership to the Art Institute so you could sit in front of Salome and Hercules for hours and be inspired. The nights that he just couldn't work on lyrics anymore, so he would come over to sit in absolute silence save for the droning sound of your sewing machine.

The aches of the world were just a little bit easier when you could be near each other, whether it was being inspired or talking shit or sinking further into oblivion.

Was that love?

Eddie must have spiraled too. Because he showed up at your studio past midnight, disheveled and with a green Marshall Field's bag in his hand. A bag containing, you'd find out later, a black wool and leather coat that sat in a window that you'd noted looked nice months ago. One he made the guys make a special stop for before the award ceremony so he could get you to make up for fucking up your professional relationship.

The apologies were stuck on the tips of your tongues though.

And there was a beat before some silent decision was made.

And your lips came back together again, solidifying that decision, even though the words weren't said.

---

“Today on Gutterballs,” Mrs. H’s announces on the phone, breaking you from your reflection, “our lovely listeners at home are in for a real treat. As we record and discuss topics such as first loves, lost loves, and, as you can see, from our current location -body modifications."

“First we have… A spool and thread for Jo."

"She used to poke my ankles like a voodoo doll when she hemmed my pants. I still have the scars, if you wanna check ‘em out. I think that was her way of saying I love you."

Yeah that was the way it was with the two of you.

All the ways you said I love you without the words being said.

And they would never be said.

But that was another story.

"Yeah," you agree with Mrs. H belatedly, seam ripper making quick work of a line of stitches. "Lost love sounds better than ex."

[see-arcane]

A Magnus (Protocol) By Any Other Name…

…will be just as horrifying.

Well, it’s time for me to dust off the corkboard, unravel some fresh red yarn, and cook up some new incredibly wrong but passionate theories. First one is bouncing off some key points:

1) The Magnus Protocol’s logo is composed of certain alchemic symbols, chiefly a version of the sign involved with creating the Philosopher’s Stone; the catalyst for riches and the Elixir of Life’s gift of immortality.

Especially tasty to consider, what with the first episode introducing us to poor Red Canary who discovered the ruins of the Magnus Institute were host to some strange symbols of its own inside.

2) A fellow by the name of Saint Albertus Magnus was kicking around in the 1200s and, like that famous French scribe Nicolas Flamel, he got a hefty posthumous reputation for having been a great alchemist on top of being a philosopher and scientist.

What does this add up to? First, I want to look at identity possibilities when it comes to who the Magnus(es) in question might be here.

Theory A: Jonah Magnus was part of a lineage with an itch to chase the more-than-earthly and, naturally, immortality. If not a direct descendant, then a sibling or cousin line. Can’t say Albertus would be jumping to congratulate the bastard for his ‘success story.’

Theory B: With apologies to the actual Albertus, maybe Jonah is that original alchemic Magnus. Or at least he wore the guy once upon a time and kept the surname. Maybe he fudged the ye olde records some centuries back. Death records, life records, whether or not old Al ran into some unsavory character with unpleasant gray eyes…

Theory C: Circles a bit back to A, in that Jonah wasn’t the only one in his family tree poking around supernatural and supernal forces. Assuming Jonah existed as himself at all in this place. Someone or something else might have been running this world’s Magnus Institute before it was roasted. While the current assumption is that the cast of characters we knew in The Magnus Archives might exist within TMP’s universe as themselves, we don’t have all the pieces yet.

Fun stuff!

But oh. Oh boy. I am chewing apart the implications of the main logo and the ‘protocol’ like an excited dog. Specifically, the possible implications of the Philosopher’s Stone symbol visible in the logo not being this…

…but this.

The sign is inverted. Which shouldn’t mean much, right? All the other little symbols chilling in there are right side up, what’s the big deal?

The same kind of deal that we see in the difference between a pentacle, associated with magic and pagan faiths in various forms:

And a pentagram, associated point blank with outright devilish and demonic dabbling:

Or, if you’re up on your Tarot, you know that there’s a world of difference between getting your card right-side up (delivering on the image’s classic meaning) versus flipping it to see the picture inverted (the opposite of the original intent).

So what does that mean for the TMP’s symbol, the same stamp which we might assume the Office of Incident, Assessment and Response has on their workplace? My guess: This is the insignia of a force or founder who put the ‘protocol’ in The Magnus Protocol. A foundation based on actively opposing what they took to be forces of a classically alchemic and/or infernal nature rather than the cosmic horrors we know the Fears as.

