#it's all about these misfits who have never fit in anywhere discovering that they fit with each other

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

On the Outside Looking In: Growing Up in the Moonies

Flore Singer Aaslid, Ph.D. (2007)

Abstract The author recounts her experiences as a child and young adult in the Unification Church (“the Moonies”). She discusses the enduring sense of not fitting in, which arose from her many years of travelling and being taken care of by people other than her parents (who were usually busy with missionary work) and stigmatized for being an “unblessed” child (not born to Moonie parents). During this prolonged conflict situation she vacillated between trying to “buy it” and rebelling. Leaving the group proved to be difficult because she discovered that she did not fit in “outside” either. Ultimately, however, she left the group permanently and began to build a new life.

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There is a saying that if something doesn’t kill you it will only make you stronger. A spiritual perspective might interpret this statement as meaning that most challenges in life, however unpleasant or inconvenient, are like trials laid out by some Grand Master Plan for the sole purpose of adding some muscle to one’s otherwise weak disposition. Perceived from such a perspective, being raised in an environment such as that of the Moonies is really a blessing in disguise, with a vast array of potentials and possibilities to grow and expand in every conceivable manner. In my case, I can see how the whole experience has toughened me up in many respects. Nevertheless, for me, the most enduring and overwhelming side effect of growing up as a cult kid (having been set apart from society at large and carefully protected in a dogmatic cocoon for most of my formative years) is the relentless, almost haunting, yet mostly exasperating feeling of never quite fitting in—anywhere. I have yet to discover whether this is a blessing or a curse, but it’s probably a little of both.

Like that of many of my peers also raised in “the church,” as we called the whole ordeal, my childhood was somewhat turbulent. From the age of two, I never lived more than two years at a time in any one place. By the time I was eight, I had already lived in four different countries and learned three different languages (two of which, unfortunately, I forgot as I no longer used them). The number of “caretakers” I had during those years is beyond my recollection (probably more than 20 and fewer than 50), for both of my parents were missionaries, busying themselves with the very important task of saving the world. I was a sacrifice for the sake of a greater good, my mother used to tell me. I was put into God’s Hands, and with the help of a lot of faith and a seemingly endless number of dedicated prayers, He would protect me (sort of like paying holy instalments toward some kind of sacred life insurance). This might have worked, for all I know; I was an almost abnormally healthy child, and even today the most serious illness to fall upon me has been the flu and some nasty stomach problems in India.

Still, it is as if all this moving about, learning new languages, making new friends, adapting to different environments, only to be torn away from it all and repeat the process all over again (and again, and again, ad infinitum), somehow turned me into a weird little muddled misfit. I was doomed to feel like a perpetual stranger, forever the foreigner, like some bizarre product of shoddy enculturation, sloppy socialization, or whatever one wishes to call that process through which young children experience a sense of belonging, and identify with their nearest and dearest. I wasn’t, of course, consciously aware of my predicament at such a young age. I just felt exceedingly lonely, and of course being an only child didn’t help matters. Children, as a rule, don’t like to stand out, and lord knows I did my best to fit in. I made friends easily, was unusually outgoing, learned languages and dialects in record time, joined the Girl Scouts, the swim club, the ski club, and even a glee club (chorus). I wore the right clothes and probably liked the right things, but to no avail; that lonely feeling just never left me. And all this, by the way, relates purely to my experiences with the Outside World (that is how we Moonies referred to what other people might perceive as “normal society”). Children growing up in cults, or in any kind of fundamentalist movement for that matter, always get stuck between (at least) two worlds.

Things probably would have been slightly different, although not necessarily better, had I felt some sense of belonging in the Inside World (my own personal term for the Moonies, or “the family,” as we insiders referred to ourselves). This fate was not to be mine, however, for one big reason that I can explain only by examining the Moonie Belief System (B S). This “family” came complete with a set of True Parents (Sun Myung Moon, also founder and self-proclaimed messiah, and his wife) and True Children (their 14 children). All the other members lovingly referred to each other as True Brothers and Sisters to complete the Holy Metaphor, but also, I suspect, to linguistically prevent any kind of sexual activity from occurring between these “Brothers and Sisters.” Premarital sex was regarded as an almost unforgivable mortal sin. Sex was so terrible that any children born from this impure act were blemished forever with the stain of Original Sin, passed on through generations all the way back to when Adam and Eve had premarital sex. This is “the fall” according to the Moonie bible (otherwise known as “The Principle”)—which, incidentally, was Eve’s fault because she had sex with Satan first and then felt guilty because she remembered that it was Adam she was supposed to have sex with, whereby she seduced him, but, alas, too late or too early, or both, and so women became the inferior sex and suffer childbirth and menstruation and all sorts of womanly misfortunes as a consequence of this badly timed and somewhat bungled-up sex act.

▲ Sun Myung Moon “matching” couples in the 1980s.

Not only the Blessed Couple, but all the future children born from this holy matrimony, would then be freed of Original Sin (which explains why it was so popular; I think the Moonies are even in the Guinness Book of World Records for the biggest mass weddings in history). The offspring of these decontaminated couples were then subsequently called the Blessed Children since these lucky little cherubs were born into the world unblemished and completely free of Original Sin. In all metaphysical respects, as perfect as can be.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view), I was no such child. Born to an unwed mother before she joined the church, I was doomed to carry the burden of Original Sin. I and others like me were continually reminded of this disgraceful state of affairs by simply being given the rather unflattering designation of Unblessed Children [“Jacob children”]. 

As an Unblessed Child, I was excluded in several different ways: Ritually during Sunday morning prayers (which always took place at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m.), for example, where I was consistently prohibited from saying the Pledge of the Families (not belonging to a Blessed Family myself). Socially, during big Moonie celebrations such as God’s Day, where special seats were always reserved for Blessed Children (I was allowed to sit there on many occasions, but hardly ever without first being solemnly informed that these seats were really for Blessed Children). Then there was the obligatory trip to Korea ( [usually for 40 days, but possibly] lasting several years), which was an absolute must for most Blessed Children, but not for me (although from what I’ve heard, I think I was blessed to have missed it). And of course, as opposed to most of the Blessed Children, I was in no way exempt from the fundraising and witnessing. After all, Indemnity must be paid, and I have many (not so very fond) memories of myself standing on street corners selling flowers with my mother, usually for some worthy “Christian” cause (we hardly ever said it was for the Moonies, unless we happened to be in the mood for some rather unpleasant “persecution,” as we called the stone throwing, name calling, and other mostly verbal abuse).

Understandably, after many years of this kind of treatment, one is always in danger of feeling vaguely inadequate and prone to a slight sense of inferiority with respect to those Holier Than Thou. So, to finally make my point, even in the Inside World, amidst my own True Brothers and Sisters, I felt like an outcast, a recluse, a misfit, and once again, the freak in the group.

Psychologically speaking, there are probably several ways to deal with this type of dilemma. I have ascertained two primary methods: Either you buy the crap (pardon my French), or you don’t. Choosing the first method would have been highly destructive to my fragile psyche. No complex psychological analysis needed here; I simply state what to me seems obvious: believing that one is fundamentally inferior to most of one’s peers, for whatever reason, can dangerously stagnate one’s own personal growth and development. (However, believing that their superiority is due to a somewhat more elaborate mating ritual between their parents than that of one’s own does make it all the more absurd, even though some 50-odd years back, the majority of our God-fearing citizens adopted this view regarding unwed mothers and their “bastard” children. But this just goes to show how cruel and easily duped we humans can be.) Therefore, probably to protect myself and spare myself serious damage in the long run, somewhere in the depths of my psyche (possibly even subconsciously), I decided at a relatively early age that I was surrounded by a group of gibbering morons.

This was, perhaps, not the most sophisticated strategy, but it was effective, and it worked wonders when it came to ignoring and shutting out most of the ranting and raving that appeared to compose the greater part of my conceptual reality tunnel (the Inside World), although, admittedly, many times the two worlds collided. The resulting clash was so straining that I did my best to convince myself that this plump little Korean guy jumping about on a stage, flailing his arms energetically and barking loudly in gibberish (Korean), really was the Messiah, here to save the world and populate the planet with little Blessed Children. Fortunately, this phase was usually fleeting, and then I was back to my familiar miserable, cynical self. Ironically, I strongly believe today that had I been a Blessed Child, this strategy (deciding that I was surrounded by a group of gibbering morons) would have been very difficult to adopt. This is because Blessed Children had, for the most part, been told all their lives how very special, important, and unique they were, sort of like Holy Super Kids. The whole world depended on them, and if there is still widespread misery and suffering today, it is because they haven’t taken their role and mission seriously enough (what a burden, poor kids). Basically, my guess is that it is much harder to disregard and block out positive affirmations that build self-esteem and make one feel like a Very Important Person than it is to ignore a Belief System that ultimately makes one feel like a little piece of poop. In other words, I think I was blessed to have been unblessed (life is funny that way).

Another factor worth mentioning here is that many of the Blessed Children, in addition to being conveniently Blessed to one another, later became very economically dependent on the church, which mediated and sponsored both jobs and higher education, making it hard for a recipient to break free on any level, even if one did start developing a mind of one’s own. Put slightly differently, where subtle and sophisticated mind-controlling techniques fail, hard economic facts still tend to win out in the end (I, of course, was never worth sponsoring and have had to make do with a combination of student loans and welfare, sigh). Finally, I do believe that all that moving about during my early years, and the fact that I never really managed to “bond” successfully with my mother, made it much easier for me to break out later on. Filial piety (playing the role of obedient and devoted daughter) just didn’t seem to be in my nature; and as for my father, he drifted out when I was 12 and later helped me do the same.

I have often wondered why it was so easy for me to turn my back on my True Family, and (almost) never look back. I left to live with my father in California when I was 14 (although mentally I was long gone way before then). About two years later, I decided to re-join, and become a missionary myself in France (the Outside World was too much for me at such a vulnerable age, and I had to escape before it gobbled me up—“from the frying pan into the fire,” as they say). Being a missionary in France was probably the most serious attempt I made at “buying it” my whole life. Growing up in the Moonies was due to unfortunate circumstances way beyond my control, but becoming a missionary at the age of 16 was a desperate and conscious choice. It was, in many ways, a matter of survival, at least existentially. The loneliness and emptiness I felt in the Outside World at the age of 14 was so intense that I’m really quite surprised I emerged from it all as relatively unscathed as I did (my mother was almost certainly paying holy instalments to my sacred life insurance more than ever at that point).

The best illustration I can think of to illustrate this feeling is that of a small animal, locked up in a cage most of its life, and then suddenly set free to manage as best as it can in the jungle. Or, as another cult kid I read about in a Norwegian newspaper described it, being raised in a sect is like growing up in a spaceship, protected and confined, and then one day leaping out into space. Compared to the chaos, the overwhelming freedom and the incredible loneliness I encountered out in the big cruel world, being an Unblessed Child in the Moonies seemed like peanuts. After all, here at least I was part of something, even if it was the lesser part of an otherwise perfect family. Orbiting the Outside World, having cut all ties linking me to the Mother Moonie Spaceship, I felt utterly and completely alone. Therefore, I quit high school and set off to become a missionary and sell flowers (more out of necessity than conviction). A stranger in yet another strange land, but, as fate would have it that was probably one of my wisest and most courageous decisions. Sunny California would have been the death of me, and even though I ended up staying in France only for a year (after which I fell in love with a young Norwegian and moved to Norway), I knew instinctively that I had to get away, no matter where, no matter how.

The Moonies (or whatever they call themselves today) are not the Ku Klux Klan, as one of my childhood friends has already pointed out in a previous article. They do have some positive values, and they do mean well (yes, I know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions). On the whole, my experiences have taught me a lot about society, human nature, and this very bizarre and sometimes unpleasant state called life. The feeling of being a misfit, a social freak, doomed to dwell forever on the outside looking in, still haunts me wherever I go. However, I do have a new “family,” I have my friends, and I have my son (and I can rest assured knowing that when it comes to child rearing, I certainly know what NOT to do). I also have my sense of humor to chase away any new devils (traumas and tragedies) that might happen to fly my way. I have noticed that fanaticism (in its many forms and guises) and humor are unhappy bedfellows; they just don’t mix very well. So for those of you who find this article somewhat offensive in any way, my sincere apologies; but when it comes down to a conflict between preserving other peoples’ Belief System and my own mental health, I tend to get a little selfish.

In many respects, I suppose that growing up the way I have has made me stronger and wiser. But I certainly didn’t choose the easy way out, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder if things might have been less problematic if I’d just stayed on the inside, content with looking out. But then, I seem to attract adversity; and besides, I was never really on the inside, just like I’ll never really be on the outside. You’ll find me floating in those fuzzy grey zones in between.

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This material was originally prepared for a presentation at the AFF [now known as ICSA] annual conference, June 14-15, 2002, at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, Orlando (FL) Airport.

It was published in Cultic Studies Review, 2(1), 2003, 1-8

http://www.icsahome.com/articles/on-the-outside-looking-in-growing-up-in-the-moonies

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Flore Singer Aaslid was born 12 October 1972 in Rosenheim, Germany. She was raised as a “non-blessed” child [a “Jacob child”] in the Unification Church and grew up in Germany, England, USA, France, and Norway, respectively.

She was about 8 when her mother was ‘blessed’ to her father at a Unification Church mass wedding at Madison Square Gardens in 1982.

Currently, she is a social anthropologist based in Trondheim, Norway, where she lives with her son.

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Wise Mind – A Case for the Integration of Subjective Experience with Objective Reality in the Age of Fragmentation written by Flore Singer Aaslid

Introducing ‘Ethnography and Self-Exploration’— Sjaak van der Geest, Trudie Gerrits, Flore Singer Aaslid

Marginal groups, marginal minds Reflections on ethnographic drug research and other traumatic experiences by Flore Singer Aaslid

Flore Singer Aaslid Thesis: Facing the Dragon: Exploring a conscious phenomenology of intoxication

Flore Singer Aaslid Book: Facing the Dragon: Exploring a conscious phenomenology of intoxication  Paperback– 23 Feb 2010

Do you see it? Adam and Eve were husband and wife before the Fall, not brother and sister.

In the 1952 Divine Principle, Jesus was married.

Sun Myung Moon’s explanation of the Fall of Man is based on his Confucian ideas of lineage, and his belief in shaman sex rituals.

