#And we know David likes to tell war stories

[disappearinginq]

🌹🌹🌹!!

You get the random snippet of what borders a crackfic of how I now headcanon Lamb and River having to bump into one another over the years because of David Cartwright.

He hated the countryside almost as much as he hated the OB. It was too hard to avoid notice when you were the only thing around worth noticing, and nobody was more observant than bored housewives and pensioners. The lack of hustle and bustle of thousands of cars and millions of people made the relative quiet of the bucolic landscape of Tunbridge Wells oppressive.

It also made it impossible for the minutes not to drag as he waited for Cartwright to get his carcass in gear without having anything more interesting to look at than the carefully manicured lawn and garden, where the only thing out of place were a pair of abandoned gloves and a trowel near the hydrangeas, likely from where Rose left them when she came to greet him at the front of the house.

He frowned at the gloves. They were unusually small, even for Rose, who, while hardly Amazonian in stature, was not child sized. The fact that they were even left out seemed odd. Rose never left anything lying about, even if she was still using it.

Lamb took another drag on his cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke in a blue-gray circle above his head as he considered the benign mystery. Perhaps David had hired a midget to look after the undergrowth.

“I thought only wizards could do that?”

Lamb choked on the smoke, almost inhaling the cigarette entirely as he jackknifed forwards, coughing and hacking violently, his face turning beet red and probably some shade of purple, too.

When he finally remembered how to breathe, with only the occasional hack that sounded like a cat about to be sick on the carpet, he twisted sideways to glare up at the tree.

A boy - less than ten, more than five - Lamb was not a good guesser when it came to the ages of children - leaned around the bulk of the tree trunk, peering curiously down at Lamb from his perch several feet up. He looked unconcerned about having nearly killed Lamb, but moderately curious about this stranger.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Lamb wheezed.

[amirasainz]

Could you please do reader is Charles daughter and she invites her boyfriend to a dinner with the leclercs and her uncles ( some of the grid) and the uncles and Charles are very protective over their baby and reader asked , “ can you pass the salt please daddy” and Charles AND THE BF reach for it. Charles and uncles not happy

No, stop. Why can I imagine something like that really happening? If you guys could send me some requests for Oscar, George, Lewis and Max, that would be amazing.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-XoXo

Leclerc family dinner

The sun was setting over Monaco, casting a golden hue through the large windows of the Leclerc family dining room. YN, Charles and Alexandra's teenage daughter, had invited her boyfriend, David, over for dinner. The table was beautifully set, reflecting the family’s love for tradition mixed with a hint of modern flair.

As everyone gathered around the table, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Charles sat at the head of the table, his protective demeanor evident as he glanced at YN with a mixture of pride and wariness. Next to him, Alexandra wore a warm smile, trying to ease the tension that always lingered whenever new boyfriends entered the family circle.

“Are you ready for this, David?” Lando teased, smirking from his seat. “Just remember, we’re not just racing fans; we’re a family of racers. We take everything seriously—especially dinner.”

David chuckled nervously, glancing at YN, who was biting her lip to suppress a laugh. “I’ll do my best,” he replied, trying to sound confident despite the palpable pressure from the Leclerc clan.

“Alright, let’s dig in!” Charles said, gesturing to the lavish spread of pasta, fresh salads, and bread. The meal began with light-hearted banter, but it was clear that Charles and the uncles had a watchful eye on David.

As the meal progressed, YN felt her heart race. She loved having David around, but she could sense her father’s scrutiny. Amidst the laughter and stories, she suddenly realized she needed the salt.

“Daddy, can you pass the salt, please?” YN asked, her voice sweet yet steady.

Both Charles and David reached for the salt at the same time. For a brief moment, silence enveloped the room as they locked eyes. Then, chaos erupted.

Charles narrowed his eyes at David. “Why did you reach for the salt?” he asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and irritation.

“Uh, I—” David stammered, clearly caught off guard.

“‘Daddy’? Really?” Max chimed in, barely holding back a laugh, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I mean, that’s bold, mate.”

“Very bold,” Lando echoed, grinning. “You do realize you’re asking for trouble, right?”

“Guys, come on!” YN exclaimed, her face burning with embarrassment. “It was just a slip!”

Charles turned to David, arms crossed. “So, what’s your excuse? You think you can just react to ‘Daddy’ like it’s no big deal?”

“Uh, I mean, it was just a habit!” David stuttered, looking desperate for an escape. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Alexandra, sensing the rising tension, leaned in to help. “Everyone, let’s take it easy. It was an innocent mistake,” she said, her tone soothing. “David didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Trouble?” Carlos scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not just trouble; it’s a declaration of war!”

“Please, Carlos,” YN sighed, rubbing her temples. “Can we not escalate this?”

Max leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. “So, David, tell us. What were you thinking when YN said that?”

“Yeah, spill!” Lando added, winking. “We need to know if you’re worth our YN or if we should start sharpening our forks.”

“I really wasn’t thinking,” David admitted, his cheeks flushed. “I just… it felt natural? I’m sorry. I'm so so sorry!”

“Natural?” Charles echoed, his brow furrowing. “Natural? In what universe is having your girlfriend call you ‘Daddy’ natural?”

“I think we should all calm down” Alexandra interjected, trying to ease the situation, but even she felt the weight of Charles’s glare. “But maybe we should stick with first names for now?”

Charles huffed, shaking his head. “Exactly! No more pet names under my roof.”

“David,” YN interjected, her voice softer now, “just ignore them. They’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? I’m just looking out for you, YN!” Charles shot back, a hint of protectiveness creeping into his voice. “You deserve someone who respects the family.”

“Dad, I know that!” YN replied, her frustration bubbling over. “But I’m not a child anymore. David respects me!”

“Does he, though?” Max teased, crossing his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “This could be the most entertaining dinner ever!”

“Can we just finish dinner without interrogating him?” YN pleaded, her eyes darting from her father to her uncles. “He’s a great guy. Just give him a chance.”

Alexandra put a hand on YN’s arm. “Sweetheart, we’re just trying to look out for you. You know how protective they are.”

David looked at YN, his eyes pleading for support. YN looked at everyone before saying: “I swear I’ll never call him that again. Just please let’s move on.”

Charles sighed, his demeanor softening slightly. “Fine, but we’re not done discussing this.”

“Yeah, not even close,” Lando whispered dramatically to Carlos, who nodded in agreement.

As the meal continued, the laughter resumed, but there was a newfound tension beneath the surface. YN kept stealing glances at David, who was trying to blend in and not draw more attention to himself.

“Hey, David,” Carlos said suddenly, breaking the brief silence, “what’s your favorite race track? Or is that a secret now, too?”

David chuckled, grateful for the change of subject. “I think I’d have to say Monaco, obviously! It’s iconic. But honestly, the atmosphere at Silverstone is unbeatable.”

“Nice choice,” Lando replied, nodding. “But you better be prepared for the Leclerc family charm—or lack thereof.”

“More like the Leclerc family chaos,” Max added with a grin.

“Seriously,” YN murmured to David, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

“Just promise me one thing,” David said, leaning closer to her. “If this gets any more chaotic, you’ll save me from the crossfire, right?”

“I’ll do my best,” she replied, trying to suppress a smile.

As dessert was served—a delicious chocolate mousse—Charles took a deep breath, finally relaxing. “Alright, David. You’re still on thin ice, but I suppose you can survive the evening… for now.”

The uncles laughed, and the atmosphere shifted again, returning to the warmth that filled the Leclerc home. YN felt a wave of relief wash over her. Maybe they’d all survive this dinner after all.

As the night continued, amidst playful banter and the clinking of cutlery, YN couldn’t help but think that while her family might be a bit overprotective, it was all rooted in love. And maybe, just maybe, David would become a part of this chaotic, wonderful family after all.

[hannaxjo]

Alan Rickman, David Thewlis, Gary Oldman and all those are iconic in their roles in Harry Potter, but I’ll always be a bit sad about that casting, because having that ‘Marauders era’ cast be age appropriate would’ve just been so much better for the story.

Sirius wasn’t this old man who spent 12 years in Azkaban, no he got locked up at 21. He spent almost third of his life in a cell. He wasn’t this wise father figure to Harry, he was a reckless thirty-something who never really got the chance to mature past 21.

Remus was an exhausted, bone deep tired man carrying both physical and mental scars from the suffering he went through. Because he’s a werewolf, because of the war, because he lost all of his friends. And he’s only 33 when first introduced.

And Snape. Snape wasn’t an old bitter man who just hated everyone and enjoyed being antagonistic. He was 31 in Harry’s first year. He began to work for Voldemort as a teen, and as a double agent at 20. He’s a thirty-something bitter man, who never got to really live or make real connections. From Harry’s perspective he’s scary and intimidating, but really he’s just kinda…sad and pathetic. And then especially that scene where Snape is begging Dumbledore to help save Lily, and promising anything in return. (Because apparently Dumbledore needs something in return…for saving people.) He’s twenty. Barely out of his teens. Rickman was good in that scene, but having someone who actually looks twenty, would better show how scared, young, guilty and just desperate he was. That might not put Dumbledore in such a good light, though.

And then, the characters I think would’ve been the most important to cast age appropriately. And most people probably already agree and know who I’m talking about. James and Lily. They were 21 when they died. When Harry sees them in the mirror of Erised, they’re 10 years older than him. That’s the age difference Ron has with Bill. In that scene I might understand somewhat them being in their thirties, because that’s what Harry wants. He wants his life with his parents, he wants to have been raised by them. Though, I don’t know if the mirror could know what they might’ve looked like in their thirties, since they didn’t live that long. But then, in the cemetery when Voldemort’s wand spits the last spells cast, we see Lily and James as they were. 21. They’re telling their son to hold on just a moment longer. And they are 7 years older than him. In Deathly Hallows, Harry sees Voldemort kill them. They’re not this happy couple who’s got to love each other for a long time, only to have that happiness torn from them, no they started at Hogwarts ten years ago. They’re 21, and they’ve barely tasted that happiness. At the end of the book Harry talks to his parents. They comfort him and promise to stay with him, as he goes to die. Harry’s seventeen. James and Lily are four years older than him.

It wouldn’t have felt as nice. Harry being comforted by someone who looks almost his age. But it wasn’t nice. It was pretty tragic. Casting people who look 21, would’ve really made it land on the audience. It was a tragedy. They were barely adults.

[breeyn]

An essay rebutting the “bad writing” claims of s2 ofmd. Spoilers herein.

I’ll preface this with saying you’re obviously allowed to like and dislike whatever you want. I am in no way opposing that. And your reasons are your reasons. Have at. (Also - this is a collection of observations from the past few days, I’m not calling anyone out)

I AM going to rebut the idea that season two was poorly written and lost the spirit of what the show is about.

My favourite movie of all time is Empire Strikes Back. It’s been my favourite movie since I was four. I’m pretty sure it’s a fave of David Jenkins, too. He and Taika have made absolutely no attempt to hide their love of all things 80’s - Prince, the Princess Bride, Kate Bush, Star Wars, etc.

I have ancient video tapes (that I can’t play because who has a vcr) where Lucas is interviewed by Leonard Maltin? Malkin? I dunno. Who cares. Maltin asks him about the Star Wars (original trilogy) story arc. Lucas says “in act I, you introduce all the characters. In act II, you put them in a situation they can’t get out of, and in act III, they get out of it.”

That’s how it works. This is how stories and literary structures work.

Of course you’re not satisfied with season two. You’re not supposed to be.

The arguments I have read on why s2 loses the spirit of s1 is because no one heals. No one learns anything. No one moves forward properly. The person who makes the biggest move towards healing dies. The two main characters end the show doing the exact fucking thing they had promised themselves and each other they wouldn’t do. Our romantic lead still doesn’t understand his value or make any headway on addressing his tragic flaw. It makes no goddamn sense.

My gremlins in weird: it’s not supposed to. In Act 2, EVERYONE LOSES. This is how it goes.

I’ve read a lot of people saying “but this felt like a series finale, not a season finale.” We all know that outside politics play a part here, the strikes make everything precarious. I remember the last writers strike. It destroyed tv for fifteen years. Anyone remember Pushing Daisies? Some of y’all have never had your fave show cancelled with zero resolution for the characters and it shows.

Daddy J did us a kindness. He softened the blow of a tough season. After the brutal cliffhanger of s1, he gave us a little softness and hope. All those things you’re mad aren’t resolved? It’s because THE STORY ISN’T OVER.

No one on earth thinks “stuff all your trauma into a box and ignore it” is good advice. A way to actually live. This show did not have enough screen time to throw out dialogue for no reason. There was foreshadowing in s1 for s2, and there is foreshadowing for s3 in s2. This is a well-crafted story by very smart people who care very much for these characters. There is zero chance Frenchie explained the box in his head for no reason. The reason people have not resolved their trauma and growth is because they haven’t done it *yet*.

And friends - it’s not thinly veiled. They straight up fucking tell us what they’re doing.

Luke Skywalker spends the first two movies fucking up and desperately trying to prove himself and just generally being an idiot. Sound familiar? He ignores the lessons he is supposed to be learning to go off and do what he feels like doing, and loses fucking badly. At the end of Empire, Han is gone, Luke and Leia wave goodbye to the Falcon that has Lando and Chewy - the rest of their crew - aboard. Everyone has lost everything they care about. Vader is undefeated. Yoda is pissed. Nothing is resolved.

You see where I’m going?

