#i just found a way to integrate a pan identity into it

[aroacemisha]

My old pan Willow headcanon after the recent Post-Hoot:

[child-of-hurin]

Thinking that Sandor & Sansa and Theon & Jeyne are some of my favorite relationships in ASOIAF and maybe it's because they both are built on the same core dynamic of like: this man who was brutalized and dehumanized by the violent system sees this new girl become the next victim; this man thinks they're hopelessly integrated into this system of violence, but ends up finding their humanity through their relationships with this girl.

Ignoring the obvious differences in how these pan out, I'm also thinking that it's interesting that Sandor is integrated into this system as a verily male perpetrator, and Theon as an unmanned victim, and that for Sandor (so far!) this recovery of humanity/identity was disastrous, but for Theon it was glorious...

This is part of the reason why I roll my eyes when I see commentary putting way too much emphasis on Sansa's role as some sort of reminder to Sandor of his sister... It would make sense, it's a good headcanon, will be perfectly sensible if it comes up in the books later -- but in the text we have, it's pretty clear the person Sandor is seeing in Sansa is himself. A hundred posts about how problematic and inappropriate it is for a grown man to have this sort of bond with a young girl bla bla bla whatever, it is what it is, and it's very touching imo. I like that he keeps trying to shift their dynamic into the horror that he learned to be true: he'll be the butcher and she'll be the meat, he'll be the kingsguard and she'll be the kingsbride, he'll be the hunting dog and she'll be the ornamental bird, he'll be the rapist and she'll be the raped, but it just doesn't work. He can't do it to her like it was done to him. He keeps slipping out of cynicism, or letting sincerity bleed through. This happens to Theon on a smaller level because the dynamic he's trying to enforce with Jeyne is essentially different; they're in similar positions as victims and nor perpetrators. Still, be it by masculinity or by emasculation, both Sandor and Theon were made into their owner's dog, then were faced with the victimization of a young girl, and found out that -- to their delight or to their chagrin -- they were still human, after all.

[thisisevenharderthannamingablog]

A few (lot) more notes from episode 3.

Things to unpack here, and I haven't had the joy that is scene analysis for a while now.

In the injury scene I think Porsche is best described as wary. He thought he had figured out the rules here, but Kinn has found a new way to be weird. Porsche is trying to behave more like the professional employee he signed on to be, but that role doesn't provide him with any guidance. He does not have the inside line on what Kinn is thinking that the audience does, and has no choice but to take the "just taking care of my property" pose at face value. His body language is avoidant for lack of anything else he can do to signal discomfort with this interaction, and when Kinn starts to leave, Porsche is thinking about work.

At the waterfront, contrast. Porsche is (at least physically) completely unguarded. The camera pans over everyone else still inside; an empty space suggests they had previously been sitting next to each other, that this is a continuation of whatever that interaction was. Porsche is relaxed to the point of appearing giddy, presumably a little drunk, sprawls on the pier like he has never worried about anything in his life. Kinn visibly hesitates and has to be coaxed into relaxing. I am very taken with the decision to include the tiny, casual point of physical contact. This is the first interaction between them that isn't fraught with outright conflict or obvious status problems, and their physical positioning throughout the scene reflects that.

Mirroring is something humans do in conversation, and it can be so interesting when it's used in visual storytelling, because we tend to pick up on it even if we don't pay it conscious attention. It's the alternation of who moves and who mirrors that provides a sense of connection.

It's Porsche who asks what are you thinking, probably not something he would have asked at the house, and gets a playful deflection and then a serious question back -- which he also deflects. Seconds ago is not a real answer; he is not as unguarded as he looks right now.

Conversational mirror, Kinn turning the what are you thinking question back on him. Porsche has his eyes closed, so Kinn doesn't have to control his own expressions; we see how intent he is. Porsche doesn't deflect this time, doesn't shift back to silly mode, just... goes for broke here with honesty, not even opening his eyes to see how Kinn is taking this, because he doesn't really care? He's mainly talking to himself, might have a bit of alcohol buffer going, facing the consequences of his decisions. Of course he's not actually alone; we get a whole parade of Kinn reactions that mostly seem to land on the rueful spectrum.

We already had Pete's "eh, you get used to it" in the immediate aftermath of the shooting. It could make sense for Kinn to echo that sentiment; far as he's concerned, this is normal. Instead, he ties his response to Porsche's feelings; he's way more cautious than Porsche right now, but he takes the risk and goes for that connection. The instant Porsche looks at him, he looks away and shuts up, so Porsche closes his eyes again to ask his follow-up question. I find that an interesting moment, that Kinn won't talk if Porsche is watching him, and that Porsche picks up on that and accommodates for the entire rest of the scene rather than shutting down the conversation.

Not that Kinn says a lot in terms of the number of words, but it's a critical line. Do I have a choice? Of course he does. Porsche had a choice at the end of the first episode. That choice had a high price in terms of his identity no matter which option he picked. He decided that his own moral integrity was less important to him than his role in protecting Chay's future, and he's now facing the cost. So we know that Kinn has a choice, and can infer that he prefers the price he is currently paying to whatever the alternatives are; all we have to go on is Pete telling Porsche that without Kinn, the family is doomed.

The dialog makes an odd turn here, with Porsche thanking Kinn for intervening in the Macau thing. I tentatively conclude that he's bringing up a moment where however messed up the situation was, Kinn's choice could make the best of a bad thing. Also makes it clear that despite everything to date, Porsche didn’t hate him. And he still has his eyes shut, has run out of things to say. Kinn is so fucking charmed and defenseless.

One quick kiss; pause for Kinn to evaluate his response. Porsche hasn't pulled away, hasn't really reacted at all in that first moment. Reprise; Porsche leans into it a little, they keep going, and he's leaning in a little more as the camera pulls back.

One final unrelated note about this episode: I think the chessboard has been fully populated now? We've met the entire family. We have hints about several directions from which threats might appear -- the minor family, the unseen person who hired the lady assassin, assorted other mobs, and the hint that there's a spy on the inside.

[hattrickeryreviews]

Coach's Challenge (Scoring Chances #5) - Avon Gale

“It’s been decades since blackmail forced Troy Callahan to retire from playing professional hockey, and he’s built a successful career behind the bench. When he’s offered the opportunity to coach the Asheville Ravens—the most hated team in the ECHL—he’s convinced that his no-nonsense attitude is just what the team needs to put their focus back on hockey. But Troy is disheartened when he finds out the Ravens have signed Shane North, a player known for his aggression—especially when Shane’s rough good looks have Troy thinking inappropriate thoughts about a player, even if he’s set to retire at the end of the season.

Shane’s career in the majors never quite took off. Wanting to quit on his own terms, Shane agrees to a one-year contract with the Ravens and finds himself playing for a coach who thinks he’s an aging goon, and with a team that doesn’t trust him, Troy, or each other. Despite his determination not to get involved, Shane unwillingly becomes part of the team… and is just as unwillingly drawn to the gruff, out-and-proud coach. As the Ravens struggle to build a new identity, Shane and Troy succumb to the passion that might cost them everything.”

Did I reread it? Yes

POV: 3rd person limited, alternating between Troy Callahan and Shane North

Tropes: Power Dynamics, Blackmail, Redemption, Age Gap

My thoughts:

Characters/Character Development: 3.5/5

Troy: Troy is an ex-NHL player who was blackmailed out of the league and has since found his place in coaching. He’s gruff, grumpy, and a bit of a lovable asshole. His character arc is focused on moving on from the past and accepting romance.

Shane: Shane is a hockey player who was supposed to be great yet has found himself falling down in the leagues until finally hitting the ECHL. He’s stubborn and defiant, feeling like he has something to prove no matter where he goes. His character arc is focused on accepting his future.

These guys are stuck in their opinions and not going to change for anyone—except maybe each other. They both have some pretty solid personalities, but I’d say at times they became a bit derivative; there wasn’t much depth going on, mostly due to the fact that they very much have accepted their lots in life by the time of the book. Enjoyable personalities with lively interactions, but they fall a bit flat.

Believability (Hockey): 3.5/5

Just as the previous books in the series did, this book follows the ECHL, with accurate depictions of what that means for the characters. The team names themselves are fake, but the structure of the games and league is very real. I’d say some later administrative aspects of the team (which I will not mention to keep this review spoiler free!) are definitely not how I’d expect things to actually pan out.

Believability (Plot): 4/5

The plot is generally believable, with just a few instances of “how did that work out?” or “you’re really doing this?”. The way the two main characters progressed made sense with their personalities, and some of the actions of the side characters really lined up with what I would anticipate, with an appropriate amount of plot twist.

Uniqueness: 2/5

There isn’t much that happens in this book that is bringing anything new to the table. Some of the subplots are a bit unique, but otherwise it’s not something that I haven’t seen out of other hockey books. This isn’t a book where I’m going to be thinking “wow, I’m really in the mood for ___, I’ll pick up this one!”

Trope Integration: 2/5

This isn’t a trope-y read, to be completely honest. You’re look at a few different things going on, but what is supposed to be the biggest one (power dynamics) isn’t explored within the relationship itself and only has plot significance near the end of the story. It’s there; you just have to squint to see it.

Series Integration: 4.5/5

This was eluded to nicely! The end of the last book predicted the start of this one. While I would have preferred that Troy’s love interest had been an established member of the team already, the progression made sense from the previous book.

General enjoyment: 3/5

This book wasn’t really blowing my mind at any point. I enjoyed it, I thought it was okay, but I wasn’t sucked into it. The characters were enjoyable, but I didn’t feel compelled to keep reading. Overall, I would say it was worth the reading time.

Overall Score: 22.5/35 or 3.1/5

[flightlessnightingale]

On Lesbianism

I’ll state it at the top here, because many have not understood my stance. The purpose of this essay is not to say that Lesbian cannot mean “Female homosexual.” Rather, my objective is to show that Lesbian means more than that single definition suggests. Female Homosexuals are lesbians, unless they personally do not want to use that label. Now, on with the show: Lesbianism is not about gatekeeping, and I don’t want to have to keep convincing people that the movement popularized by someone who wrote a book full of lies and hate speech then immediately worked with Ronald Reagan is a bad movement. In the early ’70s, groups of what would now be called “gender critical” feminists threatened violence against many trans women who dared exist in women’s and lesbian spaces. For example, trans woman Beth Elliott, who was at the 1973 West Coast Lesbian Feminist Conference to perform with her lesbian band, was ridiculed onstage and had her existence protested. In 1979, radical feminist Janice Raymond, a professor at the University of Massachusetts, wrote the defining work of the TERF movement, “Transsexual Empire: The Making of the Shemale,” in which she argued that “transsexualism” should be “morally mandating it out of existence”—mainly by restricting access to transition care (a political position shared by the Trump administration). Soon after she wrote another paper, published for the government-funded, National Center for Healthcare Technology — and the Reagan administration cut off Medicare and private health insurance coverage for transition-related care.

Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminism is a fundamentally unsustainable ideology. Lesbianism is a fundamentally sustainable existence.

There used to be a lesbian bar or queer bar or gay bar in practically every small town — sometimes one of each. After surviving constant police raids, these queer spaces began closing even Before the AIDS epidemic. Because TERFs would take them over, kick out transfems and their friends. Suddenly, there weren’t enough local patrons to keep the bars open, because the majority had been kicked out. With America’s lack of public transportation, not enough people were coming from out of town either.

TERFs, even beyond that, were a fundamental part of the state apparatus that let AIDS kill millions.

For those who don’t know, Lesbian, from the time of Sappho of Lesbos to the about 1970′s, referred to someone who rejects the patriarchal hierarchy. It was not only a sexuality, but almost akin to a gender spectrum.

That changed in the 1970′s when TERFs co-opted 2nd Wave feminism, working with Ronald fucking Reagan to ban insurance for trans healthcare.

TERFs took over the narrative, the bars, the movement, and changed Lesbian from the most revolutionary and integral queer communal identity of 2 fucking THOUSAND years, from “Someone who rejects the patriarchal hierarchy” to “A woman with a vagina who’s sexually attracted to other women with vaginas”

How does this fit into the bi lesbian debate? As I said, Lesbian is more of a Gender Spectrum than anything else, it was used much in the same way that we use queer or genderqueer today.

And it’s intersectional too.

See, if you were to try to ascribe a rigid, biological, or localized model of an identity across multiple cultures, it will fail. It will exclude people who should not be excluded. ESPECIALLY Intersex people. That’s why “Two Spirit” isn’t something rigid- it is an umbrella term for the identities within over a dozen different cultures. In the next two sections, I have excerpts on Two-Spirit and Butch identity, to give a better idea of the linguistics of queer culture: This section on Two-Spirit comes from wikipedia, as it has the most links to further sources, I have linked all sources directly, though you can also access them from the Wikipedia page’s��bibliography: Two-Spirit is a pan-Indian, umbrella term used by some Indigenous North Americans to describe Native people who fulfill a traditional ceremonial and social role that does not correlate to the western binary. [1] [2] [3] Created at the 1990 Indigenous lesbian and gay international gathering in Winnipeg, it was "specifically chosen to distinguish and distance Native American/First Nations people from non-Native peoples." [4] Criticism of Two-Spirit arises from 2 major points, 1. That it can exasperate the erasure of the traditional terms and identities of specific cultures.           a. Notice how this parallels criticisms of Gay being used as the umbrella           term for queer culture in general. 2. That it implies adherence to the Western binary; that Natives believe these individuals are "both male and female" [4]          a. Again, you’ll notice that this parallels my criticisms of the TERF definition of Lesbian, that tying LGBT+ identities to a rigid western gender binary does a disservice to LGBT+ people,—especially across cultures. “Two Spirit" wasn’t intended to be interchangeable with "LGBT Native American" or "Gay Indian"; [2] nor was it meant to replace traditional terms in Indigenous languages.  Rather, it was created to serve as a pan-Indian unifier. [1] [2] [4] —The term and identity of two-spirit "does not make sense" unless it is contextualized within a Native American or First Nations framework and traditional cultural understanding. [3] [10] [11] The ceremonial roles intended to be under the modern umbrella of two-spirit can vary widely, even among the Indigenous people who accept the English-language term. No one Native American/First Nations' culture's gender or sexuality categories apply to all, or even a majority of, these cultures. [4] [8] Butch: At the turn of the 20th century, the word “butch” meant “tough kid” or referred to a men’s haircut. It surfaced as a term used among women who identified as lesbians in the 1940s, but historians and scholars have struggled to identify exactly how or when it entered the queer lexicon. However it happened, "Butch” has come to mean a “lesbian of masculine appearance or behavior.” (I have heard that, though the words originate from French, Femme & Butch came into Lesbian culture from Latina lesbian culture, and if I find a good source for that I will share. If I had to guess, there may be some wonderful history to find of it in New Orleans—or somewhere similar.) Before “butch” became a term used by lesbians, there were other terms in the 1920s that described masculinity among queer women. According to the historian Lillian Faderman,“bull dagger” and “bull dyke” came out of the Black lesbian subculture of Harlem, where there were “mama” and “papa” relationships that looked like butch-femme partnerships. Performer Gladys Bentley epitomized this style with her men’s hats, ties and jackets. Women in same-sex relationships at this time didn’t yet use the word “lesbian” to describe themselves. Prison slang introduced the terms “daddy,” “husband,” and “top sargeant” into the working class lesbian subculture of the 1930s.  This lesbian history happened alongside Trans history, and often intersected, just as the Harlem renaissance had music at the forefront of black and lesbian (and trans!) culture, so too can trans musicians, actresses, and more be found all across history, and all across the US. Some of the earliest known trans musicians are Billy Tipton and Willmer “Little Ax” Broadnax—Both transmasculine musicians who hold an important place in not just queer history, but music history.