The Enemy is using these powers to evil ends. The Enemy is made of monsters. The Enemy includes Jonah Magnus, the spoiled offshoot of Albertus Magnus. Our sign is the opposition to his and others’ vicious quest.

Or suchlike.

In the style of Gertrude Robinson, the original person or persons behind the Protocol and our main characters’ Office appears to have hit upon a ‘fight fire with fire’ reaction to the Fears. We see how Alice, a veteran employee of the Office, displays a strong insistence on categorizing its statements very, very loosely, and actively not prying into deeper research in the way a place wholly possessed by the Eye would encourage. She’s seen people go strange upon following the lure of weirdness; but she knows from experience that the Office can be worked in jovially enough, sans side effects. The implication being that Colin is sprinting down that rabbit hole, poor dude.

If the OIAR is of the Eye, it is also against the Eye. Against all Fears, even as it absorbs statements of their actions. Feeding its patron while also cutting back the portions by way of not being too careful about the filing or the tasty background research. If the Eye is present at all in the Office, then it is settling for granola bars versus Jonah Magnus’ offered banquets.

Which all comes back to the question of:

If Jonah Magnus founded the Institute here, who is responsible for the OIAR?

My pet favorite is the ‘one who got away’ as far as Jonah’s classic 19th century days went—one Dr. Jonathan Fanshawe who got an eyeful of a victim’s blinking innards and broke ties with Magnus like they were pretzel sticks. We never do find out what became of him afterward.

His last written words to Jonah ran:

Nothing stood in the way of my retreat, and I dragged Albrecht’s body back as far as the coach. We left that awful place, and I have endeavored most acutely to forget the route. Before he was buried, I was able to secure permission to do an autopsy. I had some thought as to discovering the cause of his sudden, violent passing. Do I need to tell you what I found, Jonah? Do I need to detail what covered his organs, his bones, the inside of his skin? What clustered together in their dozens, and all turned as one to focus on me as I opened his chest, their pupils constricting in the light, with irises of every hue and color? Because whatever it was that did this to him, I know in my heart that it is your fault. I have had the body burned. Please do not write to me again. Your obedient servant, Doctor Jonathan Fanshawe.

You can feel the polite antique ice on that goodbye. Just as we can read here, and glean from his full letter, that the whole experience surrounding poor Albrecht is one he actively wishes he could forget. To not examine. And, of course, there’s the baited hook of Jonathan Sims’ next lines after reading the letter aloud:

Statement ends. (sigh) Disconcerting to find my namesake in a statement, especially one connected so directly to the Institute. I can only hope breaking faith with Jonah Magnus didn’t go too badly for him.

I can’t think of a better ironic hell for the good doctor than to find himself the abrupt focus of the Eye all over again. Especially when the meat of the letter-statement involves this scene:

“I had them rebound last year,” he said. “Damp can do terrible things to a book.” I told him I was certain that that was the case, but I must insist we talk about his health. Again he ignored me. Instead, he took the seat opposite me and started to tell me a story. And then another. And another. A stream of strange tales began to pour out of him, and I just sat there, transfixed, desperately wishing I had the strength of will to leave, but all I could do was listen. He told me of a seamstress, who laced her body with fine black thread, and when she pulled it all out in a single swift motion, her skin dropped away like a loose shift. He told me of a man so scared to die he spent a year weaving a rope blindfolded, so he would not know the length, and could not foresee the moment it would tighten around his neck when he finally threw himself into the void. He told me of a fire that burns so hot and fierce that to even know about it is enough to burn a man’s tongue from his head. He told me so many terrible things.

And at the end of it all, the only thing I could think to ask him was where he read them. My eyes darted to the books that surrounded us, but Albrecht laughed at this, and placed his hands across a spine that was simply labeled ‘A Warning.’ For a moment, he looked as though he were about to wrench it from its place and hurl it into the fire. But it passed. He turned back to me. “You do not understand,” he said to me in German. “I do not read the books. They read me.”

