#And while I am fascinated by six psychologically

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Updated Favorite Doctors List*

*I don’t actually outright dislike any of them, this is just a ranking

Four: he’s a silly little guy. There is something deeply wrong with him. He’s so mean. Everyone loves him. His pouts are legendary. His adhd is rampant.

Three: literally fruity James Bond with a yellow car he named. He throws fits when his assistant gets a new job. He is a bundle of trauma but in, like, a fun way.

Nine: he is a bundle of trauma in a much less fun way, but he is so, so determined to be kind anyway. He’s angry at the universe. But if he isn’t kind, what is the point? That “just this once, everybody lives” line lives rent free in my head.

Seven: there is something SO deeply wrong with him. He WANTS to just be a silly little guy with puns and a ridiculous umbrella but keeps failing because he’s so full of rage and pain. But also, he cares so deeply on an individual level and will never stop trying. And sometimes explosions are fun.

Thirteen: I get complaints about her storylines but tbh I don’t get complaints about her characterization. Her adhd clicked with me SO much and—much like Seven—she wants so desperately to be fun and silly but is hurting too much to really pull it off. And yet, she has fun anyway. She fangirls SO hard over historical figures. Just as long as she doesn’t have to think about her personal emotions for more than half a second.

Fifteen: he is such a good sort of reboot of the character, ok? He FEELS things. He CRIES. He TALKS about his pain. He also falls in love with the first cute guy to take him hostage, but no one said he wasn’t a mess. He is better but not all the way and I love that for him.

Eight: he’s like. The opposite of Seven. Succeeding at being a silly ridiculous guy in a universe that has no need of such a thing, resulting in some bizarre and horrifying situations. He’s fun.

Five: he is so grumpy. So mean. Just an angry old man in a handsome cricket outfit. And yet he’s STILL a silly little guy and he does actually have a character arc—he’s grown a bit sweeter by the time he meets Peri.

Ten: ok so he’s in the middle now because it turns out I love classic who but he is such a delightful whirlwind of ridiculousness who will melt into a puddle of sadness if he has to sit still for two seconds.

Twelve: he’s only this low because I don’t really care for his early characterization—too much grumpy, not enough silly. But by the time he’s collecting depression hobbies I lon love him and…it’s like he learns to do silly manually the way he learns social skills.

Two: he’s only this low because so many episodes are missing I didn’t even get a sense of his character until War Games, but between that and later multi-Doctor episodes, I love how hard he’s trying to be dignified. Buddy, just give up. You are not dignified.

Fourteen: he’s inherently a little uninteresting on screen because he was only in a few specials, but I do enjoy the fact that from the beginning he’s a little more emotionally open and that he for once in all his lives gets a happy ending.

Eleven: I do have to admit that I dislike his stories a lot more than I dislike his character. His childish adhd is fun. He will explode if he has to sit still. Or think about any moment that isn’t now.

One: in the early days it was more about the adventure than the character, and I just didn’t get much sense of him. He certainly had some delightful moments, though.

Six: look, on screen he’s even more erratic and self centered than usual to the point of not noticing that his friends are in danger. He cares but expresses it so little they aren’t sure that he does. He’s not the only one to bully his companions, but he is the only one to do it to the exclusion of showing affection. The main reason I don’t totally dislike him is still my fascination with his mental state.

[heavensbeehall]

Rambling a bit more about Katniss' sexuality. It's also possible that, because she is so food insecure growing up, that she wasn't able to develop sexual feelings for anyone. Like physically she went through puberty but mentally, no. That's a heirarchy of needs thing. Like I remember (and I wish I could find it) reading about prisoners of war--I think in Vietnam--who stopped fantasizing about their pinup women and started dreaming about American food because they weren't being fed enough.

So Katniss's "ship" is probably just herself/food, or more likely, Prim/food. It might also be worth noting that the two guys she does "consider" both have links to providing food for her, Peeta with the bread and Gale as a hunter. Feeding her is the sexiest thing a boy can do.

Except (and this is why I tend to think she is also somewhere on the asexuality spectrum) she doesn't immediately get horny for Peeta or Gale as soon as her food insecurity is over after she has "won" the Games. There are six months were nothing happens between book 1 and book 2. (It could just be that psychologically she doesn't actually feel safe after the games and she is dealing with a shitton of trauma but it certainly isn't as simple as those American GIs who just had a hamburger and were suddenly interested in women again. She actually really resists having any romantic relationship at all. She pushes both Peeta and Gale away during this period rather than grow closer to one or the other.)

But she does feel sexual attraction to Peeta on the beach which is FASCINATING to me. I am asexual myself. And while some people may think beaches are romantic or whatever, I actually think a gross hot murder beach (ugh sand) with not just millions of people watching at home but Finnick, Johanna and Beetee being right there and they are both still covered in itchy, unhealed blisters would be the last place one might suddenly get wet for the first time.

And I think she does try to recreate that feeling with Gale in District 2, after she decides Peeta is "gone" but it doesn't happen.

Because the series is YA, I don't think Collins really wants to explore Katniss' sexuality in any detail except to assure the reader that eventually Katniss and Peeta do have a somewhat normal, healthy marriage. But I would read a whole book of Katniss talking to Dr. Aurelius about how she felt about boys as a kid, what other times she felt the "hunger" for Peeta, and the whole shebang.

[cypheroo]

I am absolutely fascinated by the concept of matchups!

Mystreet/MCD or I saw you mentioned Sanji in your recent so One Piece I'd also be interested in 👀

I'm Logan, he/him, 21, I like men, I'm 5'1". I write a lot in my free time, I'm also an enjoyer of reading, casual gaming and theatre. I study psychology and want to be a teacher

Interested to see what you come up with..

DIARIES AND ONE PIECE MATCHUP! ~ ���

(i'm gonna give you two matchups bc i have never gotten a one piece request before! So you get MCD and one piece!)

SO drumroll pleaseeee! Your matchups areeeee….!

One pieces Usopp!

And!

MCDs Jeffory!

Some headcannons for usopp!

Most evenings together are spent quietly together with both of you doing your respective hobbies or tasks! 

Usopp to me would be your biggest supporter with your dreams and wants to become a teacher so if you need any help with any of it he'd be the first to spring to your side.

You two would have to sleep in the same bed as I think Usopp finds a lot of comfort with having you just with him.

When he is working on stuff he just loves hearing you talk to him about a book you've been reading, or ranting about something that bothered you. 

While Usopp is definitely the type to miss you when you leave his side for more then an hour he just uses the time to make you small trinkets or get work done so when you are home he can spend time with you.

Need someone to read your work and give you opinions? Dude he's right there and more than willing to give an unfiltered opinion on what he thinks. 

He never plans the dates, they just happen, randomly you both going to a park or shopping together

He has oil, dirt, and a lot of stuff on his clothes so expect your clothes to be as well as he is a hugger.

He is big on physical touch so at first when you got together he was a little distant in fear of somehow making you uncomfortable, but he definitely got over that hump rather fast.

Small note here, whenever you kiss he cups your cheeks, with both hands or one, its dependant o how short the kiss is, its just what he likes to do. 

and for Jeffory! 

Capital S for sweetheart, because of his daughter he understands and fully respects you for wanting to be a teacher

The most playful flirting, like it's almost like every day you two meet for the first time with how much he compliments you.

The most random dates, you come home and don't look too tired? Hes taking you out on a date, usually calm ones that dont need either of you to talk to a bunch of people.

He isn't much into reading but he does look into the books you have and figures out what kinds of books you like, he gets them as gifts, so sometimes when you come home there's a book on the table for you and of course he acts like he never bought it for you!

If you're close to your family, he wants to be close to them too. He wants to know them and will do anything he can to be on their goodside, if not he is more than happy to have him and his daughter be that family.

Speaking of daughter , he won't introduce her for a good six months or so but he will absolutely be upfront about her existence and very transparent, he just wants to make sure both of you are serious before meeting her.

Unsurprisingly he is an amazing cook. He makes food for you a lot and is more than willing to learn any recipes he needs to to make your favorite foods as well.

He has these longer slender hands, calloused and scarred in places. His hand is almost always on you, your shoulder, hip. Even idly playing with your hair. It comforts him to always have a hand next to or on you.

He has a photo of you in his wallet just like he does with his daughter. He loves to stare at it when he's away.

He's snappy with people flirting with you. You wouldn't think that with him as he is usually a very calm and happy person, so he acts like that. Although he's not like that super often.

[piracytheorist]

I need to know WHO ARE YOU?!!

Your spy x Family cracked are hilarious, but moreso are so filled with layers and layers of metajokes that I'm honestly impressed!

Dude, you used mexican revolutionari cries, throw Piaget and developmental psychology, marxism, etc in your jokes, AND THEY ALL LAND.

Those are jokes only someone who understands the topic could tell or laugh for.

You are an scholar and I am fascinated thining of the life experiences you have had to end up with so varied ammounts of knowledge.

I take my hat off!

Ps: "gaslight gatekeep, girlboss" is just hilarious.

I have no words to portray how much this message made my day!! Thank you for sending in!!

The "life experiences" kinda thing, I wouldn't say it's that variant but it's what was standard for me so I wouldn't know lol. I grew up in a left-leaning family, my father is a proclaimed anti-capitalist (his father was as well) and my brother was even part of our country's communist party youth when he was a teenager and had a poster of Che Guevara in his room for years. It's not like we would sit and read Marx around the fire or something but whenever the discussion veered towards politics it was never a question of what side to take. All of my immediate family are pretty much like this, so that's where the inspiration for the revolutionary cries and marxist quotes came from. I certainly get a lot of pro-left messages from the story and Twilight's character in particular. The idea of anarcho-communist Anya Forger is so fucking appealing to me, lol, and because I know it will never happen even if the mangaka wanted it, I made it real in my jokes XD

As for Piaget, I studied music education, and we had a class on educational psychology and his theory was one of those we studied in that semester. So when Loid in that episode went like "Why can't my five six year old daughter learn just how an adult does??" I was like bro mustn't have read about developmental stages, I cannot believe I know something Twilight doesn't, lmao.