If you think I’m stretching this too far, welp, when Ed tells Stede he loves him - the climax of the finale - Stede quotes Han fucking Solo. Like - *it’s right there*. The story structure. The reason everything is unresolved.

So yeah. They wave goodbye to their ship because they have wounds to heal (like Luke’s hand). The people aboard the ship have things to find. Ed and Stede have *not* learned their lesson about whims and how not to be like Anne and Mary. It’s not stupid that they’re doing the same thing, and it’s not pointless that we were shown Anne and Mary. It’s all relevant.

The resolution comes in Act 3. None of these people are done. The story is far, far from over. And just in case the studios want to be dicks about it, David Jenkins was lovely enough to not repeat my enduring heartbreak over Pushing Daisies.

Thank you, @davidjenks 🖤

[asherthehimbo]

Hunter

synopsis: Visha Odessa was a legendary hunter, a protector of nature and its balance, they never let an abomination live to tell the tale of having stared into the poisoned hunters eyes, but stories are told, whisperes shared amungst drunk mercanary's after a long day, a story of one man, one beast whom has drank the poison and still lives to tell the tale. Odessa's greatests failure. Or in which you never could quite bring yourself to kill Jung Wooyoung, for all the names you've had and titles you've garnered, his immortality only still being intact by your own hands. Jung Wooyoung was a gentle beast purring in your lap by the light of the fire, but he was a beast none the less, and you had made a promise to end all beasts.

Pairing: Vampire! Jung Wooyoung x Hunter! Female! Reader

Warnings: blood, death, vampire feeding, a but suggestive ( just like a makeout session nothing too bad), a hint of mysogany in the begining, reader has no specifics BUT is described as having freckles and a scar on her nose, no happy ending :((

wc: 5.6K

notes: WAAHHHHHH WRITING THIS FOR MY STAR @beetheseal YAYAYAYYAYA IM SO HAPPY I GOT HER INTO PARIS PALOMA AND ALSO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE SMTHN BASED OFF ONE OF PARIS'S SONGSSSS and special thanks to @housewifeonlsd for proofreading and helping with editing!!

Playlist: hunter by Paris Paloma | Python by GOT7 | Lovers rock by TV Girl | I bet on losing dogs by Mistki | Granite by Sleep token | Sand by Dove Cameron | We Belong by Dove Cameron | COLD BLOODED by Chris Grey | Romantic Homicide by d4vd | Scorpio by TROY | Daylight by David Kushner | Born to die by Lana del Ray | Rises the moon by Liana Flores | POMEGRANITE by hannah bahng | Abysmal by hannah bahng |

The tavern was loud, painfully so, at least to you that is. The rest of the barflies and the guests seem to enjoy themselves at least, dancing to the music played by an elderly man and his acoustic guitar, others listening to the tales told by the drunken hunters and veterans, who are all too happy to share their war stories for a moment of recognition.

You don't frequent this pub a lot, at least not at this time of night, you have a job to do after all, and yet you find yourself sitting at the bar nursing a cold glass of strawberry cider while you listen to the men badger on. You're really only here for your friend, Seonghwa, owner of the Halazia tavern. He asked you to come in, scare some respect into the men who's bothered his regulars and brushed fingers with his workers a few too many times for comfort.

You're the only one in the bar with the hood of your cowl still drawn up, nobody notices that, nor the box and arrows placed carefully next to you as you lean back against the bar and study the men. “Yaknow, I get I was askin’ for a favor, but sittin’ here drinkin’ on my dime aint actually helpin’ the problem” Seonghwas voice sounds behind you, the southern twang to it a bit lighter in his sultry voice than it is with some of his other workers.

“I'm studying them, can't attack without proper knowledge of your enemy Hwa, you know this” you turn your head to shoot him a smile, drinking in his appearance: hair long and messily tied back with a clip your pretty sure he stole from you the last time you were around, he's wiping off the counter behind you, face flushed from being in the heat of the kitchen only moments prior, apron tied around his waist.

You don't like studying people, especially not when it comes to your friends, it's an annoying habit of survival, one some primal part of your brain refuses to turn off no matter how much you beg it too. Seonghwa is too perfect, you purse your lips as his attention is focused on a speck of dirt that doesn't seem to want to listen to him and his trusted cloth. His hands aren't caloused, despite the work he does, they're delicate and well manicured, opposite of yours, grime and dried blood under your own nails after every kill, callouses on your fingers that are roughly shaven off when you know you don't have a hunt for the next few days.

His face stays unblemished, no marks of any kind, no scars of battle, no dots that show his travels in the sun. You suspect he's what you would've looked like had you been born into a different life, and while deep down it hurts a part of you, on the surface level you cannot care for it. You were made for this, for protecting, killing, each part of yourself, no matter how much you dislike it, it serves to further your purpose in life.

You move your focus back to the drunkard twisting his own tales, the ladies and young men around him all looking at him in interest. “So you've met him then? met Visha?“ a young hunter asks excitedly, you don't bother to remember his face, he'll die within the week. “Hey I heard Visha was a woman!” a young lady next to him protests but her eyes are still on the drunkard, “still did you meet her?”

The drunkard, a big man, broad shoulders with a brown beard and locks that reach his shoulders, he seems almost too big for his seat, as if his legs are uncomfortable but his face tells the opposite story. “Visha? Of course I've met him.” The young woman's smile falters a bit as the pronoun leaves the drunkard's lips, but she doesn't say anything else. “I mean he's skilled, sure, but the rumors crack him up to be some type of legend- he isn't. He's a hunter. That's all he is” the man takes a gulp of his beer as his friend continues, the tinier man already drunk.

“You young hunters should stop idolizing him- he let a beast go yaknow?” there's a sharp intake in the room, whispers break out and you can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you as both him and his workers start moving to the kitchen- they know what comes next and they hate having dirty uniforms. “And where did you get that information from?” you call out to the two rumor spinners as you face them, one leg crossed over the other and hood still covering your face.

“Hey lady, no need to yell from all the way over there. We're hunters ourselves, you can trust us. ” The smaller man gives a slimy smile but the larger one stays quiet, almost like he can feel something is wrong. “Dilin Royer, Veteran of the West war, although the word veteran is a stretch given you never actually fought in it, only trained for a year before running away-” the man stands up, his glass of beer being thrown at you head, you simply move to the side as it smashes against the wall, internally cringing for the scolding Seonghwas going to give you for that. You pick up a piece of the glass that had landed on the counter next to you as you start using it to clean your nails, some leftover blood from your last kill still being stuck underneath.

“Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? Who he is, ” the tiny man, Dilin, points his hand to his friend as his face turns red in fury, “Rayder Terkem. Son of Commander Terkem- well estranged son given the fact that you had multiple of your squad members killed and took credit for their work, ” you tilt your head looking at the two despite knowing that they can't see your eyes. The bigger man, Rayder, stands up now finally, “Listen here tramp, I don't know where you got your information from but you've got it wrong, so say one more word and I'm feeding you to Visha’s beast myself, ” he throws his glass down just as his partner had threw his at you. Internally you cringe at the fact that another broken glass only means an angier Seonghwa.

You watch the shards of the glass splatter, hitting some of the young hunters who were gathered around Dilin and Rayder, cuts on their faces and open arms, much smaller versions of the scars they'll receive in the future of this career. “Really? You're that close to Visha Odessa? The legendary Visha Odessa?“ you force your voice to sound a bit surprised, and Dilin smirks as Rayder nods. “Well that's funny because I know I'd never acquaint myself with a coward and a traitor, ” you huff out laughter as you pull down your hood, staring at them and finally they see your face.

The dots littering your cheeks, proof of your work under the mother-suns watch, the scar running over your nose a tell-tale sign of who you are. It's something every young hunter is told, a warning, for as much as they admire the legend there's a reason Visha stays just that - a legend.

“Visha’s loyalty to our nature-mother had granted them a constellation of their own, littered on their face, the scar running across their nose a reminder of the pain they receive in honour of our nature-mother. ”

You never minded the name they'd given you, didn't care enough to fight back when they called you Visha for poison, you had known your blood was poisoned for a long time now. Visha for the poison in your blood and Odessa for the pain you receive in order to carry out your duties to mother nature, to fulfill your purpose.

You didn't mind the name they'd given you, but you did mind when they used it in vain, when they used it to fulfill a status they saw as important without carrying out their own duties. “Oh yeah?” The men had clearly realised their mistake, but Dilin seems like a man with a big ego, one who even when faced with the hunter known to bring death, won't back down. It's not a brave act, it's a stupid one, one made in an act of self preservation of an ego rather than a life.

“You wouldn't acquaint yourself with a coward nor a traitor, but you would with a beast?" The moment the words have left Dilins lips, the last syllable barely escaping, an arrow shoots through his throat, pinning his frame against the wall behind him with it's force. A gurgle leaves his mouth, blood dripping down to the couch he was previously sitting on and you know Seonghwa will absolutely tear you a new one, but you don't care.

Rayder looks at you, eyes filled with anger as his gaze darts between the strung bow in your hands, the new arrow you already have pointed at him, and his friend, dead, lifeless pinned up against the wall like some sort of warning, like a message. A message Rayder chose to ignore, his bulky arm raises, an axe in his hand that he's ready to throw but you're quicker, letting the next arrow hit his wrist, pinning it to the wall and causing his own axe to imbed itself in his freshly dead friend's head. He lets out a scream, one you ignore as you start nocking your next arrow.

Rayder blabbers on, trying to call the younger hunters around him to help out but they don't move, they know better. His voice is background static as you aim the next arrow at him, now between his eyes, he looks at you with disdain. “A coward- only a coward would kill the two opposing he-” his words aren't finished as the arrow hits him. You sigh, slinging your bow on your back and downing your last bit of cider before putting your glass back down, pulling up your hood as you start to walk out.

The tense atmosphere breaks as the young hunters start screaming. The workers come out from the kitchen, not in a rushed pace because they already know what's happened. It's much too common of an occurrence for you to have to deal with people like these for Seonghwa and sure you may have went a little far this time, indenting the wall and executing them so publically, but they pissed you off, the words from their vile mouths seeped in beneath your skin, mixing with your tainted blood, creating a more intoxicating poison flowing in your veins.

You catch Seonghwas eyes as you reach the back door, his lips are pressed as he looks at the scene and then at you, as if he can't decide between being angry at the mess, or worried at the unusual display of inhumane violence from you. You don't give him a chance to decide as you open the door and disappear from the tavern without one last glance.

You know how the story goes, how long the travels take and the possibility of never being able to come back, one last glance at your friend's tavern could be all it takes to distract you. The last glance is not motivation to return, it's hesitation to go, you can not share Seonghwa a last glance, you cannot hesitate.

The night air hits you, the wind blowing the fresh smell of the trees and berries up the mountain down to the mouth of the woods where you stand outside the tavern. It's 's quiet, save for the few noises of the night and voices from the quiet growing town, it's the complete opposite of the inside of the tavern where your comfort person resides, and yet, you enjoy this more.

Enjoying the cold breeze, the smell of everything around you, the awareness the earth brings, the figure lurking in the shadows of the Taverns outside walls as it waits for your call. You take a breath, deep as you inhale almost tasting the scent of strawberries that lingers in the air, you're tired and yet you know within the next few seconds you will have to aim your bow again, lest the figure believe you've gone soft.

“Why do you defend me?” his voice asks, playfull, as if you can hear the smirk even if you have yet to see his face hidden in the night, “I do not defend you, I defend myself” you state, “and yet you shot them when they spoke of me” he steps into the light, and you can see his face, almost hopeful as he looks at you, “I shot them because I didn't want to be associated with you, and I'll shoot you too if I need to” you draw your arrow and he steps closer, as if daring you “You won't, you won't kill me [Name]? ” the smirk from his face has disappeared, the daringness now replaced with something else, something more desperate that you can't quite place.

“Why won't you kill me? ” his voice is almost a broken whisper, the words falling from his mouth with a curiosity, an intense desperate curiosity, a broken curiosity only heard from those who had been at their limit. You don't answer him, you don't give him the words he wants to hear, you don't do it because you can't. It's the same question that had been plaguing your mind countless nights, hundreds of hunts spent looking down at the beasts you've killed wondering why the image of Wooyoung in the same position sent a nauseating bullet through your skull. You don't answer, instead you shoot your arrow, hitting him in his right shoulder, in the exact same spot you've hit countless times before. “I'll kill you Jung.. just not tonight” not tonight, not tomorrow night… there's always a reason not to, when the time inevitably comes, will you be able to complete your duty?

Wooyoung hisses in pain as he grabs his shoulder, he seems more affected by the shot than he should be, seems weaker, he pulls out the arrow with another hiss before he walks over and hands it to you. A bloody hand slightly trembling, as if the nerves in his shoulder were damaged, he’s not healing, not fast enough. ‘He hasn't fed’, a voice in your head tells you, “You haven't fed, ” you say bluntly, looking from his injury, to the trembling bloody hand holding your arrow, Wooyoung's eyes narrow at you, grabs your hand with his own bloodied one as he places the arrow in your palm, it's a frustrated action, but not rough by any means. He pulls his hand away, hiding the trembling behind his back as the other goes back to holding his slowly healing wound.