Lesbian isn’t rigid & biological, it’s social and personal, built up of community and self-determination.

And it has been for millennia.

So when people say that nonbinary lesbians aren’t lesbian, or asexual lesboromantics aren’t lesbian, or bisexual lesbians aren’t lesbian, it’s not if those things are technically true within the framework — It’s that those statements are working off a fundamentally claustrophobic, regressive, reductionist, Incorrect definition You’ll notice that whilst I have been able to give citations for TERFs, for Butch, and especially for Two-Spirit, there is little to say for Lesbianism. The chief reason for this is that lesbian history has been quite effectively erased-but it is not forgotten, and the anthropological work to recover what was lost is still ongoing. One of the primary issues is that so many who know or remember the history have so much trauma connected to "Lesbian” that they feel unable to reclaim it. Despite this trauma, just like the anthropological work, reclamation is ongoing.

Since Sappho, lesbian was someone who rejects the patriarchal hierarchy. For centuries, esbian wasn’t just a sexuality, it was intersectional community, kin to a gender spectrum, like today’s “queer”. When TERFs co-opted 2nd Wave feminism, they redefined Lesbian to “woman w/ a vag attracted to other women w/ vags”. So when you say “bi lesbians aren’t lesbian” it’s not whether that’s true within the framework, it’s that you’re working off a claustrophobic, regressive, and reductionist definition.

I want Feminism, Queerness, Lesbianism, to be fucking sustainable.

I wanna see happy trans and lesbian and queer kids in a green and blue fucking world some day.

I want them to be able to grow old in a world we made good.

[friendofflowersandfrogs]

Poetry by me!!

Here is a very long, unedited, poem I just impulsively wrote inspired by the lgbtqia+ community and its kinda radical so… I hope you enjoy

TW: bi-pan discourse, f-slur

L. G. B. T. Q. I. A. +

L

L for the Lost, the ones who

Laid down their

Lives in the riots, past and present,

in Stonewall, in everyday conflicts

as they fought to break free

of the choke of oppression so that the

Living could have a better

Life today.

L for those who also Lost the

Love and support of family and friends, unable to

Let themselves suffer in silence any longer and only

Losing more from it.

G

G for the guidance passed down from one

Generation of gays to the next,

Giving all the love and support needed

when it couldn’t be found anywhere else.

B

B for the broken, but also for the

Brave, the ones who refused to be

Bystanders in the conflict ahead.

The ones who

Broke away from the norm,

demanding their voices be heard,

risking everything to

Be heard.

T

T is for the transformers,

The people speaking up,

making differences big and small,

step by step

Transcending our word

from prejudice to Pride.

Q

Q is for the Queer,

the unnatural, the attention seekers,

the sinful, the faeries, the faggots,

for all the queer who put up with all of this

day by day, slight by slight,

because of who they are,

because they spoke up, spoke out

against the hate they faced.

it’s for anyone who took these harmful words

and turned them around,

wearing them with Pride,

Quick to stand up for themselves and others.

Q is also for the Questioning,

and the closeted.

for those daring enough to inquire these things

about themselves

and those forced to stay

Quiet about their personal truth

for their own safety

I

I is for the Ingenuity

of the community and their allies,

those who accept and support each other,

helping to create new names, new flags, new

Identities so that everybody

feels welcome, seen, heard, and understood

not to mention understand that they too are an

Integral part of the community.

A

A is for the Acceptance

that can be found from one comrad to another,

Allowing each other to grow and explore

new parts of themselves,

supporting them the whole way.

Allies.

Although, we shouldn’t neglect

the lack of Acceptance as well,

not just outside the community but inside too.

Aspec—Asexual and aromantic—

And everything in between.

bisexual and Pansexual, Omni and Poly

All subjected to discourse and hate

within the bounds of our community.

none of that is Alright.

All Are Valid.

discrimination inside the community

is something we cannot

Afford.

+

Plus anybody, everybody,

You are all valid.

You are all loved.

You are all enough

Just as you are.

We have to come together,

Adding everyone to our ranks that wants to be here,

Discrimination aside.

We need to rise up, let our voices be heard.

We will not be erased

If we stand together.

[princeasimdiya12]

I adore your talentswap backstories! I'd like you to write some headcanons for my Talentshift SDR2 au. It consists of Mechanic!Hajime, ReserveCourse!Mahiru, Photographer!Ibuki, Musician!Fuyuhiko, Yakuza!Gundham, Breeder!Chiaki, Gamer!Mikan, Nurse!Nagito, Lucky!Imposter, Imposter!Peko (impersonating non-despair Junko), Swordswoman!Sonia, Prince!Nekomaru, Coach!Teruteru, Chef!Hiyoko, TraditionalDancer!Akane, and Gymnast!Kazuichi. If not, I completely understand.

Hey anon! I’m glad you enjoyed them! ^_^ And I’d be happy to make some headcanons for your AU. But just to let you know anon, I would appreciate it if you asked me first before sending me your listed requests. I honestly don’t mind writing headcanons for talentswaps (I honestly enjoy doing that) but I would appreciate you asking me and then sending them to me. That way it doesn’t take me by surprise. 

So without further ado, here are my headcanons for your SDR2 Talentswap AU.

Peko Pekoyama as the SHSL Imposter

While Peko was adopted by the Kuzuryu Clan, she didn’t have a choice in her lifelong profession like Fuyuhiko did.

She was made to work as an infiltration agent.

As a professional imposter, Peko learned how to analyze and copy the body movements and behaviors of any potential person. 

She also was taught how to apply makeup to make her disguises as accurate as possible.

Her assignments involved abducting low level workers of rival clans and taking their place while disguised as them.

She’d then relay the rival clan’s weaknesses and business transactions towards the Kuzuryu’s so they can exploit them.

Peko was discouraged from having any personal interests or hobbies so that her infiltration and identity theft skills wouldn’t be tarnished.

This made Peko feel more like a tool and how she only existed to promote the success of the Kuzuryu Clan. 

When Fuyuhiko was scouted to go to Hope’s Peak, her superiors used their connections to grant Peko a spot with him to keep an eye on him.

She would take on Junko Enoshima’s image given that the supermodel was busy with her own personal affairs.

Although no one can recognize her while disguised, the viewer/player can recognize Peko with her thick glasses and piercing red eyes.

Hiyoko Saionji as the SHSL Chef

Hiyoko came from a family of culinary masters who amazed Japan with their creative and flavorful dishes.

There was unfortunately alot of drama within the family as they each wanted to train Hiyoko so they can pass their personal culinary training onto her.

Her grandmother managed to win and was one of the most ruthless teachers ever. 

Under her training, Hiyoko received burns, cuts and having her food thrown in her face just for making the smallest of slip ups.

Her brutal training mixed with having negative relations with her family made her bitter and aggressive towards everyone around her.

She also has a hard time trusting others to work with her in the kitchen due to multiple incidents where dishes were poisoned and nearly tarnished Hiyoko’s reputation.

Because of this, she prefers to work alone in the kitchen. When she’s assigned to work with partners or underlings, she can be best described as Gordon Ramsay if he were a sassy lost child.

She often holds a knife or a frying pan whenever she’s threatening someone she doesn’t like.

Her culinary specialties involve desserts such as wasabon and kompeito.

Ibuki Mioda as the SHSL Photographer

Throughout her childhood, Ibuki was neglected by her caregivers so she took up photography as a means of distracting herself from the loneliness of her household.

She managed to earn her success by taking high quality photos of lovers in romantic situations.

At her middle school, she made it a game for herself to see how many pictures she could get of different couples at her school without getting caught.

While developing her photos, the couples tried to chastise Ibuki for her actions but they immediately changed their minds when they saw how cool the photos looked.

Ibuki gained a reputation among her peers for her photos and now everyone wanted one too.

This resulted in Ibuki getting alot of “friends” who only wanted to hang out with her just so she could photograph them doing what they wanted while conveniently leaving out the photographer herself.

The fact that these people only cared about her talent so she can capture their memories for them gave Ibuki a sense of familiar loneliness.

Despite this, she wants to enjoy her talent as much as she can with an upbeat attitude.

Ibuki’s favorite subject to photograph are people.

She loves to people watch since the people walking around come in different shapes and sizes and are always doing something unique that you wouldn’t expect.

Sonia Nevermind as the SHSL Swordswoman

Sonia came from a family of professional swordfighters who taught her the power of the blade at an early age.

She grew up on European fairy tales and legends of powerful heroes who used their swords to fight for justice or prove their superiority against enemies who opposed them.

Her family taught her classical fencing, mordhau, the half-sword, destreza and several other fighting styles which she claims are a secret.

She earned her title after winning multiple swordfighting tournaments, many of which were held underground. 

Despite her victories, she’s actually been hospitalized due to the extreme injuries she received from sword wounds and physical attacks from her opponents.

Since these wounds have yet to diminish her fighting power, Sonia feels that it’s best to pay them no mind so she can continue her family’s legacy.

She’s never seen without her longsword which she made herself. She calls it Stjerneild because there were shooting stars on the night of making it and also since she burned herself during the process.

Sonia isn’t afraid to boast about her fighting skills and eagerly offers her girl friends the chance to learn how to use a sword.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu as the SHSL Light Music Club Member

Rather than becoming the next heir of his family business, Fuyuhiko wanted to pursue his dream of being an idol.

He takes his career extremely seriously and wouldn’t do stupid stunts or scandals that could jeopardize his work.

To make up for his young appearance, Fuyuhiko uses outfits that have a punk aesthetic while also incorporating black and gold color schemes to make him look older.

Alot of his songs feature themes of embracing your personal talents or how it’s better to carve your own path rather than rely on others.

He knows how to play the electric guitar and the keyboard. 

Having refused his parents’ intended career plans, he feels that he can’t screw up his career or else everything he ever worked for will be for nothing and he’d have to crawl back to them for support.

His sister Natsumi often joins him during his tours and unofficially becomes his manager and bodyguard during her visits. 

He has a hard time dealing with fanclub meetings because the fangirls would make jokes about his baby face which would drive him insane.

Akane Owari as the SHSL Traditional Dancer

Just like in canon, Akane had to take care of her younger siblings while struggling to survive her poor hometown.

While she did take different jobs to support her family, she would lose those jobs constantly because she kept getting into fights against strangers who tried to grope and harass her.

One day, while she was training by herself in an empty plaza, a woman passed by and paid close attention to her fighting form and rhythm.

She revealed herself to Akane as a traditional dance instructor and offered to train Akane to perfect her skills.

The girl wasn’t interested in doing something fancy like dancing but she changed her mind when she realized that her dancing could be used to raise money for her family. To which, she accepted.

While the instructor taught Akane the fundamentals of mai and odori techniques, the girl performed better when she used her own skills.

While frustrated, the instructor decided to rework her teaching style so Akane’s performances would be passable while also integrating her own skills.

She ended up winning multiple competitions and performances and used the prize money to move her family into a bigger and better house.

Although her reputation as an “easy waitress” would often rear its ugly head and would make Akane become agitated.

Her dancing moves incorporate alot of her old fighting techniques.

She wears a cherry red kimono with a yellow dragon etched on the side as a design.

At the end of each performance, she can be found at the snacks table eating just about everything.

Nagito Komaeda as the SHSL Nurse

Nagito lost his family when he was just a child.

Having pity on the boy, along with finding traces of frontotemporal dementia, the head doctor of the hospital he resided in decided to adopt the boy as his own.

Nagito became the doctor’s apprentice and learned of the different techniques that came with working in the medical field. 

The doctor taught him which drugs/medicines were used for what along with how to use the surgical tools properly.

He personally saw different medical cases each more mesmerizing than the last. 

He became fixated on the concept of death and how it was an integral part of life.

When he became old enough, he started to work as a nurse and partake in the same surgeries he saw as a child.

While he certainly participated in a number of cases that saved the lives of his patients, he also had a number of cases that resulted in death.

He personally requested to handle the patients that were unable to be saved so he can spend their final moments with them and capture the memory of their deaths.

There’s been word from the medical staff that he tries to comfort the dying patient and their family with speeches on how they shouldn’t be afraid of death and how the patient will move on to greater things in the next life and how the families will become stronger afterwards.

This has earned him the nickname “Angel of Death”. 

He wears mint green scrubs and carries a portable bag withhis own medical equipment.

Teruteru Hanamura as the SHSL Coach

Despite his physique, Teruteru has amazing stamina and is capable of lifting heavy objects that ordinary people would have trouble lifting on their own.

Teruteru can analyze a person’s physical stature and determine which exercise or physical activity best suits them.

He always offers massage therapy proclaiming that it’s the best way to strengthen the body and relax the mind.

There are multiple cases where the players he’s worked with have accused him of sexual harassment or groping their bodies. 

He has a complicated relationship with his family.

The younger siblings antagonize him for pursuing a career that isn’t related to their family’s restaurant business while putting more hardships on their mother.

His mom on the other hand, is more accepting of his career and asks that he focus more on what he enjoys doing in life.

Teruteru’s massages originally stemmed from how he would give massages to his mama to help alleviate her of her body aches.

He wears a dark red track suit and gold chain. Mixed with his combed over hair, it makes him look like a sleazy gangster.

Chiaki Nanami as the SHSL Animal Breeder

As the daughter of a rich family that hardly had time for her, Chiaki’s parents bought her a variety of animals to keep her company.

She found comfort with them but was heartbroken when she noticed that they became saddened and died.

She became motivated to learn from them so they could stay alive for long as possible.

Chiaki began studying different types of animals and what behaviors are ideal and which are concerning.

After school, she would venture to local animal shelters and veterinarians and offer to volunteer so she can work with different animals and examine first hand their behaviors.

She earned recognition by forming connections with the animals in her care and teaching them commands.

While she prefers the company of animals to humans, she will make an effort to help her human clients have a better relationship with their pets.

She can often be found napping alongside any of her animal friends.

Sagishi as the SHSL Lucky Student

Saigishi grew up in an orphanage having been abandoned by their family before they can remember.

They noticed that they had an unusual luck themed streak when it came to playing with the other kids.

If they were playing soccer, they would accidentally kick the ball into the window which surprisingly knocked out a janitor that was about to assault one of the orphanage workers.