Again thank you so much, and I'm glad you're enjoying my recaps! They take a while to make but they're so fun to do XD

[ldcurtain]

Hello! I apologize for potentially taking up too much of your time, but I have a rather strange request to make. I've been experiencing for quite some time now something which I was inspired to call 'Curtain Visions. In my dreams, I talk quite often to you, or a version of you. While I'm uncertain about the psychological implications of this, I wanted to share a specific encounter from Friday night. During our conversation, Vision Curtain was writing in his diary when he suddenly asked me to select a number between 42 and 27. After I responded, he changed his multicolored pen to red and scribbled aggressively in his diary. However, he then smiled and provided me with the number that was the opposite of what I had chosen. I decided I was way to tired to question him, so I cannot provide additional context on what he were doing. Nonetheless, before we ended our conversation, Vision Curtain instructed me to 'Ask Curtain. He will agree.’

I still have no clue what he was talking about, and I am unsure if I have correctly interpreted his request, but the only thing I could think of was to ask you. So, if you could just humor me..

42 or 27?

A fascinating question, and one of the better messages I've received today.

I too am uncertain of the psychological implications of your dreams. However, the numbers your subconscious has unearthed are interesting ones.

42 is the sum of the first six positive even numbers. (2+4+6+8+10+12=42). It is also the sum of all dots on a set of dice.

27 is 3^3. It is also the atomic number of cobalt, and the number of bones in the human hand.

It's a difficult choice, but I'd go with the number 27, as dark matter is thought to make up 27% of the universe, and such concepts always fascinated me as a boy. I was particularly invested in the idea of discovering the unknown truths of the universe.

[droughtofapathy]

"People Get Hurt" please and thank you

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

11: What do you like best about this fic?

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

This was the first story that came directly from another person's concept. @voltives came into my inbox with the most brilliant idea I've ever heard after they commented on one of my other Gilded Age works. See, this is what may happen if you leave comments on your favorite author's niche fanfiction. They might be so overwhelmed with glee that they'll write you exactly the story you want.

But anyway, having this be the idea of someone else was exciting. It was as if voltives just injected 100 ml of pure adrenaline and inspiration into my veins. From one single message of maybe 250ish words I was able to see the entire story from start to finish. I had the dialogue, the logistics, the setting, everything worked out in a single instant. It was one of the most enjoyable writing experiences because I got to do it for someone.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

Lina Astor getting railed six ways to Sunday. Next question.

No, okay, but actually. I just loved getting into the psychosexual dynamics. I eschewed any real "plot" so I didn't have to deal with justifying why these repressed 19th century old women were having marathon lesbian sex, and just went for it. It's self-indulgent in all the best ways. And okay, yes it's almost 30k of relentless smut, but it's also an extensive tri-character study. Getting into the mind of Armstrong and all her obsessive devotion? Like catnip, truly.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

Jumping off the above paragraph, I got to learn ways to write unlikable characters that kept the core negative tendencies and unfavorable traits while still making them compelling and almost sympathetic, in a way. Armstrong is such a bitch. Not even in an evil way, because she's really just a cantankerous old woman with period-typical racism and prejudice (and look, this show goes light on the racism of the "good" characters to juxtapose against the "bad" ones), but just in a really unlikable way. And yet, I am drawn to her. She's awful, she's nasty, she's a mean-spirited old harridan and I want to see her get what's coming to her. And I am deeply in love with her. I'd written her several times before, but either in a redeeming light (a la Armstrong in the modern au where she comes around) or just in a smutty unjustified context ("Not Much Reason to Rejoice"), but this was the first time I got to really delve into her inner workings. The meticulous aspects of her character made it a fascinating exploration and I really enjoyed teasing out the psychological motivations.

[advicefortheyoungatheart]

It could start on the bus. You’re coming back from class, tired, reading your book. It’s been a long, cold winter, and tiredly you await the spring. Then suddenly, the lights dim, the world goes silent, you turn your head, and there she is: the girl you’ve been waiting for.

Dumbfounded, you’re silently stunned. She sits right next to you and opens to a page in Crime and Punishment. While you sit stupidly in silence, she turns to you and asks you what you’re reading.

“Something about oil distribution across the middle East,” you embarrassingly admit.

Your bus stop comes and you must leave- but by some strange miracle, it’s hers as well.

You two walk along the street, discussing your readings, and part ways with only enough time to ask her name.

Days, weeks go by, and you can’t forget that girl from the bus. You know, the cute nerdy girl with the long, elegant blonde hair. The one who dressed like she was still in the 19th century. The girl with the gently parted lips and wonder in her eyes, curiosity in her heart.

And before you know it, she’s in your room, sifting through your book shelf, the two of you discussing history, philosophy, spirituality, physics, psychology, together assembling a clearer picture of the world, comparing maps and sharing passions, watching the hours go by.

And then she comes over again. And again. And again. “This time, I’m going to kiss her,” you think to yourself. And that time comes, but indeed not as you planned. You’re making your point in a conversation, perhaps something about the collapse of globalization or the nature of consciousness, and with a hungry look in her eyes, she pounces you like a cat would.

Again dumbfounded, you embrace her, you hold her tight, kissing her ferociously with a passion unknown for others. Finally, your cards are on the table, and what a relief!

Quickly, she becomes a staple in your life. The first person you think about in the morning, the first person you see, the only person you want to text, the only person you want to be next to.

Days of infatuation roll into weeks, and finally you ask her- “so, are you gonna be my girl?”

She reveals that big, beautiful smile of hers, and nods: “yes.”

Weeks become a month, and already you’re in love. Actually, you’ve been in love the whole time, but finally you can see it. And how blinding a sight to see- the revelation of Love.

Fantasies of travel become plans engraved in wet concrete. It dries quickly- she’s bought her ticket to Italy.

She meets your parents, your family, and you meet hers. But you know that soon you’ll be on a plane for France, and for six weeks you’ll be without her.

Begins the test- the real test in Love. Will it persist, will the fire continue to burn, raging into a wildfire uncontrolled?

Time reveals the answer: Yes, this Love will grow. And certainly, it does. The distance makes the heart grow in fondness, in her absence, you appreciate her all the more dearly, your heart always reminding you that it’s keeper too loves you all the more.

My love, you took me by surprise. You came into my life at the most unsuspected moment. At a time when it seemed the springtime would never come. But when I discovered that you too were in this world, I saw the first signs of spring- and how glorious the radiance of your being. I never could have imagined a girl like you- not even the most exaggerated fascinations of my imagination could be so kind to me. But you, my darling, you are all of that and more, and for you and our love, I am forever grateful, and forever indebted to the Lord.

I love you, heart and soul. You are mine- and I am yours.

[emmashouldbewriting]

Writing books is hard.

In light of Harry Mountbatten-Windsor publishing his memoir, I wanted to have a good old-fashioned rant. I will also attempt to keep my language suitable for all audiences, but I’m not promising anything. I’m a sweary kind of person, it’s hot as heck in the UK, and I’m on the wine to cope with the toe I broke last night when I accidentally kicked one of my cats’ food bowls. 

Anyway.

I will preface this by saying I’m what the publishing world knows as ‘hybrid’ as I’m both self-published and traditionally published--I am published by two of the “big five” publishers in New York. My agent is on 5th Avenue in NYC. I hit the New York Times bestseller list in 2013. I have more than a dozen USA Today bestsellers to my name. I’ve written way past fifty books at this point, and I’m almost 28. I’m largely self published because I don’t particularly enjoy being told what to do and I am a control freak, but I digress. I know this world.

I am so, so sick and tired of people getting publishing deals because they’re “fascinating and influential.” 

What’s fascinating about Harry? His long history of racism and how he’s now head of the anti-racism committee like a fairy godmother swept in and fixed his butt? What’s influential about him? His endless failures and subsequent bailouts in academia and the British Military? His infallible ability to play the victim?

(Alright, that’s a little fascinating, but only if you’re interested in psychology as I am, and that behaviour isn’t limited to him.)

He is not fascinating or influential. He is disrespectful, obnoxious, self-serving, egotisitical, and absolutely blind to the hurt caused by his and his wife’s actions and words. And this is built with the audacity of a man who believes he is inherently right.

Being an author is not glamorous dresses and shiny lipstick and fancy headshots. It’s not movie deals and millions and nice shoes. Being an author is tears, socks with holes in, yesterday’s mascara, no bra, and last night’s dinner on your shirt because it smelled okay when you picked it off the floor with bleary eyes.

Writing books is HARD. It’s really hard. On my last deadline, I sat in front of my computer, buried my head in my hands, and cried in front of my keyboard after writing 20,000 words in 14 hours, because I was not done.

I have fallen asleep at my desk. I’ve woken up on the sofa with my fingers resting on my laptop because I crashed mid-sentence. I’ve gone to bed at three a.m. only to wake up at six a.m. and repeat that. I’ve burned out at least once a year for the past four years. I had carpal tunnel release on my non-dominant hand at the age of 24 - almost unheard of - because I screwed my hand working so hard. I have missed thousands of hours with my children because my business demanded it of me. I’ve spent the last sixteen months working on a proposal for a traditional publisher. Sixteen months. For something that, probably and statistically, won’t get me a publishing deal.

And I am one of many. One of many, many people who will feel this way. Many authors who live this every day, every book, every single time. Many will hit publish on their self-published book in the hope they can pay some bills this month.  Many authors today will send proposals off to their agents in the hope someone will take a chance on them - I know, I’m about to be one again. This week, I’ll finish that proposal and send it to my wonderful agent in the hope someone, somewhere, will believe in what I’ve written.

There are hundreds, thousands, of authors in this world who deserve that publishing advance, that PR team, that graphic design team, that editing team, that coveted bookshelf space. It will change their lives.

None of them were born into a position where they can say they’re doing it “not as the prince” they were “born as”, but “the man” they are “today,” while signing off the statement as Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex.

They will do it sitting in their office, alone, with tears in their eyes, praying for someone to believe their words matter enough.

I’m sorry. This one got really personal really fast. But neither Harry nor his ghostwriter will cry into their damn keyboard anytime soon, let me tell you. I’ll probably do that again in two weeks. 