Hooked on the “true lineage” rhetoric

Sun Myung Moon’s theology used to control members

Sun Myung Moon: The Emperor of the Universe

Writings of former FFWPU members Many recount their experiences in the organization or their journeys out of it

Ashamed to be Korean

[claymotif]

hi and also hello. may i please hear everything about seia i would like the seia breakdown please and thank you <3

seia breakdown!!!! seia my beloved <3

the short version is that seia is 95% of keldan's impulse control. long version under the cut

okay in my head i picture seia as being from like a mountain village whose primary economy is mining-based. this is almost completely irrelevant to the actual story but i planned out everyone's backstories like three years ago so you're getting it. seia's naturally smaller than most people from these mining villages tend to be but he was also more sick than the average kid (which did not help) so growing up he was sort of on the frail side. that being said there was absolutely zero like "gender role" expectation that he would ever have to work in the quarries, because his culture doesn't really have Gender the way others do, and thus don't have gender roles either; everyone just contributes what they can to make sure the household runs smoothly, which means seia grew up helping out with stuff like finances, gardening/animal tending if he had the energy for it, sewing/mending clothes/weaving, other stuff around the house that's less physical labor. (btw this cultural view of gender is also why seia's nonbinary; he literally just cannot be bothered with translating his experience for others, and the first person who spoke to him in another language assigned him he/him pronouns and seia was like "whatever".)

anyway. there's some imperial/war-related stuff that happens next. crown soldiers show up, "this land belongs to this nation now", and they ship off basically everyone who's still school-aged to boarding schools in the empire proper. (two notes: first, i haven't named like most of the places that are relevant to backstory. yes i've had this wip for years. move on. second, i am assuming you've heard of cultural genocide. that's what's happening here.)

seia ends up rising through the ranks so to speak and gets a lot of attention for his knack for languages. he ends up in service of the crown that kidnapped him (this is probably around age 16 or so), as a translator/interpreter, and after a couple years ends up sold/traded to the highest bidder (melati's father, the king of. yet another name i haven't thought up yet.) they use nicer words than "sold/bought", because "slavery is illegal", but i'm not going to pretend seia had any choice in what's happening.

he does use his essentially-free access to royal libraries to do a LOT of reading, both before and after the trade. he teaches himself a lot of stuff, including More languages and some "applicable" life skills. (read: forgery. he gets terrifyingly good at forging official documents. he doesn't use this until after he joins up with keldan, because he's afraid of what will happen if he gets caught, but with keldan he's a bit of a loose cannon lmao)

also. MOSTLY irrelevant to the story but seia has like one friend, who was the youngest son of the first king seia worked for. they made it work alarmingly well despite the power imbalance thing, and the prince teaches seia how to swordfight. seia later trades that in for a dagger, saying it's more his style, but in a pinch.... absolutely deadly. they keep in touch after seia gets traded off, they write letters to each other in varying languages and use code names. the prince's real name is kazik tho.

also also. working for melati's father and spending like 90% of his free time in the library, seia's seen her before and she's seen him. they've talked more than once and melati would even loosely call him a friend at this point in their lives. being a princess she doesn't really question the exact terms of his employment. it's not really malicious, it's just that in her mind, the palace is kind of the best gig anyone could hope for, and she has a daughter's trust in her father (for now) and believes he'd never hold anyone against their will. and while technically he's not holding seia prisoner, seia has nothing and no one on the outside, and nowhere to go, and a contract a mile long that he doesn't know the exact terms of but surely there's a clause in there about abandoning your post before your term is served (there is. seia ends up breaking it anyway).

anyway. seia meets keldan on a diplomatic trip to okskiy, where keldan lounges around the throne room despite his king's best efforts to get rid of him before the party starts. (this is like almost immediately post-aderyn-breakup btw). seia doesn't get much time off during the actual meeting/negotiations/dinner, but once everyone's drunk and happy seia gets to slip away from his interpreter role, and he and keldan make small talk for a while and seia commits his face to memory because it feels like he's the first (second?) person to ever actually look at seia. it's complicated.

they end up meeting again on seia's "home turf"; keldan's delivering something on behalf of his king, and seia's the only one who speaks a language keldan understands, so they get plenty of more-or-less one-on-one conversation time. call it bonding or whatever. later, keldan's wandering around the castle (read: snooping) and happens upon the king propositioning seia (this is compete chance here. keldan's the only person i know who's obnoxious enough to have even the opportunity to stumble in on this conversation), which seia does not want but can't exactly say no to without risking. yknow. his life.

the king fucks off w/ keldan's arrival (not that keldan understood what was being said exactly but the postures... expressions... yeah) to avoid suspicion (does not work) and keldan's like. "fuck that guy." seia replies "he's my king." keldan says "what if he wasn't though" and then gets to play white knight for seia for about thirty minutes (the time it takes them to get back onto keldan's ship) before keldan really starts to get to know seia and realizes he is WAY out of his depth here.

they're more or less business partners after that. it's weird because seia definitely is not considered part of keldan's "crew", but keldan's operation is able to expand thanks to the breadth of languages seia can speak, seia travels everywhere with keldan + has his own cabins on the ship that he never uses bc he's always in keldan's, they read each other's minds and gaze longingly when the other isn't looking, but if a crewmate asks whether they've slept together keldan is like "why would we do that". they're a hot mess. seia forges like 90% of keldan's documents, whatever he needs (the other 10% are, technically, legal), and literally asks for nothing in return. keldan's always putting gold coins in with the rest of seia's stuff or trying to slip him payment some other way. seia stashes his collection of inks and fancy pens and parchments under keldan's bed.

the really sticky part is that neither of them really talk about their pasts. granted keldan can't talk about his childhood without getting into stuff that would make him sound crazy ("turns out there is stuff below the continents" crazy), but neither of them know where the other is from, they don't communicate w/each other in either person's native language, seia doesn't even know keldan had a partner before him.

keldan's also a bit insane. so he gets all these random ideas for all kinds of things (business, ship repairs/additions, fanciful vacations, you name it) and then seia's the one who filters it down into something doable. half the time seia is then also the one who implements it, whatever it is. keldan will be like "lets do a vacation on one of those waterfall islands" and seia will be like "what if instead we just spend a couple weeks off in okskiy" and then also schedule that time off into their calendar. this is more or less because seia is wayyyy more organized but also a little bit because even tho keldan has the big ideas, he wouldn't actually be into them. he would hate the wet humid nature of the waterfall islands and seia knows that and talks him out of it, and keldan wants seia happy so he agrees readily when seia suggests okskiy instead. they make it work somehow and everyone's like "how have you not broken up yet" and they're like "broken what up?"

so. that's where they're at at the beginning of the story, and then aderyn and melati walk onto their ship as a unit and everyone collectively is like. "what the fuck" for a whole host of different reasons. the plot of sky sea is like 50% character-driven conflict in the sense that while aderyn and keldan are trying to reconcile their old history, aderyn's guilt, and keldan's anger, seia's also insanely jealous but doesn't understand why and almost flat out refuses to talk to keldan about it. aderyn and melati have the whole "we're only in this together because both our lives are in danger" on top of the whole "you said no one would know who you were" "how was i supposed to know that the one person who could possibly still be alive to recognize me would be on this boat" thing. seia and melati have a little bit of a guilt/anger thing happening too; it's sort of "logically i know it wasn't her fault but emotionally i need someone to blame and she should have known something was wrong". keldan and melati are pretty much the only pair NOT fighting, but they do bond over being generally obnoxious and high-maintenance. when aderyn and seia aren't trying to kill each other over extremely minor arguments that are actually metaphors for much bigger issues, they're complaining about "royals. ugh". keldan's crew wants to quit sooooo bad except that they also find the drama highly amusing. one guy on the crew is like 'man i always wanted to be part of a high-speed chase' and boy does he get his wish.

[anotherbeingsworld]

Nepenthe (Lennox X Bryce)

Pairing: Bryce x F!MC (Lennox Hirata - owned by @arcticlumineer )

Inspo: Stars by Alessia Cara.

Summary: A small getaway after the previous events, a small conversation under the night sky.

A/N: I was planning to post something and here it is, something I manage to write during this whirlwind. Life is a hard road, but... I am not giving up yet. I have felt like that before, and I know.. it’s been 2 days I couldn’t let myself go, tumblr felt like one place I could be myself with somehow? ; and I am very excited for this fic. One of my favourites to write actually. This fic was dedicated mostly to my Mario( @arcticlumineer ) and Lennox is her MC. Somehow, a continuation to her fic ‘Binary Stars’ that all of you should check it out too! She has been fighting and, she will keep on fighting. You deserve everything Alaska and so much more, and I hope you loved this as much as I loved writing it.  - Your Luigi. 💙

Thank you @mvalentine for assuring me that it is not a crappy one! I love you, and to all that reached out in the comments and messages, I appreciate all of you so so much! Thank you 💖💖💖 I will try to get some time on my own in a way, and maybe there is hope after all. I hope all of you enjoy it! It wasnt my best, but... it came from the heart and I hope you all love it. I will be back with more Bryce and Casey very soon!  <3

Tags:  @bitchloveskcbaseball , @storyofmychoices @jaxsmutsuo , @mvalentine , @princess-geek , @lahellacute , @kacie-0156-deactivated20200905 , @this-person-is-busy , @annekebbphotography , @brycelahel, @mrsbhandari , @dcbbw , @choicessa , @choices-confessions , @aylamwrites , @fantasyoverreality98 , @drakewalker04 , @baltersome , @ofpixelsandscribbles , @thundergom  @starrystarrytrouble, @ohramsey , @kelseaaa  , @rookie-ramsey , @bratzlahela , @ohvamsey , @choicesficwriterscreations , @soft-for-drake , @lalizah , @drethanramslay , @arcticlumineer , @choicesstan1 , @aveeiro

Nepenthe (noun) - Something that makes you forget pain and suffering. 

Knock on my door, boy come home

You stay in my head

Lay in my arms, why won't you?

It's been way too long, what you waiting on?

It was a long drive, as they finally reached the Grand Canyon, one of the wonders of the states. Bryce never agreed on a 3-day trip of driving from Boston to the infamous canyon. After a long 40 hours of driving, and stopping. Bryce and Lennox has arrived at the spot, where it was almost sundown.

Lennox was the one who suggested upon the idea, as she wanted a new experience including taking a long trip to Arizona, after the tragedy strikes. They were given a leave as, Bryce took a few measures along with infamous pick-up lines to convince Harper on taking a leave. It worked, and here they are.

‘We are here!’ A surprisingly enthusiastic Lennox get out of the car, as she took a breath of the fresh air. It smells very weird, but it’s definitely not Edenbrook. She loved Edenbrook, but she felt a new environment was needed. A new space for her to breath, as the sun was about to set in an hour.

‘Let’s get ourselves cozy, Hirata here take the food.’ An exhausted Bryce was heard, as Lennox marched into the back of the car taking the basket of food for the night. They didn’t packed much, except a few unhealthy ones, and some take-out from their journey which is enough to survive the night.

Bryce took care of the rest, as they hike their way up the canyon. It wasn’t the prettiest view at the time being, but he felt happy to take her out here. Away from the commotion of their work life, where it was only them against the real world. Including Keiki too.

After a long hour of hiking, they finally reached one of the many tops of the canyon. It was a perfect view of the whole lot, as Lennox placed the food, as Bryce gets the stuff ready. He lays out a large blanket, and Lennox sat on top of it as soon as she could. A small price of enthusiasm as he lets out a small chuckle, taking a seat next to her. It was quiet, as they were the only beings that were known there.

The sun has already set, as they ate their subway take-outs. It wasn’t the best after a long drive, but their tummies are full and that’s what matters. After a session of eating, Lennox found herself staring at the night sky. It was dark, as the source of light was from their phones and a couple of emergencies flashlight but, the moon above them were doing the work.

Bryce felt himself staring at her, a small gesture that he would do everytime. He adored her, from the very first time he saw her. She was strong, kind, empathetic despite the sass she owns. Lennox Hirata was her own woman, and Bryce found himself falling for her, despite their feelings haven’t returned. At least, not yet.

He realizes his feelings towards her, after the funeral. The fear of losing her, was seen within him as he lets his walls down for her. Something he had tried so hard on doing, a small sacrifice for the chance to reduce the pain little-by-little. Somehow, Lennox felt like his weakness, the fear of never seeing her again lingers in his mind, a broken record that was played over and over again.

The flashback from before, replayed once more as he remembered witnessing Lennox, in a weak state. She wasn’t the cheerful person he knows, as the light in her eyes had disappeared since that day. Followed by losing two of the closest people in her life in front of her eyes, an event that one will never forget.

‘…Earth to Bryce...’ Her voice was heard, looking worried at his state.

Bryce shook his head, as an attempt to bring his consciousness back into reality. A smile was plastered on his face, as the tears started to fall a bit.

‘What’s wrong?’ She never understand why, but every time she witness of Bryce being vulnerable. She felt her heart break a little, somehow seeing one of the most confident people in her life, willing to share this part of his life with her, a misfit in disguise? Lennox Hirata.

‘..That moment, its playing in my mind Len. I know you told me, you are okay. Look, you are. But-‘ He found himself pause.

‘I kept on imagining the worst, there were moments where I woke up thinking that you are not here anymore. You were taken away from me, and…it terrifies me.’ He took a deep breath, as he lets the truth out, something he had been experienced lately, as he found himself imagining the worst whilst encouragement from Keiki.

‘C’mon, its in the past Bryce…it’s okay’ Lennox tried to brushed the topic of, a saddened look on her face.

‘No, you could’ve died. It’s serious.’ He replies with a hint of hurt in his voice.

‘But, I am here now. I am here with you, and I’m not going anywhere alright?’ She closed the gap between them, and pulled him into a hug. She didn’t realize, she felt her tears were falling too. She remembered that night all too well, she almost died. The night where she knew her life had changed one way or another. Witnessing Bobby’s and Danny’s death, was a hard pill to swallow.

After the hug, they pulled away. She was never the one to show affection, but she always loved the little things. She was never a fan of public display of affection, but holding each other’s hands, cheek kisses, hugs, and many more were her way of affection. A small squeeze of a hand, the common gesture for them both.

She took his hand in hers, as his big ones covering her tiny one. They weren’t a perfect fit, but it felt right. Giving it a small squeeze, as crying wasn’t apart of the plan.

Silent tears was heard, as they both lie down on the blanket, somehow their faces were facing each other.

He never looked more beautiful.

She looks like an angel from above.

He brushed the hair was covering her eyes, as they continue to stare upon the night sky. The world was sleeping, as the surroundings was empty. It was them, and them only. The moon shines brightly above them, as the twinkling light of the stars were seen. A small callback to their planetarium date, the moment where she was discovering the feeling that was hovering in her mind on a certain figure named Bryce Lahela.

‘I fought and I survive, but… why do I feel like life is more than that?’

She glances his way, hoping for an answer. Both of them were silence, as neither know the answer.

‘..I remember the day I left Hawaii, left everything behind.. I feel like, I was helpless and I couldn’t survive on my own. It felt a long road, and…after all those obstacles… I am here where I was meant to be. Life is definitely more than surviving, its the feeling of not giving up and keep going despite how many bumps life give you one way or another.’

Bryce replies as both of them continue on gazing the stars,  it was shining brightly. It felt like, she was somewhere far far away from the real world upon stepping into space.

‘If it is meant to be? How do you know this isn’t a fatal coincidence?’

‘You do have a lot of questions don’t you Len?’ He smiles, finally after all the crying they have done.

‘Hey, I am a curious human being. It’s my nature after all.’ She winks, as her eyes gazed over the galaxy above them.

‘Well, curious human being. I am at your service, hit me with your best shot.’

She raised an eyebrow, earning a questionable look from him.

‘What?’

‘The question earlier dummy.’ Lennox lets out a laugh, as their laughter fills the void surrounding them.

‘Ahhh… where do I begin..’ He mimicking the scary professors from those crappy haunted movies, that made her cringe so bad.

‘Just cut to chase Lahela.’ Lennox demanded with a hint of laughter in her voice, earning herself a sensual wink from him.

‘Ok, okay. Hold your horses Hirata! I don’t feel like I have been paying attention much to how life works, but…I believe that everything has been written in the stars. Every step of this ride, have been written down in the stars and its our chance to see it unfold when the time has come..’