“You don't like it when I feed” he states simply, and he's right, he knows you feel like a failure whenever you're reminded of the fact that not killing him causes him to drain more humans every night. “I try to limit it” he says, as if looking for some sort of praise, as if he wants you to be proud of him for starving himself. You hate it, whether he feeds or not, both ways you feel the guilt of knowing you let a beast live. Wooyoung makes you feel a wretched guilt, one buried deep in your heart, that seeps into your bones and wraps around your soul. Maybe that's why you can't kill him, he's a part of you, it's not easy to kill a part of yourself. If it was, Wooyoung wouldn't have been standing in front of you, if killing him was as easy as killing any other beasts, then you wouldn't even have known his name.

You sigh, looking back down to the arrow before placing it with the others, you don't say anything when you turn around, and it's your lack of words that informs Wooyoung he should follow you, it's always like this with you, you'd never accept him outright, but the moments of silence, of you trusting that he'll know what you mean, those stolen little moments mean the world to him, ensures his undead heart beats just a little bit faster each time, as if you bring him closer to mortality with each glance.

He follows, quiet as you walk, watching as you bend to pick up your bag that you had stashed away at the edge of the woods before you enter them. It's only then when Wooyoung starts speaking, when the two of you are in the cover of nature and he knows you'll speak freely, because you feel safer here, away from people. “How long are you staying?” he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer, you don't know why, he usually follows you wherever you go anyways, but to him it means more, the more you stay in one place the greater the chance you can rest, that you'll think, that he gets to spend more time with you. The more time you spend in one place the greater the chance will be that you'll settle down there, with him. At least that's what his deluded mind tells him.

“My work here is done, I'm going by sunrise” Your original plan was to go by nightfall, but Wooyoung doesn't know that, and you don't have to tell him your travel was delayed due to him, he doesn't need more of an ego boost. Wooyoung only nods at your words, the cogs in his head turning as he thinks of how he only has a few hours to spend with you.

You loved the woods, it was the reason you preferred camping in your travels rather than staying at an inn, nature would surround you and you were far gone from men, you loved nature all its soft sounds of life, the leaves blowing and water running, but when Wooyoung was with you, you always had a sense of paranoia. His steps would follow you, silent always until you reached your campsite, he had a habit of going quiet when surrounded by the very thing he is an abomination of, the phantom noise of his steps would haunt your thoughts when you traveled without him, and if you were to ever allow yourself the possibility of forgetting them, then he'd remind you by the next travel.

Always following, his lonely soul drawn to yours, both outcasts in your own communities, a hunter who let a beast live- let a beast feed from her, let a beast poison her with his touch; a beast, not feeding unless given permission, following the every order of one of those vowed to kill him. But the thing was you never did, for all the injuries you had caused and the words you had threatened, for all the times you'd clutch your unsheathed dagger as you stared at him, you never held a true bloodthirsty thrill in your eye, not like he'd seen you hold for others of his kind.

Sure you'd hate him, but was hate not the closest emotion to love? In his mind, it's simply a blessing that you think of him so much, that he's so deeply bedded in your soul for you to even hold such a feeling towards him. Sure you may shoot him with your arrows, you may stab him, but at the end of the day you choose not to kill him, choose to have him feed from your neck, choose to have him keep you warm under the cold blanket of night. Could you really be so sure you hate him, when you let him do things that only make him fall deeper in love?

You reach your campsite and Wooyoung perches himself on a large log of wood as he watches you work, he's tried to help before, but you'd only get mad at him, claiming that you could do everything yourself, he doesn't like it when you're mad, so he sits, he watches, staring into the fire after you'd set it aflame to use the light for constructing your tent. He'd sit and think, maybe even reminisce on all the times he's seen you like this, not knowing that you were doing the same.

The setup of the fire and construction of the tent was muscle memory at this point, you did not have to think of your actions, the motions second nature and so your mind was left free, stolen glances at the usually injured Wooyoung- injuries usually caused by your own hand- would always send you back to the night you had met him.

It was your first hunt, sent out to kill an amature beast, amature was a name unbefitting of him, if he was an amateur you would've been able to kill him. No he was completely new, worse than an amature, turned not even a day before your arrival, having been caught by you during his first feed, he looked so young then, not that he'd aged since, but his bones were skeletal, hair cut choppily, he clinged to the dieing body in his lap, tears flowing from his eyes, mixing with the blood messily dripping down his chin as he fed. His eyes were wide, frenzied as he looked up at you in fear, and yet he could not detach himself from the body.

His sobs still haunt your dreams sometimes, he didn't want this life and yet you had almost killed him for it. He makes you think, makes you question your duty, if each beast you kill had started out like that, it's a dangerous thought, one you wouldn't dare voice nor entertain for too long, but a thought that passed through your mind whenever you look at him in these moments nonetheless.

When you're done, you remove your coat, not undressing but riding yourself of most of your protective gear, a small sign of trust you subconsciously show him, in the presence of anyone else you'd keep it on, and yet when with him you'd leave your weapons, still in reach but not on your person. You sit beside him on the log as you stare into the fire, he moves down, knows its not yet time for him to be sitting next to you, his head rests on you lap, and your hand rests on his head, you don't scratch his scalp yet, it's too early in the night for that affection, it's a routine you two have built, certain actions only happening after the other. You look down at him, his gaze on the fire, as if studying the flames. They cast a light that shines on his face, a warm light that compliments his tanned skin much more than the soft white light of the moon. You guess fires are the closest he'll get to being seen in the sun.

It's dangerous for beasts in the day, when most humans, most hunters are awake, so they hide away, this had spread rumors, rumors that they're nocturnal, others that they're allergic to the sun, but real hunters know it's not true, they're simply afraid, afraid of the hunters that stalk them as they do humans. You look down at Wooyoung, his breathing even and eyes starting to close, for a moment you allow yourself to believe he's human, that maybe life had not dealt the both of you these cards, that you'd met under different circumstances, but as you lift your had to finally pet his head, and your long sleeved shirt rides up just enough to reveal the almost faded marks of his bite on your wrist, reality sets in, even if just enough to remind you of the fact that he is still a beast, yet not enough to remind you that you are a hunter.

You run your fingers through his hair as you lift his head from your lap, making him look up at you as his cheek rests on your palm, he looks pathetic like this, but not in a sad way.. no, it's a picture you'd want saved in your memory, he looks up at you with those big eyes, ones shining as they line with tears, you don't know what for. “You haven't fed, you're weakened” your statement is unnecessary, its information shared before you even stepped foot in the woods, but your statement is not just that, a statement. Wooyoung knows that, you'd never tell him to feed outright, it would go against your very nature just as not feeding goes against his, but at times like these you give him access to the nectar running through your veins, your words spark something in him, a fire in his stomach hotter than the one now behind him.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your palm, bringing up a hand which he uses to hold yours, fingers slipping between your own as he keeps your palm against his lips for a moment before he moves down, placing featherlight kisses against the coulessed skin before he reaches your pulse point, his other hand moves to push your sleeve away, fingers tracing lightly over the faded marks before he rests it on your wrist to feel your pulse, the most calming beat, your heart. “They've faded” his voice is soft, sad, disappointed at the fact that you've healed, “they have” your own is soft as well, softer than normal at least, although yours is not in disappointment, its inviting, reassuring him to recreate them.

His eyes lock with yours, you watch as they start to shine, big and brown now holding a pathetic type of desperateness. You see his jaw tighten, an action signaling the growth of his fangs and before you know it his teeth puncture your skin. You bite your lip at the subtle pain and he makes a stifled whimper against your skin. His hand that was holding your arm gently now tightens as he feeds, his eyes closing as he relishes in your taste, the one he's missed, the one he's longed for. You try to focus on the feeling of his lips on your skin, not on the fact that he's poisoning your blood further.

You know he's almost done when the edges of the world start to blur, it's a good feeling, a free one. His feeding acts almost like an aphrodisiac, the venom in a beasts veins being injected into their prey to keep them calm and willing, you feel light headed, not enough to faint, but enough to float, to be able to release yourself of the stress, the inner turmoil your actions bring you. Your mind is only consumed with thoughts of him, thoughts of the peace of this moment, not of the wrongs you've committed, not of the failures you've created by being this willing to keep him alive.

You feel his fangs retract from your wrist, his lips still on your skin as he softly kisses off the last drops of blood, he looks up at you, watching closely as his lips start to move from your wrist up your arm, your skin cold due to the drained blood and night air, his lips warm against your arm, once he reaches the part where your rolled up shirt covers the rest of your skin he decides to finally remove himself from your arm. His hand moving to your face, thumb gently moving across your cheek as his eyes trace over the freckles adorning your face as you lean against his hand. He takes in the moment, your eyes fluttered closed, your body lax, face relaxed and void of your usual faux resentment aimed at him, he takes it in because he knows he won't be seeing it any time soon again, won't be given the grace of your true feelings ever, this is the closest he'll ever get to a confession.

The sight warms him, the soft sound of your breath, of your blood thumping in your veins, the pulsepoint in your neck staring back at him tauntingly as your head is leaned on his face, he takes his chance, very little does he get it. The faded marks on your neck almost invisible, more so than the ones on your wrist were mere moments ago, his lips still against the skin of your pulse, feeling it beneath the skin before his teeth sink into you again, careful not to nick an artery, with practised precision, it's not to feed, no he's had enough, but the intimacy of the act, of his lips against your neck, teeth feeling the flow of your blood, injecting his own venom to keep your stress away, the way you don't push him away rather, your hands trace his spine, holding his shoulders.

He knows he needs to let go soon, that you need your rest, but he loves having you in his arms, even if it's just for tonight. He stays like that until you gently squeeze his shoulder, letting him know he needs to retract himself, and he does, with great hesitancy, his lips instead trailing a path up your jawline, your blood that's coated his mouth trailing with him, and he wouldn't be himself if he let the delectable nectar you offered him go to waste, he licks a stripe back down your neck, cleaning you like animals do to one another, before his lips move against your jawline again until they reach your own.

It's only now that he looks at you for permission again, your eyes are barely open, but they catch his, full of love and a warmth that could rival the fire behind him, he doesn't ask, knows better than to speak, whispers in the night could only be carried by the wind, and this is a moment he wants, he needs to stay between the two of you. You simply nod, and that's all he needs, his lips, warm and wet, still covered in trace amounts of your blood find your own. It's a slow kiss at first, as if he's uncertain, he’s testing the waters, but when your hands that were resting on his shoulders move so that your arms could wrap around his neck and pull him closer, he lets himself deepen it. He familiarizes himself with the feel of your mouth against his own as he's done many times before, he guides your body, off the log and onto the ground without separating himself from you, he forgets that he needn't breathe sometimes, that it's only an action he does to make him feel more human.

Why would he need to breathe if the action would interrupt him kissing you? Its a sin, truly a tragedy that you pull away for a moment, even if he lets his mouth explore down your jaw again while you regain your breath, you're tired, he can tell, and as your breathing becomes normal again, and he feels your neck slumps against him, he knows you're down. He sighs as his lips finally detach from your skin, admiring the marks his teeth have left, he moves your head to rest on his chest, he knows you'll wake up before him, and even though he doesn't have to sleep, even though he doesn't want to because he knows when he wakes up you'll be gone, he can't bare to stay awake and have to plead with you again.

Too many times has he asked you to stay, to actually kill him in lieu of leaving, and too many times have you stabbed the dagger, he knows is strapped to your thigh, into his heart while he slept, disappearing into the early morning with his blood coating your most prized weapon as he regains consciousness just a moment too late.

He looks down at you, the dimming fire beside you illuminating the freckles on your face, he wishes to kiss every single one, he wishes you'd let him hold you as a lover all the time, not just in moment of weakness in the middle of the night when nobody can see. He wishes he doesn't disgust you, but Wooyoung has learned a long time ago that wishes are a force of nature, and nature doesn't take too well to his kind, after all she created yours just to end his own.

The tent you had built is long forgotten as you lay in Wooyoung's arms, his eyes closing with the last sparks of the fire burning out, the gentle purring of his chest lulling you into a deeper unconsciousness, in theory it be easy for Wooyoung to kill you. You're in his arms, completely at his mercy, but that's only in theory. If you were easy to kill he would've done it already.

When the sun starts to rise, and your eyes open, you silently prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at the sleeping man- sleeping beast beneath you, for someone who doesn't need sleep, he sure doesn't wake up easily. The dagger strapped to your thigh seems painfully heavy as you look down at him, reaching up to move a peace of his hair out of his face, you lean down to kiss his forehead, the action of love accompanied by your hand unsheathing the dagger and pressing it down into his heart.

He won't die, not if you pull it out, but he'll be passed out long enough for you to leave, and even if he'll probably find you within the week, you can still give yourself the delusion of believing you'd done your job.

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[caesarflickermans]

From the Waterstones edition of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

A Q&A WITH SUZANNE COLLINS

Leading up to the publication of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, author Suzanne Collins and the book's editorial director, David Levithan, spoke about some of the philosophical and literary influences on the book, many of which can be found in the series of quotes on the epigraph page at the book's start.

transcribed below

DL: One of the first things you said to me about this book was that I'd better brush up on my Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau to best understand what you were doing with it. That feels like a great springboard for this conversation, since I know these philosophers and their conflicting constructions of human nature were key to what you wanted to explore. Did the novel start with these questions and then find its story, or vice versa?

SC: This novel began in a philosophical swamp that my brain swam around in until the narrative came to me. With the two series, the Underland Chronicles and the Hunger Games trilogy, my goal was to tell stories for young audiences that examined aspects of just war theory. If you focus on that topic long enough, you naturally arrive at the question of human nature and why we tend toward conflict.