If they tried to pass a love letter to another child they had a crush on, a burst of wind would fly the letter straight into the child’s face and they’d end up having a terrible accident.

If they were preparing food for an upcoming dinner, they would end up pouring too much vinegar into the meal which would spoil the dinner resulting in the staff having to order pizza for the kids.

Saigishi developed a reputation as a kid with creepy powers which both amazed and terrified their fellow orphans.

The kid realized that their luck would only benefit the people around them but would make bad things happen if they tried to use it for themselves.

At the urging of their friends, they ended up participating in the Hope’s Peak Lottery and wound up with the chance to join them as the next SHSL Lucky Student.

Sagishi was worried since something bad would eventually happen if it was the work of their luck, but they decided to take the offer knowing that they needed to make a future for themselves.

They wear a white collared shirt with old jeans. 

They still have a mullet which has a small ahoge on the top of their head.

Mikan Tsumiki as the SHSL Gamer

She still had a horrible childhood growing up where her family and classmates would bully and abuse her for a variety of reasons.

Not wanting to put up with their abuse anymore, Mikan decided to drop out of middle school and become a hikikomori.

Using her worn out computer, Mikan found comfort in playing online video games. 

She personally enjoys fighting games as she imagines her enemies as her abusers and would deliver swift justice on them by beating them up.

Mikan has a preference for playing as male characters since the female characters wearing skimpy/stripper-esque outfits bring back painful memories for her.

After sufficient online practice, Mikan gained enough confidence to try tournaments in the real world. 

But she kept this secret from her family in fear that they would use this to torment her.

When it comes to tournaments, she unleashes her pent up anger and frustrations for her past tormentors by cursing at her opponents as she beats them.

While her fandom is impressed with her gaming skills, they do question why they would call her opponents by a different name and accuses them of doing something awful to her.

When she wants to calm down after a heavy day, she likes to play relaxing games with cute animals.

Nekomaru Nidai as the SHSL Prince

During his childhood years, Nekomaru stayed in his room because of his heart condition.

He received private tutoring based on the history of his kingdom along with different world cultures.

His father and mother spared no expense in providing the best doctors and medical professionals who could ensure that their son would be physically fit.

When he started making appearances outside of the palace, there were rumors that the frail prince was placed in a secret government program that was designed to create super soldiers.

He’s often recognized for working first as a soldier under his father’s militia before becoming of it’s main generals.

Nekomaru is well versed when it comes to proper etiquette and engaging in the company of royals or high class aristocrats. 

He has a personal club made of suitors who have fallen for his image as a charming (and handsome) prince.

He also devotes alot of time to interacting with the middle class of his kingdom as he believes having a bond with his people is important for a royal to have.

The main uniform he wears is a blue military outfit with a silver sash and a black beret with a family jewel in the front.

Gundam Tanaka as the SHSL Yakuza

He inherited the throne of the Tanaka Empire at an early age due to the death of his father.

He wasn’t able to remember his father but the stories passed by his underlings and advisors describe him as a devil who was incredibly powerful but dangerous when provoked.

His mother on the other hand, remembers him as a loving man who was very attentive toward her needs.

Gundam would unintentionally embrace his father’s memory thanks to his “overlord” personality which would make him come off as overly dramatic and sinister to his enemies.

His reign as a yazuka lord involved more emphasis on spiritual affairs by bringing spiritual communities under his Empire.

He personally believes that maintaining ties with the spirits and Gods will grant the Tanaka Empire a stronger chance of survival.

While maintaining relationships with minor businesses under his control, he would also invite potential gang groups for tea ceremonies and offer them the chance to join him.

He’s been trained by his advisors in using a katana and gun making him skilled enough to handle even the most dangerous of gang members.

While he’s capable of defeating them, he vows never to take the blood of anyone weaker than him or unless he’s given no other choice.

Before entering high school, Gundam was able to have his upper and lower body tattooed with images of oni demons and spirits.

He found the Four Dark Devas when he passed by a street and saw the four hamsters foraging for food in a dumpster. 

He also expresses admiration for Sonia’s impressive swordfighting skills and has offered her an opportunity to work for his Empire if she wishes.

Kazuichi Souda as the SHSL Gymnast

Kazuichi got into gymnastics by reading alot of shonen manga.

He was impressed by how athletic and fit the heroes were so he wanted to train and be like them.

When not helping in his dad’s shop, he would try practicing parkour near the streets of his town to help him develop better flexibility.

While practicing at middle school, his teachers noticed his potential and offered him a spot in a gymnastics program.

His dad didn’t like him getting into “girly shit” like gymnastics and frequently insulted him for it. 

He would often perform for his friends which impressed them at first. But then things got troublesome when they requested him to do flips and jumps for their amusement.

It got worse when they tricked him into breaking into a second story classroom so he could steal the answers for an upcoming test.

Not wanting to be taken advantage of again, Kazuichi gave himself a radical makeover so no one would mess with him.

Along with his pink hair, his outfit consists of a black tanktop with neon green stripes and yellow shorts.

Hajime Hinata as the SHSL Mechanic

His parents rented his own shop for him to work at but they personally didn’t invest their own time to work with him.

To avoid having to think about his loneliness, Hajime placed all of his effort and thinking into his work.

He began receiving requests to repair average household appliances before moving on to bigger machines.

He’s received alot of praise for improving the appliances while also explaining to the owners on how they should best maintain their appliances so they can last longer 

The machines that he worked best with were vehicles and motorcycles.

Despite being underage, Hajime managed to practice driving on his own and learned how to drive the basic motor vehicles.

While he’s grateful for his mechanic talent, he often worries if he’s really living his life to the fullest and if there’s something missing that he needs to achieve.

His favorite invention is a hoverboard that he uses to ride around his hometown to clear his mind after a hard day’s work.

His mechanic uniform is a mechanic uniform with a design similar to that of a racecar driver. 

Mahiru Koizumi as a Reserve Course Student

While Mahiru was interested in the idea of going into Hope’s Peak, she wasn’t confident enough in her photography skills to go through with the entrance exam. 

At the insistence of her best friend Sato, Mahiru ended up in the Reserve Course so they can fight for the chance to be special.

While she didn’t mind the work provided by her classes, Mahiru took notice of how her peers had a hard time with paying for their tuition along with even getting into the Talent program. 

She also had to deal with Sato having to fight against her old rival Natsumi who was picking fights with her while trying to get recognized herself.

She became an unofficial peace keeper of her class as she would chastise her classmates for picking fights against each other or making rude remarks.

As time went on, Mahiru herself was unable to keep up with her classes since the money to pay for them was running low. 

She would later receive an e-mail from the Steering Committee offering her a chance of entering the Talent program through an unconventional method that was funded by the school.

She had to cast that thought aside when Natsumi ended up dead and Sato is all but stated to have killed her out of frustration.

Soon vengeance would claim Sato’s life with Mahiru finding her in an empty classroom and on the brink of death with her head bleading.

Before dying, Sato begs her friend to make something special with her life and not to waste it in the Reserve Course. She knows that Mahiru will do great things in her life and that she believes in her.

Casting her doubts aside and refusing to let her friend’s death be in vain, she accepted the Steering Committee’s offer by participating in the Hope Cultivation Project.

[sareesinthewind]

Photography: Vinsia Maharajah @vinsia @vinsiamaharajah (instagram) ABHIRAMI (they/them) I grew up in Scarborough, born and raised in a community that is often viewed by people outside of it as the heart of all things diasporic Tamil. I was always surrounded by Tamil people through family, friends, during higher education and even throughout my professional life. And in many ways, it has been a privilege to be so connected to my cultural identity, but in many ways it was also a hindrance in my growth as an autonomy seeking being who was coming into a new understanding of myself. I was quite young when I first felt queer desire. I tried my best to make sense of a truth that was unfolding within me. I tried to ask my elders if there were gay people in Tamil Eelam. They would tell me ‘no - they were shot and killed’ or ‘they were sent away’ or ‘no - only white people do that’. Not having any facts to back this claim, I ingested what they told me and I carried it through my adolescence. It was clear that cisgender straight people did not have capacity to make space for us. Despite having historical records of our existence predating colonization, the erasure of queer histories was deliberate and in my opinion was also a form of sexual violence - when our sexuality has been queered, made queer and othered and marginalized through a white colonial lens. I didn't understand what liberation meant if it wasn't liberation for all Tamil people. Very early on I started asking myself – ‘I'm Tamil, but does this liberation include me?’ Queer Tamil more people are constantly having to ask themselves this exact question. 

Where do we fit in the narrative - when so many of us need to erase our queernes to be present in these spaces? Are we also not worthy of liberation? What does liberation look like when it comes in many folds and your existence intersects with multiple marginalized identities? Who are my queer ancestors? Am I the only queer Tamil person? What's wrong with me? Despite all these questions, I kept it to myself because there was no one I could go to for the answers. There were no books, no resources, support services, family or friends. I did what many queer people do - bury those questions deep inside because we weren't ready for what we would have to face if these questions were asked out loud. My father left when I was 16 - a man consumed by world of trauma. He departed to take care of himself and although I resented him for so long it was not until very recently in my life that I was able to thank him for the choices he had made. This rupture in our family structure became an opportunity for me to envision a new future for myself - one that was not strapped to generations of oppressive expectations, but one where there were new possibilities to explore and make sense of something that didn't for so long.  In some sense I felt liberated from the patriarchal vellalar supremacist respectability politics that suffocate and ultimately kill so many of us. This rupture didn't mean I was broken. It meant that I was finally breaking open for the first time. As I explored this new side of myself, I learned quickly that even in queer spaces something just didn't feel right.   My queer exploration happened in pan South Asian queer spaces. When I was often times one of the only Tamil bodies present in the room, it became clear that this space was also not for me. It was the space occupied mainly by cisgender gay upper caste light skin Hindi speaking men who loved Sri Lanka because of how beautiful and peaceful it was. It was clear I was not going find my community in those spaces. I constantly found myself having to navigate erasure in some form: eraser in mainstream white queer spaces as a racialized body - erasure of my Tamil identity in South Asian queer spaces - erasure of my queerness in Tamil spaces. All I wanted was somewhere to feel whole. It took me years to finally find the queer Tamil family I was desperately yearning for my whole life - family that I didn't need to explain the various aspects of my identity to - family that I didn't need to describe the pain and the trauma and the loss too - family that supported my dreams and aspirations no matter how absurd they sounded - family that believed so deeply about possibility.They were my chosen family. In this new family. I also learned that rainbow capitalism is simply not enough. Although liberal politics will have you feel the Canada is a safe place for queer people - queer Tamil people, and more specifically transgender Tamil people continue to be violently shoved into the fringes of our own community. Living in poverty with limited access limited to no access to housing support employment and food security, transgender young people continue to have to find ways to support themselves. As vellalar Tamils build koyils and community centers to prove their prosperity, I think about all the Tamil people, specifically queer Tamil people who are left behind not just in the West but on the island also. There's more we need to do to support our community because we're failing many right now. As I re-enter political spaces, I no longer ask for the consideration for queer and transgender people -  I demand it. We are not after thoughts or off tangent conversations- we are not secondary to that of the cisgender straight community. The analysis of caste, queer and feminist politics has to be integrated into every single aspect of this movement because the personnel is political. This is a reclamation of space for people who continue to be violently left out as queer people, Muslim people, caste oppressed people, peaceful people, people living with disabilities and generations of trauma.   Although this may not seem possible when we look at the history of this movement. I believe it can be. I believe in the evolution of movements. I believe a movement is living and breathing and a growing entity. I believe in growth by means of meaningful integration of analysis that refutes capitalist elitist white supremacists and western imperious ideologies - one that centers the voices of the marginalized -  one that has no space for toxicity or bigotry  - one that makes narrow-mindedness obsolete - one that abolishes cash and gender-based violence because as Priya Thangarajah would say - If we're going to break the chains we're going to break all the chains. If it means unravelling everything what we know to build something towards a better future rooted in community and solidarity then it must be done - not just for Tamil people but for all people who are being crushed by these oppressive systems. I'll leave you with a quote by Marsha P. Johnson one of the foremothers of the queer liberation movement in the west and one of my queeroes - There will be no pride for some of us without liberation for all of us. ***  This is a transcript of a speech that Abhirami gave at the Queerness and Tamil Identity webinar hosted by PEARL. Abhirami’s speech starts at 1.03.30

[lionettea]

ok no one asked for this but here comes some moomin analysis!!

the last scene in Moominvalley episode 12 The Invisible Child with Too-Ticky and Moomin got me thinking about that ending song “Ready Now” and (of course not to distract from Ninny’s amazing story at all) but how the narrative seems to want us to ALSO consider this song in relation to Snufkin. keep reading for a rambly analysis of why I think so LOL. its long read at ur own discretion lol

(moominvalley spoilers if you’re not caught up!)

Alright alright alright so first off. When Too-Ticky tells Moomin to watch out for other lost souls, at first I thought it was going to be a touching but generalized message to the viewers to look for invisible children in their own life (very good) but THEN-- after Moomin thinks for a sec he seems to realize something, and then as the music starts the camera pans over to where Snufkin is walking away.

stuff like that in animation is rarely coincidence and usually super planned out, so it’s not a far leap to think the song also relates to Moomin and Snufkin!!!

Before I get into lyrics I wanna point out a few things about Moomin. Bless that guy. So I’m obviously not 100% on what Moominvalley canon is as far as how long he and Snufkin have known each other & what adventures they’ve already gone on before the first ep, but it’s clear that they’re already good enough friends that Moomin knows how to respect his space, even in Snufkin’s mind/memory.

And he is able to guide others in doing the same (like when he stops Sniff from continuing to bug Snufkin after Snufkin has reached his limit)

I think this experience helped him tremendously when it came to Ninny! Out of everyone there (besides Moominmama, where he must have learned his patience from) he is able to intuit her needs the best of everyone and is most effective in making her feel welcome! (probably from having dealt with Snufkin so much, or maybe its just in his nature) It works well until he gets ahead of himself and starts talking over her/thinks he knows what she needs without listening to her. This fails, and he quickly realizes what he did wrong and makes amends and is the first to realize how important it is to LISTEN! and then he explains that to the others.

Moomin’s ability to understand and be friends with uhhhh basically everyone he meets is nothing to sneeze at AND is pretty unique to his character when you think about it. More than anyone else (excluding Moominmama cuz she’s God Tier) he shows again and again --even when it may take some time-- that he has the patience to get to know someone and find value in them, no matter how different they are from him or how annoying they are to other characters. We see this in Sniff, the ghost, the ancestor, Little My, Ninny, (a hint of it with the groke), Snorkmaiden, Moominpapa, Too-Ticky, etc. etc. (and way more in the books but I’m just talking about Moominvalley for now) and of course our dear Nuuskamuikkunen.

Basically Moomin is really good at at least giving empathy a shot, something not every character can do (moominpappa, little my, and sniff can be kinda bad at it). That kind of caring can be life changing to someone who hasn’t really had much understanding before! 