Lennox felt herself humming to a song that has been in her mind for the past week, Stars by Alessia Cara.

Piercing lights in the dark make the galaxy ours

Kingdom right where we are

Shining bright as a morning, you'll never be lonely

Just promise you'll love me, I'm never too far

And we'll never part

And we could be stars

Bryce was somehow stunned? As, her voice flowed through the night. She felt herself flushed, as she punched him lightly on the shoulder. A small act that ended up with laughter.

‘Tonight, it felt like the stars are looking down on us. Just, shining our lives in a way a light would do. It feels lonely out here on our own, but… looking above, the stars felt like a companion to us. I.. have always loved the stars. There was a moment… years ago, I was alone in my room. It was night time, and I was lucky enough to have a view on my bedroom window. It was spectacular, as the stars felt like something out of the painting, and I dreamed of touching it with my bare hands.’ She explained, with a smile on her face with her hands forward as an attempt to capture the stars which is impossible but, she didn’t care. It felt like she was a child once more, living this world with a huge dream ahead.

‘That sounds …amazing.’ His eyes linger on her for a while, somehow a small smile was formed of from adoration. I love her, he thought silently as his eyes soften at the sound of giggles coming out from her.

They continue on their small adventure, until it was dawn. An hour before, after exchanging stories, including those that made her laugh till her tummy hurts.

‘You know, we have known each other for two years now.’ She stated.

‘Yeah?’

Lennox nodded, somehow in disbelief at how far they have come from becoming strangers to falling in love silently with him which she didn’t feel like admitting too yet. 

‘It somehow felt like a lifetime ago…’

She said quietly, as Bryce nods in agreement taking her hand in his.

‘Yeah, but… we still have a whole life ahead of us right?’

He looked at her, with a hint of hope in his eyes. A new path was suddenly carved, a whole lot of adventures that will followed them. Lennox Hirata’s adventures at Edenbrook started a lifetime ago, as she fought for life, death, friendships, and even love. There were still pages in her book waiting to be written, as she said yes to a whole life ahead, a life where she will keep on fighting to be the person who she was meant to be with the present of those who she loved and cared deeply.

THE END.

 A/N: Hi, dropping by again. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and know that.. hope is always there. I realized it and, I hope it’s always gonna be there. And, @arcticlumineer​ you are gonna fight this. I believe in you. <3 

[kewltie]

im entertaining a pro baseball au with bkdk on rival teams (one a former champ and the other a new powerhouse who had arrived on the field), set up by the media as each other's nemesis, until izuku got traded to katsuki's team and now they're force to work together and win a champ with this riff raff baseball team that had never gotten very far.

they're childhood friends. izuku grew up in katsuki's shadow—who is hailed as a prodigy, a one of a kind pitcher that come only every few gens but katsuki worked super hard to get where he is. izuku is actual the real genius but it's overshadowed by his insecurities and lack of confidence . so while katsuki shines ever brightly in the spotlight, he never forget that izuku is the only one to hit his fastest pitch and he got a mind like a machine that steer katsuki's pitching right into in glove every time because worse than getting a hit off Katsuki's pitch, he's a catcher who make katsuki feels invincible. Undefeated.

in their younger years they were a battery pair that dominated the lil league until Katsuki's warped superiority/inferiority complex broke them up because he was terrified that izuku would outshine him one day, ppl would start to see Izuku's brilliance, and that he wont need katsuki anymore. he left izuku for the bigger and better stage while izuku floundered helplessly wit out him thinking he wasnt good enough for katsuki. he dreams of being in the pro league with kacchan; it was both of their dreams to follow their idol--All Might, the no. 1 baseball player in Japan—to the biggest stage of their life. they were supposed to go pro together but katsuki went first and then racked up champions and champions with an all-star team as their starting pitcher, while izuku watched katsuki shut down the other team from his couch.

he thought that should have been him out there with kacchan so he trained everyday, dumping all his money into those batting cages because even if he got no team izuku still dreams. If he can’t have katsuki as his pitcher than he’ll do the next best thing, face against him as a batter. Changing position is not an easy choice to make, while izuku may be genius (though you wouldn’t know it by the way he’s shyly steps up to the plate) but even better than that he’s a hardworker. it's there that all might found him, discovered this diamond in the rough and took him under his wings because izuku was always meant something bigger than this cage. with all might's help izuku gets better enough to be scouted in an mid level pro team and it's there he get to stand on the same stage as katsuki even if they're on diff teams. katsuki's team may be a championship team with all its accolades so far but izuku is izuku. he's always beaten the odds; it's in him.

the 1st season izuku entered the pro, his team finally made it into the playoffs in many years but was knocked out by 1st seed team--Katsuki's team. it was a bitter feeling but to stare katsuki down on the pitch and getting a hit off of him like back in the old days felt amazingly good. katsuki had won against izuku and his team but it wasnt a total shut out either. in the last game izuku managed to to hit 2 home run off of katsuki's fastball and that's 2 too many. izuku is terribly awkward and shy in front of the media but when he step on that plate--he's mean and vicious. Eyes on the prize and the gauntlet is thrown. To chase a victory is in his blood as much as katsuki’s.

katsuki may have won but he felt like he lost the fucking war because izuku is here in front of him now and he cant get rid of him even if he want to. they were bound by some fucked up twisted fate that kept them tied together and meet like this once more. with that 1 series, izuku secured his place as katsuki's rival as the only handful of batters who can get a homerun on katsuki. in the next season, izuku made the playoffs again and lost to katsuki AGAIN but this time it was a hard fought fight that could go either way as the entire nation watched with bated breath. izuku and katsuki's team clashing was the most hype series in the playoffs even more than the grand finals. even their regular season games were watched by so many ppl. they were both stars of the their respective teams and they have a history so THE MEDIA ATE IT UP.

in izuku 3rd season, at the playoff once more he finally at last knocked katsuki off his perched in front of a stunned crowd and a glowering katsuki. they would eventually go to win the championship but nobody can forget that rainy long day when katsuki and izuku met up against each other on the field that last so long it felt like an entire year had passed between them. the grand finals was great between izuku’s team and another ace but it was the bitter, hard fought semi-finals battle between katsuki and izuku’s team that was etched into everyone’s memory.

that lost cut katsuki deeply. it was his first time not making it to the finals and to see izuku winning it all was such a bitter feeling. he started to slipped as his obsession with beating izuku grew. his pitching became erratic and uncontrollable. his pitching staff and catcher doesnt know how to fix him. it all came to a head when he had to face izuku again in the regular season and ofc izuku knew right away something was off with him. katsuki's team lost that match up and after the game, izuku reached out with concern.

"it's your shoulder isnt it?" he asked as though he didn't already know.

katsuki rebuked him right away, but it burned in him that even with all these ppl surrounding him it's only izuku who noticed that his shoulder was the source of the problem. izuku knew him better than anyone even now. katsuki eventually had to tell the staff that he blew his shoulder in the offseason while training and it didnt heal right. so he was benched to recover but even when he did... it was like he wasnt ever the same again. his pitching was off, lacking its usual explosive speed and power.

his team started to use him less and less and they didnt even make it to the payoffs in DECADES. the loyal and fanatic fanbase turned against their star even tho it wasnt Katsuki's fault, pushing to trade him out for a better, newer, and younger pitcher as though there were anyone better than him but katsuki was considered old news and izuku was the new face of the league as he won a back to back championship and mvp title. so katsuki himself pushed to be traded off to another team so he can start over and prove to his doubters than be can reach to the top with ANY TEAM.

they send him to the bottom of the league--U.A. a team of troublemaker players who are all talented but eccentric enough that they cant fit anywhere else. with this new team who finds katsuki's abrasiveness interesting rather than annoyance or something they have to put up with, they start to make a sort of family out of these misfits and katsuki slowly learns to rely on his teammates and not take on the world just by himself because he may stand alone on that mound but his team got his back to make sure he would never fall. they're good for him and hes good for them!!

 though they still have much to learn about each other, but they managed to beat some of the top teams in the regular season with their sheer guts. even tho they didnt make it to the playoffs this season, katsuki didnt feel bitter at all he knows there's a next year and a next year. There’s hope still for them. they’re growing and improving with each win/loss. Losing DOESN’T FEEL LIKE A PERSONAL BETRAYAL ANYMORE. It’s a measure of one’s growth.

Izuku's team consistently outperformed everyone now that katsuki isnt posed as his rival because he's in a diff league (west vs east) now so they rarely meet up in the regular season but izuku misses that edge, that feeling of being cut by Katsuki's fastball, and to stand on same the field with katsuki but more than anything he wants catch Katsuki's pitch, to be a battery again with KATSUKI so TO THE SHOCK OF THE ENTIRE WORLD izuku didnt renew his contract with his 3x championship team but chose to sign up with U.A. at a heavily discounted price because he wants to win WITH katsuki!!

the thing is he'd been following katsuki all his life. katsuki was the one who taught him baseball, followed him into the lil league, middle school, high school, the pro, and then followed in his footsteps to take the champ, so it should be no surprise that he would eventually follow katsuki to his new team.

"aren't you tired of being in bakugou's shadow?" his general manager asks. "dont you want to stand separate from him? with us you can go so far, midoriya."

izuku shakes his head. "im not in katsuki's shadow. he's paving the way and telling me to hurry up and come to him."

it's always the case with them. katsuki runs and izuku gives chase, but somewhere along the way they both have to stop. U.A. is that destination and the day izuku arrives on u.a.'s homestand he feels it in air--the electricity, the tension, and new beginning.

katsuki's eyes are wide as he spots izuku standing on the field of his team. anger and bitterness flickers hot and heavy in his chest. he storms over to izuku and demands to know wtf is he doing here DOESN'T HE KNOW THIS IS KATSUKI'S TEAM? but izuku just smile, sweet and soft.

"i'm here to be your new catcher," izuku informs him, rocking happily back and forth on his heels.

katsuki bristles. "not happening," he hisses.

Izuku raises his brow. "why dont you try me out first then." he quirks the corner of his lips up in amusement. "or are you afraid?"

katsuki eyes narrow because izuku knows him. KNOWS WHERE AND HOW TO PUSH THEM. it's like back in the playoffs again when they're facing each other. katsuki can read him just as easily izuku can too and it made their battle exhilarating, like dancing on the edge of a blade but sometimes he wonder what if it would be like not to have izuku's blade pointed at him but have him at his back instead. he should know because they were that once. together as one and it was a pairing unlike any other. no other catcher clicked the way izuku had and to have that again.

Katsuki grits his his teeth and nods. "get your gear," he says, "and i'll show you who is the one you should be afraid of."

izuku is an excellent batter. strong grip, good shoulder and arm, and there's power behind his swing, but he's an even better catcher.

he got good eyes to see ppl's move before they even do it. it's how he was able to shut down other pitchers as a batter because he read them all like a book, spending hours going over their specialize pitches and habits but he has never find a pitcher that pitch the way he wants them to. only katsuki gives it to him because katsuki holds no barred when he throw, he puts everything on the line and izuku wants that. he earnestly wants to receive all of katsuki's feelings. like he had in their past. izuku steps back as he watches katsuki gets on the mound.

it feels so right to crouch down, his gloved hand forward to receive katsuki's balls, and the fire of katsuki's eyes on him the entire time.

"give me everything you got. your best yet," he orders over the field.

katsuki snarls. "shut the fuck up," he says, and throws.

the balls slide right into izuku's glove like the turn of a key, the fit of a jigsaw puzzle, like a pitcher and their catcher. perfect just like izuku's imagine it to be. the impact of it knocks izuku back but the ball is right in his glove. right where izuku wants him to throw.

izuku gets up and throws his gear to the ground as he races up toward the mound. he laughs because THIS FEELS GOOD, BETTER THEN WINNING THE CHAMPIONSHIP ALONE BECAUSE NOW THEY'RE GOING TO WIN THIS TOGETHER AND HE KNOWS IT. CAN SEE IT IN KATSUKI'S PITCH, CAN FEEL IT THE BALL IN HIS GLOVE

"that was beautiful kacchan! i knew you can do it because with you here with me, we can do anything, even conquer this entire world," he declares with a certainty that startles even katsuki. he's grinning so wide and proud like katsuki's pitch was made for him and--

katsuki reaches out and pulls him into a forceful kiss because he looks so beautiful it hurts to watch, because in the end it was always about them. deku. Izuku. he has been waiting for a long, long time for izuku to get here. to stand on the same field as him and to have izuku catch his pitch. even when they fought each other in the regular seasons and the playoffs, where one side always win and the other always lose, he thought one day they would both share the same fate, same side and katsuki and izuku will taste victory together. they can, and now they will.

[squeallywrites]