I'll do my best to boil down some complex ideas here, but they all bear far more discussion. The state of nature debate of the Enlightenment thinkers — Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau — addresses the human condition before we had societies or political associations. Your opinion on who we were in the state of nature defines the form of government you think we need.

During my work on the two series, I kept running into Thomas Hobbes, author of Leviathan, and his war "of every man, against every man." He wrote that in the state of nature, life was "solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short" and that we require a common power, a sovereign or absolute political authority, to rule us. In return for protection, we agree to give our obedience.

John Locke had a gentler view of humanity. He wrote that "men living together according to reason… is properly the state of nature. But force… upon the person of another… is the state of war." He's very big on reason, which "teaches all mankind, who will but consult it, that being all equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions..."

DL: That sounds very familiar….

SC: Yes, much of it was used by Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence less than a century later. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." Locke believed in limited government. The government was there to protect the rights of the people, and if it failed to do so, they could put another in its place.

DL: And Rousseau?

SC: Jean-Jacques Rousseau thought that human beings in the state of nature were motivated by amour de soi, a naturally good form of self-love or self-preservation. When we entered society, amour de soi evolved into amour-propre, a destructive form of self-love that depends on the approval of other people and is associated with vanity, contempt, shame, and envy. Rousseau wrote about the rule of "the general will," or the will of the people as a whole. In The Social Contract, he says, "Each of us puts his person and all his power in common under the supreme direction of the general will; and in our corporate capacity, we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole." His thinking influenced the French Revolution, socialism, and a wide range of political theory.

DL: And how do you see the Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau positions on human nature in relation to your characters?

SC: The principal characters in Ballad embrace elements of the different philosophers' arguments and carry them into Panem. Volumnia Gaul passes Hobbes's basic worldview on to Coriolanus. Sejanus fights the good fight for Locke, as does Lucy Gray, who picks up the mantle for Romanticism as well. Rousseau is lightly sprinkled over the Covey, usually by way of his influence on the Romanticists, as he was an early one himself.

DL: Why is the state of nature debate timely?

SC: Here in the United States, we spend a great deal of time attacking one another for our liberal or conservative views, left or right, blue or red. But I think we've lost sight of a deeper issue, which is about democratic versus authoritarian rule, and what it requires to sustain a democracy.

DL: Another influence on the book is Wordsworth, whose "Lucy Gray" influences both your character of that name and one of the ballads she sings. Did you know from the start that the poem would be the basis for her ballad, or was that something that came after the story was set in motion?

SC: Romanticism emerged in the late eighteenth century and celebrates individualism, emotion, nature, free expression, and the form of nationalism embodied by the Covey. Wordsworth was a key figure in the movement with his Lyrical Ballads, where he describes poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." When I read his "Lucy Gray" poem, I thought, That's it. That's my girl's ballad.

The character was already fairly well-developed, but with a different name. I had to find her name the way I had to find Katniss's. I was drawn to the poem by the mystery of Lucy Gray's fate. Being able to echo that in the novel seemed perfect, leaving the reader to wonder, leaving a question that I can address if I decide to fill out more of the world of Panem. Also, the name Lucy Gray seemed designed for the Covey, with its built-in color. I liked the idea that the Covey, as lovers of nature, would honor all colors, not just the flashy ones: taupe and ivory and gray like a winter day. Then there's the ambiguity of the color gray. I don’t think that was an accident on Wordsworth's part. And the obliteration by snow. And the easy adaptation to a song. It met so many needs.

DL: And what happens when Coriolanus's Hobbesian worldview encounters Romanticism?

SC: They're like oil and water; they don't mix well. Ultimately, Romanticism is a factor in bringing down Coriolanus and the Hunger Games. Katniss does it with the help of Lucy Gray's music. Conversely, the katniss plant lends a hand to Lucy Gray in a time of need.

DL: Jumping from the derivation of Lucy Gray's name to the derivation of Coriolanus's . . . as you note in the acknowledgments, one of the serendipities that occurred during the writing and editing of this book was that it happened to coincide with the first Shakespeare in the Park production of Coriolanus in decades. In the trilogy, particularly when it comes to Snow's finale, the connections to Shakespeare's Coriolanus are clear. What do you see as the points of connection between eighteen-year-old Coriolanus Snow and the leader in Shakespeare’s play?

SC: Shakespeare's Coriolanus owes a great debt to "The Life of Coriolanus" in Plutarch's Lives. Like the protagonist in the play, he had anti-populist views. Here, Plutarch describes Coriolanus's reaction to a dispute over grain distribution in the Senate. (Coriolanus is referred to by the name given to him at birth, Caius Marcius.) "But Marcius rose in his place and vehemently attacked those who favored the multitude, calling them demagogues and betrayers of the aristocracy, and declaring that they were nourishing, to their own harm, the evil seeds of boldness and insolence which had been sown among the rabble; these they should have choked when they first sprang up, and not have strengthened the people by such a powerful magistracy as the tribunate."

Shakespeare makes his Coriolanus's loathing clear from his entrance, when he greets the citizens with: "What's the matter, you dissentious rogues, / That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, / Make yourselves scabs?" He follows that up with a whole string of insults, driving home his contempt for them.

This anti-populist position would be the key character trait to carry over to the book. Young Coriolanus's sense of superiority to the district citizens of Panem is absolute. He believes them to be almost subhuman, barbaric, and he goes to great lengths to separate Lucy Gray from them when he begins to fall for her. Exposure to the districts only reinforces his position. And while he recognizes their advantages, he doesn't have a particularly high opinion of his neighbors in the Capitol either. Ultimately, he embraces the Hobbesian worldview that humanity needs an absolute authority to rule at the expense of personal freedom.

DL: And, for better or worse, each Coriolanus has the counsel of a Volumnia. . . .

SC: In the play, Coriolanus is influenced by his mother, Volumnia. In Ballad, Coriolanus's philosophical mother is Volumnia Gaul, not the gentle mother who died when he was five. She educates him and is clearly a fan of Hobbes's state of nature philosophy. Both Coriolanuses come from the upper class, lose their fathers at a young age, serve in the military, and live in the Rome of their worlds. But they're not meant to be identical; in fact, in some ways they're polar opposites. For instance, Coriolanus of the play thrives in war, but Ballad Coriolanus struggles to find its appeal. In this, he's much more like Hobbes, who developed his ideas having lived through the English Civil War.

DL: The one epigraph that surprised me, because we hadn't discussed her influence or her thinking, was the one from Mary Shelley. Although in her most famous novel, she was also investigating the boundaries and inclinations of human nature. How does her influence or her treatment of the themes apply to Ballad?

SC: Mary Shelley embodies the ideas of Romanticism but incorporates Locke's and Rousseau's earlier ones as well, which makes her most representative of Lucy Gray and the Covey. Look at the quote from Frankenstein: "I thought of the promise of virtues which he had displayed on the opening of his existence, and the subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had manifested towards him." When I read it, I'm reminded of Locke's tabula rasa, or blank slate, theory, in which all we know comes from experience, as well as of Rousseau's state-of-nature human beings, who were capable of pity and compassion. She seems to be saying that naturally good creatures exposed to an abusive world result in monsters. You can apply that to Frankenstein's monster, Coriolanus, or anyone you choose.

[tyrantisterror]

Who's THE Devil?

You know, from, like, The Bible?

One of the things the various takes on Hell more or less agree on is that there is one demon among the legions of Hell who more or less reigns supreme - The Devil with a capital The. What they rarely agree on, however, is which devil that is. So, for funsies, let's look at all the candidates for The Devil, shall we?

Belial

The concept of demons arguably predates Abrahamic religions, at least if we take it at its most nebulous definition of "supernatural people from an Other world who are somewhat antagonistic toward humanity." But the more specific and probably more familiar version of them began with The Book of Enoch, one of many texts that were deemed non-canonical by Christians yet still holds a great deal of influence on Christianity as a whole. It's an extended account of the Noah story, positing that a group of angels rebelled against heaven because they wanted to sleep with mortal women, and created a race of giant half-human half-angel offspring called the Nephilim (Goliath, of David and Goliath fame, was one of the nephilim). God wasn't happy with this, and sent the rebel angels to a fiery pit before killing most of the nephilim with the big ol' flood (though Goliath's lineage survived somehow I guess).

It's not quite how most people picture the War in Heaven and rebellion of the angels, but it's nonetheless where that story started, and that makes it important. This is the first take on what would become the classic origin story for demons and Hell itself. And who is the leader of the rebel angels in this story? Why our good friend Belial, of course. Belial would remain a prominent demon from hereafter, but despite having the earliest claim for the crown of The Devil, Belial has not remained the frontrunner in the race, and is generally demoted to just being a high ranking demon, rather than the Highest ranking one.

2. Beelzebub

I've talked about Beelzebub before and I don't want to spend too much time rehashing that post, so brief recap: Beelzebub began as a mean nickname for a god from a rival religion to Judaism who was named Baal Zebul, which means Lord of the Heavenly Place. Baal Zebub, by contrast, means "Lord of the Flies." Eventually Baalzebub becomes Beelzebub and, divorced from the original context of its creation, becomes a character in his own right, being a prominent demon. And because Beelzebub appeared in a lot of texts, many of them very old as demonology go, he became a major competitor for the title of The Devil, and remains so to this day. I think it's partly because the name "Beelzebub" is really fun to say, but the sheer history and volume of demonology texts portraying him as a big, powerful devil also help. In the rare stories where Beelzebub appears but does not get to be The Devil, he's still portrayed as fairly high ranking, with both Milton's Paradise Lost and Marlowe's Faust making him The Devil's right hand demon, second in command of Hell. So even when he loses the crown, Beelzebub takes home a good silver medal

3. Asmodeus

Asmodeus is another of our "predates Christianity" demons, right up there with Beelzebub and Belial, and as far as I can tell from what I've read he was originally intended to be The Devil rather than just a devil. It's kind of right there in the name - "deus" means god, so Asmodeus having that name marks him as a demon who thinks himself equal to God.

(well, ok, there's some debate about the full origin of his name, with some arguing the "deus" part was originally a play on "deva," which in turn is loosely translated as... demon. The fact that Asmodeus's name is pronounced/spelled differently to a preposterous degree is part of why the water is so muddy - Asmoday, Asmodai, Asmodee, Osmodeus, it goes on and on)

One of his better claims to the crown comes from the story of Solomon - you know, the wise king who told people to cut babies in half. Solomon's less canonical feats include enslaving a shitload of demons to build a temple for him by way of the rite of exorcism, using a magic ring and the power of Christ to compel the damned to do manual labor for him. Asmodeus is specifically stated to be the strongest demon he summons in part because he is the King of all Demons, i.e. The Devil - and the other demons weep at the sight of their king being reduced to a slave by mortal hands.

Why is this a strong claim? Because the story of Solomon in turn inspired The Lesser Key of Solomon, a text about using the rite of exorcism to summon and use demons to do your bidding. The Lesser Key of Solomon includes the Ars Goetia, which is basically a big ol' bestiary of demons, and where many of your favorite pop culture demons - like, say, Stolas the owl guy - come from. Being the King of all demons in the story that inspired one of the more thorough and exhaustive lists of demons and their hierarchies should count for a lot.

There's one other great claim to fame Asmodeus has in his favor. While not directly named in Dante's The Divine Comedy, the description Dante gives of Satan's physical appearance matches with the most popular descriptions of Asmodeus - in particular, his three heads, one of which is yellow, one red, and one black. Granted, it'd be more of a smoking gun if one of those heads was a bull and the other a goat, but they're all very ogre-like, so I still think it stands. Dante's Devil is, more likely than not, Asmodeus, and that's a BIG point in Asmodeus's favor.

4. Hades/Pluto

Ok, so, a great deal of the Old Testament was originally written in Greek, and the New Testament was written in Latin, both of which happened when belief in the Olympian Gods was pretty strong. As such, the word "Hades" appears in the Bible a lot when talking about the place where dead people go, though it probably wasn't meant to literally be the same underworld as that in Greco-Roman mythology. Probably.

But because Christianity was spread primarily by the Roman empire once they converted to Christianity, and because Europe ended up getting a centuries-long case of stockholm syndrome for the Roman Empire that involved many people in power declaring that Greco-Roman mythology was super important literature and Latin was the language of God Himself, there is a good chunk of Biblical apocrypha that treats the use of Hades as, well, a literal crossover of sorts. Which is to say that Hades the god is sometimes treated as, like, a figure in Christianity, generally a demon specifically. And because he's, you know, Hades, from, like, The Odyssey, people feel he needs to be prominent. I mean, Hades RULED the underworld in Greek mythology, so if we're stealing him for Christian folklore, he should at least be in upper management, right?

The strongest case for Hades being The Devil comes from The Book of Revelation, one of the few books in the Bible that actually contributes to demonology (despite what people tell you, demons really don't show up in the Bible that much - most of what we think of as iconic demon lore come from non-canonical works). You know the four horsemen of the apocalypse? War, Famine, Plague, and Death, right? HA, WRONG! It's Conquest, War, Famine, and Pestilence & Death, you fake horseman fan. Well, anyway the line that introduces Death/Pestilence & Death ends with "And Hell followed with him." Except, no, not really, because the specific word used is... Hades. "And Hades followed with him." Which, depending on how you want to interpret the line, could very well mean a literal, King of the Underworld Hades.