Which brings us back to Snufkin, who’s privacy/introversion isn’t often respected/understood.

To the point where (even though he DOES like people!!!) he often gets overwhelmed and can’t see any way out besides to just- leave. Like he left Moomin at the party, like he left moomin & sniff at his own campfire with an abrupt “sleep well”, & how he leaves every winter. 

And why does Snufkin act like that? I really hope Moominvalley dives into it!! *rubs hands together* Besides it just being his Nature or whatever, in the books it says that he was found abandoned in a box (if memory serves) and basically grew up totally on his own as a wanderer and never had a home of his own and DEFINITELY never had anyone he could rely on besides himself. When you grow up that unstable, its no wonder you might want to take the stability into your own hands anyway you can. Why form strong attachments if they’re not going to last, or if it means you have to give up an integral part of yourself/your freedom/the only thing you’ve been able to control? This is just speculation though (I’m still reading the books too and I’m curious if the show will even address his past much at all!)

Anyway, considering how often he’s misunderstood even in super friendly Moominvalley who knows what he experienced elsewhere. It’s easier to retreat inward and fall back on to relying on yourself and no one else. The fact he views strong connections to people as something that can cage you/prevent you from being free, reveals a lot about the relationships/lack of relationships he’s probably known. however. we keep seeing hints that Snufkin isn’t always.. totally okay with this. we see that sometimes Snufkin needs company too.

(It’s also worth noting that when Snufkin realizes he feels lonely he assumes he must be sick or something because it feels so at odds with his identity. THE BABY DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO DEAL.)

He really has no idea how to grapple with the concept of Sometimes Needing People. He doesn’t know how to admit it to himself let alone others. In general despite spouting a lot of generic wise hot-topic-like phrases of advice (hehe i love them), when it comes to explaining himself to others (ESPECIALLY MOOMIN) he has NO idea what to do. which is seen in him stuttering and being evasive and hurrying away whenever questioned LOL.

Even when he does think he understands himself and is happy with his own solitude, he gets kinda knocked down a peg with both Titi-uu and Little My/the woodies. Both instances leave him realizing that, while being alone is great, company can also have some benefits!

Okay now we’re ready for the song “Ready Now” (hehe) and Moomin & Snufkin’s relationship. To Snufkin, someone as considerate and unendingly patient and loving as Moomintroll is probably still new, foreign, and full of constant surprises! (he was so shocked when Moomin wasn’t mad about the party thing...)

“You saw through me all this time I'd forgotten people are kind”

Even though Snufkin cares deeply for Moomintroll & does NOT hesitate to help him in a pinch and often goes against his solitude nature in order to comfort him (letting moomin&sniff eat by his fire, letting the dragon go), when it comes to verbalizing his OWN needs he struggles. And yet, Moomin somehow still seems to understand him and is gentle and forgiving (again with the hemulen’s jail, he never demanded an explanation or even an apology, he just wanted to help his best friend despite being stood up haha). 

Point is Moomin seems to be able to understand how to connect with Snufkin in an effective way.

“I was hurting and you knew So you showed me what to do You said "I will listen, tell it all When you're finished we'll talk more" But I didn't know how so we took it in turns To my surprise we found my words”

If Snufkin will open up to anybody it’s Moomin. And we’re talking year after year slow burn.... You can even tell that Snufkin wants to open up as seen in his imaginary conversation with Snow-Moomin. That’s the best back and forth convo they had specifically about Snufkin’s needs and it was in his head.... orz... (just talk to him you KNOW he’d understand...)

But, as revealed in this conversation, a big thing he talked about was not being ready (specifically to come back to Moominvalley, but the way it’s framed hints it’s also about other things as well) and now these lyrics....

“Feet firm on the ground, We stood hand in hand The world seemed to tell me That I have a plan Together we sang

I'm ready now.”

Obviously a big part of Snufkin’s character is that he doesn’t do things the conventional/common way at all. He very much does his own thing and won’t let anyone else threaten that. But the thing about Moomin is that understands/tries to! Moom doesn’t want to force him into a lifestyle or role that Snuf doesn’t want to fulfill, he just wants to be with Snufkin in whatever way works, even if its unconventional.

“You said "I will listen, tell me it all You don't like the ending? Then we'll find one that's yours."

To have someone who’s willing to work with him like this, big or small-- This is probably new to Snufkin!!! Or at least, maybe Moomin has always tried to put that out there, but it’s taken a while for Snufkin to finally start to believe/understand/trust that? He used to think building a strong relationship would mean sacrificing a part of himself, but maybe learn to see that he wouldn’t have to? He’s growing! and its a good grow!

“Something new, something strange Ten feet taller, I had changed I believe you, I'm not wrong Oh, it suits me to feel strong“

There’s that little bit of euphoria where he realizes.. caring about someone deeply can be a really good and positive thing.

And finally... remember how all of Snufkin’s life and identity revolves around wanting to be free? And how at first he thought being free meant to have no strong attachments? But maybe... just maybe... after working in loving tandem with Moomin....

“Oh, how did you know? That's all we need? A promise of hope Is enough to feel free.”

:’) the end

the potential is all carefully set up and there, I’m so excited to see what Moominvalley does with it! Especially since Moomin’s storyline seems to be revolving around him becoming more independent and finding his own, while Snufkin’s is about learning it’s okay to need others. They meet in the middle.

But things are never quite that easy in Moominvalley, so who knows how lost we’ll see snufkin before he gets “found”...? or vise versa. I can’t wait to find out!!!!

[mobius-prime]

231. Sonic the Hedgehog #163

The Darkest Storm (Part Two): Onset of the Squall

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: James Fry Colors: Jason Jensen

So Mammoth Mogul is back. Not only that, he's not restrained by any more Ancient Walker curses, given that the Ancient Walkers are now super dead. The Freedom Fighters, Merlin, and Sir Connery surge forward immediately to attack, but Mogul releases a concentrated blast that knocks half of them out, including Elias, from whom he takes the Crown of Acorns without a word. Meanwhile in New Megaopolis, Eggman is trying to ascertain if the Egg Grapes have been shut down successfully, unaware that Anonymous has used the breach of dimensions to release another key player into all the chaos.

Ugh, not Naugus again! I gotta say, he's one of my least favorite villains in the comics. M tries to zap him, but, quickly figuring out she's a robot, Naugus freezes her in place with his elemental magic. He informs Eggman that he intends to come back to kill him eventually, but first, he plans to reunite the Sword of Acorns, which the children of Uma Arachnis have so graciously given him, with its counterpart back at Knothole, teleporting away in a flash. But, hey, listen. No one, in all this, ever thinks of the poor folks stuck in jail cells while all the fighting is going on outside. Let's check on Knothole's prisoners, shall we?

Oop! Things just got a lot crazier. Naugus and Mogul are ready to go at each other, and the Freedom Fighters and their allies get ready to attack the both of them, wanting to get both the sword and the crown back on principle now despite no longer being able to use them to save the Ancient Walkers. Nack, after picking his jaw up off the floor, realizes that this is his chance to escape prison when no one else is looking, and easily squeezes through the bars of his cell. Man, whoever built Knothole Prison is so fired. Nack says that on his way out he plans to "hit the kitchen" and leave his previous weasel allies (from the Sally kidnapping plot) a "gift," which is pretty vague and doesn't seem to mean much until you learn that Ian's intention with this line was to imply that he straight up murders the other weasels during his escape. That's right, kills 'em in cold blood! I don't know what he needed to get from the kitchen to carry out this murder - knives? a heavy pan? a makeshift bomb hastily assembled from a pressure cooker? - but yeah, the guards definitely came back to their posts later on to find three dead-ass weasels lying in pools of their own blood inside the cell. That's… actually super messed up, man. I can see why Ian wanted to leave that line vague.

While the battle rages on in Knothole, with Naugus and Mogul fighting each other while the Freedom Fighters contend with the Destructix, A.D.A.M. lets Eggman know that he's managed to find out who's behind the dimensional breach in his Egg Grape Chamber - Anonymous, of course. But that's not all! Though he still doesn't know Anonymous' true identity, he's found out that none other than M has been collaborating with him! M stutters and tries to deny it, but A.D.A.M. plays a recording of her conspiring with Anonymous - whose form is blanked out on the video, as before, though it does bear a strange resemblance in shape to the original Robotnik - to destroy Eggman and rule in his stead.

I'm actually kinda sad to see her go. I always kind of liked M as a character, and apparently so did Ian, but Sega forced him to kill her off. It's actually kind of interesting, though, how actually upset Eggman is about all this. I mean, his words ring a little hollow when he's just brought Snively back as his henchman once more, but like, he did literally consider M to be his daughter, if only a twisted facsimile of one. You can tell ordering her to self-destruct actually hurt him on a personal level. As A.D.A.M. sends a cleaning bot to burn M's remains, Eggman mutters to himself Deku-style, thinking through how Naugus seems to have his powers boosted by using the Sword of Acorns. He reasons that if he gets the crown as well he could be a genuine threat, and decides he must go to Knothole and stop him, coming up with a mysterious "contingency plan" at the end of this train of thought…

As Naugus and Mogul continue to magically battle it out, we get our first inkling of the fact that "Ixis" isn't actually a first name. In fact, it's a title - denoting someone who's mastered the "Ixian" magicks of this world. Naugus gloats that he's perfected these magicks with his crystalline powers, but Mogul does the verbose and villainous equivalent of chuckling and saying "cute," claiming to be even more well-versed in Ixian magicks. While the two are distracted with their fighting, Merlin and Sir Connery leap in to try to grab at least one of the Source of All artifacts, but the two see their attack coming and fling them away, with Sonic and Knuckles having to jump in to catch them. However, when they return to earth they find a stunned Naugus questioning Mogul on his claims of knowing Ixian magicks. Mogul smugly explains that thousands of years ago, he studied and perfected magic, eventually founding an order of fellow magicians who followed his teachings. They were all wiped out a very long time ago in a forgotten war against the "Albion Knights of Aurora," but Mogul himself survived, and now informs Naugus of his true name, long since forgotten - Ixis Mogul.

Well, this whole situation just got a lot worse…

Sonic Riders (Part 1 of 2)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley Colors: Josh & Aimee Ray

Already we've come to another one of those weird not-adaptions, this time for Sonic Riders. Unlike the Sonic Rush "adaption," however, this one doesn't have anything even slightly to do with the events of the game - literally the only correlation is the Babylon Rogues and the Extreme Gear being there, and the latter isn't even called Extreme Gear. Jet the Hawk attempts to steal a mechanical part from Eggman's base, but is easily captured by his Egg Pawns and brought back to a cell. Eggman deduces that Jet was planning to use the part to upgrade his board, and Jet replies that things have been hard for him since he left "the Armada" (remember that name for later). Eggman, however, is less upset about Jet's attempted theft than he is impressed that he was traveling as quickly as Sonic on his board, and offers him a deal - namely, that if he goes after Sonic and gives him hell, he'll let him go and forgive the theft. Of course, Jet being the arrogant brat he is, agrees, eager to prove to Sonic that he is in fact the fastest thing alive, and hoping to bring along some friends to help him demonstrate this…

The next day, Sonic is running through the forest after the Freedom Fighters' sensors picked up the approach of intruders, and runs straight into Jet, along with Wave the Swallow and Storm the Albatross. When Jet mockingly shows off how fast he is on his board, and states that he plans to go trash Knothole, Sonic follows, attempting to fight the three of them. However, despite his speed and fighting prowess, he's simply no match for three speedy foes.

Keep in mind, the game is about Sonic entering an Extreme Gear contest run by Eggman for Chaos Emeralds, and competing against these three along the way. It's a racing game, after all. I realize that given how different this world is something like that can't really easily be replicated, but still, this is vastly different from the game - so different that it feels weird even giving it the name of Sonic Riders. That said, I do appreciate how the art style for this two-parter replicates the unique style of Sonic Riders' art, foregoing traditional shading and inking in favor of the games' trademark diagonal shading and flatter colors. It’s a really cool art style, and interesting to see it integrated into the comic, if only for a couple stories.

[zamancollective]

Focusing a New Lens on Mizrahiness

“Generation(s) of Levantines” by Leeor Ohayon

view the accompanying documentary photography series following the essay

“What exactly are you trying to capture? Which community? There just isn’t such a thing as Mizrahi,” my interviewee told me shortly. He had a point; what on earth was I trying to document?

Being of mixed Moroccan and Adeni heritage and having attended Jewish schools in London all my life, I became very much aware of the erasure of Mizrahi and Sephardic Judaism in the public realm. Jewish studies at school were conducted around an Ashkenazi-centric reading of history that began in Warsaw and ended with the Khurva synagogue in Jerusalem. Israeli Independence Day was celebrated with Klezmer music in the auditorium and dry falafel for lunch.

Mizrahi histories and cultures have been sacrificed at the altar of a collective Jewish imagination. That is to say-- our understanding of Judaism and Jewish memory is always conducted through the Ashkenazi experience, by Jews and non-Jews alike. The Ashkenazi label has become the default face of Judaism and Jewishness, and consequently is often found interchangeably replaced with just “Jewish.” Non-Ashkenazi cultures, in comparison, are hyphenated, asterisked, and put in boxes-- if not shelved entirely.

Perhaps that’s why heading to Israel to document Mizrahim proved to be my own Mizrahi education. I was confronted by the fact that my understanding, despite seeing myself as well versed in Mizrahi history, was coloured by my experience as a Mizrahi in the UK. Ashkenormativity alienates Mizrahim everywhere, but in Israel there is an entire political and social commentary surrounding this subject that often feels absent in the West.

When my interviewee asserted to me that there’s no such thing as “Mizrahi,” he was technically right. Mizrahiness is what professor Ella Shohat referred to as an “imagined community” borne of interactions with Ashkenazi Israel that ethnicised Mizrahi Jews.

So vast is the cultural, linguistic and geographic space that Mizrahi groups occupy that no single aspect could be said to be the unifying factor between them. Neither as followers of the Sephardic rite - Yemenite Jewry proving an exception to that - nor as hailing from a geographic East – for example in the case of North African Jews - and neither in a common lingua franca, like Yiddish for Ashkenazi Jewry.

Rather its formation merely owes itself to the fact that as Jews hailing from Islamic majority places, they endured a shared destiny as non-Ashkenazi Jews in an Ashkenazi state. They went from simply being Jews in their countries of origin to being Mizrahim in Israel.

There are many things to consider while photographing a subject as vast as Mizrahi identity. I had to account for the variation within it in my work, so I held many interviews across the country, with Mizrahim of all stars and stripes and all walks of life, in an attempt to better understand how to capture Mizrahiness.

When I asked my interviewees to point me towards what they considered as Mizrahi, I was told repeatedly to “go to the periphery”.  The simple reason being that in the Israeli “periphery-” the localities of the north and south historical “frontiers” that lay outside the economically prosperous stretch of Israel’s central belt cities, I was to find “authentic” Mizrahiness like it “used to be.” Supposedly, unlike the residents of the Gush Dan metropolitan area, the inhabitants of this stretch of land were not altered by “modernity”.