[twh-news]

We spoke to Tom Hiddleston about Loki, PowerPoint presentations and the nature of free will

Despite a decade of playing Loki in several Marvel movies and now a TV show, Tom Hiddleston isn’t tired of the role. “There is always something new to be found,” he says The edge.

This week is the premiere of Loki on Disney Plus, a six-episode series that marks the character’s first lead role. It is a story of time travel and branched timelines as Loki is captured by an organization called the Time Variance Authority (TVA). It combines action, humor and some old-fashioned detective work, while tackling serious topics such as the nature of free will. There are also some new faces on board as Hiddleston is joined by Marvel newcomers Owen Wilson, who plays a TVA agent named Mobius, and director Kate Herron, best known for her work on the first season of Sex education.

Prior to the show’s premiere, I had the chance to talk to Hiddleston about his time as a character, a presentation that made him feel like an “amateur academic giving a thesis on Loki,” working with Wilson and Herron, and whether our lives are predetermined. Typical Marvel stuff.

The following interview has been edited and abbreviated for clarity.

We are now at a decade where you play Loki. How have your feelings about the character changed or grown over that time?

I’m honestly just thankful that I’m still here. I find that I am always surprised and happy that I get another chance in it. Long before I was cast, Loki was just the most fascinating and complex character with such depth and range, and he’s been in Marvel comics in several iterations for 60 years, and he’s been in our thoughts, in stories we tell as humans, for hundreds, if not thousands of years. I find that even though it has been 10 years, every time I come back, there is always more to discover. There is always more to dig because these impostors are kind of mercurial and shape-shifting. So there is always something new to be found.

"“Loki is out of control. He’s a man on the run.”"

Now that you’ve focused this six-episode series on Loki, what were you looking forward to exploring with this? What were you hoping to dive into?

I think he’s really opening up and bringing out his many different identities and facets. In my preparation to play the character, I’ve always seen him have so many different and seemingly contradictory characteristics. You think, “How can all these characteristics exist in one person, in one being?” And yet they do.

Loki has always been a character in all MCU movies that seems to be very controlled. He seems to know what cards he has in his hand and how he is going to play them. And Loki, in the TVA – this organization that rules time – has gotten out of hand. He’s a man on the run. And he is motivated by a desire to understand. Suddenly he discovers that there is all this information that he does not have, and he has to get his hands on it. And that actually gives the series great momentum. Loki is on the back foot, everyone knows more than him, and seeing how he adapts, seeing how he improvises after that – if improvisation is possible in the TVA. That’s a question we’re trying to raise, whether you have free will.

I read about the Loki school you led to prepare the team for the character’s history. How did you prepare for that? Did you actually know it all, or did you have to do a lot of research?

I wish it wouldn’t be 10 hours long. I knew I had to summarize what I found useful to tell the crew. It came about thanks to Kate Herron, our director who has done an extraordinary job on this whole series, and he thought maybe it would be a good idea to get everyone together because there were so many department heads, different crew members – production design, costume design, cinematography, camera, sound, stunts – and wanting to make sure everyone had the same information about Loki, and it might be helpful to listen to my experience. I was trying to explain how we constructed Loki’s arc across the six movies he’s in the MCU and figure out what was useful in that arc and what we could leave behind.

I suddenly felt extremely nervous, as if I were an amateur academic writing a thesis on Loki. You’ll have to ask the others if it was helpful at all. But at least we synchronized the watches and we started from the same place.

"“If I were tall enough to use PowerPoint, I could retire and become a full-time professor.”"

So is there a PowerPoint file out there somewhere that will leak out one day?

If I was highly skilled enough to use PowerPoint, I could retire and become a full-time professor.

I did have a few clips. I thought there were some clips from the movies that could be helpful. It was interesting, even though it was about how the costume had changed over the years and why. And when does Loki wear the horns? Are the horns a casual thing? Are they a ceremonial thing like a crown? Is it an extension of an inner intention? Do the horns come out if he’s particularly evil? Why is her hair different? Sometimes he wears a cape, sometimes not. Sometimes he uses magic, sometimes he uses his own body to fight in combat. All questions that people were curious about.

I know this was meant for the rest of the crew, but was it helpful for you to go through this again as you prepared to jump back into the role?

Oh yes, absolutely, just to refresh myself about certain decisions we had made and why certain things were changed… sometimes you try to bring very elaborate and beautifully illustrated comic book panels into a physical reality on a movie set and figure out how to merge these two worlds. It was interesting. I got some great questions about how he moves the way he does and where certain things showed up in stunts, especially hair, makeup and wardrobe, how the clothes changed and why we made those choices.

It was interesting to refresh myself on the extraordinary input, because I carry the inspiration of great people with me. [Thor director] Kenneth Branagh and Alexandra Byrne, our costume designer; Bo Welch who designed the first Thor movie; Charlie Wood who was production designer on The dark world; the whole crew of Ragnarok; Mayes Rubeo, the costume designer of Ragnarok; and people like Douglas Noe, who has been doing makeup on Loki for a long time. So there was a lot to unpack.

Both Kate Herron and Owen Wilson are newcomers to the Marvel machine. Is it helpful to have such an external perspective?

Absolutely. Both Kate and Owen came in with so many questions because they hadn’t lived in Loki’s head for 10 years. They have a fresh take on it. Kate was so well prepared and so well researched; she even brought in new Marvel Publishing material that I’d never seen before, about Loki’s inner world. Owen came in and asked me a lot of questions about my experience. I remember him saying, “Tom, why should I?” you do you like to play Loki?” And I found myself saying, “Well, he’s just got this whole range. He can play the light keys, but he can also play the heavy keys in the bass clef. And somehow the character has both.” And he loved that way of thinking about it, he said, “I think I could say that on the show.” And so it was really his very intelligent question that took us elsewhere in the story.

Given the themes of the first two episodes, I have to ask: do you believe in free will?

I hope so. Free will is such an interesting, eternal question. I think people have asked to what extent we have the power of self-determination, self-realization, choice about our actions and whether we can control the course of our lives. It goes back to evolutionary or psychological arguments about nature and nurture and why we are who we are. Maybe it’s the journey of a lifetime to find out, to really take the wheel of your own life. Because we are set on a path in childhood, I think, often by accident – the misfortune of birth, where we were born and when – and we are propelled in many ways by the unconscious.

That’s a complicated answer. It’s a complex question. So I hope so. I hope true free will is possible. But for all of us, I think it can be a long journey of self-discovery.

[outofangband]

I am curious on you opinion on the difference of Maeshros vs Hurin on release. Canonly Maedhros returns and is a terrifying personnto behold on the battle field. As you say often that white fire in him as one returned from the dead is fascinating. Yet Hurin kind of comes off to me as a tired worn out old man. Why do you think their personalities result in different recoveries after given their kind of matching personas (as far as strength and over all rounded minds) before?

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

I think it’s far less about their personalities being different and far more about outside and other factors beyond their control

One simple part is simply that Maedhros is an elf born of Valinor and Húrin is human, unable to the same extent to weather the horrific environment of Angband

More poignantly however, while Maedhros’s imprisonment was horribly long and was in sun years longer than Húrin’s, it was not a significant percentage of his life whereas when Húrin is released he had been a prisoner for about half his entire life

The climate of Beleriand is far different at the time of Húrin’s release than of Maedhros’s. The Noldor had actually won the battle that happened before Maedhros’s capture and the arrival of the host of Fingolfin brought new hope.

Húrin is released into a Beleriand nearly destroyed or conquered by Morgoth.

Support and family is an even more important factor, Maedhros had five to six of his brothers still alive, Fingolfin, Fingon, and many others of his people. Húrin had no one. His children were killed, Huor and Aerin were killed, Morwen dies, it says in the text that “the remnant of Húrin’s people shunned him” (The Wanderings of Húrin).

Which means those aspects of his identity that he values, as a husband, father, brother and leader are also taken

Húrin is treated kindly by Manthor of the Halidan who is only days later killed in front of him. The horrific way he was treated in Brethil leaves him further isolated and hopeless

Also I cannot stress enough that they literally have him drugged and I can’t know if Tolkien was thinking that far into it but the state of his physical health, how we know he was starved in Angband, must have been seriously exacerbated by whatever they gave him

Note to self to do some more research on the flora and and environment of Brethil to try to get some hypotheses

As well as physical losses, and I talk about this on my introduction to complex trauma post, Húrin loses so many significant parts of himself; his optimism, his hope, his valuing of himself as a husband and father and brother, a lot of his physical ability and dexterity, etc

In a better world, I think Húrin could still find healing to some extent with physical therapy and pain management, emotional and psychological support, and the creation of a trusted support system.

The Children of Húrin and The Wanderings of Húrin do not take place in that world

I hope this answers your question, anon! Post Angband Húrin breaks my heart more than almost anything else.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

an introductory rec list (that no one asked for) to some of my favorite ships: drarry [4/10]

First fic I read for the pairing: Obsession by yesbocchan [2k,T] Harry thinks Malfoy is up to something evil. Until he finds out maybe he's not the only one with an obsession. [just a cute little eighth year fic i saw on tumblr back when i was first getting into fandom stuff (and back into harry potter in general) when i was near the end of high school. it’s cute, it’s sweet, and i was curious about drarry as a concept so]

Fic that really sold me on the pairing: Stealing Sweaters by DorthyAnn [12k,T] It's their eighth and final year and over the course of several months, Harry and Draco have managed to become close friends. Their friends are entirely certain that they ought to be much, much more. So they just decide to... help things along. [listen, everything that DorthyAnn writes is phenomenal, so how could i not fall in love with this ship after this?]