Of course, the problem with using Revelation as proof is that Revelation itself is pretty unclear on who's leading the forces of evil. Is it the Seven-Headed dragon who's cast out of Heaven at the beginning of the end of the world? Is it the seven headed leopard monster that the dragon gives his crown to? Is it the monster who crawls out of the ground to speak for the seven-headed leopard with the voice of a dragon? Is it Hades? Is it God, the one who's allowing all this violent shit to happen and frequently sending his angels to make it way fucking worse? Who can say.

So, while it's not super common, there are more than a few works where The Devil is none other than Hades himself. Disney... might not have been completely off the mark, I guess?

While I think Hades's claim is pretty weak, I should note that one of the works that puts a LOT of Greek mythology into Hell is none other than Dante's The Divine Comedy. 70% of the demons in Dante's Hell are just Greek monsters, with the remaining few being Asmodeus and some OC demons he made up with portmanteu names a la Pokemon. Notably, Hades is one of those demonized Greek figures - presented as the Judge who decides where in Hell sinners end up based on their crimes. He's not The Devil, though, so while Dante kind of helps Hades's case, he also kind of ends up making a counter argument to it.

5. Abaddon/Apollyon

Ok, so, the word "abaddon" is used in some texts to refer to Hell, and sometimes it's personified as well. It literally means "ruin." Well, in time, Abaddon is personified and become a demon, which should feel like a familiar story to you by this point. And because Abaddon can also literally be Hell itself, it's only natural that some stories posit Abaddon the demon as the rule of Hell, much as Hades is the ruler of Hades in Greek mythology. This is Abaddon's big claim, and it's not bad, but it's not super strong. Nonetheless, it was enough for at least one prominent Christian text, Pilgrim's Progress, to make Abaddon (under one of his synonym names, Apollyon) to be The Devil, so we can give him that too.

6. Sheol

The sections of the Bible that are written in Hebrew use the word "Sheol" to refer to the underworld/afterlife rather than Hades. Now, Judaism doesn't have the same Hell as Christianity, or the same concept of Heaven either for that matter, and Sheol is less a place of torment for the damned and more of a waiting room for the dead to hang out in until the Messiah comes.

Nonetheless, Sheol did get personified like Abaddon and Hades, and that personification (which, in some versions, is a batty old lady, which is fun) later became a demon in its own right, and thus, for the same reasons as Abaddon and Hades, has a claim to being The Devil by dint of also being, you know, Hell itself. Not the strongest, most popular claim, no, but a claim nonetheless.

7. Satan

Feels rather obvious, doesn't it? Ok, so, in The Bible, one of the characters who was retconned into being The Devil is the angel in the Book of Job who takes on the title of Satan. In the original context of the story, "Satan" is not a name, but, again, a title - a job title, really, roughly akin to "prosecuting attorney." The Satan in the Book of Job isn't a rebel angel, but an angel whose job is to argue for the opposing view point to make sure everyone is doing the right thing. Less "The Devil" and more "the devil's advocate."

But! Christians fucking LOVE the devil, and they want more devil in their Bible, so many translations treat (the) Satan not as the hard-working servant of God he was originally written as, but as, you know, The Devil, arch-enemy of God and justice. And so Satan becomes synonymous with The Devil, and over time more and more appearances of The Devil give him the name Satan.

I can see an argument for this being the strongest claim, because the sheer amount of works where "Satan" is treated as The name of The Devil is enormous. But I think it's important to note that many of those works actually treat it as a name for the devil, which is to say, not the only name. I guess a lot of modern works think the name is so commonly used that it lacks its punch, and so they have The Devil pull the "I have many names" schtick to sound more imposing.

8. Lucifer

So there's a part of the Bible that talks about a star falling out of Heaven as a sort of metaphor for how people can fall from grace. Well, good ol' King James translated this as not just a falling star, but specifically The Devil himself, giving him the name Lucifer, which means "light-bringer." The King James translation of the Bible is bad in that it's immensely inaccurate, but good in that it's a beautiful piece of poetry in its own right, and since it had the authority of a goddamn king behind it, it quickly became a prominent Christian text and is still the preferred translation of many Christian sects to this day.

So, you know, that's pretty fucking big as claims go. There is one incredibly prominent (if woefully inaccurate) translation of the Bible where Lucifer is The Devil. Kind of hard to fight that one.

But it doesn't end there! I would argue that the most influential origin story for Christian devils, the one that has become ingrained in the cultural consciousness as THE story of the War in Heaven, is Milton's poem Paradise Lost. That's where most of the tropes we associate with The Devil and demons and Hell really come together to form the great devil mythology - well, it and Dante's The Divine Comedy, anyway. You know which name Milton chose for The Devil?

Lucifer.

Well, ok, he also calls Lucifer "Satan" with about equal frequency, but still - Lucifer is The Devil of Paradise Lost. And because of the sheer weight that both Paradise Lost and the King James Bible have in culture, Lucifer has ended up being used as The Devil in countless works since! Not bad for a translation error, right?

While the sheer number and notability of literature that uses Lucifer as The Devil is kind of argument enough for him having the best claim, I'd like to add one more argument in his favor: dramatic irony. I think what draws people to Lucifer is the meaning of his name - "the light-bringer" - and how it contrasts with his role as the king of a pit of darkness and misery. "Light-bringer" is a heroic name, the name of a character who brings hope and joy, which makes it so delicious when it turns out our "light-bringer" is an utter bastard. It's just irresistible, isn't it?

9. Mephistopheles

A good number of demon stories - arguably the majority of them - focus on mortals who make deals with demons and end up damned to Hell for doing it. We call these stories "faustian pacts," and we do that because the most famous story of this kind is the story of Faust, a scientist/alchemist who makes a deal with a devil named Mephistopheles to learn the secrets of the universe and ends up doing a lot of sinning in the process. Since Faust is such a famous and influential story, it only follows that its main devil is frequently viewed as The Devil.

...except

In most versions of Faust, Mephistopheles is not presented as The Devil within the narrative. He's a henchman, a flunkie, with one of the bigger names like Lucifer or Beelzebub pulling the strings. So while there are a number of stories (including a few versions of Faust itself) where Mephistopheles gets to be The Devil, it's far more common for him to be a devil - perhaps a prominent devil, maybe even one of the strongest and a close member of The Devil's inner circle, but rarely the one in charge.

10. Baphomet

Baphomet is a god whose name and appearance was repurposed as a demon by The Church of Satan, and so while I have to admit that is a claim to the crown, I don't think it's a great one. First, nothing about the Church of Satan's belief system is meant to be taken genuinely, with them admitting that they view Satan/Baphomet as a symbol rather than a literal supernatural being they believe in. Second, by rights Baphomet should be allowed to be Baphomet instead of being literally demonized. I honestly think it's better for Baphomet to lose this race than to win it.

11. Iblis

Demons in Islam work differently from demons in Christianity. Rather than being fallen angels, demons are wicked Djinn - a race of people made from fire and smoke rather than ash and dirt like humans. Djinn aren't quite as powerful as angels in Islam, but do have significant supernatural powers that humans lack. Like humans, Djinn have free will and can choose whether to be good or evil - and those that choose to be evil reside in Islam's version of Hell, where they are ruled by Iblis, the first Djinn to choose the wicked path and the ruler of Islam's Hell.

Unlike Christianity, there isn't really any debate on this. Iblis is, for all intents and purposes, the CANONICAL ruler of Hell, The Devil of Islam, and thus has the strongest and really ONLY claim to be The Devil of that religion.

...but, at the same time, Iblis can't really be the Christian devil, because Christianity doesn't have Djinn, and all the iconic parts of Christian demonology kind of hinge on the idea of demons as rebel angels, which demonic djinn very much aren't. So while Iblis's claim in Islam is irefutable, he doesn't have one in Christianity. Ain't that wacky?

I think it should be noted that there are more-or-less canonical texts where Iblis isn't treated as purely evil, either, including one where he actively asks for help in repenting and is turned down because, well, evil has to exist, and someone has to rule over it, and like it or not, that's Iblis's job now. It ends with Iblis wailing that he has become the greatest martyr of Islam. Which is so fucking hardcore, I love it. In Christianity, the texts where we humanized demons are non-canonical at best and deemed heresy at worst, but Islam allowed it to be more-or-less canon. They saw the coolest takes on the Devil and said "yeah we can allow that" - so much more rad than what Christianity did with them.

~

~

~

So, who do YOU think is The Devil? You know, from, like, The Bible?

[the-far-bright-center]

" The first character McCaig tackled was the young Queen of Naboo, Padmé Amidala. “She was the Force of nature trying to hold back a tide of evil, so I wanted her to be the first flag in the ground, a clear statement against which the other designs are measured.” To do that, he needed to understand the philosophy behind a character’s appearance and the deeper motivations that inform it. “If it’s called Star Wars,” McCaig says, “then what are the characters fighting for? What is the good that they are trying to protect, and why do we want them to succeed?

“George often said that it was a battle between organic lifeforms and machines,” he explains. “It’s not that the machines are bad, but they tend to steamroll over the soft, squishy organic things. Also, the squishy things misbehave a lot, creating conflicts. At the heart of it all is a Queen trying to hold everything together without going to war, and the Jedi doing their best to help her.”

Lucas mentioned being inspired by Princess Ozma from L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz. “At the same time,” McCaig says, “he challenged us with the question, ‘What makes Star Wars Star Wars?’ When he made his first trilogy, he said, there weren't many other films like it. Now there's Star Trek and Blade Runner and Alien and a host of others. What, indeed, is a Star Wars movie? And how do we shift the Star Wars you know into a whole new time period?

With the help of Jo Donaldson and her team in the Lucasfilm Research Library, as well as “freelance-researcher-extraordinaire” David Craig, McCaig plundered the Art Nouveau style of the early 20th century, developing an approach for the Queen and Naboo culture in general, which he dubbed “Space Nouveau.” He was also able to tap into the historic Paramount Studios research library, which George Lucas had acquired a decade earlier. McCaig also went outside at Skywalker Ranch, drawing plants, trees, whole forests, absorbing anything and everything organic.

“George loves illustrators,” says McCaig, “Fine artists create to satisfy themselves, but illustrators create to tell stories, and those stories reflect the time they live in, encapsulating a piece of history.”

To help create a historical sensibility that felt distinctly Star Wars, McCaig tried to ensure that each design pulled inspiration from elements in three different locations around the world, or three different time periods, or a combination of both. “If it’s reappearing in these different places and different times, chances are it's an iconic archetype – something that's part of our collective unconscious.” Queen Amidala's white face paint, for example, could be found in Japanese Geishas, the traditional appearance of married women in Mongolia, as well as England’s Queen Elizabeth I. "

— from Phantom at 25: Iain McCaig talks Darth Maul, Queen Amidala, and working with George Lucas

[erwinsvow]

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞

summary: you and aaron are having a hard time deciding on a baby name.

word count: 1.5k

author's note: eeeeeeee x3. cannot stop writing for aaron, especially domestic, happy aaron. not bau!reader but i stole elements from that story too, linked here. i really loved this one!

now spinning

You had thought time would fly by during pregnancy, or at least that’s what everyone else made it seem like. You felt like all you’d heard so far was warnings to enjoy this time with ‘just the two of you’ and spend your days preparing as much as you could. 

You’d taken it very literally—your evenings after work were spent reading baby books and prepping food to store in the freezer.

Your days off from work, and even the rare, treasured weekend Aaron has off, is spent looking at paint samples (all yellows and greens, even though you’ve known it’s a girl since the two of you had Jack take a big bite out of a cupcake with raspberry frosting inside) and browsing websites for a car seat and a stroller. Aaron digs through the garage for Jack’s old things, and comes out with a sturdy wooden crib and a beautiful bassinet. 

Aaron doesn’t worry as much as you, of course, and he has the best dad instinct you’ve ever seen. It comes so naturally to him, you almost worry about yourself. Will it be this easy for you? 

You have experience parenting now, thanks to Jack and all the time you spent with him and Aaron even before you got married, but he barely counts. He’s an angel child—one who asks for extra servings of vegetables, does his homework without being asked, and never complains when you have to remind him to tidy up his room. 

Besides a few puzzle pieces and various, outgrown sports gear scattered throughout the house—your house, your family home, you think fondly— he always puts away his belongings in the proper place.

He even reminds you and Aaron of his upcoming school projects and which commitments he penciled in for—a friend’s birthday party next weekend (When should we go get the gift?) and a class field trip next month (They need two more chaperones. Should I ask Uncle David?)

You’re convinced you’ll never have it this easy with another child. You start over preparing the week you find out you’re pregnant, after Aaron smothers you in kisses and hugs.

He takes you out to dinner with the team—another rare, treasured event, but not because he doesn’t want to, just because they’re always on a case—and you break the news to them when you turn down a glass of wine from Emily, who looks at you quizzically. No more wine for nine months, you had said. Ten, JJ corrected.

You’re seven months now, halfway to eight. Pregnancy brain is very real and has affected you like crazy. You keep forgetting to go grocery shopping and then you keep misplacing the paper grocery list Aaron keeps on the fridge with a little magnet. You and Jack have been eating a lot of take-out, and he’s not complaining but he still inquires about his vegetable intake over slices of pizza. 

“You know, the baby is the size of a coconut right now,” you tell Aaron on the phone, rubbing your stomach. Your back has been killing you lately, another thing you had read about happening nearing month eight in your baby books of horror.