Isn’t that something? A crossing of paths with the Eye that wasn’t just inflicting its Stare upon him through a victim or an avatar, but effectively pinning Dr. Fanshawe in the role of the unhappily avid audience, however briefly. Forced to absorb a litany of horrors as another Jonathan would so many years later. Good foundation for someone who, upon discovering the insidious supernatural Powers That Be were not about to leave him alone, would try his best to turn that force into something to use against the monsters. A habit among Archivists who’ve had Jonah Magnus inflicted on them.

Assuming it is Fanshawe at the roots here, the act of designing a symbol centered on inverting the Philosopher’s Stone sigil makes sense. Cosmic and eldritch horror wasn’t really on the table for that era. But the demonic and the arcane were. As were, we can assume, history books to do with famous old Albertus Magnus and his possible connection to Jonah ‘Wants to Be an Immortal All-Powerful Specialboy’ Magnus. Whether it’s Dr. Fanshawe behind the OIAR’s inception or not, having it be somebody from Jonah Magnus’ early days works out—they would assume the bogeymen at work were merely hellish, nothing broader.   

Plus, there’s just plain narrative convenience to consider. ‘19th century guy knows Magnus is up to shit with his Institute. Gets suspicious. Gets avatar’d against his will. Gets proactive about it. Named Jonathan, good for a bait-and-switch down the line.’

But, I could obviously be 1000% wrong, as per usual with ¾ of my Magnus-flavored theories. It could be someone or something entirely unrelated, though I’m keeping my fingers crossed for Fanshawe. Especially when I stop to think about how very fond the Fears are of avatars who play hard to get, forcing their essence and power on those who want it least.

The arachnophobic Annabelle Cane.

The endlessly exhausted Oliver Banks.

The goodwilled and betrayed Michael Shelley.

The empathetic sacrificial lamb of Jonathan Sims.  

And perhaps, there at the start, Jonathan Fanshawe. Seeing and being Seen, balking at the Ceaseless Watcher’s work and the stories it wanted to share with him. Maybe, maybe.

We’ll just have to wait and See. 👁️

[luxury-nightmare]

mom says it’s my turn on the writing

The orb sat on the table, cracked but not shattered, with six pairs of eyes trained on it.

The Nightmare knew the story is was supposed to be. Sitcom Au, the one she loved. She lived and breathed this story, wrote for it so often she felt she sometimes clogged the tag. Drew her designs over and over. She’s put Alex through hell and back to give them a happy ending.

Characters are like geodes after all. To know what makes them special, you have to break them.

She had no clue how or why Pastra and V. N. Lankmann got here.

This wasn’t the Sitcom Au she knew, the control she desperately needed ripped away from her in one simple act. The offshoot had been given a name. Modern Prometheus, after a song.

God was there on earth, and they were wearing an Eastridge demon hoodie.

——————————————————

Alex could feel the eyes trained on them, even though they couldn’t see them. They knew they were being watched, call it heighten paranoia from being on the run, call it their new senses from the transformation they were going through, call it simple anxiety. They were being watched, they knew it.

They had asked Clyde and …..Lankmann about it, still felt weird saying that name in a friendlier context, but nothing. Lankmann had looked a little weird as they asked, and he brushed it off to quickly.

He didn’t ask to be here

What was that?

You can hear me?

Alex turned around, only to see six pairs of purple eyes looked onto them, just as confused as they were. But not nearly half as scared.

Alex?

——————————————————

Back in the office, the cracks in the crystalline orb got a little deeper.

[whatevergreen]

“You Can Have Fun Too” poster, created by Mick Hicks for SFAF, 1984

"In 1984, Rick Crane, director of the (San Francisco AIDS Foundation) at the time, hired famed local photographer Mick Hicks to photograph two men for a safe-sex poster to be put in the city’s gay bars, baths, and other locations. Hicks worked for virtually all the LGBTQ newspapers in the Bay Area and had spent a year and a half photographing people with AIDS, chronicling their struggle with the disease. He quickly accepted the commission.

At the same time, a young Black man named Robert Gray, a native San Franciscan raised in the Bayview Hunter’s Point area of the city, and a proud sixth-generation descendant of the Georgetown 272 (a group of 272 African slaves who were sold, in 1838 by the Jesuit priests who ran George University to keep the school afloat), was rather well known in the Castro and Tenderloin areas. “I had started meeting and dating guys in my junior year in high school,” he told me. “I went to high school four or five blocks from the Castro. I would find my way up through the bar scene during that time, sneaking into gay bars and discos.” Of course, he realized that AIDS was rampant through the city.