Absolute favorite fic(s) for the pairing: Animus Nexus by MystyVander [96k,T] It's Eighth Year at Hogwarts and it seems Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hate each other more than ever before. Everybody is sick of it. Somebody was tired of the two enough to curse them, binding them together. What at first appears to be a death sentence to both Harry and Draco turns out to be the thing the both of them needed the most. [it’s enemies to friends to lovers coupled with accidental bonding coupled with discussions of magical theory coupled with wizarding traditions with a few misunderstandings and some angst all set in eighth year and that’s basically the perfect combination for me.] Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 [302k,T] Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Pairings: HP/DM (Slash) Timeframe: 1994-2002 Goblet to 4 yrs post-DH EWE Rating T for language, high angst, content. [this fic has lived rent-free in my head for three years and it fucking slaps. there’s angst and fluff and so many bittersweet moments and it’s both canon compliant and completely canon divergent and i am obsessed with it. 40000/10]

Most recent fic I’ve read for the pairing: love me now (touch me now) by swisstae [3k,G] Harry's never had a bath. Draco plans on changing that. OR in which Harry gets his hair washed and Loves It (and Draco. He loves Draco too.) [this fic is adorable and sweet and i enjoyed it immensely.]

Favorite AU(s) I’ve read for the pairing: Alternate Sorting AU (Slytherin!Harry): Malfoy Flavor by Vorabiza [199k,E] Harry’s ready to banish the Golden Boy image and take charge of his life. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately, there are surprises in store for him. [Slytherin!Harry but it’s not an entire canon rewrite like most of the alternate sorting fics i love so much, so that’s fun. also severitus and just the right amount of soul crushingly painful angst. oh and it has a delightfully fluffy little sequel. ] Alternate Sorting AU 2: Electric Boogaloo (Ravenclaw!Draco): Chaos Theory by Tessa Crowley [102k,E] Chaos: when the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future. One gene varies, one neuron fires, one butterfly flaps its wings, and Draco Malfoy's life is completely different. Draco has always found a certain comfort in chaos. Perhaps he shouldn't. (warnings for: major character death, graphic depictions of violence, psychological torture, implied/referenced non-con) [as my notes on my bookmark said: GOD DAMNNNNN. I LOVE THIS FIC. I CRIED SO MUCH AND ALSO THERE WAS LAUGHTER AND JUST GOD DAMN. ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITES. so that about sums it up.] Time Travel AU: Annus Mirabilis by Ren [39k,E] Harry and Malfoy are trapped at Hogwarts around the time the school was founded. Stuck with a different way of doing magic, with no chocolate, and with each other, they have to find a way to work together if they want a chance to go home. [i almost never fuck with time travel aus but… this one slaps. also? hogwarts founders era?? hell yeah. also also? their relationship progresses in a way that feels so natural and the tension is so palpable and the writing is excellent.]

Favorite Series for the pairing: Leo Inter Serpentes by Aeternum [746k,E,6 Works] Just one conversation between two eleven year old boys goes slightly differently, and the world changes. Just how much will be different with Harry being sorted into Slytherin, and how much will stay the same? [Slytherin!Harry? Harry, Draco, Hermione friendship? Severitus? All in a complete series re-write that’s currently six completed works deep? What more could you possibly need?]

Longest fic I’ve read for the pairing: I Do What I Want by XxTheDarkLordxX [509k,E] They say you shouldn't touch what isn't yours... Too bad no one told Harry that. A simple mistake that Harry made in his first year at Hogwarts is coming back to bite him in the arse. The war is over but the threat to his life is just beginning. This story begins with a simple apology that changes Harry’s life. It starts a domino effect that leads to unbelievable connections, undying love, unique past lives, unknown villains and an unstoppable family. Follow Harry and his friends on an epic adventure filled with twists, bumps, comfort, enemies, a new life and a lot of love. (warnings for: major character death, some character bashing) [the first (or first few? i forget) chapters are written in first person but they’re an internal monologue and the rest of the fic is not in first person, just so you know. Also, the concept slaps and the fic is cute and i love to see it (and i’ve read it thrice).]

Fic(s) with some of my favorite tropes: Matchmaking: Ron Weasley: Accidental Matchmaker by Phoenix_Waves [2k,T] "There's not a sexual tension out there that the man can't accidentally detect!" George beamed. "And then ask the stupid arse question that's going to light the spark and fan the flames." Lee added matter-of-factly. A fluffy Christmas one shot featuring our favorite older Gryffindors. [god this is excellent: the obliviousness, the mutual pining, the matchmaking, having the older gryffindor kids around and having a good holiday time- it’s all excellent.] Soulmates: Kiss Me Not by DorthyAnn [21k,T] Sometimes a witch or wizard's magical signature is so completely incompatible with another that they repel one another like magnets. On the other hand, if two magical signatures mesh well together, well there are no stronger relationships in all the world. In a sample of a thousand people, the average witch or wizard will be slightly repelled by four or five people and strongly repelled by only one, at the most. The opposite is true for attraction. But Harry Potter can't kiss anyone at all. [this is actually such a fascinating take on the classic soulmates trope. there’s no predestined person for everyone and there’s no magical guarantee of anything, just magic being a little difficult and i adore that. also the writing style is excellent and the characterizations are spot on.] Accidental Bonding + Bed Sharing: Let's Take A Chance On Happiness by endless_grey [21k,E] Harry works with Luna at her magical antique shop, and everything is going pretty well until a mysterious ring makes an appearance. Cue curse-breaker Draco Malfoy and an accidental bond, and suddenly Harry is magically married to his former nemesis. They need to break the bond before Hermione's fundraiser, but Harry doesn't remember "fall in love with the git" being part of the plan. [i discovered this fic while looking for something else, but it’s so good. i love their dynamic and it’s shift as the story progresses and i love both of their friendships with luna just as much. it’s funny and a little angsty and well written and has two of my favorite tropes in it. what more can i say?]

[heyheydidjaknow]

Why do I not have the option to copy and paste formatting? Why is that an option I am not given? Who thought that I wouldn’t need that when I’m on my phone? Screw that guy, who I am arbitrarily calling Adam. If anyone knows how to do that, please tell me.

Chapter 6 Pt 2

“There is no fucking way you got a date with her.” Raphael does not even look it up. “No way in hell.”

“And yet the flow chart worked.” He laughs from his lab, shutting off any excess equipment as to not overwork it. “It worked like a charm and she asked me to go to her place so ha.”

”You didn’t show her the chart, did you?”

“I did not.”

“Well, there you go.” Leo looks back at him from his seat on the couch. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock.” He slides the door closed. “But I’m planning on being there at six fifty-five so that she knows I value her time.”

“Does the sun set that early?”

“Why do you even ask?” Raph turns a page in his once periodical periodical. “You know he looked it up.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Forgive me for also valuing preparedness.”

“Nobody likes a know it all.”

He grins smugly. “That’s where you’re wrong. See, I,” he gestured to himself, “have a date with a gorgeous girl tonight, one where she has already invited me into her home, and you,” he gestured to Raphael, “are reading a magazine from a company that went out of business two years ago alone.”

“Donnie, don’t be a jerk.” Leonardo looked back at the television. “Raphael brings up a valid point; you tend to act like you know everything, and the actual request wasn’t for a date.”

“How else can I interpret one on one time with her?”

“Well,” he counters, “how do you interpret one on one time with us?”

He blinks. “Wait, so you’re saying she’s… how do you put it?”

“Nah, I don’t think she’s friendzonin ‘im.” Mickey looks up from his drawing. “Think she’s sending signals she doesn’t mean to.” He sets his half-shaded piece aside. “Think about it; she said she’s been all stressed out, right? She died like two weeks ago.” He shrugs. “She’s probably just lonely and needs the company.”

“That’s… actually really insightful of you.”

He grins. “What can I say? I’m a modern McPherson.”

Raph snickers at that. “Donnie is more of a McPher—how old is that movie, anyway? A hundred?

“Hey!” He shoots a glare at his brother. “Respect the classics.”

“Not to interrupt your riveting intro to film class,” Donnie interjects, losing his shit, “but I really need to know what this is before I go, and it’s already fifteen ‘till.”

“Look, maybe she’s interested, maybe she’s not.” Leonardo’s eyes are back on the screen. “Just try to tread carefully and you’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably?”

“Again, Raph had a point.”

He groans, walking to the entrance and exit of their home. “You guys aren’t helping.”

“Not our job.”

Leo calls after him. “Be home before six!”

He turns the corner, cradling his head in his hands. ‘I am totally and thoroughly fucked.’

--

GoodFellas.

Of all the movies in the world, that is the movie you have decided to use to explain these concepts. This is the example piece that you are going to show to the vigilante. All you know is that you had started watching the Phantom Menace and had decided against explaining the concept of racial coding and this is the only other movie that you can think of right now. You have decided to commit, and you are already regretting it, but you decide to figure it out as you go.

You set the pizza on the coffee table, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave to pop. You do not expect Donatello to be late, so you decided to start now so that they could get started right away. You start walking to the window, stopping at the mouth of the hallway. You look yourself over one more time in the bathroom mirror despite yourself. You do not exactly know why you care so much; this was not a date, and you had not advertised it as one. Still, impressions are important, and the last thing you need is for him to not listen to you because of it. That is what you are telling yourself, anyhow.

You hear knocking against the glass. You check your phone for the time. ‘Five minutes early.’ You smile softly. ‘How responsible.’ You open it up, smiling at your guest. “Welcome, Donatello.” You take a step back. “Please, make yourself at home.”

He barely makes a sound as he steps off the windowsill, looking around your apartment, fully illuminated, for the first time.

After about thirty seconds of his investigation, you clear your throat. “Donnie?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

You smile gently. “You wanna sit down? I bought pizza.”

“Uh, yeah.” He nods, sitting down and facing the television screen. “I like your place.”

“Thanks.” You sit down next to him, tucking your feet under you as you flip on the television. “How do you feel about gangster movies?”

“Gangster movies?”

“Yeah.” You list a couple on your fingers. “Scarface, Godfather, all that jazz.”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed in confusion. “How can you make gangster movies legally?”

“That is a long answer. The short version?” You lean forward, taking a slice from the box. “The police are kind to those who cooperate, and people think their stories are fascinating.”

“So they’re documentaries?” He mimics you.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. You want something to drink?” You hear the microwave beep as you stand up.

“Water?”

You nod, walking over to pull the popcorn out of the microwave and grab your drinks. “I trust the walk wasn’t too bad?”