Welcome to the Freakshow- Suho Oneshot

You always knew you were different. In fact, you thought you were cursed. Your abnormal strength was a constant reminder that you didn’t fit in anywhere. That nowhere would be home. The moment you were discovered, you had to move to a new city. A vicious, never-ending cycle.

~~~~~~~

You were on your way to the store when you stopped.

There he was again. The man with the red scarf. His scarf always covered his lower face, but his eyes are what caught you. A deep, soul-trapping almost black brown. His dark hair was messy as it fell just past his nose. You noticed him last week when he started appearing in the the square downtown. Almost every day he was there, just watching the people as they past by, like he was waiting for someone.

Your shoulders slump, love was never on the table for you. The constant fear of crushing them was always in the back of your mind so you just threw out the idea all together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were walking past an alleyway later that night when you heard them. A gentle male voice pleads, “Please. My family is expecting me. Please let me go.���

“You have no family, freak,” spits a tall thug, “People like you never have family. You’re all alone.”

What the fuck? That’s when you noticed who the two thug have cornered

It was the man with the scarf! But his scarf was thrown on the ground.

“Hey!” You call out, “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing wench. Mind your own business,” the thug’s friend sneers.

Welp. Time to test out your acting skills. You gasp when you get closer, “Is that so? Then why are you picking my brother?” You run to his side, snagging the scarf. As you hand him the scarf, minding to not look at his face, the tall thug scoffs, “Your brother??? What a load of bullshit!”

You stand up, shoving scarf man behind you. Glaring into the thug’s eyes, you calmly state, “Leave  now before you do something you’ll regret.”

“You little bi���“ you cut off his swing, snagging his arm and twisting him over you to slam him into the concrete. For extra measure, you yank the limb right out of the socket, but you misjudged your strength, completely tearing off his arm. His scream echoed off the walls, catching the attention of those walking by. Terrified, his friend runs away.

“Shit.”

Scarf man grabs your hand, “follow me,” is all he says before you two take off. As soon as you’re a good distance away, you slow to a stop to catch your breath.

“Thank you for that back there,” He asks, voice muffled by the scarf, “How did you do that?”

“I’ve always been able to do that. I just have this strength,” you find yourself saying, “I’ve been good at keeping it on the down low, but now I have to move towns again!”

“You could come with me. My family is made up of misfits like you and me.”

You look at him, doubting him, “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious. They saved me when I was a kid,” he pulls the scarf down, revealing a rough scar stretching from the corners of his mouth to his cheekbones, “But not in time to stop my father. I managed to run away. Madame found me. She healed me and took me in.”

“But why invite me to join you?”

“We had gotten reports of someone like us here in town. That’s why I was in the square. She sent me there because I tell the gifted apart from ‘normal’ people.”

You lightly scoff, “You never saw me.”

He rolls his eyes, “In my defence, there were a lot of people. Also, I do get worried about my scarf. Anyway back to my point, do you want to come with me?”

You stare at him, unsure what to think. He was literally offering you what you’ve always dreamed about. Were you actually-

“Where is your home?”

He smiles, taking out a disc, “Right here. I couldn’t do this in town. Draws too much attention.”

Throwing the disc on the ground, portal swirls up in front of both of you. Through it, you could see tents decorated with lights strung across the pathways, like a circus, but you guessed in this case, it was more of a freakshow.

“Madam will get your stuff, should you choose to stay,” he holds a hand out to you, “What do you say?”

Looking at the portal, you can only nod as you take his hand.

“My name’s Suho by the way. What’s yours?”

You smile, “Y/N.”

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 11: Just A Filthy Mudblood

(Click here for chapter 10!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Over the course of the following month, there was a noticeable cold distance between the Potions Master and his apprentice. Somehow, his snarky comments following the brewing accident seemed to have affected the young witch a lot more than any of his other equally mean remarks in the past. As a result, she stopped raising her hand during class and was always the last one to enter and the first one to leave the gloomy dungeon room – if she showed up at all, that was.

Severus knew that it was very much unlike her to skip class, of course; but he left it at deducting points whenever she did. At the end of the day, she was Minerva’s responsibility and not his. In fact, he was rather glad about the change in her behaviour. He was glad that her essays, which had used to be so elaborate and verbose, were now kept to a minimum and soon turned dull, reading no different to other students’ work. He was even more glad that she wouldn’t make eye contact with him and only gave one-word answers as needed, even during their private lessons. Her complete refusal to communicate with him made it a hell of a lot easier to get her out of his head. After a few weeks, he stopped having indecent thoughts about her all together which finally put his mind at ease – that silly infatuation had only been a phase after all.

Or at least that was what he believed until one fateful Friday evening in mid-October.

Snape was sitting at the cluttered desk in his dark office, grading papers about Lobalug venom and its uses in potions written by his third-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students. The essay in front of him at that very moment was starting to turn into a sea of red ink and Severus rolled his eyes in frustration. While they certainly had their good qualities, he had yet to encounter a Hufflepuff with a single ounce of talent for potion brewing.

Just as he was about to write a particularly nasty comment at the bottom of the three-foot-long parchment roll, there suddenly was the sound of commotion coming from outside the door.

“Piss off!” the deep voice of a man could be heard resonating through the dungeon hallway.

“No!” Severus instantly matched the high-pitched tone of the second person to Granger. “As Head Girl, it is my duty to protect all students from any physical or emotional harm, and I clearly saw you use the Stinging Hex on poor little Stewart Ackerly as he was going up the Grand Staircase. So whether you like it or not, you will be accompanying me to your Head of House for appropriate disciplinary action at once!”

“Listen here, you minger!” the male retaliated angrily. “I will not be told what to do by someone like you, do you fucking understand?! I do not give a shit about what stupid little title that knobhead of a headmaster gave you or what idiotic principles you think you need to uphold – I will not be bossed around by a Mudblood! The war may be over, but don’t think for a second that you will ever be more than the scum of the earth! Your kind shouldn’t even be allowed at this school!”

When Severus then heard a loud bang directly followed by a squealing outcry, he finally jumped out of his chair and rushed to the door. By the time he had pushed it open and run into the secluded corridor, Theodore Nott had already cornered Granger in an alcove, pushing her significantly smaller frame against the mouldy stone wall as his wand was buried deep in the flesh of her throat.

“I should really just take you out here and now. Not that anyone would care about one less rotten Mudblood tainting –“

All the Potions professor needed was one simple hand movement to nonverbally and wandlessly disarm the Slytherin and catapult him several feet into the air, eliciting an anguished yelp upon impact with the hard ground. Meanwhile, the now freed witch dropped to the floor. Breathing heavily, she struggled to contain her tears as her hand shot up to rub her flushed neck.

“Miss Granger, would you please go into my office and wait there while I … take care of this situation,” Severus muttered, dangerously calm as he walked towards the young pure-blood cowering in front of him.

“But –“

“Now, Miss Granger.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her frantically use the sleeve of her grey sweater to wipe her reddened eyes as she slowly got back up on her feet, throwing once last glance at her assailant before brushing past them and disappearing into the office.

Once Snape heard the lock latch, he grabbed the boy at his feet by the collar and violently pushed him against the wall, much like the wimp had done to the Gryffindor just seconds earlier.

“Mr Nott,” he basically spat the name into the lanky adolescent’s face. “Just what is it that you think you are doing?! Not only did you defy the orders of the Head Girl – someone who has nearly as much disciplinary power as any professor at this school, mind you – but you also just threatened and physically assaulted another student!”

He could practically smell the teenager’s fear. “But Professor, she deserved it! A Mudblood like her –“

“DO NOT EVER DARE TO USE THAT WORD IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN!” Severus roared, the veins of his neck protruding painfully. “Now that the Dark Lord is gone, I will no longer be tolerating this kind of behaviour at this school! Slytherin or not, you would do better to keep your idiotic prejudices to yourself – because if I ever hear you or anyone else use such terminology again, you will learn the hard way that there are worse things to go through other than the Cruciatus Curse, believe me!” With that, he pushed Nott away from him.

“To show you just how unacceptable your behaviour was, I shall deduct 250 points from Slytherin,” he continued, not giving him a chance to speak. “In addition, you will be serving detention twice a week for the rest of the school year; I do believe that Mr Filch could use some help scrubbing the toilets. You will also no longer be permitted to attend any Quidditch games or take part in any Hogsmeade weekend visits. Oh, and I shall also deduct another 50 points for your assault on that Ravenclaw boy.”

Giving him one last scowl, he pointed down the hallway. “Now, get out of my sight!”

Severus watched on in disgust as Nott hurriedly picked up his wand before scurrying off into the depths of the dungeons. Taking a few minutes to regain his composure, he remembered himself around that age.

An outside and a misfit, he had always tried so very desperately to fit in. He’d only had one real friend in his entire lifetime who had truly cared for him – Lily. But in his foolish arrogance, he had managed to screw even that up. It had been then that he had made the biggest mistake of his life: joining Voldemort’s ranks and becoming a Death Eater.

Subconsciously rubbing his left forearm, he felt disappointed in how ignorant he had been. Looking back, it was so easy to see the stupidity of it all – bitter witches and wizards who hadn’t been able to accept the fact that the blood purity they so frantically tried to cling onto no longer possessed any significance whatsoever and a maniac who had turned himself into a monster trying to become immortal. Severus may not be able to change the past, but he would be damned if he let this idiocy carry on any longer.

Shaking his head, he turned around and went back into his office. At first glance, he thought that Granger had somehow managed to sneak out while he had been telling her attacker off as he couldn’t detect her anywhere in the little room. But then he discovered her sitting on the old, rickety three-legged stool he kept in the back corner, her legs hugged tightly to her body.

“Miss Granger –“

At his words, she abruptly startled up, and Severus could see her tear-streaked face. She was a blubbering mess. An agonised sob escaped her mouth before she quickly hid her face behind her hands.

Stunned, Severus walked over to her and carefully placed his hand on her quivering shoulder, trying very hard to ignore how his heart seemed to skip a beat as he touched her.

“Miss Granger,” he repeated. But yet again, he only received more pitiful whimpers in response.

Snape let out a deep sigh before squatting down in front of her. While he had made many students cry in his days, he had never tried to console one before.

“Please look at me, Miss Granger. Why are you so distraught?” he asked in what he believed to be a soothing tone.

After a few more sniffles and sobs, her shaking voice could finally be heard coming from underneath the mountain of untamed curls.

“He’s right,” she said softly, keeping her face well-hidden.

Severus frowned. “Certainly not. Even though Mr Nott may be of a different opinion, the positions of Head Girl and Head Boy are important ones that have proven themselves useful for many centuries now and – “

“No,” she interrupted him hoarsely. “He’s right about me being a Mudblood.”

Severus was flabbergasted. “Don’t say –“

“BUT IT’S TRUE!” she practically screamed, her head shooting up to reveal the anguished expression on her blotchy face. “Voldemort may be dead, but things haven’t changed! In people’s eyes, I will always be worth less because I am Muggle-born. It doesn’t matter how hard I try; even if I’m the best at everything, I will never be more than a, a –“

A lone tear escaped her chocolate brown eyes. “A filthy Mudblood.”

When Severus didn’t react immediately, still too dumbfounded to speak, she grimaced bitterly before jumping up and bolting for the door.

“Miss Granger, don’t –“ he pleaded, grabbing her by the wrist which in turn caused her to lose her footing and fall back onto him. Unable to remain upright following the accidental collision, he soon found himself on the dusty floor, with the bawling girl lying on top of him.

Severus promptly tried to get back up again, embarrassed by the sudden physical contact, but Granger just sobbed even louder and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Fuck. Fuck. What is she doing?!

He momentarily panicked, not knowing what to do. But then – following a sudden urge inside of him that could only be described as the basic human instinct to comfort the suffering – he awkwardly embraced her shaking frame and started to slowly stroke her back.

“Miss Granger,” he muttered gently, the words leaving his mouth seemingly involuntarily. “I might have to obliviate you after saying this, but believe me when I say that you are worth more than all of Britain’s pure-bloods combined. This school has never seen a pupil as brilliant and smart as you. It is not your fault that those backward-thinking fanatics cannot come around to accept that one’s blood status has nothing to do with one’s magical abilities, you being the best example for that. You are not worth less just because you were born to non-magical parents. If anything, you are superior to those of us who grew up solely in the wizarding community, as you can move around the Muggle world freely without causing much of a stir – you’ve got the best of both worlds, really!”

When his lousy attempt at a joke was met with only more wailing and trembling, he hurriedly carried on with his speech. “Besides, you are a war hero, Miss Granger! If it hadn’t been for your wits and resourcefulness, Potter would have been killed a long time ago; probably not even at the hands of the Dark Lord but rather due to a botched brewing attempt or the like. You played a key role in the downfall of the most dangerous wizard to have ever existed, and any Death Eater that is still left out there as well as those who continue to sympathise with that antiquated mindset would do better to fear you. I mean, none of my Slytherins were even brave enough to become my apprentice. Tell me how anyone could claim themselves to be of superior descent if they cannot even bring themselves to face the bat of the dungeons? Not that any of them would have been academically ambitious enough anyway …”

Severus made a small pause before he continued, “As hard as it may be, do not let their ignorant remarks get to you, and do not let yourself be consumed by hatred for them either, as there is already enough hate in the world as it is. If anything, feel pity for them. Their dim-witted pride occupies them so much that they cannot even get any joy from life. They let themselves be controlled by their fear of becoming insignificant, of losing the power they once held. They cannot admit to themselves that they have nothing left but their half-burned family tapestries filled with incest and tragedy. And once they come to their senses and realise their mistakes – which hopefully, they one day will – be the bigger person and forgive them. The heavy burden of their sins will be punishment enough. I –“

He struggled to find the right words. “I myself am guilty of such a shameful past, and I have spent the last 20 years paying for it. Unfortunately, some people do not seem to learn from history, and it truly mortifies me to see my Slytherins, the students of my beloved house, follow in the footsteps of their misguided parents. It’s … it’s just not right and it never will be.”

No longer audibly crying, the girl in his arms appeared to have at last been calmed down by his words, and Severus was glad about that; just like many men, he was absolutely terrified of a woman’s tears. Taking a deep breath, he finally did what he had done so rarely in life and never to a student at that: He apologised.

“My actions towards you were so often intolerantly mean, Miss Granger. Not only regarding the unfortunate incident with the Boil Cure, which was really caused by my carelessness rather than yours; but also all the years I let you and your …” Trying not to upset her any further, he searched for a neutral word to use for her dunderhead friends. “Peers suffer from my admittingly despotic teaching style. I had to uphold a certain façade, of course; considering that I was still pretending to be on the Dark Lord’s side. However, I often took it too far. Especially you, Miss Granger, should not have been put through all that, as you were an excellent, outstanding student. I know that I certainly do not deserve it, but I hope that you can find it in your heart to one day forgive me.”

Not daring to breathe, he waited for a response – but there was none. Granger remained completely quiet.

Sheer terror arose inside him. Had he gone too far? Did she feel cornered by his sudden confession? Oh, he knew that he shouldn’t have done that! Opening up to anyone – particularly a student – was just asking for trouble. Now she would undoubtedly go out and tell all of her moronic little friends about how much of a weak pussy he really was, and then they would never take him seriously ever again! Just the thought of it was enough to cause him to abruptly become irate.

“Enough of this nonsense,” he said in his typical cold and threatening voice. “For your pathetic behaviour, I shall deduct 40 points from Gryffindor. House of the brave, my arse! Now, get off me at once!”

Still, no response.

“Miss Granger?” Severus asked a bit less forcefully this time, a look of slight confusion appearing on his face. “Miss Granger! … Hermione?”

Just then, a loud snore escaped Granger’s lips – she had fallen asleep minutes ago.

Not wanting to wake her up now that she had finally settled down, Severus carefully readjusted her position on his body and let his head fall back until it came to a rest on the stone floor. He would wait a while to make sure that she was properly asleep before moving her off him and getting back to work. And meanwhile, he would just ignore that stupid feeling forming in his stomach.

Yes, that’s what he would do.