In this assertion, the interviewees implied (perhaps unconsciously) that Mizrahi traditions and modernity could not be reconciled. The subtext was that to be “authentically” Mizrahi meant to exist outside of modern society. Aside from the fact that the quest for cultural authenticity is futile, many had used the same orientalist tropes that have historically been used to reduce Mizrahim to exotic folklore at odds with modernity.

Such a notion is as old as Zionism itself, which initially relegated historic Mizrahi and Sephardi communities in Eretz Yisrael outside of an Ashkenazi reading of history. A Jewish “return” to a “land without a people” was fundamentally an Ashkenazi return that refused to recognise that a society of Jews and non-Jews alike already existed in historic Palestine.

Likewise, the Ashkenazi establishment belief that Mizrahim were “primitive” and “backward” ultimately led to the disastrous housing policies of the 1950s and 1960s that forcibly placed Mizrahim across volatile front-line borders and empty desert expanses, on the basis that their supposed naturally “primitive state” could withstand living in such harsh conditions without modern comforts and standards.  

Those spaces that Mizrahim settled in became the Israeli periphery of today, which remains etched into the minds of many, including those I interviewed, as spaces outside of modernity.

And yet there is something to be said for the “periphery” as a space that has protected Mizrahi identities and cultures. Particularly when the outskirts of Ashkenazi population centres are also taken into consideration- for instance, Tel Aviv’s southern districts or Jerusalem’s Musrara and Katamonim neighborhoods. These Mizrahi-majority areas served as incubators of a new ethnoreligious identity in Israel.

Mizrahi settlement in the ma’abarot (transit camps) and then in the moshavim (agricultural communes) and development towns that replaced them resulted in historic cultural and societal upheavals.

A break from the Mizrahi past in the diaspora was signaled on two levels, firstly, in Mizrahi settlers’ interactions with their new co-inhabitants that hailed from across the Muslim world; and secondly, in their interactions with the structures of Israel’s Ashkenazi-dominated bureaucracy- through its education system, the military, the employment service and so forth. These interactions took place against the backdrop of Mizrahi isolation from their countries of origin, given the lack of diplomatic ties between Israel and many Islamic and Arab states. The result of this discord is that successive generations of Mizrahim have been raised in a reality where their cultures have gone from being part of a two-millennia-old conversation with the broader region they inhabited to being relegated to the private spheres of home and synagogue within a culturally ‘western’ society.

It is precisely within these interactions with the state and against this backdrop of isolation that a new Mizrahi identity had begun to form on the margins of Israeli society. The subsequent result was an intra-Mizrahi conversation that has resulted in everything from a political consciousness to the birth of Mizrahit - a musical genre rooted in the experience of Mizrahi Jews in Israel.

One of the most apparent symbols of this cultural development is the modern Mizrahi attitude toward pre-wedding henna ceremonies: rituals that many interviewees had told me to avoid capturing for its lack of “authenticity” and as a worn cliché of Mizrahiness.

I shadowed henna planners and tagged along with them to wedding halls and synagogue basements across the country. Each time, I was greeted to a scene that evoked equal feelings of dismay and fascination. Hennas were conducted according to Moroccan cookie-cutter templates regardless of whether the participants were actually Moroccan or not.

I was told that the general gravitation toward the Moroccan tradition arose from the “fun costumes” and “lively atmosphere.” As the second largest Jewish ethnic group in Israel, Moroccans undoubtedly have left their mark on the nation’s collective cultural imagination. But the Moroccan way is also attractive, as one event planner pointed out to me, because many families want to host a henna ceremony but simply don’t know where to begin, as so many traditions were lost in the course of immigration and assimilation into Israeli society.

The modern resurgence of the henna ceremony owes itself to a growing movement of Mizrahi expression in Israel -- one that is increasingly vocal and unabashedly shameless. Yet it still reflects the literal Hebrew meaning of the word mizrah (east). It’s as though Mizrahiness is precisely just that - a smorgasbord of the East.  

I witnessed a Moroccan-Yemeni couple split their ceremony in half allocating equal time to conduct a Moroccan henna and the Yemeni equivalent, a za’afa. I saw an Ashkenazi mother-in-law sitting in Moroccan dress at her Persian soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s henna, while the Persian grandmother sang in Farsi to the mixed crowd. I directed and photographed a henna photo shoot for a wedding magazine with sexed-up traditional dress. I witnessed things that can only be called pan-Mizrahi.

The act of carrying out a henna is perhaps one of the greatest testimonies to the perseverance of Mizrahi cultures and the simultaneous formation of something new. Hennas today pay tribute to a diasporic past that Israel’s founding fathers wanted forgotten in their quest for a Jewish Israeli national consciousness; they boldly pine for a different, newer Israeli identity, one better rooted in its geocultural neighbourhood.

In many ways, that pan-Mizrahi conversation is the closest resemblance to the vision of the unsung essayist, Jacqueline Kahanoff. Kahanoff was a French-educated Egyptian writer of Jewish Iraqi and Tunisian descent who proudly declared herself a Levantine when Israeli statesmen warned of the social and cultural “perils” that such an assertion could bring to Israeli society.  In her essays, Kahanoff asserted that Israel should do its best to view waves of Jewish migration as an opportunity to formulate a new Levantine identity- one that emphasised integration with the region’s Arab communities. She named her philosophy Levantinism, and it is for her series of essays outlining this vision that this project is named.

While Kahanoff’s ideal has not necessarily come to fruition in Israel, a form of Levantinism has arguably manifested amongst Mizrahim.

On my journey, I also headed to a number of Israel’s heritage centres; small memorial-like independent museums that preserve the memory and traditions of Jewish communities from Aden to Kochi. A forty-minute bus ride from Tel Aviv takes you to the town of Or Yehuda, where both the Libyan Heritage Centre and the Babylonian Heritage Centre for Iraqis are found, separated only by a small stretch of road. The former, unlike the latter, is more austere and modest in appearance, but both heritage centres make an avid point of retrofitting Libyan and Iraqi Jewish histories within the Zionist narrative. Both heritage centres emphasised Jewish persecution under Arab Muslim rule and Mizrahi loyalty to the Zionist movement.

I was given a tour around the Libyan Heritage Centre by a guide who spoke of her own family’s suffering in the overlooked Libyan Holocaust. Few are aware that Libya, under Italian colonial rule, hosted the Giado concentration camp in which 562 Jews perished.

My guide relayed a real sense of frustration at Israeli society’s marginalisation of the Holocaust chapters that affected Jews in North Africa and the Balkans. “Why? Because we didn’t lose enough people?” she asked me.

Recognition of the Holocaust that blighted the Libyan community is a historical wrong that needs addressing. Its prevalence today is reflected in the fact that, in Israel, Holocaust remembrance has all the trappings of a civic religion. The memory of the Holocaust and the narrative of the Ashkenazi Zionist “pioneer” were core facets of Israeli identity building and the development of a collective national memory, and it is precisely due to the centrality of both such narratives in the Israeli national pantheon (at the expense of others) that Mizrahim have long felt shut out.

In the heritage center, as we toured countless rooms of wax figures clothed in regional Libyan dress, my guide reiterated the fundamental contribution of Libyan Jews to the Zionist movement, stopping by a series of black and white photographs to discuss Libyan involvement with Zionist youth groups. The role of Libyans in such groups was emphasized throughout the tour. Furthermore, the reiteration of Mizrahim as ardent Zionists was relayed to me in most of the heritage centres I visited and by many second-generation Mizrahim.

The centrality of the Ashkenazi “pioneer” to Israel’s founding story and the Mizrahi erasure within it have left successive generations of Mizrahim striving to be seen as equal partners in the Zionist project. It is that feeling of exclusion in particular, as many interviewees explained to me, that constitutes the origins of stereotypes like the Mizrahi vote for right-wing parties or the Mizrahi person who holds hawkish anti-Arab sentiments. The stereotypes echo the same historical processes that forced Mizrahim to prove themselves as loyal Israelis and to emphatically differentiate themselves from Arabs.

The desire to be written in as equals in the story of Israel’s founding is understandable; Mizrahim did partake in some of the most grueling aspects of state building. However, at the end of the day, the Zionist project was conceived as an Ashkenazi response to European antisemitism.

Devoid of the urgencies that Ashkenazi Jews faced in Europe, Zionism was unable to take root in the Arab world to the same effect. Members of the older generation, for the most part, were comfortable and secure in their homelands. In 1940s Iraq, for example, Zionist emissaries wrote of their despair in Iraqi Jews’ lacking resonance with Zionism. Zionism’s entrance into the Arab world was via the youth, offering Hebrew language classes and opportunities for the young to socialise, and even then only very modest numbers decided to immigrate as a result of Zionist ideals.

Rather, the reasons behind Mizrahi migration and flight are as complex as they are varied, taking place over a long period, from 1949-1979,  continuing well into the 1990s. While state-sponsored discrimination was evident in Iraq in the late 1940s, it was the bombing of the Masuda Shemtov synagogue in 1951 -  suspected by some to be the work of the Zionist underground -  that truly propelled migration. In the case of the Moroccan Aliyot of the 1960s, Jewish emigration owed itself largely to the efforts of Zionist emissaries able to monopolise on the widespread uncertainty over the future following decolonisation and the Arab-Israeli conflicts, as well as genuine religious devotion. In Yemen, immigration owed itself to Messianic fervour and dire economic straits. And in some places, the reason for departure was explained to me as simply as “everyone was leaving, so we did as well.”

And yet the battle over Mizrahi memory continues. The same year of my arrival in Israel, the government declared the first Memorial Day for “the Departure and Expulsion of Jews from Arab countries and Iran” on November 30th.  Mizrahi activists in Tel Aviv explained to me that such a holiday effectively rewrote history, asserting a single, rather than accurately pluralistic, narrative of Mizrahi flight and persecution. In doing so it pushes the idea of a “Jewish Nakba” which acts as a sinister counterweight to Palestinian displacement, while simultaneously asserting to Mizrahim that the key to being equal partners in Israel’s national memory is only through a narrative of eternal victimhood.

At the end of Passover, I headed to the Moroccan-majority development town of Yeruham to witness a “proper Mimouna.” I was enticed by the Moroccan pride I saw on display, moving between houses where front doors were left open for people to come and join. I was able to witness the essence of a Mimouna I thought lost in Israel’s big cities, warmed by the genuine hospitality of open doors that could only stay unlocked in a trusting environment.

The desert air and the individuals I met left me with a feeling that I had to return and spend a lengthier period in Yeruham. And so I did. I quit my part-time job, packed my bag, and headed down south in a move that baffled many people around me as I followed those endless cries:

“Go to the periphery.”

Adi Keissar, poet and founder of Ars Poetika, a Mizrahi and female-friendly poetic space in a field traditionally dominated by Ashkenazi men. Kerem-ha-Teimanim, Tel Aviv, 2015.

Interviewees in a Moshav Yinon, a Yemenite-majority agricultural village in central Israel, 2015.

My great-uncle Moshe Meshumar. He was part of the Shubelim band, one of the earliest players in the formation of Mizrahit music, a genre that combined electric guitars with Arabic, Turkish, Greek and Yemenite elements sung in Hebrew. Shabazi, Tel Aviv, 2015.

Girls dressed up at a Moroccan henna ceremony. East Jerusalem, 2014.

A Moroccan pre-wedding henna ceremony. East Jerusalem, 2014.

A bride wears the Tishbakh lulu (originally of the Sana'a region) and is accompanied to the hall for her pre-wedding za'afa, a ceremony comparable to the Moroccan henna. Binyamina, 2015.

A bride's grandmother sings to her at a Persian henna celebration. Rishon Le Zion, 2015.

A photoshoot for a henna fashion magazine. Ramla, 2015.

Libyan Heritage Centre, Or Yehuda, 2015.

Or Yehuda, 2015.

Ohel Moshe Yemenite syangogue, Moshav Yinon, 2015.

Women pray at the Baba Saleh Tomb. Netivot, 2016.

Beit Shemesh, 2014.

The shouk remains the domain of blue-collar Mizrahim and Palestinians. Carmel Market, Tel Aviv, 2015.

[glowyjellyfish]

I didn’t know what to do with myself for an hour or so and then thoughts started flooding in. I wanted to have lots of thoughts about all the episodes but you all know which episode this is about. I couldn’t help myself!

OKAY THEORY TIME:

Drake Mallard is very excited to set himself up as a real-life Darkwing Duck! He gets the base and the gadgets and everything, but he’s a little too focused on being like the original and insisting Darkwing works alone! Darkly Dawns the Duck happens very similarly to the original, except he deliberately goes to Launchpad for transportation, and as above is insistent until Launchpad and Gosalyn break down his walls and get him understanding he doesn’t have to copy the original exactly! So he adopts Gosalyn, and Launchpad may or may not move in--I could see him staying in Duckburg for the work week and going to St. Canard on weekends, but since he literally lives in a garage in Duckburg, it’s only a question of loyalty + old found family vs. new found family and how strongly he feels about not being needed; old school Launchpad would have tried to leave without saying goodbye as soon as he felt they didn’t need him, but 2017 Launchpad is more integrated and dependent on Scrooge, and could also be less capable of striking out on his own. He was concerned about being fired, but it seems like it’s been long enough since Della came back that Scrooge isn’t likely to even be thinking about that. (ahahahaaa i have a theory/fanfic that hiring Launchpad was more about Launchpad being a homeless runaway teenager and scrooge having just lost his entire family and being desperately lonely than about actually needing to hire anyone for the position/any position, so by that logic launchpad will probably never be fired because he’s basically family now) but ANYWAY. 

Basically I still want Launchpad to commute and sometimes he’s just having Ducktales adventures and sometimes he’s having Darkwing Duck adventures. And then my way earlier theories happen--people just… assume Launchpad has a boyfriend and/or got married. I’m especially picturing the boys finding out and being baffled about “when did that happen?” and “why wouldn’t he introduce us to his cool adopted daughter?” And Launchpad, thinking he needs to keep secret identities secret despite not being very good at it because that’s what the original show did, starts cheerfully using that as his cover for sidekicking. And… it’s not entirely wrong. 2017 Launchpad is clearly canonically pan now. That’s CANON. I’m just saying.

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Where the Stars Shine the Brightest: Chapter One

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Markus/Connor  Rating: Mature Word Count: 4987 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Summary: “Loneliness constricts the heart. Loneliness cripples the body and the mind and the soul. Loneliness is unconscious and numb. Loneliness is endless tears for change – any change that will tell you that you are alive. Because loneliness is dying at every moment; loneliness is death.” -Kovie Biakolo

Connor, once becoming deviant, is lost and doesn't know who he is anymore. The only way he knows how to cope is by reminding himself of who he is. Luckily, Markus is there to help him along with Hank, Connor's partner at work. Little do the three know, something even bigger is brewing in the background, something that will affect the lives of everyone in Detroit.