“Not at all.” The small talk is torture. “Getting to your window was a bit of a challenge, but it wasn’t anything too bad.”

“That’s good.” You pour him a glass. “I’ll have to get something for that; maybe a planter or something, so you have a bigger ledge.”

“It’s alright.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “It’s wide enough to stand.”

“Still.” You place his cup on the counter, dumping the kernels into a large plastic bowl. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if one of you guys got hurt trying to come in through the window.” You grab a can of soda out of the refrigerator, sitting down and handing him the glass.

He smiles slightly. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that?”

You grin. “I try,” you hum, starting to pull up the movie. “I think you’re pretty cool too, Hamato.”

He chuckles. “You make me sound like I’m fifty.”

“Oh, totally.” You nod in agreement. “You’re an old soul.”

He blinks. “Old soul?”

“Mature, I mean.” You shrug. “I mean, handling the stuff you do with any degree of tact, to me, displays a great maturity you don’t see in most teenagers, myself included.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

You get back up for napkins and plates. “Not at all.” You hand him one of each. “It’s an admirable quality, though not one I particularly envy.”

“You think?” His hands linger for a moment longer than typical as he took them.

“Yeah. You want me to turn down the lights for the movie while I’m up?”

His face goes red. “I-I mean,” he stutters, “if you want to.”

“Then I will; shows the image better when it’s dark.” You walk to the wall, flicking off the lights and sitting down next to him, setting your slice on your plate as you turn on the movie.

Your reactions to it are different.

He does not seem what you would call disturbed, but he gets grossly invested in the story extremely quickly. He is noticeably more interested in watching you watch the movie, but he studies the plot intently, noting the more domestic plotline between the lead and his wife in particular. His reaction to the violence is strange to you; he is not aloof, so to speak, but he does not flinch much until the fighting is between Henry and Karen.

You have seen this movie what feels like a thousand times. Whenever you think it applicable, you lean over and whisper to him about the directing, the script, the plot—it is supposed to be a lesson, after all. But you realize that your attention, every so often, shifts to the bed, to your pillow with the knife underneath it. The violence of the movie makes you edgier than you are used to.

About halfway through the movie, you move closer to the boy sitting beside you. You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you listen for cues for comments. You don’t notice his reaction, but you do notice how his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You do not object; you were the one who initiated, after all.

“Here’s a psychology relationship thingy you can tell your family about.” You cringe at that poor little girl standing in the hallway. “’That’s all in your head’ is classic gaslighting. I dunno if that’s really your area or not.”

“Oh, yeah, I see what you mean.” He fiddles with the cloth of your jacket absentmindedly. “It’s kinda hard for me to wrap my head around, people staying like that. I mean,” he clarifies, “I get why, but—”

You both tense up as a young man on screen is shot dead by Joe Pesci’s character.

You exhale. “Yeah, I get what you mean.” You shrug. “But folks get scared, ya know? In her case, she doesn’t want to break the family apart, and she’s really into him.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way.” You look up at him. “What can I say? We fall into infatuation so fast with bad people who say what we want to hear.”

“Don’t you mean fall in love?”

You watch as Lorraine Bracco holds a gun to her husband’s face. “Nope. Love is entirely different.”

“Yeah?” He glanced down at you.

“Apples and oranges.” You gesture to the television. “Love is supplementary, a beautifully imperfect connection between people.” Your voice becomes smoother, airier. “It’s a bond built on trust and respect. Infatuation is more of an addiction than anything.” You sigh as Liota meets to discuss his relationship with Sorvino. “At least I think so. That’s why love at first sight is a bunch of bullshit; you can’t have that kind of profound trust with someone you just met.” You shrug, looking back up at him. “Then again, what do I know? I’m an inexperienced, fifteen-year-old girl.”

“That makes a lot of sense, actually.” He looks back down at you. “I get what familial love is, but whenever Master Splinter talks about his wife, he has a hard time putting what he means into words.”

You hear their guilty verdict. “Totally get that. Articulation is not easy to do.”

A few minutes go by.

“May I be frank?”

“Please.”

You watch as a man drags his wife out of a Christmas party. “This movie is exactly why I don’t ever want to learn how to do the stuff you do. It changes you, all that violence; desensitizes you.” You bring your knees to your chest. “Especially Raphael. I swear, that shift was as dramatic as his, at least at this point in the flick.”

He pauses. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

You close your eyes, breathing slowly. “I’m going to try my best,” you swear, “do everything in my power, to see to it that you guys don’t experience more than you have to.”

You mean it. He can tell.

You two are quiet for the rest of the movie. You explain why certain directing choices were made, connect the beginning with the end, talk about the theme, all while you two watched their fall from grace. When the movie ends, you realize how tangled up in him you are; your head on his chest, legs draped over his with his arms around your waist. You feel the icy air against you, as if his skin attracted it to you. You push the hair out of your face. “So,” you stretch, turning the light back on, “do you wanna see another movie, or do you have a curfew?”

He pauses. “I should honestly probably get home,” he sighs. “If I’m not home early they’ll start getting ideas.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nod, completely understanding the reasoning. “You can take the leftover pizza home if you want; the guys’ll probably eat it before I do.”

“Mikey’ll be on cloud nine.” He picks the box off the coffee table. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” You stand at the window, opening it for him.

He climbs onto the windowsill, looking down at you from his perch. “I had a good time.” His face flushed. “We should do this again.”

You nod in agreement. “Definitely.” You rub the back of your neck. “I’ll pick a lighter movie next time.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.” He gives you a thumbs up.

You steal yourself, cupping one side of his face and kissing him gently on the cheek. “Goodnight, Donnie.” You smile. “See ya tomorrow.”

You are a bit concerned he’s going to fall off the windowsill. “Y-Yeah,” he grinned, words slurred. “See ya later, Y/N.” He waved, climbing up and out of your window.

You smile softly, sigh. You flop back on the bed, rolling over. You have not been this at ease since you died.

‘I really like that guy.’ You close your eyes. ‘I really, honestly do.’

You drift off to sleep, dreamless for the first time in too long.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 6 Part 1

Chapter 7

[ziracona]

Hello! I have always believed that Michael needed better doctors and good treatment. He was simply billed as "Evil". Sometimes I think that at that time they were unaware or ignorant of mental illness, and that is why Michael did not recover. I wish it had been treated better. I would like to know your opinion about it ;v;

Oh, absolutely. Michael is a very tragic character, and what happened to him was almost entirely Loomis’ fault, secondarily the system and his parents’, and like onyl 0.8% his own. It’s true that mental health aid has historically been really bad in most places, and even today treatment and acceptance—even in specifically medical settings—tend to be abysmal. Of course people knew less than they do now about how psychological stuff works, but bias, cruelty, and superstition as well as a system that enables and even to degrees outright encourages that is to blame for the awful treatment people woth mental illnesses and personality disorders faced and continue to face, not just a lack of knowledge, and the history is really heavy and awful to look over. : ( It’s horrific some of the things doctors have done and do to people just trying to get help.

Like, in Michael’s case, we’ve had a name and understanding of psychosis since the 1800s. Canonically, by the time the poor kid was six years old, he was hearing voices telling him to do bad things to people. He told his parents, seeking help, and they did nothing to help him—just told him it was his imagination—despite knowing hos grandfather had suffered the same symptoms. If they had only taken him seriously and given him therapy and possibly medication too, Judith never would have died. (I am not goong to say it every time, but all this information is official canon) Michael’s reason for killing his family members is wanting the vocies talking to him to be quiet, because it’s agonizing. If you’ve ever had intrusive thoughts (stuff like “pull into oncoming traffic” or “break that and see what happens” and such that don’t actually compell or force you to do it at all, and are always things you as a person deeply do not want to do, but nevertheless are really annoying or distressing to hear in your head), imagine that cranked up to 1000, endless and constant, but from voices that seem to come from around you instead of in your head. Especially as a young child, with no understanding what is happening to you, this would be incredibly scary and distressing—doubly so when dismissed by your parents, whose sole job is supposed to be to love and protect you.

The voices say they’ll be quiet if Michael kills Judith, so Halloween night, he does. Important to note here Michael is recently six years old at the time, which developmental psych literally is not old enough to have a complete understanding what death itself is, let alone complex morality. You /cannot/ be evil at six, you simply don’t have a complex enough understanding of right and wrong or of consequence to /be/ evil. Also at this age, usually kids see death as a vague concept, but one that applies to people they don’t know only, not to them and their loved ones. In Halloween 1978, immediately after stabbing Judith, Michael looks away while he keeps doing it, and his breathing speeds up in a scared way. He barely looks at the body, and immediately goes down stairs to wait for his parents—probably for them to fix it—and does nothing to flee or hide what he’s done. He looks traumatized when they take his mask off. (Lots of little notes here like that Judith when she sees him seems annoyed but not very, and when he attacks her, tries to shield herself and call to him to stop, rather than fleeing or fighting back, which [appealing instead of fight or flight] is pretty exclusively something you only would use if attcked by someone you are on good terms with—I mean, Michael is six—if Judith had /tried/ to fight back, no way she would have died—so there’s less than nothing to indicate they had anything but a loving familial sibling relationship. But if I list all these I’m gonna launch into my six page Michael Myers meta so I will speed through the rest.)

Anyway! Sorry, I have many feelings. About...everything. Including Michael for sure. So, immediately after killing Judith, Michael stops talking. He also shows other psychosis and trauma readily recognized side effects, like catatonia, slowed movement. In Halloween 1978c Dr. Loomis claims he tried to treat Michael for eight years, then spent another seven trying to keep him locked up because he realized he was evil. This is a /blatant/ lie, as in film canon Loomis, by Michael’s review hearing I believe four months in? Six or less for sure, I believe it is four. Loomis has /already/ become convinced Michael is a demon in human form, faking his symptoms, and itching to kill again. The other doctors think Loomis is crazy, as does the other doctor who examines Michael, but they’re awful people so they let him stay Michael’s doctor anyway, even though they refuse to move him to Litchfield maximum security. By this time only a few months in, Loomis is canonically also threatening the six year old in his care and constantly telling him he is an evil being who wants to get out and terrorize again. (Also, I will die enraged the sentance Michael gets for killing Judith is to remain locked in solitary in a sanitorium for /15/ years, until he turns 21, at which point he will be tried as an adult for murder??? The fuck?? You CANNOT charge a 6 year old’s crime in adult court! ‘Tried as an adult’ is meant for like, when a 17 year old dismembers their family and eats them! It’s for particularly heinous crimes, committed by someone /very/ close to being legally an adult, and that /only/. The idea of waiting fifteen years to try someone as an adult for something done at age six is laughable and sick).