Aaron offers a massage when he’s around but it always hurts the most when he’s gone. Besides, his massages are what got you into this predicament in the first place.

Jack is asleep on the sofa right next to you. He had asked to watch Star Wars before bed—it’s a Friday night and he has no soccer practice tomorrow, and you are a perpetual good cop who can’t say no—so you had cozied up with him and a bowl of popcorn on the couch while The Empire Strikes Back played quietly in the background. You move your hand back to stroke his hair while he sleeps.

“Really, sweetheat? A coconut?” Aaron says. The team is up in Connecticut, and though he’s gone and you wish he was here with you, you’re thankful he’s in the same time zone.

You’re not sure about the case and can’t stomach the gory details anymore, but you think they must have made some strides since he’s staying on the phone with you and not in a rush to leave.

“Uh-huh, that’s what my book said. Never knew a coconut could kick this hard.” Aaron laughs on his side of the call, a sweet sound. You smile. “Maybe she’s kicking now to let us know she wants to play soccer like her big brother.”

“A prodigy in the making. Speaking of, does Jack have practice tomorrow?” Aaron likes to remind you of these things because he knows you keep forgetting.

“No, nothing tomorrow, I triple checked. And this little brainiac is just like you, keeps reminding me so I don’t wake him up at seven-thirty tomorrow.”

You hear Aaron laugh again. It all feels very domestic. Your mouth hurts from smiling.

“Aaron, it’s getting to that time. We need to pick a baby name soon. Any crazy ex-girlfriends or female serial killers we need to avoid?”

“Well there’s certainly a few. Serial killers, that is, not the other thing. What are you thinking so far?”

“Well my book said-” Aaron groans on the other end. “Hey! Don’t knock my book, it’s helpful.”

“Honey, your book had you convinced the baby would be missing fingers and toes if you had a turkey sandwich.”

“Deli meat is bad during pregnancy! So is sushi, thank you very much. I’d rather not risk my baby’s digits just because you wanted subs.”

“Reid said that’s not true and everything’s fine in moderation.”

“I’m sorry, has Reid ever birthed a human before?”

“Point taken. Your book also said your heartburn isn’t a big deal because it just means the baby will have a full head of hair-” “JJ said that too! And she said Henry had lots of hair-”

“And it also said sex during pregnancy is bad. Remember that?” Your face heats up. Damn him, making you blush even when he’s hundreds of miles away. 

“Oh, whatever. Just tell me which names we have to avoid. I think we should do something with a J, though. Make it matching.”

“Very sweet, honey. Jordan? Juliet? June?”

“Hmm,” you ponder carefully. Even if it’s silly, this feels like one of the biggest decisions you’ll ever make. “I like them all but I don’t love them. They’re too… something. Too new maybe.”

“Older names, then? Joy, Josie, Julia?”

“I like those too. Should we really name our child after a Beatles song though?”

“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you?” You can almost hear it in Aaron’s voice—he’s relaxing for the moment. Either they’ve already caught the unsub or you have a bigger impact on him than you thought you did. 

“Well if we’re gonna do that then we should at least use Eleanor or Michelle. Or Lucy! I like Lucy.”

“I’d prefer not to name our daughter after a song written about hallucinogens.”

“Aw, you're no fun. How about Anna?”

“What happened to wanting to match with Jack?” he asks.

“Ah, let the kid have his own identity. If he had it his way we’d name the baby Leia or Yoda.”

“Leah’s not bad. Pretty and simple. Four letters, keeping the trend.”

“That’s not a Beatles song!” You hear Aaron groan.

“You have too many demands, honey.” “No, I’m just picky. You should consider it a compliment, I’m choosy and I chose you, remember?”

“Vividly. Prudence, then?”

“Oh, that’s pretty.” You try to picture it written on holiday cards and homework sheets. Prudence Hotchner. You say it aloud to test the feel of it. “Prudence Hotchner. Prue Hotchner.”

“Sweetheart, I was joking.”

“You should never joke around a pregnant woman. I like it, it’s so pretty. Pretty Prudence.”

“You don’t think it’s a little old?”

“Well, her father is an old man who wants to name her after a Beatles song, so yeah, it’s very fitting. Doesn’t it just roll right off the tongue? Prudence Hotchner? We could call her Prue.”

“Prue is very cute. I like Prudence Joy.”

“Oh, I love Prudence Joy. Prudence Joy Hotchner. I like it so much. I’m tempted to wake up Jack and ask if he likes it.  Will you ask the team if they like it too?”

“I will, honey. Isn’t it time to sleep now?”

“Yes, I’ve just been putting it off. Jack’s asleep next to me, I have no idea how I’ll get him upstairs without waking him.”

“If you wake him he’ll be able to fall asleep again, as long as it’s quick-” “I know, honey, don’t worry about us.”

“Can’t help it.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads, cheek to cheek. You have a feeling he’s smiling too.

“You’ll ask the others, right? About Prudence?”

“Yes, honey, I will. I’ll see them in a little bit, I stepped out to call you while I made another cup of coffee.”

“Oh, Aaron, it's so late for coffee,” you chide, lovingly. Don’t drink a whole cup please. I wish you guys would drink tea instead. Or at least decaf.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I gotta go now. Kiss Jack goodnight for me?” “Of course.”

“And play Prudence her song, then?” You can’t contain the smile on your face.

“Of course. Good night from all three of us, Aaron.”

[thecomicsnexus]

TMNT: 40TH ANNIVERSARY COMICS CELEBRATION

July 2024

By Kevin Eastman, Edgar Alan Poe, Jim Lawson, Tristan Jones, Gary Carlson, Chris Allan, Erik Burnham, Lloyd Goldfine, Ciro Nieli, Andy Suriano, Tom Waltz, Ronda Pattison , Tom Napolitano, Steve Lavigne, Paul Harmon, Frank Fosco, Adam Guzowski, Sarah Myer, Luis Antonio Delgado, Shawn Lee, Khary Randolph, Emilio Lopez, Michael Dialynas, Pablo Tunica, Freddie E. Williams II, David Petersen, Ken Mitchroney, Aaron Hazouri, Dan Duncan, Sophie Campbell, Jodi Nishijima, Stan Sakai, and Emi Fujii.

Come and enjoy stories that will remind you of the 40 years of turtle history.

SCORE: 10 *

* Assuming you are familiar with these iterations.

This is a strange read, and curiously, there are three or four highlights for me, and they are not exactly the ones you would imagine.

Spoilers after the break...

The first story by Kevin Eastman is in the Mirage section of the book but... well... I'll leave at that... I wouldn't call it the Mirage we knew.

There is a story by Lawson and Lavigne with the Rat King that... it's fun. But, you know... I wouldn't even try to fit it in canon... the amount of continuity physics you need to bend to place this story is not worth the time. Just enjoy as a new story by these two iconic Mirage artists.

This other story by Tristan H. Jones and Paul Harmon requires more analysis. I'll revisit it on my gang wars video and try to give it more context... but unfortunately... it's just too vague. All I can say for sure is that it happens in the future of that incomplete saga, but the narrator just takes too many artistic choices to be taken at face value.

Also... I believe this is the first official (frontal) appearance of Agent Bishop (unless I got the character wrong, but Jones already tried to introduce him in this saga). I think he is still holding on to it, and I really hope he gets to tell his story. I wouldn't mind a mini-series... just saying!

The Volume 3 story was... not for me. The dialogue alone felt tired.

The Archie adventure was short, eventful, and funny... and it looks amazing too!

In just four pages a new character was introduced and... a new love story was implied! And it's not just a gratuitous cameo... this is a funny sequence.

The Saturday Morning Adventures (the de facto 87 story) looks amazing as usual, but I didn't find the story that interesting. However, it started a theme that would run across most of the stories in this special after this one: Master Splinter.

The 2003 story is a... loose canon?

Hun is Slash, and Shredder is back... so make of that what you want. All I'm going to say is that this felt a lot like watching the beginning of a 2003 episode, with the narration setting the tone.

The 2012 story was one of the least interesting in the previews, but I have to say... it was probably one of the best. It brought back a villain and it technically serves as an excuse to continue the series?

But to me the best thing about the story is the art. I am surprised Ciro Nieli didn't do more comic book work for the Turtles all these years. In fact, if they somehow decided to continue the 2012 universe in 2D in this style... I'm all in. Well, who am I kidding... I would be in anyway... but this looks amazing.

Andy Suriano did probably the most interesting story in the book. Now, I am not sure if his style doesn't translate well to static panels or what the problem is with the comic format... but it doesn't matter... this small story brought in a lot of things that ended on the editing floor after the show's second season was reduced to a few more episodes. There was a rumor about a female turtle, and not only it is here in all its glory, but there is also a brother?

And come on... it's so Lou Jitsu to die with a cliffhanger.

There are two IDW stories. One is another Splinter story, but the other one is perhaps one of the best in this book.

The Ronda Pattison story takes place just before the Armageddon game, and it shows the five turtles in full sibling dynamic (even Jennika). It was refreshing to see these turtles having fun for a change.

There are no stories by the new team, but... well... that's just starting.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Poltergeist

Steven Spielberg: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, I call this the tale of the poltergeist Spielberg: now unfortunately, i'm kinda committed to tell a different story over at space coven tonight Spielberg: so my good friend tobe hooper is gonna tell this one for me Tobe Hooper: it's actually pronounced toe-bee Spielberg: Spielberg: what

Tobe Hooper: so this is a story about an average suburban family who suddenly finds a ghost in their TV Spielberg: hey can i add something Hooper: steve you said i could tell it Spielberg: oh yeah yeah definitely Spielberg: i just have Spielberg: just a little suggestion

Spielberg: hey tobe Tobe Hooper: actually it's pronounced Toe-bee Spielberg: Spielberg: what Hooper: it's pronounced- Hooper: you know what, never mind, what's on your mind steve

Spielberg: can we put in some jokes Hooper: jokes? yeah sure i guess Spielberg: like, maybe a guy could fall off a bicycle Spielberg: ha ha ha Spielberg: or maybe Spielberg: ha ha ha Spielberg: spill beer on himself Spielberg: hoo hoo ha ha ha!

Hooper: so this family includes coach from coach Hooper: and a sexy mom in short shorts Edward Lee: nice Hooper: and a dog Dean Koontz: nice

Hooper: ok so imagine there's this really creepy sequence where the dog wanders through the sleeping house, the world silent but for the static from the television Spielberg: spooky! Spielberg: ok ok my turn Spielberg: next some kids use RC cars to make a fat guy fall off a bike Spielberg: ha ha ha ha ha! Spielberg: ha ha ha ha ha! Hooper:

Spielberg: c'mon, tobe! laugh! It's funny! Spielberg: look, tobe, we don't want this story to be TOO scary Hooper: but Spielberg: in fact, i think it would be really good if, anytime something scary happened, then something goofy could happen to immediately deflate the tension Spielberg: i think that would be great!

Tobe Hooper: steve i think our story could really delve into the discomfort around the growing omnipresence of the television in our lives Spielberg: what? who are we, david cronenberg? Spielberg: just wait a year, let videodrome deal with that shit Hooper: but Spielberg: look trust me people are gonna love this RC car gag

Hooper: so this family has a ghost in their house Spielberg: hey tobe can i interject just a little thing Hooper: uh Spielberg: this family also has a crap ton of star wars toys Spielberg: like, all the kids toys are star wars related Hooper: Hooper yeah ok whatever

Hooper: so the family hires these psychics to help get the ghosts Hooper: and they bring in this expert psychic Hooper: no introduction or nothing, she's just there King: what's her name? Hooper: no time for that!

Hooper: so now the ghost attacks the sexy mom Hooper: while she's wearing her oversized football jersey as a night shirt Piers Anthony: can we um Anthony: can we see her Anthony: can we see her um Anthony: you know Hooper: oh yeah Anthony: [pumping fist] YES!!!!

Hooper: so the house, in fact, was not clean Spielberg: hey tobe what if the beast looked like a big giant skull Spielberg: just huge Hooper: that's a little on the nose steve Spielberg: maybe like one of those giant Spirit superstore inflatable yard decorations

Hooper: i'm trying to build a scary atmosphere here steve! Hooper: and you're just goofing it up! Spielberg: i'm just trying to help Hooper: well, you're not helping! Hooper: if it was up to you, we'd just have skeletons blasting out of the ground all over the place like goddamn gophers! King: ooh that would rule! Poe: yeah interesting idea Koontz: i want to see that! Hooper: Hooper: you've got to be fucking kidding me

Hooper: you know what Hooper: who cares Hooper: who cares about anything Hooper: skeletons just start popping out of everything Hooper: you guys like that??? King: yeah that's great! Poe: it's good stuff Barker: nice Koontz: i like when the skeletons are there Lovecraft: its pretty scary! Hooper: Hooper: i'm done with you guys Hooper: DONE

[fluentmoviequoter]

A New Kind of Fear

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!reader

Summary: When 20 David completes a raid with narcotics, they stumble upon a stalker. The unknown suspect has been watching you, and now Deacon must find him while dealing with the fear you've grown used to.

Warnings: canon typical action/danger, reader has a stalker but doesn't know, angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

A/N: This premise is kind of similar to the one in Worried for You but hopefully this is okay! I really liked the stalker idea and approaching the story with a focus on Deacon and his emotions!

Requested Here!