One day, as 24-year-old Robert wandered down Castro Street, a man approached him and asked if he would pose for a photo for a safe-sex poster for San Francisco AIDS Foundation. “The gentleman advised me that a young photographer named Mick Hicks was looking for two subjects, one Black male and one white male, for the poster. Having seen so many of my personal friends succumb to this deadly virus, I felt it was something I needed to do to help stop the spread of this horrific disease. I asked myself, ‘Why not?’ With AIDS affecting so many of my gay brothers and sisters, I felt it was my responsibility to do something to contribute to AIDS awareness and prevention. I needed to take action, whatever I could do to be a voice of action and help my community.” He agreed on the spot to do the poster.

“You Can Have Fun (and be safe too)” read the final poster. The image that Hicks created featured Robert, shot from the back, embracing a white model (Hicks’ partner Nick Cuccia), his white arm and bubble-butt standing out prominently against Robert’s skin. Even the Chronicle columnist Herb Caen took notice of the photo. The sex-positive message of the poster advocated “mutual masturbation,” “erotic massage,” “imagination and fantasies,” and “limiting social drugs.” The poster portrayed and promoted gay sex as normal, expected behavior, and emphasized the pleasure that could be had while still protecting oneself against transmission of the virus. The poster caused a huge sensation and started appearing in gay bars, discos, and bathhouses from San Francisco to New York. Mr. Gray told me, “As the young kids would say today, ‘it went viral,’ no pun intended!”

(Castro, San Francisco postcard, 1984)

Regrettably, the poster also launched a two-pronged backlash, one prong based in religious prudery, the other in racism.

By asserting that gay sex could be both fun and safe, the poster was the first to portray gay sex as normal, healthy, and fun. Even before AIDS, gay sex had been viewed as aberrant, “unnatural.” As an offshoot of that prejudice, AIDS was thought by many as a visitation of the wrath of God on immoral men who were violating God’s law. How many times did we hear in the early 1980s, “At least AIDS is killing all the right people”? The poster’s sex-positive message was condemned as an affront to decency and family values.

Even more lamentably, the poster inadvertently shone a light on the racial animus within San Francisco’s gay community. As Rick Crane told the Bay Area Reporter in 2014, “Gays as a group were considered second-class citizens and, ironically, gays themselves were treating gay blacks the same way — as second-class citizens.” Although racial tensions had eased somewhat from the flashpoints of the ‘60s and ‘70s, there was still a clear racial divide in the bars in the Castro. The Pendulum was the Castro’s only gay bar where black men and white men went comfortably to meet; the other Castro bars catered primarily to whites. The Trap, located in the Tenderloin district, also catered to interracial couples. Thus, some of the bars and other establishments refused to display the poster, deeming it “unacceptable.” Regarding the response to the poster, Gray said, “I would go into bars, and I would hear the chatter amongst people about the poster. I heard some really positive things, but also some really negative, racially motivated things.

(Below: "Thyrell And Chris Outside The Pendulum Bar SF", 1986 by Jim James aka Photojimsf)

“At the time that I did the poster,” he continued, “I had no idea that it would be so controversial. Honestly, had I known this upfront, I might not have done it. But looking back on it now, I would do it again because it was the right thing to do.” But still, he laments, “Who would have thought that a photo would open my eyes to the racism within the gay community? We are so much more alike as a people than different. One would think we could get along better and come together for a cause greater than us individually. Being a proud Black gay man, I must fight harder than most for myself and for those who come after me.”

These days, Robert Gray is still that proud Black gay man who changed the face of safe-sex advocacy. Sixty-two years old now, nearly forty years since he posed for the SFAF poster, he is semi-retired and lives in Vallejo, California. He is now a widower, having lost his partner of 42 years (his husband since 2013). He remains quite proud of the poster to this day, even if that pride is somewhat tempered by what he considers a lack of recognition for his work. “I thought over time I would see the poster in the gay pride parades or that I would be given some special honor from major players in the movement, like GLAAD. There is still a lot of racism in the gay community.”

Adapted from a February 18, 2022 article by Hank Trout:

https://www.sfaf.org/collections/status/why-did-a-safe-sex-poster-spark-controversy-in-1984/