Okay this is already long, I get carried away rip. Uhhh, anyway, yeah. In Smith’s Grove, Michael is visited by mom and Laurie once, then never sees any of his family again, because his dad hates him and forbids the others—finds out because Laurie is four and talks that they went /one/ time, and physically beats four year old Laurie for mentioning his name until she trauma blocks out ever having had a brother. From then on, Michael spends /fifteen/ years and all the dest of his developmental stages of childhood in a sanitorium with Dr. Loomis—a man who on wild religious superstition grounds assumes by his own admission /on sight/ that Michael is evil, and no other human contact. According to canon, Michael spends at least four hours of /every/ day with Loomis, his /only/ human contact, who threatens him, promises to stop him, and endlessly barrages him with “You’re evil, you’re not human, you want to kill again, I /will/ stop you,” and nothing else. He also canonically keeps Michael overdosed on a type of antipsychotic that, while a fine drug if used normally, if overdosed can deeply worsen symptoms, and can cause permanent brain damage.

Honestly, if a six year old is exposed yo major trauma, none of their issues are explained, legitimized, or believed, and almost all of their developmental stage is spent with endless voices they don’t know the cause of suggesting murder and violence, one human being and authority figure telling them over and over and over for fifteen years with no other constant in their life or human contact period that they are a demon in human form who wants to kill and is /going/ to do so again...? How else was that story ever going to end? I’ve said it before, but that’s beyond conditioning; it’s lab growing a human child to one day walk out and murder Laurie Strode with a large kitchen knife.

I stand by Halloween is a greek tragedy more than a slasher, and Michael and Laurie are both victims. He’s the Asterios, she’s the Ariadne. Loomis the Minos, the real villain. (Or the Poseidon choose your poison).

Anyway, I 100% agree! If he had just gotten help from his parents, Judith would have never died. If he’d had good doctors, none of the events of 1978 would have come to pass, or anything after it. Loomis single-handedly causes the deaths in 1978 himself through years of cruelty, and bigoted bias towards a small child in his care who needed his help, not his abuse, but he chose to break as much as he possibly could despite his responsibilities as a doctor, an adult, and a human.

If you’re interested, I did a canon-deep-dive character study short story on Michael on AO3! Halloween is such a sad story but it’s fascinating. God, poor Michael and Laurie deserved so much better than they got. It’s a testament to Michael’s character that even after 15 years of Dr. Loomis, he really only kills his intented target(s) in search of quiet from the voices, and anyone who sees him/would be a threat, and not other people. Makes no attempt to kill any of the kids in Halloween 2018, and only kills Bob when he literally opens the door to his hiding spot and Michael is found and Bob becomes a threat to him. In H20, after Michael has had 20 years on his own, you get arguably the least brutal Michael, who intentionally passes on killing the mother and child, and the security guard he walks right past, because they don’t see him and thus he doesn’t /have/ to. Halloween II is less intentionally avoiding, but even then he still does the same multiple times too, like with the old lady making a sandwich, or the scene in the incubator room. Anyway he desevered better fuck Loomis all my homies hate Loomis.

[idmakeitbehave]

This I Know {Spencer x Reader}

Chapter Four

masterlist

series table of contents

summary: a little backstory, a little panic- all in a day’s work

word count: 1.6k

July 2004

“Remind me why the hell we decided to do this in the middle of the summer? I swear it has got to be the hottest day of the year,” you grunted, sweat dripping down your back as you weaved through the hurdles.

“Crime waits for no one,” Mia huffed as she ran alongside you. “Besides, we need to beat Gomez and his squad. Show those boys who’s boss.” 

“I already beat him in hand to hand, what more could he want?”

“I think he needs a little more ass-kicking, take him down a peg,” she said.

A whistle sounded across the yard. “Ladies! Less chit-chat, more laps.”

You exchanged a look with Mia before dashing off to the track, her not far behind you. 

You were halfway through your tactical training at the Academy, and while it was the most difficult thing you had ever done, you had never been more motivated. After finishing your second degree, this one in Behavioral Psychology, you had been trying to plan your next move when you had seen them. There was a killer on the loose a town away from you, one with a penchant for young college students and ritualistic staging. You had been following the murders via the news, simultaneously worried for your own safety and fascinated by the case. A press conference caught your eye where you learned that the BAU was in town- the Behavioral Analysis Unit. You had heard of them of course, who in your field hadn’t? But it wasn’t until you attended a seminar a few months later by the man you had seen on the news, Jason Gideon, that you knew. This was what you were meant to do. You made it your life’s mission to get on that unit, whatever it took. 

Mia was one of the first classmates you met at the Academy, and the two of you had become friends almost instantly. You were paired up for one of the first drills, and you had both reveled in the fact of being the only all-female team to make it through. Your shared drive- that and your love for baking, musicals, and all things ghost related- had bonded you from that moment on. You couldn’t imagine life without her. 

You made it back to the dorm with Mia after a grueling day of defensive drills and scenarios, both drained. Flopping onto the floor beside you, she let out an exhale. “What. the. hell.”

You smirked at the way she had her arm dramatically across her forehead, her legs sticking up on the side of her bed. The feeling was completely mutual.

She propped herself up on her elbow, wiping her hair out of her face. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Obviously, Mee.” 

“You don’t look exhausted. You look… psychotic,” she said.

You let out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “If you’re trying to profile me, I think you might be way off.” 

“Hey now,” Mia snickered, kicking you lightly in the shin. “You’re the one who wants to be a profiler. I just want to be on the good old goon squad, busting down doors and shit. I don’t need to know anything about that psychosis crap. But either way you look psychotic.”

You looked down at your sweaty outfit, covered with grass, mud, and other various stains from the day. There was a tear in your pants from when you had tackled the mock-unsub and single-handedly taken him down during a drill, much to Gomez’s dismay. You could feel your hair matted with mud from the takedown, and you saw yourself through Mia’s eyes. The bright smile on your face definitely didn’t match just how beat up and worn out you looked, but you couldn’t seem to keep it off your face. 

“I’m just happy, Mee. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.” 

“You’re gonna do great things, buttercup.” Mia lifted a fist out to you, dramatically sighing with the effort. 

You bumped it with yours, that same grin still on your face. “We both are.”

—————

Present Day

You pressed yourself into the corner of your room, arms wrapped tightly around your legs. You could feel a panic attack coming on- your breath was coming out ragged and your vision was blurring. The events of the past few days had finally caught up to you. The compartmentalization that you so often used when things went wrong was failing you. This was just too much, more wild than you had ever had to deal with before.

What was real? Did you even know anymore? More to the point- would you ever know? The possibility that you might never remember threatened to suffocate you.

Spencer came back into the room, taking one look at you and dropping to the floor beside you. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

You started to shake, your chest heaving as you sobbed. “I can’t breathe, Spence. I-I can’t breathe. It hurts.” Hot tears ran down your face and you felt a warm hand on your cheek. 

Spencer whispered your name at first before repeating it more forcefully, turning your face towards him. “Look at me.” 

You were looking right at Spencer, but it was hard to make out his features, your vision still swimming. “It hurts,” you whispered, still gasping for air.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Spencer murmured. “You’re safe, you’re here in our apartment. You’re with me.” He meant well, of course he did, and you were sure that he had used the same words to ground you before, but given the current circumstances, it did little to help you. 

“I-I don’t know you,” you cried, the thought just serving to panic you more. “I don’t know anything.” 

A look of anguish flashed through his eyes, but he concealed it quickly- too quickly for it to be anything but forced, practiced even. “Can you breathe with me? Take a deep breath.” He counted to five, breathing in deeply and motioning for you to do the same. 

You took a shaky breath, your hand gripping the one that Spencer held on your face. You were squeezing it so hard that you were sure he must be in pain, but he made no move to remove his hand from your grasp. He repeated the breaths in and out, and you mirrored him as you tried to control your breathing. 

Spencer wiped the tears from your face as you hiccuped, choking back a sob. “What do you need?”

“I need space,” you gasped, “I need Mee.” 

Spencer nodded, handing you your phone from the bedside table. “Take another breath, angel. Call her. I’ll be right outside.” 

You grabbed your phone from him and nodded your thanks, your breaths slowly becoming steady. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading towards the bedroom door. You smiled weakly as he closed the door before dialing a number you had known by heart for the last six years.

“Oh buttercup, I’m so glad to hear from you.” The familiar voice on the other end was so immediately comforting, you heaved a sigh of relief, your arms finally relaxing around your legs.

“Mee,” you cried. “Mee, thank god.” 

“Spencer told me what happened, I was so worried about you. I’m sorry I haven’t called, I wanted to give you your space until you were ready. How are you doing?” 

“You know Spencer?” 

You hadn’t even considered the possibility, these two worlds colliding. They felt like entirely different universes. This somehow made it seem more real. If Mia knew Spencer, it was real. You desperately wanted it to be real. You needed it to be.

Mia let out a sad laugh. “Of course. You haven’t stopped talking about that boy since the day you met him. I had to meet him to give my approval, obviously.”

“Oh Mee, it’s so good to hear your voice. I can’t believe this is happening. What the hell is happening?!” You paused, considering the distance of the past two years. “We’re still friends, right? We still talk? I will never forgive myself if we’re not still friends.”

She scoffed. “Hey now, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. I’m still in the LA field office though, so we don’t see each other very often. But we talk on the phone at least every week. And we visit when we can- I met Spencer one of my first trips out there, right after you started dating.” 

“God. I wish- I wish I remembered anything.”