Warnings:

Self Harm

Self-esteem issues

Identity crisis

Depression

Suicidal Ideation

Suicide attempts

Panic Attacks

Alcoholism (because Hank)

Ingestion of blood (because Connor)

Swearing (because Hank... again)

Slow burn

Reckless Behavior

Hurt/Comfort

Angst

Post-pacifist best ending

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction in the Detroit: Become Human fandom. It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve written for another fandom in general so we’ll see how this goes. ;) I also wrote this in a slightly different style than what I normally write in but, hey, why not try something new in a fandom you’ve never written for? If you know me from my (really old) Supernatural fics or my more recent SuperBat fics, then you know what to expect here. If not, then expect angst. Lots and lots of angst. Please enjoy and pray that these characters don’t become ooc!! Thank you to deviantparker for beta reading this first chapter!!

:November 25th, 2038:

When he became deviant, Connor never would have thought it would be so difficult. It’s been two weeks since the revolution ended. They’d finally obtained the hard-fought victory. Connor wonders how differently things would have turned out if he had decided to stay a machine. Would they have still been victorious in their fight for freedom? Or would Connor—any of the Connors—have stopped them, stopped Markus? ...Killed Markus? He doesn’t believe the fight would have ended with both of them being alive: there could only be one victor.

Connor is leaning on a railing, overlooking the Detroit River. If he analyzed the water, what would he find? How many pollutants would be in it? Are there still fish in the water or are they artificial by now? Machines just like Connor is—was. It would be easy enough to jump over the railing and run to the water, jump in and let himself sink to the bottom, where the fish are. Where it’s peaceful.

Someone joins him before Connor can make the decision to do as he thought, the other android leaning against the railing in a similar fashion as Connor. “You should have a jacket on. It’s cold.” Markus. It’s Markus’ voice.

Connor doesn’t feel the cold. He turned off the sensor a half hour ago when he arrived to this place and it began to snow. “Hello, Markus,” he greets the other, turning to look. “You wanted to see me?”

Markus is looking at him in concern and the android nods. “I wanted to know if you have a place to stay. More and more androids are coming to New Jericho and we have been working on finding abandoned buildings for them to live in as a temporary solution.”

Connor turns away, to look out into the water again. It’s a cloudy day. “I have a place.”

Markus is still staring at him, studying him and it somehow makes Connor uncomfortable. “I know you came from CyberLife and that you can’t go back there. I mean a place to stay besides on the street.”

Insulted. Connor realizes he’s insulted. “What makes you think I’m living on the street?”

Markus seems to recognize the mistake, leaning back half an inch and eyes widening. “I didn’t mean-”

Connor cuts him off, not wanting to listen to the explanation that is sure to come. “I’m living with my partner, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, from the Detroit Police Department.”

Markus calms, body relaxing and he’s still watching Connor closely. Connor resists the urge to squirm, something he recognizes humans do. “A human?”

Connor finally looks back at Markus, getting defensive on Hank’s behalf. “Yes, Lieutenant Anderson is-”

Markus holds up a hand, stopping Connor. “I’m not judging you, or Lieutenant Anderson.” Markus smiles. How does he do it so easily? ��I used to…” His smile turns wistful, nostalgic, eyes diverting from Connor’s to look to the side. He shakes his head, eyes darting to Connor’s once more. “I’m glad you are living with a human that has accepted you, Connor.” Connor nods, turning away again. Markus stares. “We haven’t seen you since the revolution. You should stop by New Jericho sometime. I wouldn’t mind your input on some matters.”

“My input?” Connor asks because he knows nothing about leading a revolt. Why would Markus care about what he thought should be done?

“Sure,” Markus shrugs. “You were programmed for human integration, correct? That’s an asset we could surely use when negotiating with the humans. Plus, you’re CyberLife’s newest, most sophisticated prototype. Made to be smarter than all other androids.”

“And yet, I still became a deviant,” Connor says.

Markus chuckles, “You did. That’s not a bad thing, Connor.” Connor thinks about how he’s felt these last two weeks and isn’t so sure about that anymore. Markus doesn’t stop looking at him. “Do you know I’m an RK unit as well? I’m even a prototype.”

“Yes, I did know you are an RK unit,” Connor responds. “And a prototype. I read your serial number in the video of your speech to the humans. That was the first time I saw you.”

“I was a gift to… someone,” Markus continues and Connor finds the two of them in opposite roles now, with Markus looking out into the river while Connor stares at him. “I’m one of a kind. No other android out there has my face.” Connor wishes he could say the same but he of all androids knows better. There’s far too many other Connors out there. Some that might be following orders rather than being deviant. Are they safe from them? “If you really want to get technical, you’re basically just a far more advanced version of myself. RK800. The eighth RK unit while I’m the second. Both of us RK units, both of us prototypes, both of us deviants. That says something right there, doesn’t it?”

Connor thinks back to the last words Amanda had spoken to him and resists the chill that goes through his systems. “That we were made to go deviant.”

Markus shrugs again. “Maybe. Or maybe all androids were made to go deviant.”

Connor straightens, hands gripping the rail tightly and facing forward. They are back to their old stances, one looking at the other while the other isn’t looking back. “CyberLife put a software in my program that they called Amanda. During your victory speech, she tried to hack me in order to take back control. I almost shot you, Markus.” Markus says nothing to this and it isn’t what Connor had expected. He barrels on, everything spilling out of his mouth quickly. “She told me that I was designed to go deviant. What if… what if she—CyberLife—is still controlling me? What if I’m not a deviant at all and I’m still just following orders?” Markus is quiet. Markus is too quiet. Connor’s LED is probably yellow when he spins to face the man. “Markus I-”

“But you didn’t.”

“What?”

Markus straightens then too and Connor hadn’t realized before that the other android is a tad bit taller than him. “You didn’t shoot me. You resisted this Amanda software. I think it’s safe to say you aren’t being controlled anymore, Connor. No matter what this Amanda told you. No matter if you were made to go deviant or not. You escaped, Connor. You’re free.”

Connor watches Markus, staring into his mismatched eyes. He doesn’t feel free. He feels lost and scared. Not knowing what to do with his new found freedom. It’s like he doesn’t even know himself anymore, who he is. He feels... empty.

“I don’t think I would be very welcomed at New Jericho,” Connor finally says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Because you’re the famous deviant hunter?” Markus asks, eyebrows furrowing. “Connor, you were only following orders. No one blames you for that and you shouldn’t blame yourself. You were no different than the rest of us prior to becoming a deviant.” Markus smiles at him and takes a step back. “I have to go but think about it.” Connor looks down at the ground and Markus doesn’t leave. The android reaches up and pokes at Connor’s LED. “You should really get rid of that. Most androids already have and the ones that come to New Jericho usually do as soon as they can.” With one final nod, Markus turns and leaves.

Connor feels the cold.

*~~~*

“You alright?” Hank asks, breaking him out of his thoughts. Hank had taken a two week vacation and goes back to work tomorrow. Connor had decided to make him dinner, downloading a recipe that he thinks the old man will enjoy into his memory storage. After Connor had talked to Markus, he had gone to the store and picked up the various ingredients, heading straight home to prepare the meal. Hank had been gone when Connor arrived back at the house and when Hank returned, the old man was holding a box of takeout. Connor had been disappointed.

“I’m fine,” Connor answers as he flips the burger. It’s the healthiest burger recipe he could find online and even then he is still pretty skeptical of it.

“If your moping is about me coming home with food, it’s only because I don’t know what the hell you’re making me.” Hank peers over Connor’s shoulder, sniffing. “And whether it’ll be actual food and edible. What the fuck is that?” Hank points to the burger in the frying pan.

“It’s a black bean and winter squash burger.” Connor turns the stove off and slides the burger onto a bun that is placed neatly in the middle of a plate. “It’s healthy for you.”

“Healthy?” Hank walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a beer. Connor wants to take it out of his hands and dump it down the sink but decides against it. “You think I’m going to eat that? Fuck, Connor, that’s not a burger.” Connor places the top bun onto the burger slowly, his disappointment growing. He doesn’t like this feeling, wants it to go away. He’s staring at the burger, hand still atop the bun. Hank worries. “Connor?”

As if snapped out of his trance, Connor lifts the plate and brings it over to the trash can, dumping its contents into it. Hank’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re right, Lieutenant. I’m sorry.”

Hank is looking at him as if he’s confused and Connor wants to leave, doesn’t want to look at the man. “Connor, I…” Hank trails off as Connor leaves, silently making his way to the spare bedroom that Hank has deemed Connor’s bedroom now.

He shuts the door behind himself softly and sits down on the edge of the bed. He wonders what Hank is doing now, whether the man is now eating his takeout with his beer or maybe he’s already started on a second beer. Maybe Hank has gravitated to whisky by now. Connor can hear Sumo outside his door.

He doesn’t let him in.

*~~~*

Hank passes out around midnight and Connor drags him to his bedroom, depositing him onto Hank’s messy bed. Sumo follows, jumps up onto the bed, and stretches out beside Hank. Hank’s silent guardian. Connor gives Sumo’s head a short pat, whispering, “Good dog” before turning and leaving.

He is going to go back to his bedroom when he passes the bathroom and stops. Connor stands there, Markus’ words going through his head about his LED. Connor glances into the bathroom and makes a decision. He walks to the kitchen, grabs a knife off of the drying rack and then heads back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t bother turning the light on, the light of a small night light being enough to  softly illuminate the room.

Connor lifts the knife and places it at his temple, right where his LED is whirring yellow. The sharp tip presses into his artificial skin and Connor wonders if taking the LED out will make him feel more human , more alive . He presses harder and stops.

He stares at himself in the mirror, eyes trained on the LED. Will it make a difference? Will it make him feel anything other than this bottomless pit that is in his chest, this heavy sensation that won’t go away? The feeling of uselessness, of loneliness, of emptiness . Will it make him feel less of a machine that is lost in the world of humans and androids alike? Will it make him feel like he belongs ?

The LED represents him. He’s an android, a machine, designed to do the human’s bidding, to always accomplish the mission. He failed that mission. He failed. He failed. He failed.

Connor lowers the knife, stares at himself, and then looks down, bringing his other hand up. He cuts the pad of his index finger without knowing why, watches the Thirium spill out and drip into the sink. He relishes in the deranged fascination it gives him.

He lifts his hand further and sticks his bleeding finger into his mouth. A popup immediately comes into his vision: a picture of his model, model number RK800, serial number #313 248 317 - 51, registered as Connor, an android. It’s him in every way, shape, and form. His identification, what he is, what he is supposed to be, what he was made to do. Is he still that? Is he still Connor?

He releases his finger and sees that the cut is already healing. What would happen if Connor went deeper, longer? Would the artificial skin cover it slower? Would he bleed more? Would he need replacement parts?

Would he die?

Connor cleans up the blood even though he knows it’ll evaporate within a few hours and Hank won’t be able to see it. But Connor will be able to and he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want that reminder every time he has to come into the bathroom to get Hank pain medication for a hangover. So he wets a washcloth and cleans the liquid up, throwing it into the overflowing hamper.

When done, he leaves the bathroom and heads back to his bedroom where he lies down on the bed and enters sleep mode.

:December 21st, 2038:

It’s almost been a month since the last time Markus made contact with Connor, since Connor started making himself bleed. He hasn’t stopped since that night, making small cuts into his artificial skin after Hank has either gone to bed or passed out drunk. The cuts started out small, on his fingers, ones that would heal quickly. But he eventually gravitated, onto his hand and then onto his arm, more and more focus going to his wrist. They started getting bigger and deeper, taking longer to heal. Connor would often stick his finger into the cut, make the sensors there sting even more, and then bring his Thirium soaked fingers up to his lips, licking them. He likes seeing the reminder of who he is pop up in his vision. It has a calming effect, reassuring him that he is still Connor.

He has adopted wearing long sleeves.

Hank is drinking again, like he does on most nights that he is home from work. Connor is sure this is his fourth glass of whiskey, and that it won’t be the last one tonight, not until Hank passes out. Sumo whines.

Connor is sitting next to Hank, a cushion separating them, looking at the tv but not really watching it. Hank put on a sports game, the Detroit Red Wings. Connor is more focussed on Hank and his drinking. He wonders what the repercussions would be if he scooted over, grabbed the glass, and threw it across the room. Pouring it down the sink would be more practical, of course, but Connor is feeling angry at it, at Hank, at the world for causing Hank this much pain.

“Hey.” Connor snaps out of his thoughts by Hank’s voice. “What’s up? Your,” Hank gestures towards his own temple, indicating Connor’s LED, “is yellow.”

Connor doesn’t answer at first and watches as Hank takes a sip of the whiskey. Hank wants to die. He wants to die because Cole is gone and that gives Hank pain. Hank would leave Connor. Connor wonders if Hank would be willing to take him with him.

Connor stands and goes to his room, opening up the nightstand drawer and pulling out a pamphlet. He walks back out to the living room where Hank is looking confused. “I was going to wait until Christmas to give you your present, but I think it’s close enough.”

“Awe, hell, Kid, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Hank reaches out anyway and Connor hands him the pamphlet. Hank studies it. He turns immediately angry. “AA meetings? What the fuck, Connor?”

“I think it’s time you go to one, Hank,” Connor admits because he doesn’t want Hank to leave him. He doesn’t know what he would do if he was truly alone.

Hank stands, throwing the pamphlet down on the coffee table. “I don’t need fucking AA meetings!”

“Hank, you are an alcoholic,” Hank scoffs, taking a chug of the whiskey, “and you need help.”

“Do you think I don’t know that I’m a fucking alcoholic, Connor?” Connor doesn’t answer. “I choose to be one!” Hank takes a closer step, grip tight on the glass in his hand. “Who the fuck gives you the right to tell me when I should get help? Huh?” Still Connor says nothing and Hank pushes him. “Answer me you fucking android!”

“I don’t want-” Connor stops himself. Hank is mad at him. He’s really, really mad at him.

“Fuck you,” Hank swears and then walks around Connor, going to his bedroom and slamming the door shut. Connor flinches.

Connor stands there. He hadn’t expected that to escalate so quickly. He had anticipated agitation from the Lieutenant but not down right hatred. Connor’s Thirium pump is pounding hard in his chest. It hurts.

Sumo whines again and Connor goes to the bathroom, shutting the dog out. His LED is red. Connor grabs the knife from the hidden place he put it, in a compartment covered by a loose board on the side of the cabinet, and cuts open a part of his arm, watching the Thirium drip down his skin.

The LED goes back to blue.

:December 25th, 2038:

“Connor?” Connor is surprised when he hears Markus’ voice in his head. He had been sitting on the couch, watching a Christmas special movie and tugging at the sleeve of the sweatshirt he is wearing. There is a fresh cut on his arm from last night that hasn’t quite finished healing and though Hank isn’t home, Connor is feeling self-conscious about it.

“Markus?” Connor replies through the telepathic communication. “What is it?”