Picture from Pinterest

Everyone told you that marrying a SWAT officer would not be easy. Deacon himself told you the same thing. But he has watched you take every bump, bruise, and bullet in stride. Of course, you worry about him, but you support him, which makes you perfect for him. He lives a dangerous life at work, so when he comes home to you, he gets a chance to relax, breathe, and be with someone who loves him no matter how many scars he has or gives. When things get tough in the field, Deacon imagines you safe at home, ready to pull him into your arms and hold him together.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Narcotics will be ready to come in after we clear the house,” Hondo explains. “The house has two entrances, one front and one back, so we’ll have two breach teams. Front entry has a security gate, so we’ll pull it off with Black Betty then make entry at the same time. Get the house empty so narc can do their thing. Any questions?”

“When do we leave?” Luca jokes.

The breach goes well, and there’s only one suspect in the house. Street disarms the suspect and gets him outside as the entry teams finish clearing the house.

“Left side clear,” Tan calls.

“Kitchen clear,” Luca adds.

Hondo prepares to open the last door, examining the room quickly before lowering his gun. “Deacon,” he says, far too intense for anyone’s liking.

Deacon can tell by his stiff posture and the tone of his voice that something is wrong. He’s expecting drug mules or a false wall, but those would have been far better.

With wide eyes, Deacon steps into the room with Hondo close behind him.

“Narcotics is coming in,” Luca says as he approaches the door. “Whoa.”

The room is covered in pictures. All different places, different times, different days, different angles, some close, some far, but each features the same subject. You, Deacon Kay’s wife. Thousands of pictures of you are taped to the walls of the small bedroom. What bothers Deacon the most is that he isn’t in a single picture, which means whoever held the camera knew to avoid him.

“Was he in here?” Deacon asks Street.

 “No, our guy was in the living room,” Street answers nervously.

“I’m going to kill him,” Deacon seethes.

“Deacon,” Hondo begins.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Hondo,” he snaps. “That is my wife all over this lunatic’s wall. He’s been within feet of her, and I didn’t know!”

Deacon’s shoulders heave as he breathes, looking around the room with his hand on his gun.

“Deacon, we’ll find this guy. But narcotics needs to get in here,” Hondo says gently.

Deacon nods, pushing between Luca and Tan to return to Black Betty. His anger dissipates with each step. Now, he’s scared. Deacon Kay is a man who has grown unfamiliar with the sensation of fear. He desperately wants to go home, to stay glued to your side while someone else hunts this guy down and puts him in a hole where he’ll never see the light of day again. But the anger flares, and he wants to be the one to lead him to the darkness. As his emotions wage war within him, Deacon has to decide to tell you or to let you keep living until it’s over.

“He’s not okay,” Street points out.

“Imagine if it was your wife,” Luca replies. “He’s mad at himself is my guess.”

“Why?” Tan asks.

“Because he didn’t know,” Hondo answers as he walks by. “But we have to find this guy before Deacon decides to go after him alone."

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon makes the hard decision not to tell you. He tries to convince himself it’s so that you don’t get scared, but he is dealing with enough fear for both of you. Sitting in the locker room for privacy, Deacon dials your number and waits to hear your voice. He has to force the idea of someone watching you out of his mind.

“Hey,” you answer. “I was starting to think you’d be at work all night.”

“Uh, yeah, about that. I actually do have to stay and probably won’t be home until tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

You hum before asking, “Is everything okay?”

He wants to tell you, but he’s terrified that if you know and it makes you act different, the stalker may find out that Deacon knows and go for you.

“Everything’s fine, just working with narcotics on a difficult case.” It’s not entirely a lie, at least.

“Alright, stay safe. I love you.”

Deacon closes his eyes and pictures your face, smile, hugs, and everything he can remember about you. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m holding you to that, Kay.”

The line beeps, and Deacon sees the room of pictures again. His anger swells, and he has to do something, or the emotions will eat him alive. He changes into gym clothes and walks to one of the punching bags. His knuckles are pink and beginning to crack after a few minutes of intense anger management. Something in him wants to cry, but he forces it down, preferring to stick with the emotion that makes revenge seem so appealing.

“Deac,” Hondo calls. “We need to talk.”

Deacon begins punching again. “Then talk,” he says between an uppercut and a cross.

“You need to go home.”

“Not happening. Not tonight.”

“She can help.”

Deacon freezes, his hands in the guarding position as he turns to face Hondo. His hands drop to his sides as he cocks his head to the right.

“What?”

“She can help,” Hondo repeats slowly.

“How? You think she knows she’s being stalked and didn’t tell me?”

 “Not like that, Deac. You need help in something that she’s an expert in.”

“Which is?” Deacon presses, his patience already worn thin.

“Dealing with fear and worry. Being scared and desperate for answers that aren’t available to you right now. She’s a cop’s wife, Deac, she understands what you’re going through more than anyone else ever could.”

“It’s not the same, Hondo.”

“She sits at home, worried that you’re never coming home, so she calls the station. And you know what they tell her? Nothing; they say they don’t have information right now. Which is exactly the situation you’re in.”

“Someone has been watching my wife and I didn’t know, Hondo. I want to kill him, but I also want to see him rot in jail. He’s been within feet of my wife, and we don’t even know what he looks like. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work.”

“I get it, you’re scared, you’re-“

“Pissed?”

Hondo raises a hand to stop Deacon. “The emotions don’t help us if you take them out here, Deac. So, if you want to do something, find something for us to do. Don’t sit here in your own anger until something worse happens.”

Deacon looks down at his bruising knuckles and nods. “You’re right. I’ll see what I can find.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“The entire house is barricaded. Doors, windows, vents. This was meant to be in impenetrable fortress,” Deacon says. “But it’s not. There’s a weak spot. Right here, this red spot on the blueprint is a corner that hasn’t been reinforced. As far as we know, at least.”

“So, a single pull?” someone asks.

“Technically yes. But we’re going to try to distract him and do a triple pull. If we get lucky and one of the other pulls gets us in, we’ll make entry. But the plan is to send alpha team into this pull and get our guy.”

“Weapons?”

“None confirmed, no registered guns, but we don’t know, so operate under the assumption of yes.”

As the room clears and officers prepare to complete the breach operation and bring in a suspect, Hondo stops Deacon.

“Are you up for this?”

Deacon nods as he answers, “I won’t lie, I’m still angry and I’m a little scared about what we’ll find, but I need to be there Hondo.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. If you want to rough him up a little, I won’t see anything.”

“If I could get away with it,” Deacon says, trailing off.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon is scared, angry, anxious, and confused, but also merciful and a good SWAT officer. When the window is pulled from the wall, bringing several stud posts down, Deacon leads the team into the house, clearing each room until they reach the living room. The man kneels in the middle of the room, his hands up in surrender.

“LAPD SWAT,” Deacon announces.

“I surrender.”

An officer reads him his rights as he’s handcuffed, staring directly ahead.

“Do you know who this woman is?” Hondo asks, showing him a picture.

The man glances at Deacon, which is all the answer he needs. Deacon hoists him to his feet, pushing him into the hallway and toward the front door. He pulls to the side slightly, steering the man into a corner.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that, let’s watch those corners on the way through,” he says.

Deacon pushes the man into the back of a cruiser, glad he’s off the street but disappointed in the lack of immediate answers.

“Leverage,” the man whispers. “He wanted leverage. We were never gonna hurt her or nothing.”

“Leverage for what?” Deacon asks, bending into the open door. “And who is we, who are you working with?”

“Working for. He’ll kill me if I tell.”

“We can protect you if you tell us what you know and tell a jury what you know.”

The man whispers a name, and Deacon nods once before closing the door.

“We got one more,” he tells Hondo.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s political?” the DA clarifies.

“We all know that gentrification mumbo jumbo was a load of absolutely nothin’ meant to butter us up before the next election.”

“And what did the images have to do with this?”

“Oh, yeah, Mrs. Kay. Pretty lady. We needed her husband on our side or it would never work.”

“How long have you been stalking her?”

“’Bout nine months. Needed lots of leverage before a big voting year like this.”

“Why so many photos?”

“Like I said, lots of leverage.”

“Were you working with anyone else?”

“We’re a two-man show.”

“Last question for now. Did you ever intend to harm the woman in the photographs?”

“Not if everything went according to plan.”

Hondo lays a hand on Deacon’s shoulder as they watch through the two-way glass.

“I need to go home,” Deacon mutters.

“Good idea, man. Take a few days if you need to. But we got him so you can both rest easy tonight.”

“Should I tell her?”

“That, brother, is up to you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You hear Deacon’s car and run to the front door, opening it with a big smile. Deacon pulls you against him, hugging you tightly as he closes the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer as he sits with you in his arms.

“For what?”

“Worrying you all the time. Not realizing just how many emotions are involved with seeing someone you love in danger and not having answers,” Deacon lists off.

You pull back quickly, your wide eyes searching Deacon’s deep brown ones. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

Deacon nods, his hands wandering around your waist and back. “Someone- uh, we raided a house with narcotics yesterday and found a room full of pictures.”

“A stalker?”

“Yeah, but the pictures were of you,” Deacon adds quietly.

“Oh,” you reply, pressing your hands gently against Deacon’s shoulders. “And what happened?”

“I got so mad and scared and anxious that I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to kill the guy but I also wanted to come home and never leave your side. It was confusing and there were no answers. Hondo talked to me last night and pointed out that’s exactly what you deal with all the time.”

You nod, encouraging Deacon to continue.

“We found the guy who took the pictures and the guy he was working for. It was a political scheme to get me to back their position.”

“And they were going to hurt me if you didn’t,” you deduce.

Deacon nods, pulling you closer again.

“Deac, I know how scary it can be to not know, and how easy it is to get angry when someone hurts or threatens to hurt the people closest to you. I’m not mad at you for not coming home, but I need you to talk to me about this stuff. I love you, Deac, and I’m here for you, stalker or not.”

“Too soon,” Deacon says, chuckling despite himself.

You push your fingers through his hair and lean your forehead against his. “Did you rough him up?”

“Pushed him into a corner.”

You smile knowingly and kiss him quickly. “Thank you, Deacon.”

“I love you,” he says, gripping your waist as he tips you back to kiss you.

“I love you,” you reply, meeting him halfway.

[havikshoochiemama]

Unspoken Moments

Caring for Frank Woods isn’t easy, but his nephew, David, makes it better. One lunch and a few stolen moments later, everything changes. [1.1k]

Pairing:David Mason x Reader

Genre:Fluff

Warning: None really… kissing and that’s about it and Frank being Frank

A/N: This is my first fic i ever published i’m so nervous raah, i finally finishing that one david fic i started A YEAR AGO omg i’m such a procrastinator 😻 but i hope you guys enjoy this is for me and the other 6 david fans!! i just finished it up quickly and im def writing a part 2!!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You enjoyed working at “The Vault” as a caregiver. The pay wasn’t great, and you had to deal with one of the most… difficult patients, Frank Woods. But the job did have its perks.

One of them being your patient’s adopted nephew. The brunette would often stop by once or twice a week, and it was always the highlight of your day—a much-needed break from Frank and his endless war stories. If he told you about Cuba and Castro one more time, you swore you’d snap.

But today was one of those lucky days when David came by.

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” you chuckled, quickly fixing your hair, a desperate attempt to look somewhat decent.

“No worries, I was just checking up on him. How’s he doing?” David whispered the last part, knowing if Frank heard, he’d yell both your ears off.

“He’s actually taking a nap right now. I was just cleaning up the room,” you smiled softly, picking up a few cups to seem busy.

“Oh really?” His voice sounded a bit disappointed. “I was just going to ask if he wanted to join me for dinner.”

That’s when you noticed the small bag in his hand. A little scheme formed in your mind—just to get a few more minutes with him.

“I mean, you’re more than welcome to join me. I was just about to go eat,” you murmured. “But if you’re busy, I totally get it,” you added quickly, just to ease the blow in case he turned you down.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he smirked, and it melted you. His smile always did that, and if it wasn’t his smile, it was his warm brown eyes that followed you around. The way he held eye contact when he spoke… saying you were down bad for him was an understatement.

“Really?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. You instantly regretted it, mumbling over your words for what felt like forever. “If you don’t mind eating here, we can. I’m sadly still on the clock.”

His laugh was so infectious, it had you beaming with a smile.

You guided him to the small table in the middle of the room, which was across from all of David’s childhood paintings that Frank had you hang up. He loved talking about David; you could tell he was really proud of the man David had become.

You pulled out the small container of food from the fridge—just some salmon over rice with vegetables. Before taking a bite, you looked over at him. “David… what are you eating?” you tried your best to hold in a laugh.

“Oh this?” he said, looking down at the sad plate of pasta and peas. “I made it,” he smiled. The man might be blessed with everything else, but cooking was definitely not his strong suit.

“David, I can’t in good faith let you eat that,” you smiled as you took the horrible plate from him, handing him yours. Before he could protest, you took a spoonful and fed it to him. Bold, even you were surprised.

“Mmm,” was all that came out of his mouth. “This is so good. Did you make this?”

You nodded, seeing he clearly enjoyed your cooking. After he finished all the food, you both sat there talking. You couldn’t help but notice how he looked at you like you were talking about the most important thing in the world when really, you were just talking about mundane things.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?” you asked, using humor as a cushion, as you always did.

“No, it’s just…” he paused before continuing. “You just look lovely.”

In shock from what you heard, you quickly joked, “Stop, I look a mess right now.”