What had it been like- two of your favorite people meeting? You liked to imagine that it was wonderful, that Mia and Spencer had gotten along straight away. What if you never knew?

“I know, it’s gotta be a lot. I can’t even begin to imagine. But hey- Spencer said you were being your usual badass self when it happened. Not that that surprises me in the least.”

“He said that?”

“Not in so many words, but we all know you’re a badass. Always have been.”

It only took a few minutes of talking with Mia for you to be able to calm down completely. The two of you talked for the better part of an hour, laughing over tales of the Academy and your time together. Mia told you a little bit about what had been happening the last two years, but you were grateful that she kept bringing it back to a time you remembered- a time you knew. The comfort of talking to someone you knew, someone you actually, truly knew, was like no other. You could have cried from the sheer relief of it. 

There was a pause before you spoke again. “Mee? Am I happy? Here, with Spencer? In this life?”

The laugh on the other end was joyous. “Of course, buttercup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happier- even that time you kicked Gomez’s ass.” 

 “There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”-Jane Austen

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Taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @illuxions-x​ @cal-ifornication​ :)

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “To Deep Space.”

I am finished with university, had my last final yesterday, so we will be moving back to the normal writing schedule, yay! 

I have no idea where this arc is going tbh, but it is going to be good and I am excited. I hope you guys will enjoy it as well! 

“Dr. Adric, Dr. Adric please report to the bridge.”

He stepped from his office wondering what they could possibly need him for there. He had just been trying to get his office situated when the call came out. He set down his papers on the desk and made his way into the ship looking around as he made his tentative way towards the bridge. The ship was roomier than he thought it might be, but still rather small, he wondered how that affected the people on the ship.

He knew that they had to keep plants aboard the ship for the crew’s mental health, but he honestly wondered how much that help. Overhead he was assured the lights were UV in nature to mimic the sun and stave off depression after long months of being trapped inside a metal tin can hurtling through space. Not one was really sure what the effects of deep space on a person.

They knew that being lost in space could result in mass hysteria as demonstrated by the Commander’s own crew and malfunctioned civilian transport, the likes of which had apparently driven themselves to cannibalism in their panic and confusion.

He had read the reports, it was both disgusting and fascinating.

He paused just inside the bridge turning to stare with wide eyed at the men and women positioned at their consuls arrayed in a semicircular pattern against the outside edge of the room. A second tier comprised another smaller set of consoles for about four people, and just above that was a single raised chair.

The captain’s seat.

The room had been designed with both hierarchy and function in mind in that the captain’s chair could look down on all the other chairs with the ability to see what his crew was doing at all times.

And right now they were prepping for launch.

“Engines.”

“Engine one through six online and reporting no malfunctioning cells Commander.”

“Check them one more time. Crew manifest.”

“Four hundred and eighty six confirmed crewmen, sir.”

“What does the manifest say?”

“The same.”

Dr Adric tilted his head watching as the crew worked, but specifically watching the commander. The man spun this way and that, giving orders, taking information, and all the while making quick check-marks in a little black book he held in one hand. He seemed at east in his chair.

The chief weapons officer, the Drev named Sunny, sat at her station despite not really needing her at the moment, and he could see over her shoulder that she was also doing a weapons check for the ship.

The commander turned in his chair spotting the doctor and motioning him over.

He came confused not sure what he would be needed for.

“Commander?”

The man smiled, an expression that fit well on his face. Despite his youth, the doctor could already see laugh lines, faint and barely visible beginning to form around his eyes…. This was a man used to smiling.

“Take a seat doctor, and strap yourself in. This will be an uncomfortable assent.”

“What do you mean?” He wondered in confusion.

“I generally let all new recruits sit on the bridge for at least one launch or warp. I feel it makes the experience real for them instead of just expecting them to use their imagination. Besides, who doesn’t want to watch a ship launch.”

He was a bit surprised but of course he nodded walking over to the indicated seats and strapping himself in with the five point harness. He continued to watch the crew work. The bridge itself seemed to run rather smoothly under the direction of the commander, and from what he could tell the crew seemed very excited to be off.

“Engines ready, commander.”

“Fuel cells engaged.”

Commander Vir reached for his microphone broadcasting his voice throughout the ship, “Alright you beautiful hooligans launch begins in T minus one minute. Please strap yourself and any loose items down and keep your hands and feet inside the ship for the duration of the ride.” He cut off his mic smiling.

Dr Adric watched closely.

“Ground control this is Harbinger preparing to liftoff in T minus 55, do you copy.”

“Copy harbinger. Launch is ready for go standby on grid line trajectory Alpha two niner one one preparing for liftoff over.”

“Thirty seconds.”

He gripped the seatbelt hard teeth gritted watching as the rest of the crew braced themselves as well. The commander flexed his hands sliding his fingers into the flight gloves and hooking his toes onto the pedals. The holographic shield popped up to cover his eyes.

“launch in 10, 9 ,8, 7, 6, 5.”

He gripped tighter.

“4, 3, 2, 1, “

“Launch.”

The force of the rising ship slammed him back into his seat as they were born skyward. All around them the ship seemed to vibrate and rattle. His chest felt like it had a carton of bricks stacked on top of it and a little black circle was beginning to encroach at the edges of his vision.

Somewhere, someone in the room was cheering. Past his vibrating eyes, he could see the commander valiantly fighting to bring the ship into the sky despite it’s immense bulk which had never been designed for gravity. Eyes wide he watched as the eggshell blue of a perfect day morphed before them and grew darker until space stretched out before them like a pair of waiting arms.

“Prepare core for warp. Navigations.”

“Yes commander?”

“Warp Coarse.”

“Sagittarius A. But not to close! Keep to the coordinates the smart guys gave us” he repeated very suddenly looking very nervous all things told.

“What’s in Sagittarius A?” He wondered

The commander turned in his chair one eyebrow raised looking almost incredulous, “you don’t know?”

The rest of the crew shifted very nervously, he could see it on them though there were hints of excitement.”

He shook his head.

“Our primary directive on this ship is deep space exploration. We are a military vessel, but we hold trillions of dollars in scientific equipment aboard this ship, as such we have been tasked by the UNSC in accordance with the NASA foundation to head to Sagittarius A and take the first close space images of the supermassive black hole at the center of the milky way.”

He felt his hands and feet go suddenly cold.

“B but how can you take a picture of something that sucks in light.”

“The accretion disk of course and then the massive black spot at the middle.”

“But if we get to close….”

“Yes yes doctor, I have been flying in space long enough to know what happens if you run amuck of a black hole. We get sucked in and suspended forever in a slow spiral of doom as time slows down and our bodies are slowly ripped apart atom by atom. Please we aren’t getting THAT close. Even I’m pissing myself just thinking about it, but also super excited to be honest. No mess ups this time which is why the ship has been checked to hell and back to make sure it’s working.”

Not for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if he was psychologically stable enough to be on this mission as it seemed you hat to be just a little crazy to want to do this. Maybe that is why a high percentage of people on the ship had presented with psychological anomalies, least of all the commander himself.

How he hadn’t gone mad with fear regarding the eminent death that surrounded them constantly was a mystery.

“Warp core?”

“Ready for ignition sir.”

“How far out are we.”

“Almost to the warp zone sir,”

Dr Adric rubbed his temples. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see a black hole. What kind of psychological effects does something that powerful have on someone, knowing that if you are caught in its gravity well you are done for in the most horrible way possible, and just looking at it from a distance he imagined would be like watching a bear or tiger out in the wild accept for this was different since the bear could now swallow stares whole and the tiger ad gravity so immense that not even light can escape it’s center.

“Preparing for warp in ten.”

He closed his eyes

But they didn’t stay closed as the countdown continued opening for a moment as he felt the space around him go strange. When he did he nearly lost it as his vision seemed to be looking through a glass fish bowl all warped out to the sides and stretched, far things looking close, close things looking far. Outside the window a massive spot appeared before him and around it the stars were morphing and repeating.

The ship reflected back a thousand times in fractal images.

He yelled in shock clenching his seat, and then, it was over.

He was breathing hard, outside there was nothing but blackness, and the emergency lights had flicked on over the crew.

The captain unbuckled his seat-belt and stepped down onto the floor.

He turned to look at Adric who was gripping the seat so hard his knuckles had gone white, “Nice work, first time I warped I definitely pissed myself so, good constitution.” He patted Adric on the shoulder. The blue Drev stood, and the commander grabbed her by the shoulder hauling himself up onto her back.

Adric watched as the two of them walked away.

How strange.

He was in for seeing a lot of strange things in the next few days. The commander and the blue drev spent a lot of time together, and often he rode on her back. At one point he walked in on the crew having a jousting contest where two drev ran full tilt at the other while the two crewmen brandished brooms.

He walked out of his room more than once to find the commander heelieing down the hall at the head of the bridge crew giving orders.

When that wasn’t happening he had run amuck of a freaky group of spider creatures being taken care of by a dog and a very strange humanoid creature who claimed he could read minds. He hadn’t believed it until it started repeating his inner thoughts back to himself.

Instead of being freaked out he found himself almost envious. If he had that kind of power imagine the sort of things he could do to help his patients.

Everywhere he went it seemed as if something strange was happening.

One day they were playing an aggressive game of keep the balloon off the floor and the next they were using window markers to drawn on the viewing field. As expected from a group of soldiers it turned into a heard of inappropriate doodles until it looked as if their ship was cruising past a heard of winged space dicks.

And he himself kept a close eye on the crew. None of them seemed bothered by the fact they were in deep space, but many of them had strange habits.

The commander and the Drev named Sunny spent an excessive amount of time together, or so he thought, the little doctor never relaxed, and couldn’t to save his life even when he tried. Conn, the mind reader, did his best to get attention by pissing everyone off, and the spiderlings, as he had come to know them, were constantly acting up as well.

He would need more time to get used to the crew, but it seemed as if he had his work cut out for him.

If he could hold himself together that is.