*************** *************** ***************

When Hermione woke up the next morning, her body was aching terribly, but at the same time, she felt extremely well-rested. To tell the truth, she hadn’t slept that well since her fifth year. Sirius’ death had made it all real back then, and she had been battling terrible nightmares ever since. A faint smile appeared on her face – maybe those days were finally behind her!

Her eyes still closed, she snuggled up closer to the life-size teddy bear behind her which her older cousin had won for her at their town’s fair more than a decade ago. Only that teddy bears normally didn’t groan or pull you closer to them – and so the brunette was abruptly wide-awake.

Understandably shocked and confused, Hermione’s eyes flew open, but she immediately flinched in pain; for some reason, her eyelids were swollen and hurt when she tried to open them. How weird, had she been crying?

A quick wandless healing spell later, she was finally able to take in her surroundings. Not that this helped her confusion at all: All she could see was a dark room, dimly lit by a few magically enchanted candles fixed to a dark grey stone wall. Was she in the dungeons? If so, she certainly couldn’t remember how she got there. And why was she lying on the floor? The young woman was quite frankly baffled.

Just then, her “teddy bear” called attention to himself yet again with another loud grunt, reminding her of what had caused her to wake up in the first place. By now, she was certain that whoever was behind her wasn’t her beloved stuffed animal, of course; as it was not only a mere Muggle product without the ability to move or make sounds, but it had also been located on the bed in her childhood room the last time she’d seen it. So who was it that was holding onto her with that grip made of steel?

She frantically ran through the possibilities in her head and for a split second, she even believed herself to have been kidnapped by one of the few remaining Death Eaters still at large, but she quickly dismissed that thought; one of Voldemort’s fanboys surely wouldn’t be hugging her spoon-style.

The next scenario that her mind came up with was a drunken night that had ended in a make-out session with some random guy. Not that she had ever done anything like that before, but that was what always happened in the movies, right? She couldn’t remember getting drunk; however, Hogwarts was famous for its secret student parties. Normally, it would have been her job as Head Girl to prevent those, but what if she had got herself caught up in something just this once?

Hermione furrowed her brows. Oh god, what if it was Ron?! Had she finally given into his advances? She couldn’t help but feel sick to her stomach at the thought of his bloated lips kissing her mouth and his pasty hands roaming her body. If that was really what had happened, then their friendship would be over – there was just no way she could ever look him in the eyes again.

And so even though she would rather not know, she simply had to find out whose hands were holding onto her waist at this very moment. Gulping, she slowly turned her head towards the person behind her. But instead of seeing the expected ginger head of hair and the freckled face of her best friend, she was looking straight into the sleeping face of Severus Snape.

“Oh no,” the girl whispered, her eyes wide in shock. “Oh no, no, no, no, no! What the –“

When the sudden noise caused him to stir, she quickly covered her mouth with her hand – it wouldn’t do any good to waken the Dungeon Bat before she had figured this whole situation out.

After what felt like an eternity, the wizard finally settled down again, and it was only after her lungs started to ache that Hermione realised that she had been holding her breath.

Okay, Hermione, relax! There has to be a reasonable explanation as to how you and Professor Snape ended up like this. Just think!

Purposely avoiding looking in her cuddling partner’s direction, Hermione racked her brain – but she simply could not come up with a plausible reason for their current situation. She didn’t have any classes taking place in the dungeons on Friday evenings and she also couldn’t remember having any extra apprenticeship lessons scheduled with her tutor; not that she would have had agreed to one in the first place. So why had she come down here? And what’s more, what had led to her and Professor Snape cuddling on the cold floor of his office?

Already close to a panic attack, the previous night’s events finally came back to her: How Theodore Nott had attacked her. How Professor Snape had come to her rescue. How she had been able to hear him tear the Slytherin apart. How she had broken down crying. How she had tripped and fallen onto her teacher who had then tried to comfort her. How safe she had felt in his strong arms before drifting off to sleep.

Hermione’s relief about this G-rated explanation was short-lived, however, because she soon noticed how her professor’s face was just a mere inch away from hers. Being this close to him felt so embarrassingly intimate that she couldn’t help her face turning beet red. She made a feeble attempt to remove his arms from around her body, but that just caused him to squeeze her even tighter. Merlin’s pants, what was she supposed to do now?

Trying to ignore Snape’s soft snoring, she pondered for a few seconds before ultimately reaching down between them. After some awkward fiddling, she finally managed to extract her wand from the pocket of her skirt. A basic conjuring spell later, she was holding a fairly large white pillow in her hands.

She took a shaky breath – so far, so good. Now came the tricky part: In one swift movement, she slipped out from between his arms while simultaneously replacing her form with the cushion. While the Potions Master certainly didn’t seem too happy about losing his cuddly toy – Hermione could have sworn that she even saw him pout for a split second – he soon settled back down. His apprentice exhaled in relief.

Trying not to make a sound, she stood up and quickly made herself presentable again by smoothing out her rather wrinkly clothes and fixing her tousled hair. Checking her wristwatch, she realised that it was only 4.53 a.m. – with a bit of luck, it was still early enough for her to sneak back to her tower without anyone noticing.

But just as she was about to head for the door, Hermione took another look at the sleeping man. Snape looked surprisingly peaceful as he lay there, with a five o'clock shadow gracing his cheeks and a bit of drool coming out of the corner of his half-open mouth. He definitely didn’t look as angry or threating anymore, that was for sure. Not that Hermione had ever been scared of him; she had never truly believed him to be that mean monster all the other students – especially her fellow Gryffindors – made him out be. Yes, he had definitely intimidated her during her younger years and he had even made her cry once or twice. But knowing that he had been putting his life on the line trying to save the world from Voldemort, Hermione had always respected and trusted the Potions professor. He was one of the good ones, regardless of how grumpy and nasty he could be. And while he had deeply hurt her feelings with his mean words following the accident, she couldn’t be mad at him anymore after his actions from the previous night. He had not only saved her from an attack, but he had also tried to console her.

A small smile appeared on her lips as she stepped closer to his sleeping figure. Leaning forward, she examined his face. While he certainly wasn’t a classic beauty, he could still be considered handsome. His hair looked a bit uncared for and his nose was a little too big, but with that strong jawline and those prominent black eyebrows, that only added to his rugged and manly look.

He looked so calm and content in that moment that Hermione almost reached out her hand to touch his cheek. Instead, she swiftly conjured a blanket with which she covered his resting form. She then walked over to his desk, which was still filled with dozens upon dozens of documents and essays, and ripped a small piece of parchment paper off a blank roll. Using Snape’s golden quill, she quickly scribbled down some words before quietly moving to the door and leaving the room, the dark-haired wizard still sound asleep on the floor.

*************** *************** ***************

It was not even an hour later when Severus opened his black eyes. Still dazed, he let out a hoarse grunt as he propped himself up on one elbow. He wasn’t surprised about waking up in his office; he had oftentimes found himself there after being summoned by the Dark Lord and spending long nights at Death Eater raids. However, he had never woken up with a pillow underneath his head and a fluffy blanket draped across his body.

Following a brief moment of confusion, he remembered the previous night.

I must have fallen asleep as well.

After a quick scan of the room, he was sure that he was alone. Feeling a heavy migraine approaching, Severus let out a deep sigh before climbing to his feet. He didn’t even want to think about the Gryffindor’s opinion on him now.

With a simple flick of his wand, he swiftly sleeked down his jet-black hair and made his beard stubbles disappear before making his way to the desk. While he felt absolutely whacked physically, he had to admit that he had slept surprisingly well. In fact, he hadn’t slept that well since his own years as a student. Severus frowned. Not that that had anything to do with the little know-it-all, he told himself.

Slumping into his leather chair, he was just about to reach for one of the bottom drawers in search of some bottle of hard liquor to drown his memories of the previous night in when he noticed a short note written in that small, neat handwriting he knew all too well sitting on top of a pile of yet to be corrected essays.

Thank you. – H.

As he read the brief scribble, he could feel a strange, warm feeling that he hadn’t known in about two decades creep through his body.

Shit.

He was starting to like Granger.

(Click here for chapter 12!)

[authorbrandondion]

The Black Locust

The wind blew and there it was.

Every insect in the forest came alive in that moment, and whatever was said was deafening.

I took a step backward. Maybe two. The trail was narrow, and there was little space to move. Drops of rain began falling steadily yet lightly. If the sky had turned grey before then, I hadn’t noticed. Whimsical tails began to descend from the clouds in peculiar fashion, much like when threatening circulation before a tornado. The temperature had dropped noticeably. I was shivering, but not from the cool air.

In my visions, it was a snake that I would encounter. A thick black one. It would come upon me suddenly like this, but far less conspicuously. I was conscious of the fact that I was still standing before it in all its inhumanity. Each time I considered how I would react to the snake, I also considered how I would be able to keep myself from fleeing in fear. Now here I was, facing something far more terrifying, and not one fiber of my being demanded I run.

“Why are you here?” I finally whispered.

It didn’t flinch. Cloaked in darkness, I couldn’t make out any of its features, but I could almost see its face through sheer imaginative force. Somehow, I knew it heard me. It understood me. It understood much.

“Do you think you’re the only one?” I asked myself in my own head.

Staying fixated on the being in front of me, I grew immediately suspicious of my question to myself. It was in my head, and in my voice, but the tone was foreign. I quickly realized I was being communicated with telepathically.

“The only what?” I responded audibly, perhaps to ensure that it was by my own accord that I spoke and not the will or whim of this thing in front of me. Without a point of reference by which to identify it, my internal dialogue began referring to it as “the darkness.” That was all it consisted of at this point. The embodiment of darkness. I couldn’t even get a voice with which to identify it. Just a transference of thought that allowed it to stay ambiguous.

It answered me again, but this time in images as opposed to my own voice. I saw women in labor. Women holding just-birthed infants of a peculiar nature. Nothing visible made the babies different, but their fatigued mothers could feel it, and so could I. There was a difference in nature surrounding and inhabiting these infants. Hundreds to thousands of these images flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds.

“But how many of them are standing in front of you at this moment?” I asked the darkness inflicting me with these images. I had no idea what pushed those words out of my mouth. With time to think, I would surely have decided against provoking it with boldness.

Without a motion or sound, the darkness erupted in fury. It remained as still as a statue in front of me, but inside of itself, it had lost control. The light rain quickly escalated, and the wind blew it sideways with great force. I squinted to keep it from pelting my eyes, but with little success. Opening them from a hard blink, I searched for the darkness in front of me, but I could not find its image anywhere in the immediate area. As quickly as it had come, the wind died down, and with it the rain. The darkness was gone.

I had once seen a demon possession and subsequent exorcism twenty-five years prior to this moment.  When I was fifteen years old, I had been sent to a summer camp for juvenile delinquents. Having been caught shoplifting, among other behavioral issues, I was on an impossible trek of trying to fit in with kids that weren’t like me. My dad had exhausted his known options and finally discovered “Camp Awareness.” The next thing I knew I was on my way to a remote location three and a half hours from the safe familiarity of my small hometown. I would be there for a month with roughly three dozen other misfits and derelicts.

When we first pulled in, it seemed like a very desolate and uninviting location. It was just off a rural road, and there were only three unimpressive buildings to behold. The first was a trailer to the left. This was the medical facility for any potential emergencies. I would find out that given the violent nature and background of most of the attendees, this was not all that uncommon. During the next weeks I would witness someone being stabbed with a pitchfork, another individual getting the top part of his ear bitten off, and lastly someone receiving an intentional nine ball to the head from a pool table.

Set a little behind the medical trailer was a larger building that upon further inspection proved to be a former horse stable and exercise area. The grounds the camp sat on had apparently at one time been used as a ranch. Where once animals slept and galloped, activities such as dodgeball among heathens now transpired.

To the right of the entrance was a large square establishment. This was the dining hall. It was here that the only person who expressed a dislike of me put his sentiments on display. Frequently ridiculing me in front of the others, he never missed an opportunity to make me miserable, which often simply consisted of squirting ketchup and mustard on my food. From what I could gather, he was the son of an important person, the art department chair at a university or something like that. He was much taller than I, and there was something about his personality that warned me not to push back.

Each day dragged slowly by. I was the only one there that hadn’t been sent as the result of a court order. The camp had a reputation as being an effective, albeit gentler, alternative to many programs the state had to offer for young perpetrators. Due to the nature of the camp as a rehabilitation center, we were handled rigidly and firmly. Each cuss word resulted in ten pushups, and when attendees got out of hand or unruly, they quickly found several much larger counselors lying on top of them pinning their arms behind their backs. This was more common than not. No one wanted to be there, and we certainly didn’t want our routines and behaviors messed with. Vocal dissent that carried on past an initial warning was a one-way ticket to the sidelines for any activity that we might actually consider “fun.” This could be anything from basketball to canoeing.

My counselor was the largest of them all. Howie had been in the Air Force, and much of his training regimen carried over to the way he handled us. Every morning at 6 a.m. we were outside running laps around our cabin nestled deep in the woods. Howie was stern and forceful, but also compassionate in a guarded way that sometimes unintentionally revealed itself. He once found himself telling us a story about how he had accidentally killed his sister. While driving a boat on a lake as a teen, his sister had protested the speed in which he was traversing the waves. Ignoring her pleas, he turned to see she had fallen out of the boat and was floating motionless in the water. As he jumped in and grabbed her body, his hand sunk into the back of her head. It had hit the propeller of the motor as she fell. For years after, I wondered if he had made that story up or exaggerated it. Early in my adult years, while revisiting the camp experience through research, I would find the validity as I stumbled across a newspaper article recounting her passing.

After we’d been there a couple of weeks, everyone had become somewhat acclimated. It seemed like months, and I would cross the days off on a piece of paper that hung on the wall at the foot of my bed. I was like a prisoner carving marks on the bricks of his cell. Every fifth day went diagonal across the previous four. I had made a few close friends by then, but got along well with everyone except for the art administrator’s son. We passed the days in activities set forth by the camp director. This ranged from swimming in the lake across the road to visiting a prison. The intent behind taking us to places of incarceration was to scare us back into being productive and orderly members of society. For the most part, it hadn’t seemed to be very effective.

One night around this time, halfway through my stay, the director and counselors began to address us after supper. It was at this point that they stepped completely out as being a Christian-run operation. What proceeded was a very lengthy and powerful lesson and testimony, with an invitation at the end to commit one’s life to that faith. Whatever they said during that time was effective, because only about three of the thirty kids didn’t make an outward proclamation in response. I’d had a Baptist upbringing, so these types of situations were all too familiar to me. On a lesser scale, they followed nearly every sermon on every Sunday throughout my youth. I always found them uncomfortable. This night, however, it was a powerful sight to witness from any perspective. Twenty-seven of the roughest kids I’d ever met stood simultaneously to at least express an initial interest in something seemingly intangible.

Later that night, after the lights had been turned out, I lay in the darkness considering the evening’s events. Our old rusty bunkbeds were lined up one beside the other on the outside wall, with a doorway in the middle. My bunk was the next to last one. A partition separated us from another counselor and his group on the other side of the cabin, with an open doorway between us. There was an outside door on their side too, which led directly out to a trail that wound back through the woods toward the main buildings.

I don’t remember exactly what was going on in my mind, but I was staring blankly at a window on that outside wall. Suddenly there appeared an iridescent glowing red face. It came out of nowhere and stayed for no more than a second. Before I could yell, two other kids simultaneously beat me to it.

“Howie!” they exclaimed.

“I just saw a face in the window,” one of them finished.

“I saw it too,” I added.