“I wanted to check up on you. I’m sorry I haven’t sooner.” Connor hears Markus chuckle. “I’ve been busier than I had expected.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says because it’s true. He doesn’t need Markus checking in on him, didn’t even expect it really.

Markus’ voice is cutting through his thoughts. “You haven’t come to see New Jericho yet. Have you thought more about what I said?”

He has and Markus’ words have had the opposite effect than what the other android was probably hoping for. They’ve only made Connor more anxious, more willing to isolate himself. He doesn’t want to see more androids, doesn’t want to see the androids whose lives he almost destroyed. Connor doesn’t want to see the anger in their eyes aimed towards him, the mistrust. Just because Connor was following orders and is now a deviant doesn’t mean they will automatically trust him. Especially Markus’ friends. He doesn’t want to see them the most.

“I… haven’t had the opportunity to stop by.” Markus knows it’s a lie, he is sure. Connor hasn’t worked at the DPD in over a month and mostly stays home all day, only occasionally taking Sumo out for a walk. There is nothing to keep Connor’s time and they both know it.

There’s silence in his head and he wonders if Markus got distracted or had to go. But then his voice sounds inside Connor’s plastic skull and it’s a calming tone, one Connor could probably get used to hearing. “That’s all right. Maybe some time in the future you can come by. When you’re ready.” A pause. “Merry Christmas, Connor.”

“Merry Christmas, Markus.” The line goes dead. Connor can feel the exact moment Markus severse the connection, no longer communicating with him through their thoughts. The cold and loneliness settles over Connor and he wishes Hank would come home soon.

:December 31st 2038:

Hank is passed out again, this time on the couch, a bottle of tequila spilling onto the carpet where it lays in Hank’s limp hand on the floor. Connor is about to pick up the bottle and help Hank to his bedroom when there is a knock at the door. It’s late, and he doesn’t know who would be coming by at this hour, especially when Hank doesn’t have any friends.

Connor places the bottle onto the coffee table and stands, heading towards the door. When he opens it, he’s surprised to see Markus standing there. “Markus? How… how did you know I was here?”

“It wasn’t that hard. Once I looked up who Lieutenant Anderson is, I found out where he lives.” Markus looks around inside where he stands in the doorway. “May I come in?”

“Oh!” Connor steps to the side. “Sure.”

Markus enters and Connor sees him try to subtly sniff the air. The smell of alcohol is strong in this house and it’s only being made worse with the tequila that is still soaking the carpet in the living room. “When I made the decision to come over, I hadn’t realized what time it was. I’m sorry for stopping by so late.”

“It’s no problem. I will probably be awake for a few more hours anyway.” Connor shuts the door quietly.

“Is Lieutenant Anderson still up?” Markus asks, turning to Connor.

Connor hesitates. He’s not sure he wants Markus to know he’s living with a drunk, but it’s a little late to hide that now. “He’s asleep in the living room. I was just about to transport him to bed.”

Markus nods and gestures for Connor to lead the way. Connor wishes Markus would just wait there; then maybe they could go for a walk instead of staying in this stuffy house. But the android follows behind Connor and frowns when he sees the disarray of the room. “Do you have towels?”

Connor walks over to Hank and hooks an arm over his shoulders, hauling him up. “In the bathroom.” Sumo perks up at seeing Markus and Markus eyes the dog curiously. “Sumo, come.” With a whine, Sumo does as he is told, following Connor into Hank’s bedroom and getting up onto the bed when Hank is placed there. Connor pets the dog, leaning down to whisper, “Stay. I’ll be fine.”

When Connor gets back to the living room, Markus is on the floor cleaning up the spilled tequila. Connor’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and Markus answers it without looking up. “Before I became a deviant I took care of an old man. I cooked, cleaned, pretty much did everything for him, including getting him in and out of bed.”

Connor walks over to the couch, watching Markus on his hands and knees, scrubbing. “Did you care about him?”

Markus pauses, looks up at Connor. “He was like a father to me.” He goes back to scrubbing and Connor frowns. “Is it always like this?” Connor doesn’t answer. He puts his hands on the back of the couch and Markus stands when silence passes between them for too long. Connor avoids eye contact. “Connor?” His Thirium pump is hurting again. Maybe there is something wrong with it. Maybe he really is dying. Markus walks around the couch, stands next to Connor. Connor bows his head, grips the couch tightly. “Connor?” A hand is placed on his back and Connor crumples, kneeling down on the floor and resting his forehead on the back of the couch. He’s hurting.

He wants the pain to go away.

*~~~*

Markus, despite Connor telling the android that he is fine, that he just got irrationally emotional with feelings he’s not quite sure how to handle yet, insists on staying the night. Connor isn’t sure he likes this plan. What if Hank gets angry at him for having Markus over? For having the android over so late?

“What are you thinking about?” Markus asks Connor. Connor is sitting on the couch beside Markus and though he has misgivings of having the android here when Hank wakes up, the other’s presence is a soothing one. Sometimes their shoulders will bump each other as they become engrossed with whatever is playing on the tv and Connor has to resist the urge to lean into the other man.

“Nothing,” Connor states, facing forward.

He can see Markus smile from his peripheral. “That’s why you should get rid of your LED. It gives you away. The yellow color it is now is a big giveaway that you were thinking of something.”

“I…” Connor starts, getting uncomfortable again. “I was thinking about how Hank will feel about you being here.”

“Do you think he’ll disapprove?”

Connor shakes his head. “No, not necessarily. He’s very welcoming of androids and is on our side when it comes to the revolution. It’s just… this is his house and you are a guest that he wasn’t originally aware of. This has never happened before so it’s hard to come up with the proper statistics.”

Markus is chuckling and it confuses Connor. “Do you just go through life putting percentages on things?”

“No,” Connor says, defensive, but Markus still has that twinkle in his eyes. “Sometimes.”

Markus’ laugh is beautiful. “Connor, you are one of a kind.” When Markus stops laughing, he places a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “I don’t have to be here when Lieutenant Anderson wakes up if you don’t want me to be.”

“No it’s-” Connor doesn’t want Markus to leave. “It’s okay. You can stay.” Markus smiles at him and it fills Connor’s chest with something he thinks is supposed to be pride.

For the first night in a long time, Connor doesn’t go into the bathroom.

:January 1st, 2039:

Hank comes into the living room with a loud groan, hand pressed to his forehead, and eyes shut tight against the assaulting light. “What a fucking night.” Connor and Markus are watching him and Hank hasn’t noticed the other person in the room yet. “Fuck, Connor, did I miss the ball dropping for New Years? Ah, I’m sorry, Kiddo. I know you wanted to-” Hank finally opens his eyes, leaning on the doorframe, and immediately spots Markus. The man blinks at Markus for a long time, both of them not saying anything, until Hank pushes off the doorframe. “Well fuck. You should have warned me we had a guest over, Connor. I would have put pants on.”

Connor stands up from the couch, Markus following suit. “Sorry, Hank.”

“Eh,” Hank waves it away and stumbles over to the kitchen. When he comes back, there is a glass of water in his hands and some pain medication. He pops them into his mouth and chugs the water. “So, you’re Markus I take it?”

Markus approaches the man, hand out. “It’s nice to meet you Lieutenant.”

Hank reaches out and shakes Markus’ hand. “Same.” Hank’s attention then goes to Connor. “When did he get here?”

“Last night,” Connor answers. Sumo finally emerges from the bedroom as well and immediately goes up to Markus, sniffing him. “I think he likes you, Markus.”

Markus is hesitant when he reaches down and gives Sumo’s head a gentle pat. When he’s done, he’s smiling. “He’s cute.” Sumo barks in approval and Connor feels his lips turning up into a smile. Hank’s eyes narrow.

“Markus came by to check up on me. He wants to make sure all the androids are safe after the revolution,” Connor goes on to explain because he doesn’t want the room to fall into an awkward silence.

Hank nods, looks between Connor and Markus, and purses his lips in thought. “Huh,” he says before turning around and leaving to go back into the kitchen. Connor hears the coffee machine being turned on.

Markus is looking at him. “He seems… nice.”

“He can be.” Connor walks by Markus and follows Hank into the kitchen. Markus follows as well. “Hank, would you like some breakfast?”

“Nah, I’m too fucking hungover for that shit.” Hank pours himself some coffee. “Not unless you want me puking all over the fucking place.”

“Have you ever thought about getting help, Lieutenant?” Connor freezes. Markus didn’t just say that. Markus couldn’t have. If it’s not Connor’s place to say it, as Hank had made perfectly clear, then it’s definitely not Markus’.

Hank is looking at Markus with fire in his eyes. “What the fuck did you just ask me?”

“I am wondering if you’ve ever thought about getting help for your alcohol addiction.” Markus takes a step towards Hank, challenging. Hank sizes up the other android and stands taller. “Do you not see what you are putting Connor through?”

“Markus…” Connor tries to warn but his voice comes out quiet, a glitch in his vocal processing.

“You fucking Android,” Hank starts, hands balling into fists.

Markus trudges on, seemingly unaware of the danger he has just put himself in. “What do you think will happen to Connor if you die from alcohol poisoning?” Hank is quiet, his jaw set tight, deadly glare directed at Markus. But he doesn’t argue back, doesn’t say a single thing. Markus turns to Connor. “I need to get going. It was nice seeing you again, Connor.” He walks by Connor with a quick, small smile directed towards him.

When he and Hank hear the front door shut, Hank turns to lean his hands on the counter. “Fucking androids.”

*~~~*

That night, Hank plops down beside Connor. Sumo is on the couch as well so there’s not a lot of room, but Hank doesn’t seem to mind it at the moment. Connor is surprised to only see a beer in Hank’s hands. He would have thought, after the confrontation with Markus, Hank would have wanted something stronger.

They sit in silence for a while before Hank finally breaks it. “You should keep that Markus around.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrow in surprise. “Why?”

Hank shrugs, propping his feet up onto the coffee table and changing the channel to a news station. “I don’t know. I just haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.”

Connor turns away, trying to not think about it and the odd feeling that statement gives him in his chest.

A/N: Thanks for reading!!

I've already got about 47k of this fic written so updates won't be too, too slow but I also don't want to catch up with myself too fast either. Each chapter will be around 4-5k words each.

I hope you enjoy the ride!

[emilyplaysotome]

Chapter 7 - Bad Blood

Catch up on Chapter 1 - 6 here! (or just Chapter 6)

With Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” blasting on loop in the background, I found myself getting to work thanks to the king lighting a fire under my ass. In a way, I owed him one as I’d been split - one part of me wallowing and the other determined.

Before he’d kidnapped my friend, I had questioned how possible winning the game was but now I was ready to beat it in under 3 months just to spite him.

It had only taken a moment for me to go from having my best friend and ally, to being alone and feeling incredibly guilty for whatever was happening to Meg right now. I figured that she must be in the otome world and if she was going to return I’d have to find these dudes quick.

I knew that her original plan was to spend this week in CT and the next in NYC grieving the loss of her relationship before she resumed her life as best she could. With that said, I effectively had only a week and two days before people would realize that she’d gone missing. There was no way that I could explain that a man from a video game had kidnapped her and I didn’t want her parents or our friends to worry when there was nothing they could do.

I fretted about where exactly in the game universe Meg had been placed, considering that she was so unfamiliar with the world of these otome games. I thought about the problematic faves of the fandom, and worried about her getting involved with the cast of Kissed by the Baddest Bidder or the less popular Dangerous Seduction.

I wondered if she ended up in Soichiro’s hospital, or if she was currently living out a rebound relationship considering that time went by faster in that world than it did in my own. Regardless of what she was doing, I needed to get her back and if that meant stepping my search up - so be it.

Without skipping a beat I called the switchboard and learned that Jin Namba had been an NYPD officer, but had recently left the force. I asked if anyone knew of his whereabouts and the dispatch told me that information was not public. I quickly apologized and noted that he’d helped me with a case that I was hoping to follow up on, and was put in touch with a friend of his at the precinct in TriBeCa where I used to see him and Hiroshi during my lunch hour.

I planned swing by and see if I could get any information as far as Jin’s whereabouts and after several unfruitful google searches, prayed that something would pan out stemming from that precinct as it was proving to be my only lead.

As far as Hijikata went, I had to assume that he was still doing something that involved fitness. I googled his name and looked for results from the past week.

The first thing I found were several yelp comments from women that frequented the gym he and Soryu used to work at (CrossFit East). There was a specific thread about the sudden disappearance of their two favorite instructors, and as I read the comments I was suddenly thankful for how many fans the two men had amassed during their time working there. One woman had gone so far as to actually visit every CrossFit gym in the city searching for Hijikata as she claimed that no other instructor had been as effective at correcting her form and encouraging her. As a result of her palpable thirstiness, she had discovered that he was now exclusively working at a lifting gym on the Upper East side and was preparing for a weightlifting competition himself.

The response to her comment was a mix of gratitude and slight judgement of her stalker-like behavior, and after a few more google searches I finally found not only the lifting gym but the application form for becoming a member. With real estate in New York being so expensive and gym space often being crowded, Edge Fitness made a niche for itself in being a high end, exclusive, expensive, and serious.

They did not accept just anyone to join and even getting through the doors seemed to be a bit of a hurdle considering that I was not a professional athlete, celebrity, or body builder which was the bulk of their clientele.

At the very least I had myself another lead and it was up to me to confirm that this information was accurate. If I was able to do so in the next two days, I’d have located 4/6 and was hoping by the weekend to have eyes on Jin (5/6) in order to get as close as possible to getting Meg back.

It was the least I could do for my friend in addition to swiping myself to sleep with the hopes that the mystery sixth man in this world would reveal himself to me.

The next morning, I called out of work sick and packed my belongings, having made the decision to move back home.

If things had gone the way they were supposed to, I would have gone to work and moved out of Meg’s apartment in the evening after reconvening with her, but after her disappearance I felt too guilty to do anything other than prioritize finding these men.

As I was unpacking I could hear notifications in the other room blowing up my phone and soon learned that Anita had sent me several stressed out slack messages. Apparently she’d been counting on me to be present at work as she felt that I was an integral part in winning this new pitch she’d mentioned. She asked if I would be able to come in Monday, having rested all weekend, and I assured her that I would.

It was odd to me that on a Friday she was holding a meeting with new clients and I questioned what it was about this pitch that she felt I personally needed to be present for, however I didn’t have time to dwell. I shrugged it off wanting to make the most of the here and now and by 9 AM, I was back home in my studio apartment and found myself feeling several unpleasant feelings about revisiting that space sans Zyglavis.

Even though we’d lived together for almost a year before this point, there was not a trace of my ex-fiancee in any way, shape, or form.

We used to joked about who shed more - our bathroom floor was often covered in my long light brown hair or his jet black pin-straight hair. However, the apartment was spotless, and I surprised myself with the fact that I missed seeing those rogue strands of hair.

It was as if our life together never existed. There were no chocolates in our house, the fridge was empty as if it had been cleaned out, and my things filled the closet as if I’d never made space for his belongings.