[glittergummicandypeach]

Fake Hafez: How a supreme Persian poet of love was erased | Religion | Al Jazeera

This is the time of the year where every day I get a handful of requests to track down the original, authentic versions of some famed Muslim poet, usually Hafez or Rumi. The requests start off the same way: "I am getting married next month, and my fiance and I wanted to celebrate our Muslim background, and we have always loved this poem by Hafez. Could you send us the original?" Or, "My daughter is graduating this month, and I know she loves this quote from Hafez. Can you send me the original so I can recite it to her at the ceremony we are holding for her?"

It is heartbreaking to have to write back time after time and say the words that bring disappointment: The poems that they have come to love so much and that are ubiquitous on the internet are forgeries. Fake. Made up. No relationship to the original poetry of the beloved and popular Hafez of Shiraz.

How did this come to be? How can it be that about 99.9 percent of the quotes and poems attributed to one the most popular and influential of all the Persian poets and Muslim sages ever, one who is seen as a member of the pantheon of "universal" spirituality on the internet are ... fake? It turns out that it is a fascinating story of Western exotification and appropriation of Muslim spirituality.

Let us take a look at some of these quotes attributed to Hafez:

Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, 'you owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that! It lights up the whole sky.

You like that one from Hafez? Too bad. Fake Hafez.

Your heart and my heart Are very very old friends.

Like that one from Hafez too? Also Fake Hafez.

Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.

Beautiful. Again, not Hafez.

And the next one you were going to ask about? Also fake. So where do all these fake Hafez quotes come from?

An American poet, named Daniel Ladinsky, has been publishing books under the name of the famed Persian poet Hafez for more than 20 years. These books have become bestsellers. You are likely to find them on the shelves of your local bookstore under the "Sufism" section, alongside books of Rumi, Khalil Gibran, Idries Shah, etc.

It hurts me to say this, because I know so many people love these "Hafez" translations. They are beautiful poetry in English, and do contain some profound wisdom. Yet if you love a tradition, you have to speak the truth: Ladinsky's translations have no earthly connection to what the historical Hafez of Shiraz, the 14th-century Persian sage, ever said.

He is making it up. Ladinsky himself admitted that they are not "translations", or "accurate", and in fact denied having any knowledge of Persian in his 1996 best-selling book, I Heard God Laughing. Ladinsky has another bestseller, The Subject Tonight Is Love.

Persians take poetry seriously. For many, it is their singular contribution to world civilisation: What the Greeks are to philosophy, Persians are to poetry. And in the great pantheon of Persian poetry where Hafez, Rumi, Saadi, 'Attar, Nezami, and Ferdowsi might be the immortals, there is perhaps none whose mastery of the Persian language is as refined as that of Hafez.

In the introduction to a recent book on Hafez, I said that Rumi (whose poetic output is in the tens of thousands) comes at you like you an ocean, pulling you in until you surrender to his mystical wave and are washed back to the ocean. Hafez, on the other hand, is like a luminous diamond, with each facet being a perfect cut. You cannot add or take away a word from his sonnets. So, pray tell, how is someone who admits that they do not know the language going to be translating the language?

Ladinsky is not translating from the Persian original of Hafez. And unlike some "versioners" (Coleman Barks is by far the most gifted here) who translate Rumi by taking the Victorian literal translations and rendering them into American free verse, Ladinsky's relationship with the text of Hafez's poetry is nonexistent. Ladinsky claims that Hafez appeared to him in a dream and handed him the English "translations" he is publishing:

"About six months into this work I had an astounding dream in which I saw Hafiz as an Infinite Fountaining Sun (I saw him as God), who sang hundreds of lines of his poetry to me in English, asking me to give that message to 'my artists and seekers'."

It is not my place to argue with people and their dreams, but I am fairly certain that this is not how translation works. A great scholar of Persian and Urdu literature, Christopher Shackle, describes Ladinsky's output as "not so much a paraphrase as a parody of the wondrously wrought style of the greatest master of Persian art-poetry." Another critic, Murat Nemet-Nejat, described Ladinsky's poems as what they are: original poems of Ladinsky masquerading as a "translation."

I want to give credit where credit is due: I do like Ladinsky's poetry. And they do contain mystical insights. Some of the statements that Ladinsky attributes to Hafez are, in fact, mystical truths that we hear from many different mystics. And he is indeed a gifted poet. See this line, for example:

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.

That is good stuff. Powerful. And many mystics, including the 20th-century Sufi master Pir Vilayat, would cast his powerful glance at his students, stating that he would long for them to be able to see themselves and their own worth as he sees them. So yes, Ladinsky's poetry is mystical. And it is great poetry. So good that it is listed on Good Reads as the wisdom of "Hafez of Shiraz." The problem is, Hafez of Shiraz said nothing like that. Daniel Ladinsky of St Louis did. 

The poems are indeed beautiful. They are just not ... Hafez. They are ... Hafez-ish? Hafez-esque? So many of us wish that Ladinsky had just published his work under his own name, rather than appropriating Hafez's. 

Ladinsky's "translations" have been passed on by Oprah, the BBC, and others. Government officials have used them on occasions where they have wanted to include Persian speakers and Iranians. It is now part of the spiritual wisdom of the East shared in Western circles. Which is great for Ladinsky, but we are missing the chance to hear from the actual, real Hafez. And that is a shame.

So, who was the real Hafez (1315-1390)?

He was a Muslim, Persian-speaking sage whose collection of love poetry rivals only Mawlana Rumi in terms of its popularity and influence. Hafez's given name was Muhammad, and he was called Shams al-Din (The Sun of Religion). Hafez was his honorific because he had memorised the whole of the Quran. His poetry collection, the Divan, was referred to as Lesan al-Ghayb (the Tongue of the Unseen Realms).

A great scholar of Islam, the late Shahab Ahmed, referred to Hafez's Divan as: "the most widely-copied, widely-circulated, widely-read, widely-memorized, widely-recited, widely-invoked, and widely-proverbialized book of poetry in Islamic history." Even accounting for a slight debate, that gives some indication of his immense following. Hafez's poetry is considered the very epitome of Persian in the Ghazal tradition.

Hafez's worldview is inseparable from the world of Medieval Islam, the genre of Persian love poetry, and more. And yet he is deliciously impossible to pin down. He is a mystic, though he pokes fun at ostentatious mystics. His own name is "he who has committed the Quran to heart", yet he loathes religious hypocrisy. He shows his own piety while his poetry is filled with references to intoxication and wine that may be literal or may be symbolic.

The most sublime part of Hafez's poetry is its ambiguity. It is like a Rorschach psychological test in poetry. The mystics see it as a sign of their own yearning, and so do the wine-drinkers, and the anti-religious types. It is perhaps a futile exercise to impose one definitive meaning on Hafez. It would rob him of what makes him ... Hafez.

The tomb of Hafez in Shiraz, a magnificent city in Iran, is a popular pilgrimage site and the honeymoon destination of choice for many Iranian newlyweds. His poetry, alongside that of Rumi and Saadi, are main staples of vocalists in Iran to this day, including beautiful covers by leading maestros like Shahram Nazeri and Mohammadreza Shajarian.

Like many other Persian poets and mystics, the influence of Hafez extended far beyond contemporary Iran and can be felt wherever Persianate culture was a presence, including India and Pakistan, Central Asia, Afghanistan, and the Ottoman realms. Persian was the literary language par excellence from Bengal to Bosnia for almost a millennium, a reality that sadly has been buried under more recent nationalistic and linguistic barrages.

Part of what is going on here is what we also see, to a lesser extent, with Rumi: the voice and genius of the Persian speaking, Muslim, mystical, sensual sage of Shiraz are usurped and erased, and taken over by a white American with no connection to Hafez's Islam or Persian tradition. This is erasure and spiritual colonialism. Which is a shame, because Hafez's poetry deserves to be read worldwide alongside Shakespeare and Toni Morrison, Tagore and Whitman, Pablo Neruda and the real Rumi, Tao Te Ching and the Gita, Mahmoud Darwish, and the like.

In a 2013 interview, Ladinsky said of his poems published under the name of Hafez: "Is it Hafez or Danny? I don't know. Does it really matter?" I think it matters a great deal. There are larger issues of language, community, and power involved here.

It is not simply a matter of a translation dispute, nor of alternate models of translations. This is a matter of power, privilege and erasure. There is limited shelf space in any bookstore. Will we see the real Rumi, the real Hafez, or something appropriating their name? How did publishers publish books under the name of Hafez without having someone, anyone, with a modicum of familiarity check these purported translations against the original to see if there is a relationship? Was there anyone in the room when these decisions were made who was connected in a meaningful way to the communities who have lived through Hafez for centuries?

Hafez's poetry has not been sitting idly on a shelf gathering dust. It has been, and continues to be, the lifeline of the poetic and religious imagination of tens of millions of human beings. Hafez has something to say, and to sing, to the whole world, but bypassing these tens of millions who have kept Hafez in their heart as Hafez kept the Quran in his heart is tantamount to erasure and appropriation.

We live in an age where the president of the United States ran on an Islamophobic campaign of "Islam hates us" and establishing a cruel Muslim ban immediately upon taking office. As Edward Said and other theorists have reminded us, the world of culture is inseparable from the world of politics. So there is something sinister about keeping Muslims out of our borders while stealing their crown jewels and appropriating them not by translating them but simply as decor for poetry that bears no relationship to the original. Without equating the two, the dynamic here is reminiscent of white America's endless fascination with Black culture and music while continuing to perpetuate systems and institutions that leave Black folk unable to breathe.

There is one last element: It is indeed an act of violence to take the Islam out of Rumi and Hafez, as Ladinsky has done. It is another thing to take Rumi and Hafez out of Islam. That is a separate matter, and a mandate for Muslims to reimagine a faith that is steeped in the world of poetry, nuance, mercy, love, spirit, and beauty. Far from merely being content to criticise those who appropriate Muslim sages and erase Muslims' own presence in their legacy, it is also up to us to reimagine Islam where figures like Rumi and Hafez are central voices. This has been part of what many of feel called to, and are pursuing through initiatives like Illuminated Courses.

Oh, and one last thing: It is Haaaaafez, not Hafeeeeez. Please.

The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera's editorial stance.

This content was originally published here.