Clearly annoyed, Howie got up to address us. Given our track record at the camp and all the events that led us there to begin with, it was understandable why he was suspicious of our behavior and claims. Reluctantly he listened, then went to the other side to converse with the second counselor. After a few moments they agreed to take a look around outside. Shortly after Howie left the cabin, a couple of the campers turned their flashlights on, which did not go unnoticed through the window.

“Give them to me,” Howie demanded, walking back in. “Everyone.” Grumbling, we did as we were told. He collected the flashlights one by one and then laid them in a pile on his own bed, which was on the wall across from ours and in the corner down by my end. With a stern warning, he went back outside.

Several minutes went by, and I began to grow restless with anticipation. I knew what I saw. The face had very distinct features and was glowing inhumanly--not like someone was shining a light on it, but a glow that was being generated internally. In addition, the window sat a good height off the floor, and the cabin itself was a foot or more to step up into. There was no gradual appearance of the face. It was there, and then it wasn’t.

The kid in the top bunk in the corner beside me was friendly. He wasn’t terribly bright, but his overall attitude and demeanor more than compensated for his lack of intellect. He and his brother had been brought from a state or two away. Dean was his name, and we got along well.

“Dean, this is crazy, isn’t it,” I whispered into the dark in his general direction. Oddly, there was no answer. I repeated myself louder. “Dean. This is crazy, isn’t it!” Still no answer. I got up and stumbled my way over to Howie’s bed, retrieving a flashlight and turning it on. As I walked up to his bunk, I found him sitting cross legged with his fingers intertwined, save for the index which met each other at his lips. His knees were at about my eye level. Softly he was chanting something I couldn’t make out. Stunned, I stood there holding the light on his face. Several other campers saw what was going on and quietly made their way over, standing bewildered behind me.

“I thought I told you guys no lights!” Howie came storming back into the cabin, making his way toward Dean and me. Getting close enough to reprimand me, he saw what was happening. Slowly he made his way behind and around me, fixated on Dean. Positioning himself directly in front of Dean, he studied him for a moment before deciding to act. Gently, he placed a hand on each of his knees and shook gently, speaking his name. This happened a couple of times before all hell broke loose.

Facing my direction, Dean’s eyes suddenly popped open. He was staring directly at me. There was something missing, or maybe something present in his glare. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were hollow or filled with the unknown, but it was enough to send me staggering back a step or two. From there he turned directly to Howie, their faces inches apart, and began yelling in what I can only describe as a language I’ve never heard. I say language, but I don’t believe the sounds were something that a human could accidentally or even intentionally replicate. It was unearthly sounding, but had a definitive structure and flow to it. He was saying something.

At this, Howie’s body jolted, a backward motion. Even though I didn’t understand at the time what was going on, it wouldn’t have taken much to realize that he was overcome or inhabited by something at that moment. Immediately following this, he began yelling back at Dean in an equally foreign, yet completely different sounding tongue. This went on for a few moments before several of the campers decided they’d had enough. Without any thought, they ran into the pitch black wilderness, escaping whatever was going to happen next. I and two others stayed. While I can’t remember for sure, I always assumed when I retold the story that they were the other two kids that saw the face in the window. We weren’t going out into that long winding trail without giving it more thought. Who knew what else was out there?

After a few more moments, Dean’s body flew off the bed and landed on the ground. Howie and the other counselor converged on him, pinning his arms behind his back. With little to no effort, Dean pushed his arms out, flinging one of the men against the wall and the other across the floor. He was half Howie’s size alone. Scrambling, Dean took off toward the door. Collecting themselves, the counselors got up and drove their bodies into him, pinning his face against a bunk rail on the other side of the cabin from where it had all started. Dean became uncontrollably angry at this point, but they had the leverage. His body was stomach down on the bed and his face lifted against the rail.

Completely terrified and in shock, the two remaining campers and I stood in the doorway on the other side, watching helplessly. Then something ridiculous sounding happened. One of the counselors looked at us and said, “Start chanting na na na boo boo, Jesus loves you.” You could have told me to do or say anything in that moment, and I would have done it. So I did. Dean began screaming as if his flesh were melting. However, it was working, it was, so we kept doing it. His screams escalating, I finally decided that I’d had enough to take my chances outside. Running through the cabin, I raised my hand to push the screen door open to leave, but it wasn’t there. The kids that had run out earlier did so in such panic and terror, they had literally run the door straight off its hinges and onto the ground, stampeding over it.

Other than images of dark trees and my own heavy breathing, I remember very little of the trip back to the front of the camp. As we got near, we noticed a light on in the cafeteria, so that became our destination. Stumbling in, I saw that not only were the kids from my cabin inside, but so were the campers from the cabin on the other side of the woods. The camp director was present and busy fielding demands from scared kids to call their parents. What had been the roughest bunch of teenagers that I’d ever met had quickly become something else. With the help of the other two counselors, the director assured us he would honor our requests, and then the three of them left to see what was going on back in my cabin.

Much time passed before the others finally became irreconcilably stir crazy. One by one they filed out the door and down the country road on which the camp was located. For some reason, I stayed, perhaps because I had no idea where I or they would be going. I was three hours from home, and it was the middle of the night.

Finally, after sitting alone for what felt like an eternity, I decided to leave the safe confines of the cafeteria. There was a light on in the medical trailer and I headed for it. The door was barely open before I noticed Dean sitting to the left, his face buried in his hands. I began to walk backward and pull the door closed.

“It’s ok,” a voice said from inside. Cautiously I pushed the door open further and saw three of the counselors sitting there keeping a watchful eye on him. Howie was among them. Dean slowly lifted his head, his hands keeping their position. I noticed that whatever had been in his eyes was gone. He looked pale. Fatigued. Emotionless.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Howie informed me.

The rest of the events that happened are hazy, but I do remember that they didn’t let us call our parents. My mother still has the letter I wrote her the following day. More than two decades later and well into adulthood, I still couldn’t look out windows at night. There were other events that transpired at Camp Awareness, but for now we’ll leave that subject alone until it is relevant again.

Years passed, and I underwent many personality transformations. Following my awkward early teenage years, I developed into a decent athlete. I won many events in high school and received awards and scholarships. This thrust me into years of battling narcissism, which I never truly won or overcame willfully. Beyond athleticism, my mind took a more intellectual route in the years following my higher education. I became helplessly philosophic. Books were my obsession, and I consumed them carnivorously. At some point, my interests turned to parapsychology. I was looking for explanations. A series of supernatural and paranormal events had presented themselves to me, and while I couldn’t convince others of my experiences, I knew they were legitimate. One in particular took me from being curious to actively pursuing research and practice.

My maternal grandmother had developed Alzheimer’s disease. I loved the woman dearly. When I was in elementary school, I would stick my finger down my throat until I vomited so I could trick my teacher into thinking I was sick on the days I knew she was coming to visit. This way I could get sent home. She was that important to me. Every minute with her counted.

After sliding for several years into dementia, the decision finally had to be made to put her in assisted living.  By then in my mid-thirties, I went to the home to help decorate her room with my mom and aunt. Both were single and had invested the majority of their time into caring for my grandma until it had gotten to this point. I knew they were struggling with guilt over the situation, but she was beginning to forget who they were. On one occasion, she had gotten up in the night and started to call the police on my mom, thinking she was an intruder.

My grandmother had been at her new home in the care facility for several months when one night I fell asleep on the couch at about 2:30 in the morning. That wasn’t atypical for me, as I had always been a night owl, and didn’t have to work until late afternoon the next day. When I woke, I was slightly disoriented by a dream I’d had involving my grandmother, but I quickly shrugged it off. My dreams were vivid and realistic as a rule, so I got up and a short while later I went to work.

I was standing alone in a room when I received a text from my mom. It wasn’t often that she texted, since she hadn’t had a capable phone for long and was still learning how to use it. Opening the text, I was even more stunned to see it was a picture. She hadn’t to this point used her phone that way, at least that I knew of, and had never sent me a photo before this. It was a picture of my grandmother with a stuffed dog under her arm. Shortly after the picture came through, so did an accompanying text. It said something to the effect of: Rough Night. Mom was up and causing a disturbance. Joan had to be called up there at 4:30.

I could feel the color leave my face as my legs became weak. My heartbeat was audible in my ears as I started furiously communicating with my mother.

The dream I had the night before corresponded with the timeframe when my grandma was causing issues. Joan was my aunt. They had called her up there to help handle the situation.

In my dream the night before, my grandma and I were walking the halls of her assisted living building, our arms linked the way a couple does when walking arm in arm. I was telling her in some unconventional way why she had to be there. It wasn’t like a foreign language, and it wasn’t as simple as metaphors. Going to great lengths, I was somehow helping her understand, because she had lost that ability to listen and discern in real life. We did this for a while, when the next thing I knew we were outside of the building, and I was sitting in the backseat of a car on the passenger side. She was outside, looking at me with her arms crossed. I was telling her that I had to go now, and she nodded as if she understood, but she wasn’t happy about it. The car left; when it eventually came to a stop, I got out and was greeted by my mother. She proceeded to tell me that my grandma and aunt had a rough night. I told her that I had just seen my grandmother and she looked better than I had seen her in years. My mom reiterated her point, and soon after, the dream ended and I awoke.

One of the first things that struck me upon this revelation was the fact that my mom had said in the dream that my aunt had a rough night too. She hadn’t appeared anywhere in my dream, yet in reality she was with my grandmother in the wee hours, trying to calm her down. Additionally, the way Grandma was holding the stuffed dog placed her arm in the same position it was in as we were walking the halls in my dream, arm in arm.

A month or two later, my mom and aunt came to visit for Christmas. My aunt had taken video of the incident with my grandmother and insisted I watch. I was reluctant, simply because the whole thing had freaked me out. Eventually I agreed. You could hear my aunt on the video from behind her phone, asking my grandmother who she was talking to. My grandma never answered her, but I hadn’t up to that point realized she was talking to someone or something that no one could see. The assumption was probably that she was talking to the stuffed dog, but she never looked at it or spoke in its direction. What finally sent me over the edge and into tears was near the end of the video when my grandmother walked over to an empty chair in an otherwise empty hallway. She then proceeded to stand in front of it and take the same posture and body language that she had in my dream when she was standing outside the car.

My reality was fractured as a result of this, among other lesser events in my life around this time. In a sense, I was being awakened to things I was unaware of and couldn’t explain. My thirst for knowledge moved from the philosophical and psychological into arenas that I was generally incapable of grasping or understanding, such as physics. I wanted to know if I was in spirit with her at the assisted living, or if she was with me telepathically in my mind and dream. What had happened? How did it happen? Who or what was behind it? Slowly my life began to unravel.

(This is Chapter 1 of the book “The Remote Generation.” To find out what happens next, order it using the link below, or stop in at your local independent bookstore and ask if they carry it.)

https://www.amazon.com/Remote-Generation-Brandon-Dion/dp/1548664359/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1529026756&sr=8-5&keywords=the+remote++generation

[lyricdissonance]

odds please! for ask thing

1. How do you define your sexuality?i’m bisexual, i also identify as queer3. At what age did you first suspect that you are sexually attracted to other girls?first started realizing i “like like” girls instead of just “like” at 15 I believe?5. Did you have an “aha I like girls” moment or was it more of a gradual realization?gradual realization, i had a whole lot of female actresses and musicians i really admired and then realized i was also attracted to them. then i kinda brushed that aside for a while, thinking that my celeb crushes didn’t count as real crushes, before i also got crushes on girls i knew irl which made me realize i definitely wasn’t straight7. How did you become comfortable with your sexuality?reading posts by bi bloggers on here helped a whole lot, they made me realize that i didn’t have to fit a narrow definition to be “allowed” to call myself bisexual. and as someone who grew up in a conservative environment, i probably wouldn’t have discovered my sexuality when i did without tumblr since i’d never been told before that it was ok to not be straight, and i thank the internet for showing me there are other ways to live life

9. Who was the first person you came out to? How did they take it?it was by text message to a male friend who was the only other bi person i really knew at the time. he was super supportive and we haven’t talked in a while but i’d love to catch up with him someday11. How out are you?out to friends and two family members, but closeted to most of my family. which means i can be gay on tumblr and twitter but not instagram and facebook. funny how that happens13. Was anyone surprised when you came out or did people seem to already know?a few people have been surprised, but these days when i meet someone new i prefer to casually mention my sexuality rather than do a real “coming out” and i don’t normally get any reaction from that15. How soon after meeting someone do you usually tell them about your sexuality?like the last answer, if i feel like i can trust them i’ll just try to slip it into conversation. i don’t have a timeline for when i do it though, it’s just whenever i feel ok doing it17. Have you ever wished you were completely straight?not so much that as just wishing my sexuality could be not a big deal. i’d love to be out to everyone but i know it would cause problems in a lot of my family relationships19. If you are not a lesbian, about what percentage of the time do you find yourself attracted to other girls?i gave up using percentages a while ago but i’m attracted to men and women about the same amount overall21. How often do you find yourself trying to sneak a peek or stare at a cute girl?only all the time because girls are Too Cute to not do that

23. What is your current relationship status?

single af

25. Do you remember anything about the first time you kissed another girl?i’ve kissed one person and she was nonbinary, we were hanging out in her dorm common room when she went for a kiss on the cheek and i was like “well we might as well do one on the lips too”27. What is your ideal first date?wherever we go i want us to be having fun! i love going out for food or drinks but if we don’t have a connection then it’s just us staring at our plates so there’s always that risk of it being too awkward. i’d love for us to try something new where we can talk and laugh while getting to know each other29. How flirty are you?i’m the certified worst at flirting. i’m trying to be more confident but my idea of flirting right now is staring across the room31 Do you want have children someday?no but i want to volunteer with children someday and do something to help make their lives better33. How often are you asked if you have a boyfriend?not often, i think my family is used to me saying no by now lmao35. Have you ever been on your period the same time as a girlfriend?nope (see above, single af)37. Have you ever been in a long distance relationship?nope39. Has a girl ever dumped you for a guy? Have you?nope and nope41. Have you ever had a crush on a straight girl?oh yes43. Would you ever date a trans woman?absolutely45. Where do you think is the best place to meet a potential lover?

a wendy’s parking lot in upstate new york 

somewhere where you can meet people who have a common interest, like a bookstore or a dance class or an lgbt event. but the romantic in me wants to believe that the love of my life could be found anywhere

47. Have you ever cut your hair super short? If not, would you ever want to?have not but would love to! even if i don’t like it i want to be able to say i tried it49. What is your opinion on septum/bull nose piercings?don’t want one for myself, but i think they’re cute51. How muscular are you?not very53. Have you ever been told that you don’t look gay, or that you’re too pretty to be gay?

hasn’t happened to me

55. Do you wear skirts and dresses? If so, how often?i may not consider myself very feminine but i do love how skirts and dresses look on me. so like once or twice a week on average?57. How much jewelry do you typically wear?i go without it a lot but i like wearing a piece of statement jewelry when i think an outfit needs it59. How often do you wear a bra?almost always when i go out, but home is a No Bra Zone61. Have you ever worn a suit?nope but i’d try it!63. Do you carry a purse?yep, i find it convenient to have all my stuff with me65. Have you ever worn any men’s clothing?because of my body shape finding men’s clothes that fit well is Hard but i’ve worn men’s shirts on occasion67. Have you ever shared clothes with a girlfriend?

no but i like this idea so cute girls who are my size please hmu