He quickly corrected himself, “N-no, I mean, every day you always look beautiful.”

Still in shock, you didn’t know how to reply. Before you could, Frank shouted from across the room, “Would you two lovebirds wrap it up? It’s making me sick.” You wondered when he’d gotten up from his nap. Your face started warming up from being called out.

“Hey, old man,” David spoke up, and you silently thanked him for it.

“When did you come here, David?” Frank asked.

“Oh, I just came to bring some stuff,” David said, looking at his wrist. “But I was just about to head out.”

With that, you quickly got up. “Let me help you.” You mentally face-palmed yourself for that reply. It was dumb, but you just wanted to get out of this conversation, knowing Frank would be on your case about it later.

As the two of you made your way to the door, it was awkward for a bit. You stood there, looking at each other, not knowing what to do. Then David spoke, “It was really nice. I loved your cooking.”

His eyes were darting around the room. “Yeah, you should let me cook for you more,” you teased, playfully poking his arm. You could feel the tension in the air—it was suffocating.

Before you could think twice, you reached out, grabbed the side of his face, and pulled him into a kiss. It felt good. Before you realized what you had done, you pulled away quickly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You didn’t even get a chance to finish talking before his lips crashed into yours. That was all the confirmation you needed. Your hands slid to the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His arms freely roamed to your waist, lightly holding you. The kiss was warm. It started off tender but quickly deepened, mixed with longing and everything neither of you had ever to act on until now.

That moment, which felt like an eternity, was interrupted by the ring of David’s phone.

“…fuck,” he murmured under his breath, pulling away from the kiss. “Where the fuck are you, Mason?”

A voice from his phone spoke, not even on speaker, but you could still hear the man on the other side.

“I’m on the way, Haper,” David paused, looking at you before speaking again. “Heading there now.”

You let out a small pout at the news.

“We have to do this another time,” he said.

You chuckled. “Gladly.”

Before leaving, he gave you another quick kiss.

Smiling from cheek to cheek, you walked back into the room. Before you could even close the door, Frank spoke. “You know, if you wanted to get at him, you could’ve just asked.” He laughed to himself, finding the whole thing hilarious.

“Frank, I’m not in the mood for your smart-ass comments,” you chuckled, pulling out your phone. You saw a notification from David: “Let me buy you dinner sometime ;)”. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!! open to any criticism in the comments <3 this was my first time writing it’s a bit nerve racking but why does no one write for this fine ass man i’m def going to write a part 2 ^^

[joshsilverseyebrow]

type o negative for KERRANG! Magazine (1997),

transcription:

THE KERRANG! CHALLENGE

The trivia stars love to hate

This weeks contestants are…

Name: Type O Negative

Occupation: Goth metal minstrels

Specialist subject: General doom and gloom

1/ Who wrote the story 'The Tell Tale Heart'?

Pete Steele: "Edgar Allen Poe."

2/ Who played Dracula in Francis Ford Coppola's version of the film?

Pete: "We are not media whores - we don't care.”

Johnny Kelly: "It was the guy who played Sid in "Sid And Nancy', Gary Oldman."

3/ How many pints af blood are in the average human body?

Pete: "It depends on the size of the individual, doesn't it? l'd say 14.”

Josh Silver: “There are 12 pints of Heineken in my body, if that’s any help.”

4/ What is the average speed of male ejaculation?

Josh: “What’s yours? How do you measure it?”

Pete: “Thirty miles an hour.”

Johnny Kelly: “I’ve never really paid attention to it.”

5/ What is the opening track on Slayer’s classic “Reign in Blood” album?

Johnny: “Isn’t that ‘Angel of Death’?”

6/ Who will be drumming with Black Sabbath on this summer's Ozz-Fest tour?

Josh: "Johnny Kelly!"

Johnny: "Unfortunately not. It's Mike Bordin from Faith No More.”

7/ Who is the Prime Minister of Britain?

Pete: “John Major.”

Kerrang!: “No, we’ve had an election recently.”

Pete: “I’ve had an erection recently too…”

8/ What is the name of Courtney Love’s character in ‘The People Vs Larry Flynt’?

Josh: “Slut?”

Johnny: “Mrs. Flynt.”

9/ Which 'Friends' star appears in Wes Craven's ‘Scream'?

Pete: "There are no stars in "Friends'."

Johnny: "It was the girl who appeared in that Bruce Springsteen video 'Dancing In The Dark, Courteney Cox."

Pete: "These are all media questions, they have no relevance to the real world. Ask us about science or something real. You look enough like Thomas Dolby so you're bound to know something about science...

10/ Certainly. What is the chemical symbol for iron?

Pete: "Fe."

11/ Who is the heir to the throne of England?

Josh: "Is it me?"

Pete: "Is it Michael Jackson? Or Bubbles the Chimp? You English f* *kers can't get enough of Jacko...”

Johnny: "It's Charles."

Josh: "We heard his wife was a lesbian. Princess Bi…”

12/ If a plane crashes on the border between Switzerland and Italy who would have legal responsibility for burying the survivors?

Pete: "The Germans."

Johnny: "The survivors don't get buried.“

Pete: "The Germans would bury them anyway...”

13/ Name three of the bands who played alongside you on the second stage at Donington last year?

Johnny: "Korn, 3 Colours Red and Everclear."

Pete: "He can't spell his own name, yet he can remember trivial shit like that."

Kenny Hickey: "Did you trim your c**t?"

Kerrang!: Eh?

14/ Name the new David Lynch film.

Johnny: “Lost Highway."

Josh: "Johnny, you're the man.”

15/ Which London Underground tube line is Brixton on?

Johnny: "The red one."

Josh: "I can't understand a f**king word you say, man.”

16/ Which actor appeared as Darth Vader in 'Star Wars', and which other actor overdubbed his voice?

Josh: "Boris Karloff."

Johnny: "James Earl Jones did the voice. I know that the guy who actually wore the suit is f**king broke, but I don't know his name."

17/ Which three letters are tattooed on Jonathan Davis' arm?

Johnny: "HIV."

18/ What is coprophilia?

Pete: "That's when you enjoy having someone shit on you during sex.*

19/ What is the clotting agent in blood?

Pete: "Platelets."

20/ What is James Bond's secret agent code number?

Johnny: “007."

21/ Which two baxers contested the 'Bumble in the Jungle'?"

Johnny: "George Foreman and Ali."

22/ Who recorded the song 'Negative Creep"?

Pete: "White Zombie?"

Johnny: "No, Nirvana."

23/ Which UK ska band was fronted by legendary vocalist Buster Bloodvessel?

Pete: "You're making this shit up now, man. Buster f**king Bloodvessel... Is it the UK Subs?"

24/ Who recorded the album 'lf You Want Blood'?

Johnny: "AC/DC."

25/ Who directed the movie 'Blood Simple'?

Pete: "Enough of this f"*king media shit..."

Quizmaster: Paul Brannigan

HOW TYPE O NEGATIVE SCORED

17 out of 25

THE VERDICT

A top performance from Johnny Kelly disproves the notion that all drummers are thick and earns Type 0 mid-table respectability.

[theoutcastrogue]

According to EN World (I mean I wouldn't know and couldn't possibly be bothered) the author of this tweet is "former gaming executive turned culture warrior Mark Hern".

The Making of Original Dungeons & Dragons is a WotC book that just came out for the game's 50th anniversary, and the passages are from "the foreword written by Jon Peterson, one of the foremost historians about Dungeons & Dragons and who also collaborated with Wizards of the Coast on the book".

Elon Musk, famous idiot, immediately piped in supporting the tweet

and obviously fuck Musk and fuck the "culture warriors", here's how I see it (without having read the book, but I'm confident my guesses are educated enough).

This book is promotional material. The good part is that it brings to light primary documents, which are invaluable for research. The bad part is that it's promotional material, like everything that comes out of WotC. No one should trust a fucking brand (silence, brand) to tell its own story. I've read some of Jon Peterson's previous work, and I thought he's an excellent researcher but only moderately able to pick up the prejudices baked in the hobby. Gets some of it, misses a lot. I'm guessing his criticism came about by WotC's own request, and would not be printed if their PR team (and legal team, probably) didn't approve it. And I'm gonna note that said criticism, while in the right direction (to be clear, the basic stance of "this was shitty, but erasing it from history and pretending it didn't exist doesn't help; what helps is acknowledging the shittiness" is absolutely correct), is very light and very careful. The history of D&D needs STRONGER criticism, which will never happen in a WotC publication.

And what I'd like to see is a comprehensive critical history of D&D, which I don't think exists yet. We have EITHER involved and well-researched but largely uncritical histories, even when they delve deep into the cultural environment that made D&D's birth possible, OR works that explore a single topic or focus on a handful of problematic™ elements. AFAIK. If I'm missing something, by all means, let me know! Here's my bibliography so far (not including papers, which can be VERY critical):

David M. Ewalt, Of Dice and Men: The Story of Dungeons & Dragons and the People Who Play It (Scribner, 2013)

Jon Peterson, Playing at the World: A history of simulating wars, people and fantastic adventures, from chess to role-playing games (Unreason Press, 2012)

Michael J. Tresca, The Evolution of Fantasy Role-Playing Games (McFarland, 2011)

Jennifer Grouling Cover, The Creation of Narrative in Tabletop Role-playing Games (McFarland, 2010)

Sarah Lynne Bowman, The Functions of Role-Playing Games: How Participants Create Community, Solve Problems and Explore Identity (McFarland, 2010)

Joseph P. Laycock, Dangerous Games: What the Moral Panic over Role-Playing Games Says about Play, Religion, and Imagined Worlds (University of California Press, 2015)

Ashley ML Brown, Sexuality in Role-Playing Games (Routledge, 2015)

and the promos

30 Years of Adventure: A Celebration of Dungeons & Dragons (WotC, 2006)

Michael Witwer et al, Art & Arcana: A Visual History (Ten Speed Press, 2018)

Michael Witwer, Empire of Imagination: Gary Gygax and the Birth of Dungeons & Dragons (Bloomsbury, 2015) [not a promo per se, but fully a eulogy]

[crascet]

Honest Thoughts: Gunn's Superman Teaser (Poster, Theme, and Trailer)

So, after its announcement from Gunn last year for the new DCU slate for the DCU'S first chapter: Gods and Monsters, we finally get a glimpse of the upcoming first film for the rebooted film universe and believe me when I say that it became my most anticipated film of 2025.

I can also plainly tell you just from looking at the poster and listening to the theme last week, I thought only one thing: "It's... Superman."

Now I know what you're thinking, "Well yeah, he's right there." Of course he's there on the poster, but that's not what I meant. The feeling they give off is Superman, like authentically Superman in the way that it best represents what the character is about.

I mean look at it.

Just this magical, hopeful feeling it gives off is just fantastic, just like Superman. Even the picture and the subtitle, "Look Up," adds to it as if it's the first time someone is seeing him fly; an astonishing view of seeing something unbelievable that you're entranced by it. The music done by John Murphy is excellent in how it combines the Williams theme for the '78 film and from Zimmer's Man of Steel theme to showcase the heroic triumph the character brings with its uplifting tone.

And then the trailer, oh my god the trailer! It just tells you everything about Clark not just as Superman, but as himself during his civilian life. An awkward yet kindhearted individual during his time as Clark and his compassionate, brave side to him as Superman with him saving people, like in that great shot of him protecting a little girl from a kaiju attack. We even see the impact Superman has in this world with a little kid holding up a flag in a war-torn country and praying for Superman, showing how much of a symbol of hope he is.

As for the story, Gunn has stated that its simply about showing kindness in a world that sees this kindness as old school, sort of like the real world now. So, from that, it's essentially about Superman showing everyone why this sort of compassion and love is more important than ever, despite the obstacles stacked against him from either the government, the public, or even from Lex as there could be a plot with Lex teaming up with a rumored appearance of Brainiac. The other heroes seen in the trailer: Mr. terrific, Green Lantern Guy Gardner, and Hawkgirl could be here trying to convince Supes to just work for the government or some other rich boss since those three are rumored to apparently work for Maxwell Lord, being played by James Gunn's brother Sean Gunn in his 4th role in a DC project, which is just crazy to think about.

David Corenswet looks fantastic in the role, and I just love how he looks different between Clark and Supes, which makes sense in hiding an identity with just mannerisms and glasses. Nicholas Hoult looks amazing as Lex simply by how mad he is at Supes by simply looking at him. Nathan Fillion as Guy looks good here too, especially with the bowl cut. I know people are against this, but I always liked his bowl cut look as that's the version I think of, like in JLI, and the hair pretty much tells you his personality: just a jerk that always thinks he's better than everyone. Hell, I'm pretty sure Guy has defended his hair multiple times to the other heroes in how it "makes him look cool" or something like that.

Anyways, KRYPTOKRYPTOKRYTOKRYPTOKRYPTOKRYPTOKRYPTO OH MY GOD ITS KRYPTO!!!!

This is just a fantastic trailer to see and I'm currently rewatching it every day for when I need a motivation boost for the day or when I'm drawing. This trailer just adds up to how I felt with the poster and theme: it's Superman.

I know it sounds like an exaggeration, but this movie will not just mean something to me, but to others as well. A movie telling everyone why we need heroes, especially Superman, in how they teach us to be better not for us, but to each other as well in making a better tomorrow for our world and we need that more than ever! James, I know you won't mess up and July can't come fast enough for quite possibly my favorite movie of 2025.