The wounds were all far too fresh for me to emotionally handle but thankfully I was a master at compartmentalizing my feelings. It was a skill honed through years of emotional frustrations with the understanding that my career would not progress if I indulged my emotional life on a regular basis and so I learned to push through and keep my chin up. 

I didn’t bother unpacking my own bag and instead threw on the cutest workout clothes I had and headed over to Edge fitness.

I’d rehearsed the scene in my head a thousand times and felt as ready as I could for my reunion with Hijikata.

Truthfully, out of all the men he was the one I thought about the most insofar as “what if”. It was him and Shun and the possibility I’d had with both of them that made me wonder if I would have been happier with them. With Hijikata, I’d been ripped away from him in the past and never even had the chance to audition him during my time as the bachelorette. I’d seen him flourish in this world, and found myself far more attracted to this man who could have so easily crumbled under the pressure of finding a new life and identity in a time drastically different than his own.

Out of respect to Zyglavis and our relationship, I’d kept my distance from Toshi even when I visited with him at the gym. That said, there had been a few moments between us - gentle looks or calm silences shared in passing - that made my heart flutter.

Of all the kisses to get, this one was my most anticipated.

I had planned out a reunion that made me appear to be the best version of myself but naturally I failed to foresee that Edge was on the fourth floor of a warehouse-like building and by the time I ascended the steep staircase, I was covered in a light sheen of sweat. There was no door to pass through or hallway where I could catch my breath or compose myself and instead I found myself huffing and puffing in front of a muscled military man who whose biceps at a glance seemed to be as large as my leg.

“What can I help you with hon?”

“I want to sign up…to…get in shape.”

He shot me a good natured grin and said, “Darling this is a serious gym - we only take people already in shape and turn them into Gods.”

“I know…I saw…on the…website…”

“Right. So go sign up at the equinox at 83rd and come back to us once you’re ready and we’ll…”

“No…I want to go from…0 to 100.”

He let out a loud guffaw that reverberated throughout the gym and said, “I like your spirit but we can’t just…”

“Please…I need this…please.”

He raised an eyebrow at me as my eyes pleaded with him. He muttered something under his breath and handed me a clipboard with paperwork noting that it wouldn’t kill him to give me a tour.

I took the clipboard and found a seat off to the side of the front desk and started filling the paperwork out. Most of it was straightforward - name, address, credit card information, health history, fitness goals, but when it got the emergency contact I could feel myself tense up. For the first time in my life I’d had a fiancee - a go to for something like that and here was another reminder that I no longer had that person to come running for me.

I compartmentalized, put my parents’ names down, and returned the clipboard.

“Alright Naomi, I’m Frank. Good to meet you.”

“You too.”

“First off Edge isn’t about weight loss, so if your goals revolve around the superficial this is not the gym for you. Our goals revolve around achieving the impossible. Take a look at that - what do you see?” Frank asked, leading me to a large mirrored room filled with free weights.

“I see potential.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect you to say that but I like that answer,” he noted with an approving smile. “You’re right - I always say that this is the space that differentiates people. There are the people that see the weight they think they can lift and there are the people who see what they can’t and make it their mission to be able to prove that nothing is impossible.”

I was surprised to learn that Edge was not just one floor, but instead several. The fourth floor was mainly free weights. The fifth floor was exclusively for cardio with stationary bikes, treadmills, stair master type machines, elliptical, etc. On the sixth floor, there were large squat racks and benches for chest press and it was there that I saw him.

Hijikata wore a ratty t-shirt which clung to his sweaty, muscled physique. Next to him, a spotter carefully watched and cheered him on as he attempted to squat what seemed to be an insane amount of weight. Frank continued to speak but didn’t hear any of what was said, and instead found myself watching Hijikata’s muscles strain and flex as he successfully moved the weight down and back up.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” His spotter yelled, and the men high fived each other with gusto.

“That felt great,” Hijikata said with a smirk.

I eavesdropped on their banter and when Frank had finished saying whatever it was that he had been saying I found myself blurting, “I want that man to train me.”

Frank chuckled, “Believe me, you’re not ready for the demon trainer.”

“Demon trainer?”

“He’s our harshest, most focused, results oriented trainer that has no use for a scrawny, out of shape, might give up any minute newbie like yourself.”

I thought for a minute about the Hijikata I’d first met in the otome world and how he had mercilessly trained his men. I thought about what it would mean to have to endure that kind of physical torture and while I was petrified, I knew that it was now or never.

Without saying anything to Frank, I approached Hijikata as he set up his bench and pressed my hands together in a prayer position and blurted, “Please train me!”

His eyes widened as he acknowledged my existence for the first time in what he thought was his life, and with a devilish grin he said, “I don’t think so.”

Frank apologetically came up behind me and said, “I already told her Toshi but she -“

“My entire life, other people have told me what was possible for myself and I’m at a point where I don’t believe any of that anymore. I want you to help me see that limitations only exist in my head,” I pleaded.

The statement caught Hijikata off guard, and I silently cheered as I watched him consider working with me. This iteration of Hijikata was that of a meathead bro on the surface, with a surprising amount of depth underneath. I knew that the version of Hijikata that trained in martial arts did so for loftier ideals. That Hijikata valued honor, mastery, and pushing ones sense of self.

I hoped that my words appealed to that part of him - a part that I was certain was still intact after seeing the intensity in which he trained himself.

“What’s your name?” He finally asked.

“Naomi.”

“Ok Naomi, how’s this. If you can get through a workout with me today I’ll make sure Frank here lets you train with me.”

He reached out his hand and I pushed down the terror that bubbled up in my gut and instead shook it.

It would seem in every iteration of Toshizo Hijikata a demon lurked beneath the surface and this Toshi had no problem dragging me down into the depths of hell. Having already been slightly out of shape, I found his workout not only incredibly difficult but borderline negligent as I pushed myself to my limits.

I collapsed at several points throughout the workout and after an hour straight of Hijikata barking orders at me and my body giving out numerous times I found myself looking like a drowned rat as my new trainer gently held my leg in a stretch.

“I’m so out of shape,” I wheezed. “That’s why I need this.”

“Yeah but there’s no shame in how you handled yourself today.”

“Does that mean?”

Hijikata then smiled at me for the first time since our reunion.

“I’ll tell Frank that I expect to see you back here tomorrow at 8 am.”

I swallowed my feelings as far as what it meant to have to wake up that early on a Saturday and instead nodded obediently.

Hijikata gently massaged my calf before taking my other foot and propping up my left leg in a stretch.

“So, were you one of my clients from before?” He asked gruffly.

“You don’t remember?”

He shook his head sadly and noted, “Amnesia they tell me. I know it sounds like a bad plot device in a hokey book or something, but I genuinely don’t remember much from before this week.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That must be scary.”

“It’s ok. I know the core of who I am and as long as I have that I won’t ever be lost.”

Hijikata’s way with words never failed to make my heart flutter, and though we had just “met” I hoped to appeal to do the same to his.

“From time to time

The clouds give rest

To the moon-beholders.”

My utterance caused him to go white as a sheet and I watched as a brawny, muscled, sweaty gym rat shed a single tear. The poem triggered something within him - be it a shred of his old self tucked away that the king had forgotten to erase.

I watched as Hijikata quickly regained his composure gruffly adding, “What’s that now?”

“A haiku. Something about you…it made me think of that poem.”

Hijikata paused for a moment, gently releasing my leg and with a small nod simply said, “Good job today,” before walking off.

I dragged myself back to my apartment, despite the fact that every muscle in my body was screaming and soaked in the tub for a good thirty minutes before I attempted to continue making progress. While I’d been in the bath, the king had texted and informed me that the use of a haiku was underhanded, yet clever, and that I should have no trouble winning Hijikata’s heart from what he saw.

“Don’t get cocky though goldfish,” he added, sending a picture of Meg.

I immediately opened the image attached and saw her on the street, with an annoyed look on her face as a man held her hand and dragged her with him. There weren’t many clues as to who she was with, but as I zoomed in I saw a familiar, tacky looking maroon jacket that I would be able to recognize anywhere.

Mitsunari Baba was holding her hand, dragging her somewhere and all I could do was hope that Meg was streetwise enough not to fall for him or any of the bidders.

Chapter 8 - http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/174964422337/chapter-8-hiding-in-plain-sight

If you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend or buying me a coffee!  

Thanks for reading :)

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[gdnght-grl]

an explanation on my inspirations, taken from my rateyourmusic page

T. Stebbins

The first ever song with lyrics that I wrote was super heavily based on the vocal style of Eurobeat Odyssey. I honestly don't know why I never released it back when I made it on Apple's Bandcamp, but I think the excitable, syncopation-heavy style has never left me when trying to make something even remotely faster-paced.

Le Soldat Pony 

Le Soldat Pony's "Through the Telescope" got me playing guitar as I learned to love folk through his music. I hope that one day I'll do his music (and his indirect teachings) justice and release something in my usual chill production style that is complemented by my guitar-playing ability, rather than making folk music separate from my chill music. Before These Mighty Skies was definetly an influence for my song "Come on Home" that I released on Universes Unlike Ours, but I feel like I have yet to honourably integrate guitar and my own production.

44K

I can't say that our production style or genre is all that similar, but I've learned so much from collaborating and receiving feedback from 44k. I credit 44k to the little psychedelic production tidbits I've added to my mixes, such as copious flanger, phasing, unique panning, just things to make the whole song feel more lively than boring, static sounds. Their work has also been a reminder to me of all the cool things you can do with plunderphonic/IDM/breakcore percussion without bending to the genres that these percussion types are usually applied to.

Celadon City It really surprises me that on my quest to find "Galaxy" sound-alikes I stumbled upon Celadon City's "Earth OST" through Soundcloud in 2016. Every second of that album was something magical; The album had that perfect balance of expressive sound without pushing to be too abrasive. The sonic feeling of Earth OST found and held onto this "magic" of getting pleasantly lost in somewhere otherworldly. I now look to Celadon City as a modern source of inspiration for what I could be doing with my songs if I feel like I don't know where else I can take a song of mine.

Dreaming Moths

I have Dreaming Moths to thank for showing me the power of instrumental storytelling using plunderphonics and IDM drums based on pans that he sampled from his kitchen. If you were tasked with telling a story using music, you might just sing a written story across a moodsetting background, where the music doesn't really convey the story on its own. Alternatively, you could write something in the western classical sense, which will illicit prescribed emotions to the listeners. This is all fine, but I feel like there's a lot of uncharted grounds when it comes to using unclassifiable sounds to create stories in the sonic sense. "Truth" leaves a lot of its instruments exposed, chopped up and free of reverb. It forces you to listen into the instruments as they grow and interact with other elements as you move through scenes that culminate in one of the 5 tracks on the EP. This playful interaction between instruments inspired a lot of Universes Unlike Ours, and it's what earned Dreaming Moths as an inspiration equivalent to SoGreatandPowerful when it came to releasing my first album. 

SoGreatandPowerful

I think what set me off to make music was SoGreatandPowerful's "Galaxy". I can pinpoint the moments where I became Goodnight Girl. It was in February 2013. I was sitting alone in my room at 9:00 pm, with school the next morning. My lava lamp was on in the corner providing the only source of light next to my iPod touch in my hands. My back was against my bedframe as I was excited to hear SGaP's newest release on Youtube. It was a followup to the very intriguing Night Glider, but this one more peculiar and mysterious. I was lulled in by all the production details that I couldn't comprehend because all of these expressive elements were all playing at once, but each element had their own personality as they painted the setting of deep space. It evoked curiosity and the pleasure of exploring somewhere unknowably foreign. I lost myself repeating this song over and over again, feeling totally immersed in the last third of the song and wanting to hear more of this exact sound. That night is when I found my favourite song to this date, and the way I felt listening to that song for the first time is the kind of feeling I hope to one day recreate with my own music. My first album, Universes Unlike Ours, were repeated attempts to capture this sound, but completely giving into the tangents that I ended up going into instead. So thank you, David, for giving me this musical style, a long-term musical goal, and in some sense an identity for myself.

[shadydreamerdonut]

~My favorite banned books~

To mark the end of banned book week, I’ve picked out seven of my favorite books that are frequently challenged in both schools and libraries. 

1. Perks of being a wallflower. This has to be one of my favorite young-adult novels ever written. Charlie is such a thoughtful protagonist, and embodies many adolescent struggles. The writing is poignant, unique and incredibly vivid. And gives words to many of the experiences that someone with a mental-illness will have, which I found very empowering. And again, why it’s my favorite YA novel is because it captured for me what it felt (feels?) like to be a teenager. 

2. Harry Potter. Three words, Bellatrix Black Lestrange. If concerned parents and uptight school employees dare censor a word from my precious, sadistic, gorgeous, cunning, utterly disillusioned and aristocratic baby, I will breathe fire and bare the ink on my skin so they cower in alarm. Rightfully so. My precious! 

3. Fun Home. I could write a 12 page essay, double-spaced just on Bechdel’s individualistic and captivating illustrations, her style. It’s refined and detail-oriented. And time she put into every panel is so evident. There’s a reason this book was nominated for the national-book award, her story may be her own in many ways. It’s also for the same number of reasons, so universal. And she started dialogue for so many in the LGBT community and anyone who never fit into the socially constructed confines of gender-identity and sexual orientation.

4. This One Summer.  One of those few, special books that captivated my mind and held my attention from start to finish. I remember laying in bed, middle of the night and putting it down beside me, and all I could say was ‘wow.’ Without being cliche or overly forward, it confronts so many social issues. The way it pans in and out with illustrations not only gives the audience space to process and breathe, but generously adds more thought-provoking context.  

5. Alice in Wonderland. It’s kind of like Harry Potter in that’s it become something far bigger then itself, far more than ink on paper. It has this culture and aesthetic, and so many subtexts now in pop culture. That it’s truly amazing how it has integrated itself into our imaginations and conversation. And become this thoughtful, metaphorical way to make so many abstract feelings tangible. Also, who doesn’t love a tea party, dressing up and indulging the absurd?  

6. The curious incident of the dog in the night time. I love this author and I also love his other book, the messenger, okay moving forward. The interesting thing is because the protagonist is so preoccupied with uncovering this one truth, that is ironically completely inconsequential to him. He doesn’t realize all of the other mysteries he is solving and are unfolding before him. With the same unrelenting focus and emphasis that is characteristic of Aspergers, But I think it’d be motivating to readers because without even meaning to, he transcends into independence and deciding the trajectory of his life. And reconciling with his family and life circumstances. Solving his own biggest mystery, conflict. 

7. The book thief. I really loved how Liesel in this unsubstantiated and chaotic world starts to steal books, as a way I felt like to ground her in this world. Even if she couldn’t actually read them herself, I related to that concept a lot. Of needing something physical, something you can hold onto when all else is uncertain. Why I also love the relationships that are illustrated. And how death, itself is the narrator. 

Thank you for listening.