69. Who is your favorite LGBT celebrity?my faves include freddie mercury, janelle monae, st. vincent, and lady gaga71. Have you ever watched Will & Grace?nope73. How well do you feel LGBT women are portrayed on television?i’d like for us to survive to the end of the show for one thing. and not be overly sexualized. i’m glad that we’re seeing more positive and happy depictions like on b99 but we could always use more75. Do you watch any LGBT YouTubers?tbh i don’t really follow any youtubers77. Do you have a favorite LGBT themed blog or website?i follow a lot of gay blogs on here, too many to choose a favorite. and i really like autostraddle.com79. Have you read any LGBT themed literature? If so, do you have any recommendations?

i really need to start reading more lgbt lit, but shoutout to the misfits by james howe which was the first time i ever encountered gay characters in literature. i think it’s important that that book showed a gay boy who was unashamed about liking feminine things and had friends who supported him. i know my young mind was opened a little after i read it. and now that i’m looking it up again it turns out the author is gay which makes it even better!

81. Boobs or butts?Certified Boob Lover (tm)83. Ellen or Portia?

probs ellen

85. Have you ever been to a gay bar or a gay club?no but there’s a gay club that’s popular w people at my school that is on my list! 87. Do you have any LGBT relatives?my sister, no others that i know of89. How outdoorsy are you?i’m definitely more outdoorsy than i used to be! i’ve learned to enjoy a bit of hiking, kayaking, and exploring but i still don’t do well with heat and bugs lol91. How many rainbow items do you own?one rainbow rubber bracelet, and a couple of bi pride items93. Have you ever participated in the National Day of Silence?no, as far as i know it was never a big thing at my school? i knew one or two people who did it95. Have you ever attended a PFLAG (Parents & Friends of Lesbians and Gays) meeting?no, i’m kinda curious about what a meeting would be like tho97. Have you ever been part of a softball team?nope99. Do you play any video games?

well i used to be a hardcore nintendogs player back in the day

101. (on a scale of 1-10, how attractive are...) Women who wear glasses?glasses on girls are GR8 - 10/10103. Women who are covered with piercings?kinda neutral on this, i support women getting the piercings they want but "covered with piercings” isn’t really something i look for in a person - 6/10105. Women with short hair?if you have short hair i am guaranteed gay for you - 10/10107. Tall women (i.e. around 1.83 meters/6 feet or taller)?

*wearing a shirt that says I

109. What does equality mean to you?to me it means i’m treated the same as anyone else and i have all the same opportunites111. Do you eat meat at all?yes113. How do you feel about the terms “woman crush” and “girl crush”?i find them harmful to girls trying to figure out their sexuality bc the implication of a “girl crush” is that all women have crushes on women and that it shouldn’t be taken as serious attraction. that being said i think a not-insignificant amount of women who say stuff like that just haven’t realized yet that they are attracted to women (i was one of them whoops) and i hope we can find ways to talk about the “girl crush” problem that leave room for questioning people to talk about their feelings115. How do you feel when people use the word gay to mean things such as stupid, dumb, boring, or idiotic?i hardly ever hear it anymore but i don’t like it117. What are your views on gender identity and bathroom use?everyone should be able to use the bathroom that they feel safest and most comfortable in, gender neutral bathrooms need to be everywhere, and any lawmakers who want to get in the way of that can fuck outta here119. Have you ever been called a gay slur?nope121. Have you ever been discriminated against because of your sexuality or gender identity? If so, please explain.not like, personally, but the number of people who have said in my presence that they “don’t believe” in bisexuality is Too High123. Americans: How did you feel on June 26, 2015?it was really incredible, i’d been watching as state by state (including my own) had legalized same-sex marriage and suddenly it was all across america. seeing all the love and happiness being poured out on that day was amazing125. Have you ever tried to “pray the gay away”?luckily i’ve never been there, but it breaks my heart to think about people going through that127. What LGBT stereotype do you most disagree with?"bi women are just doing it for male attention” excuse you i’m clearly doing it in the hopes that jenna coleman will fly to the states and elope with me get your facts right129. What advice would you give to a girl who is struggling to figure out her sexuality?

take your time! you don’t have to 100% understand your feelings but please let yourself feel what you feel and remember you are not alone. and i want to be here for questioning girls the same way that other people were there for me when i was questioning so if you need someone to talk to i am always here.

[joementa]

Highlights From The Fall Collection.

I’m probably in the minority here, but I’m bummed that the summer is over.  For me, I celebrate summer all through September, regardless of the weather and regardless of all of my neighbors who put up pumpkins the Tuesday after Labor Day.  It’s too soon for me.  I need my summer sun.  No season comes remotely close to the summer for me.  I think it has to do with spending all of my summers at the beach for 3 months straight.  That’s not an exaggeration either.  I spent my first 21 summers on this planet living at the beach for 3 months straight, often never even coming back to Philly even for one day during that time.  I don’t remember ever once wanting to back.  For awhile I considered the beach home, and the place I was at for the other 9 months of the year just a “place to stay”.  I’ve always been truly happier on the beach than perhaps anywhere else.  And when the cold winds come in, the sunny days vanish, the bikinis get put into storage, the smell of suntan lotion is nowhere to be found, the nights get quieter…it gets me a little scared.  And lonely.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the fall.  And I certainly don’t hate girls in leggings and boots (okay, I care more about the leggings but I do like the boots).  But I don’t get this whole romanticism about the fall that seems to be so prevalent everywhere.  I do like PSLs though.

When it comes to music, I’ve said this before, but I vary what I listen to by the season.  Now that I have officially entered fall (with hopefully still some nice beach days sprinkled in in October), it’s time to switch up my music.  For this week’s playlist, I put together just a small sample of the albums that I listen to in the fall (and some them creep into winter, but definitely not in the summer!).  The key words here are “small sample”.  I actually keep a list of all the albums I listen to in each season.  I have over 150 albums that I specifically listen to in the fall, so there’s no way I could fit all of them in a playlist.  I like to keep these things at 20!    

All of the albums on the playlist are great fall albums front-to-back.  I could talk about all of these for awhile, but a few things to note:

Some Devil has to be one of the best cold-weather albums ever.

Magic is a very underrated album and might be my favorite Bruce album straight-through in the reunited ESB era.  A fantastic album straight-through.  Even a song like “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” has a fall vibe to me.  Driving around my favorite beach town (hands down Brigantine, NJ, no town is even a close second!) while listening to this album is one of my favorite annual fall rituals.

Exile On Main Street is obviously a classic, but I’d HIGHLY recommend listening to this one while you’re driving on a warm sunny fall day.  That album was made for that.

Be sure to check out anything by Gillian Welch.  You will not regret it at all.  Sadly only a couple of her albums are available on vinyl but definitely seek them out if you can find them.  They’re all pressed fully analog and can be found here: https://store.aconyrecords.com/collections/gillian-welch/vinyl.

The Civil Wars.  Both of their albums are great fall albums and this week I’ve decided to highlight their second album, which was self-titled. I think Barton Hollow is probably better, but not by much.  Do yourself a favor and on one of those chilly, rainy fall days, put on a pot of coffee and listen to Barton Hollow.  Amazing!

Pearl Jam.  I can’t be positive, but I think you may have heard of this band before.  For some reason they’re a fall band for me.

Neil Young.  Every song by him is a song for fall.  Some of the great fall albums of his include (but are NOT limited to!) Harvest, Harvest Moon, Live Rust, Rust Never Sleeps, A Treasure, Dreamin’ Man Live ‘92, Prairie Wind, Comes A Time, American Stars ‘N Bars, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, After The Gold Rush, Le Noise, Zuma and Americana. In fact, he’s so good for the fall that in 2018 I made not one, not two, but THREE different Neil Young playlists for the fall.  Check ‘em out here:

Neil Young: Rock

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3rb8JskjLvTElQDABqlv1i?si=Eg9OKA-ESo2JRW5RCN1iRg

Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/neil-young-rock/pl.u-kv9lbRaTX46JEq

Neil Young: Country

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67KB1bYyIMqfP8cFnAHfq1?si=zWSSARDvTc2T6224XkK26Q

Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/neil-young-country/pl.u-kv9lbVLsX46JEq

Neil Young: Acoustic

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67KB1bYyIMqfP8cFnAHfq1?si=zWSSARDvTc2T6224XkK26Q

Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/neil-young-acoustic/pl.u-2aoqXPbUVkeGyB

John Moreland.  I love all of his music but make sure you check out High On Tulsa Heat.  So unbelievably good.

Francis Albert.  I thought about maybe starting with “The September Of My Years” but I realized it would be incredibly unfair for all 19 musicians to follow Frank.

Obviously I couldn’t fit every single album/song from my fall collection into this playlist.  Some music that I left off that are great for fall include Sisters Of Mercy, Ryan Adams, Emmylou Harris, The Band, American Aquarium, Lucero, Uncle Tupelo, Kurt Vile, Hozier, Raising Sand by Robert Plant and Alison Kraus, Kraftwerk, The Avett Brothers, Midwest Farmer’s Daughter by Margo Price, Neko Case and Boxers by Matthew Ryan.  Bands like Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Metallica, The Cramps, The Misfits, Ozzy solo, Lita Ford, etc., are all great fall music that just didn’t fit well this week.  Although they do tend to pop up around Halloween 😉.  

Hopefully you enjoy this playlist and discover some new music too.  I think these songs go perfectly with the sound of dry, crunchy leaves blowing in the wind and the smell of cool, non-humid air on a sunny day.  Plus, how many people put Kings Of Leon and Gillian Welch back-to-back on a playlist?!?

Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/highlights-from-the-fall-collection/pl.u-NpXmYqpTvL74WM

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NmlEBU797k73Vwz77gum1?si=fpQXZIwpQW2tlEKuVV_zDw

Dave Matthews – “Dodo” (Some Devil)

The Head And The Heart – “Coeur d’Alene” (The Head And The Heart)

Conor Oberst – “Zigzagging Toward The Light” (Upside Down Mountain)

Bruce Springsteen – “Livin’ In The Future” (Magic)

The Rolling Stones – “Torn And Frayed” (Exile On Main Street)

Kings Of Leon – “Back Down South” (Come Around Sundown)

Gillian Welch – “Six White Horses” (The Harrow And The Harvest)

The Civil Wars – “Oh Henry” (The Civil Wars)

Ruston Kelly – “Blackout” (Dying Star)

The Tallest Man On Earth – “The Wild Hunt” (The Wild Hunt)

The Cure – “Kyoto Song” (The Head On The Door)

Joy Division – “Love Will Tear Us Apart” (Substance)

Brand New – “Jesus Christ” (The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me)

The Horrible Crowes – “Ladykiller” (Elsie)

Pearl Jam – “Corduroy” (Vitalogy)

Neil Young – “Human Highway” (Comes A Time)

Lori McKenna – “People Get Old” (The Tree)

John Moreland – “American Flags In Black And White” (High On Tulsa Heat)

The National – “Hard To Find” (Trouble Will Find Me)

Frank Sinatra – “The September Of My Years” (The September Of My Years)

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

On the Outside Looking In: Growing Up in the Moonies

Flore Singer Aaslid, Ph.D. (2007)

Abstract The author recounts her experiences as a child and young adult in the Unification Church (“the Moonies”). She discusses the enduring sense of not fitting in, which arose from her many years of travelling and being taken care of by people other than her parents (who were usually busy with missionary work) and stigmatized for being an “unblessed” child (not born to Moonie parents). During this prolonged conflict situation she vacillated between trying to “buy it” and rebelling. Leaving the group proved to be difficult because she discovered that she did not fit in “outside” either. Ultimately, however, she left the group permanently and began to build a new life.

____________________________________________

There is a saying that if something doesn’t kill you it will only make you stronger. A spiritual perspective might interpret this statement as meaning that most challenges in life, however unpleasant or inconvenient, are like trials laid out by some Grand Master Plan for the sole purpose of adding some muscle to one’s otherwise weak disposition. Perceived from such a perspective, being raised in an environment such as that of the Moonies is really a blessing in disguise, with a vast array of potentials and possibilities to grow and expand in every conceivable manner. In my case, I can see how the whole experience has toughened me up in many respects. Nevertheless, for me, the most enduring and overwhelming side effect of growing up as a cult kid (having been set apart from society at large and carefully protected in a dogmatic cocoon for most of my formative years) is the relentless, almost haunting, yet mostly exasperating feeling of never quite fitting in—anywhere. I have yet to discover whether this is a blessing or a curse, but it’s probably a little of both.

Like that of many of my peers also raised in “the church,” as we called the whole ordeal, my childhood was somewhat turbulent. From the age of two, I never lived more than two years at a time in any one place. By the time I was eight, I had already lived in four different countries and learned three different languages (two of which, unfortunately, I forgot as I no longer used them). The number of “caretakers” I had during those years is beyond my recollection (probably more than 20 and fewer than 50), for both of my parents were missionaries, busying themselves with the very important task of saving the world. I was a sacrifice for the sake of a greater good, my mother used to tell me. I was put into God’s Hands, and with the help of a lot of faith and a seemingly endless number of dedicated prayers, He would protect me (sort of like paying holy instalments toward some kind of sacred life insurance). This might have worked, for all I know; I was an almost abnormally healthy child, and even today the most serious illness to fall upon me has been the flu and some nasty stomach problems in India.

Still, it is as if all this moving about, learning new languages, making new friends, adapting to different environments, only to be torn away from it all and repeat the process all over again (and again, and again, ad infinitum), somehow turned me into a weird little muddled misfit. I was doomed to feel like a perpetual stranger, forever the foreigner, like some bizarre product of shoddy enculturation, sloppy socialization, or whatever one wishes to call that process through which young children experience a sense of belonging, and identify with their nearest and dearest. I wasn’t, of course, consciously aware of my predicament at such a young age. I just felt exceedingly lonely, and of course being an only child didn’t help matters. Children, as a rule, don’t like to stand out, and lord knows I did my best to fit in. I made friends easily, was unusually outgoing, learned languages and dialects in record time, joined the Girl Scouts, the swim club, the ski club, and even a glee club (chorus). I wore the right clothes and probably liked the right things, but to no avail; that lonely feeling just never left me. And all this, by the way, relates purely to my experiences with the Outside World (that is how we Moonies referred to what other people might perceive as “normal society”). Children growing up in cults, or in any kind of fundamentalist movement for that matter, always get stuck between (at least) two worlds.

Things probably would have been slightly different, although not necessarily better, had I felt some sense of belonging in the Inside World (my own personal term for the Moonies, or “the family,” as we insiders referred to ourselves). This fate was not to be mine, however, for one big reason that I can explain only by examining the Moonie Belief System (B S). This “family” came complete with a set of True Parents (Sun Myung Moon, also founder and self-proclaimed messiah, and his wife) and True Children (their 14 children). All the other members lovingly referred to each other as True Brothers and Sisters to complete the Holy Metaphor, but also, I suspect, to linguistically prevent any kind of sexual activity from occurring between these “Brothers and Sisters.” Premarital sex was regarded as an almost unforgivable mortal sin. Sex was so terrible that any children born from this impure act were blemished forever with the stain of Original Sin, passed on through generations all the way back to when Adam and Eve had premarital sex. This is “the fall” according to the Moonie bible (otherwise known as “The Principle”)—which, incidentally, was Eve’s fault because she had sex with Satan first and then felt guilty because she remembered that it was Adam she was supposed to have sex with, whereby she seduced him, but, alas, too late or too early, or both, and so women became the inferior sex and suffer childbirth and menstruation and all sorts of womanly misfortunes as a consequence of this badly timed and somewhat bungled-up sex act.

To remedy this calamity, all lowly mortals (both men and women) must pay Indemnity. Any kind of personal misfortune could be seen as one form of paying Indemnity, but most members supplemented this payment with additional suffering, just to make sure that Indemnity was indeed being paid. There was fasting (often for [7] days with absolutely no food whatsoever); getting up very early and praying hysterically for days, weeks, or months on end; as well as fundraising (practically all the members fundraised at some point or another; many did nothing but fundraise) and witnessing (getting other unsuspecting outsiders to join the happy family). The only other activity that could remove the stain of Original Sin was The Blessing. Here, several hundred (sometimes several thousand) couples, whom True Father himself picked out from pictures or in a great big gathering called “The Matching,” would all get married at the same time by True Parents, in some very big place, like a football stadium, or Madison Square Garden. 

▲ Sun Myung Moon “matching” couples in the 1980s.

Not only the Blessed Couple, but all the future children born from this holy matrimony, would then be freed of Original Sin (which explains why it was so popular; I think the Moonies are even in the Guinness Book of World Records for the biggest mass weddings in history). The offspring of these decontaminated couples were then subsequently called the Blessed Children since these lucky little cherubs were born into the world unblemished and completely free of Original Sin. In all metaphysical respects, as perfect as can be.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view), I was no such child. Born to an unwed mother before she joined the church, I was doomed to carry the burden of Original Sin. I and others like me were continually reminded of this disgraceful state of affairs by simply being given the rather unflattering designation of Unblessed Children [“Jacob children”]. 

As an Unblessed Child, I was excluded in several different ways: Ritually during Sunday morning prayers (which always took place at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m.), for example, where I was consistently prohibited from saying the Pledge of the Families (not belonging to a Blessed Family myself). Socially, during big Moonie celebrations such as God’s Day, where special seats were always reserved for Blessed Children (I was allowed to sit there on many occasions, but hardly ever without first being solemnly informed that these seats were really for Blessed Children). Then there was the obligatory trip to Korea ( [usually for 40 days, but possibly] lasting several years), which was an absolute must for most Blessed Children, but not for me (although from what I’ve heard, I think I was blessed to have missed it). And of course, as opposed to most of the Blessed Children, I was in no way exempt from the fundraising and witnessing. After all, Indemnity must be paid, and I have many (not so very fond) memories of myself standing on street corners selling flowers with my mother, usually for some worthy “Christian” cause (we hardly ever said it was for the Moonies, unless we happened to be in the mood for some rather unpleasant “persecution,” as we called the stone throwing, name calling, and other mostly verbal abuse).

Understandably, after many years of this kind of treatment, one is always in danger of feeling vaguely inadequate and prone to a slight sense of inferiority with respect to those Holier Than Thou. So, to finally make my point, even in the Inside World, amidst my own True Brothers and Sisters, I felt like an outcast, a recluse, a misfit, and once again, the freak in the group.

Psychologically speaking, there are probably several ways to deal with this type of dilemma. I have ascertained two primary methods: Either you buy the crap (pardon my French), or you don’t. Choosing the first method would have been highly destructive to my fragile psyche. No complex psychological analysis needed here; I simply state what to me seems obvious: believing that one is fundamentally inferior to most of one’s peers, for whatever reason, can dangerously stagnate one’s own personal growth and development. (However, believing that their superiority is due to a somewhat more elaborate mating ritual between their parents than that of one’s own does make it all the more absurd, even though some 50-odd years back, the majority of our God-fearing citizens adopted this view regarding unwed mothers and their “bastard” children. But this just goes to show how cruel and easily duped we humans can be.) Therefore, probably to protect myself and spare myself serious damage in the long run, somewhere in the depths of my psyche (possibly even subconsciously), I decided at a relatively early age that I was surrounded by a group of gibbering morons.

This was, perhaps, not the most sophisticated strategy, but it was effective, and it worked wonders when it came to ignoring and shutting out most of the ranting and raving that appeared to compose the greater part of my conceptual reality tunnel (the Inside World), although, admittedly, many times the two worlds collided. The resulting clash was so straining that I did my best to convince myself that this plump little Korean guy jumping about on a stage, flailing his arms energetically and barking loudly in gibberish (Korean), really was the Messiah, here to save the world and populate the planet with little Blessed Children. Fortunately, this phase was usually fleeting, and then I was back to my familiar miserable, cynical self. Ironically, I strongly believe today that had I been a Blessed Child, this strategy (deciding that I was surrounded by a group of gibbering morons) would have been very difficult to adopt. This is because Blessed Children had, for the most part, been told all their lives how very special, important, and unique they were, sort of like Holy Super Kids. The whole world depended on them, and if there is still widespread misery and suffering today, it is because they haven’t taken their role and mission seriously enough (what a burden, poor kids). Basically, my guess is that it is much harder to disregard and block out positive affirmations that build self-esteem and make one feel like a Very Important Person than it is to ignore a Belief System that ultimately makes one feel like a little piece of poop. In other words, I think I was blessed to have been unblessed (life is funny that way).

Another factor worth mentioning here is that many of the Blessed Children, in addition to being conveniently Blessed to one another, later became very economically dependent on the church, which mediated and sponsored both jobs and higher education, making it hard for a recipient to break free on any level, even if one did start developing a mind of one’s own. Put slightly differently, where subtle and sophisticated mind-controlling techniques fail, hard economic facts still tend to win out in the end (I, of course, was never worth sponsoring and have had to make do with a combination of student loans and welfare, sigh). Finally, I do believe that all that moving about during my early years, and the fact that I never really managed to “bond” successfully with my mother, made it much easier for me to break out later on. Filial piety (playing the role of obedient and devoted daughter) just didn’t seem to be in my nature; and as for my father, he drifted out when I was 12 and later helped me do the same.

I have often wondered why it was so easy for me to turn my back on my True Family, and (almost) never look back. I left to live with my father in California when I was 14 (although mentally I was long gone way before then). About two years later, I decided to re-join, and become a missionary myself in France (the Outside World was too much for me at such a vulnerable age, and I had to escape before it gobbled me up—“from the frying pan into the fire,” as they say). Being a missionary in France was probably the most serious attempt I made at “buying it” my whole life. Growing up in the Moonies was due to unfortunate circumstances way beyond my control, but becoming a missionary at the age of 16 was a desperate and conscious choice. It was, in many ways, a matter of survival, at least existentially. The loneliness and emptiness I felt in the Outside World at the age of 14 was so intense that I’m really quite surprised I emerged from it all as relatively unscathed as I did (my mother was almost certainly paying holy instalments to my sacred life insurance more than ever at that point).

The best illustration I can think of to illustrate this feeling is that of a small animal, locked up in a cage most of its life, and then suddenly set free to manage as best as it can in the jungle. Or, as another cult kid I read about in a Norwegian newspaper described it, being raised in a sect is like growing up in a spaceship, protected and confined, and then one day leaping out into space. Compared to the chaos, the overwhelming freedom and the incredible loneliness I encountered out in the big cruel world, being an Unblessed Child in the Moonies seemed like peanuts. After all, here at least I was part of something, even if it was the lesser part of an otherwise perfect family. Orbiting the Outside World, having cut all ties linking me to the Mother Moonie Spaceship, I felt utterly and completely alone. Therefore, I quit high school and set off to become a missionary and sell flowers (more out of necessity than conviction). A stranger in yet another strange land, but, as fate would have it that was probably one of my wisest and most courageous decisions. Sunny California would have been the death of me, and even though I ended up staying in France only for a year (after which I fell in love with a young Norwegian and moved to Norway), I knew instinctively that I had to get away, no matter where, no matter how.

The Moonies (or whatever they call themselves today) are not the Ku Klux Klan, as one of my childhood friends has already pointed out in a previous article. They do have some positive values, and they do mean well (yes, I know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions). On the whole, my experiences have taught me a lot about society, human nature, and this very bizarre and sometimes unpleasant state called life. The feeling of being a misfit, a social freak, doomed to dwell forever on the outside looking in, still haunts me wherever I go. However, I do have a new “family,” I have my friends, and I have my son (and I can rest assured knowing that when it comes to child rearing, I certainly know what NOT to do). I also have my sense of humor to chase away any new devils (traumas and tragedies) that might happen to fly my way. I have noticed that fanaticism (in its many forms and guises) and humor are unhappy bedfellows; they just don’t mix very well. So for those of you who find this article somewhat offensive in any way, my sincere apologies; but when it comes down to a conflict between preserving other peoples’ Belief System and my own mental health, I tend to get a little selfish.

In many respects, I suppose that growing up the way I have has made me stronger and wiser. But I certainly didn’t choose the easy way out, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder if things might have been less problematic if I’d just stayed on the inside, content with looking out. But then, I seem to attract adversity; and besides, I was never really on the inside, just like I’ll never really be on the outside. You’ll find me floating in those fuzzy grey zones in between.

____________________________________________

This material was originally prepared for a presentation at the AFF [now known as ICSA] annual conference, June 14-15, 2002, at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, Orlando (FL) Airport.

It was published in Cultic Studies Review, 2(1), 2003, 1-8

http://www.icsahome.com/articles/on-the-outside-looking-in-growing-up-in-the-moonies

____________________________________________

Flore Singer Aaslid was born 12 October 1972 in Rosenheim, Germany. She was raised as a “non-blessed” child [a “Jacob child”] in the Unification Church and grew up in Germany, England, USA, France, and Norway, respectively.

She was about 8 when her mother was ‘blessed’ to her father at a Unification Church mass wedding at Madison Square Gardens in 1982.

Currently, she is a social anthropologist based in Trondheim, Norway, where she lives with her son.

____________________________________________

Wise Mind – A Case for the Integration of Subjective Experience with Objective Reality in the Age of Fragmentation written by Flore Singer Aaslid

Introducing ‘Ethnography and Self-Exploration’ — Sjaak van der Geest, Trudie Gerrits, Flore Singer Aaslid

Marginal groups, marginal minds Reflections on ethnographic drug research and other traumatic experiences by Flore Singer Aaslid

Flore Singer Aaslid Thesis: Facing the Dragon: Exploring a conscious phenomenology of intoxication

Flore Singer Aaslid Book: Facing the Dragon: Exploring a conscious phenomenology of intoxication  Paperback – 23 Feb 2010

Do you see it? Adam and Eve were husband and wife before the Fall, not brother and sister.

In the 1952 Divine Principle, Jesus was married.

Sun Myung Moon’s explanation of the Fall of Man is based on his Confucian ideas of lineage, and his belief in shaman sex rituals.

Hooked on the “true lineage” rhetoric

Sun Myung Moon’s theology used to control members

Sun Myung Moon: The Emperor of the Universe

Writings of former FFWPU members Many recount their experiences in the organization or their journeys out of it

Ashamed to be Korean

[antoine-roquentin]

This was Senior House, the oldest dormitory on campus, built in 1916 by the architect William Welles Bosworth. For 101 years it welcomed freshman and returning students. Since the ’60s it was a proudly anarchic community of creative misfits and self-described outcasts—the special kind of brilliant oddballs who couldn’t or didn’t want to fit in with the mainstream eggheads at MIT. Some did drugs and dropped out. Some did drugs and graduated. Others were proudly “straight edge,” eschewing drugs and regarding their bodies and minds as pristine temples. Many went on to create startups, join huge tech firms, and change the technological world as we know it. 

Senior House was the gravitational center of alternative culture at MIT, characterized by extremes. For example, since 1963 its courtyard was the site for an annual Dionysian festival that began with a whole steer being hauled atop a pit and roasted on an open flame. The bacchanal ended three days later when there was no more mud left to wrestle in or drinks to gulp. By the time the third dawn came, friendships had been forged, tire swings had been swung, meat had been devoured, some drugs had probably been snorted or smoked, jobs had been offered, and lives had been changed.

On campus, the reputation of Senior House preceded it. “When I became housemaster, the dormitory was functioning as a storm drain for the other MIT living groups,” wrote professor Jay Keyser of his time living in the house in the 1980s. “All the difficult students were funneled there.”...

No one feels Senior House’s closure more acutely than Skirmante Survilaite, an MIT senior majoring in biotechnology. She came to Cambridge not for the famous professors but to live in Senior House. After a lifetime of not fitting in, of paying the bills and cooking the family meals because her single mother worked three jobs, of missing out on the normal parts of adolescence because she had to be responsible for her younger sister and “be the spouse of the family,” as she says, the people at Senior House made her feel like she was home.

A superb student who emigrated from Lithuania with her family when she was 5, Survilaite was offered full rides to Harvard, MIT, Case Western Reserve University, and the University of Chicago. With a special traveling scholarship, she visited Cambridge to check out MIT and Harvard. Unlike most universities, MIT asks incoming freshman to pick a dormitory in which they will live for all four years of study.

No wonder visiting dorms on campus is the single most important thing prospective students do. And the dorms lay it on thick, with parties and fliers and videos. Though Survilaite says she was a “goodie-two-shoes” in high school, she found herself drawn to the free-thinking dorms on MIT’s east side: East Campus and Senior House. At both dorms, murals adorned the walls. Students working on difficult theoretical math problems sat beside students strumming banjos. She loved the mix of people, the way they seemed driven by passion rather than pressure. At first the two dorms appeared to be pretty much indistinguishable to Survilaite, but East Campus had one problem: cockroaches.

She’s thankful for those bugs now. They helped her find a family on campus—family like her friend and classmate Cory Johnson, who found in the dorm a refuge he’d never known he needed. But after leaving his strict religious home in Texas and living in a different MIT dorm his freshman year where he was nervous to come out as gay, he transferred to Senior House and found a community that celebrated him for who he was. Unlike the fancier dorms on campus, at Senior House students said it was OK to be smart and driven and also unsure about exactly what you wanted out of life. More than OK; it was great. It was great to come from a working-class family. It was great to be gay or trans or a race other than white or to be into art and theater. It was great to be anything and everything you wanted to be.

In that first visit to Senior House, students told Survilaite how the privacy browser Tor had been invented by an undergrad named Roger Dingledine right here. Nirvana had played in this room on their first US tour in 1990. They showed her where Corbett had lived and where a student had once dumped hundreds of bags of sand in her room and made a beach for people to relax on when they were stressed. Survilaite could soon meet all of them, and more, when house alumni returned for Steer Roast to offer advice about life and career. In this way, the residents explained to her, Senior House was more than just a place she could live for four years; it would be a permanent home she could return to forever, a network of people who would always be connected by their shared values and love of this place.She wanted in.It wasn’t an upsell. When Steer Roast rolled around that spring, Survilaite found herself chatting with Dingledine, the creator of Tor. “Steer Roast is the way I stay connected to the MIT community,” he says. He goes to meet people like Survilaite. “I hang out at the fire pit at 6 am and tell them stories,” he says. He tells them how all good ideas start in a counterculture. He tells them how he and his Senior House friends stayed up night after night in the late ’90s trying to make a way for people to communicate anonymously to protect dissent.Survilaite was a convert. “It was the first time in my life that I felt like I could actually belong anywhere,” she says....

MIT’s dismantling of Senior House is part of a nationwide trend on college campuses, a shift that places a premium on safety, orderliness, and minimal bad publicity above all. Experts trace the roots of this shift to the 1980s. Since then, college tuition has skyrocketed and with it the competition for students who can afford it. Parents footing the bill are paying a lot more attention. The world has become more litigious and more corporate. All of this has led to an atmosphere in which university administrations have little margin for error when it comes to student safety or even bad publicity. And in this risk-averse atmosphere, places like Senior House, Eclectic, and Ricketts are increasingly viewed as unacceptable liabilities. “I first noticed this paternalistic ethos when I was doing some lectures at Vanderbilt University,” says sociologist Frank Furedi of the University of Kent and author of the book What’s Happened to the University? “There were all these campaigns being organized across America against drinking beer,” he says. “And I remembered that when I was in college the whole point was to get drunk.” The shift on campus parallels larger cultural changes. “The horizon of adulthood is getting extended,” says Princeton sociologist Dalton Conley, who contends that the knowledge economy means people need more and more schooling, which in turn extends the length of adolescence. This has led to a trend of administrations attempting to control every aspect of students’ lives. They employ risk officers to assess liability; they increasingly punish students for things that happen off campus or even over the summer. Take Harvard, for instance, which this year rescinded offers of admission to students based on comments they made on Facebook. At MIT, since students live on campus all four years, this overreach is especially robust. “Your social life, your meals, almost every aspect of your life operates within that campus,” Conley says. “It becomes more and more of a total institution. Like a prison.” This sets up a naturally combative relationship, especially in an environment as academically difficult as MIT. “It’s you, the student, against the institute,” Dingledine says. “It’s, How do we all get through this?”... These nerds did not go quietly. Beyond the letter-writing campaigns, the calls, and the sit-ins, students and alumni held out hope throughout the summer that the administration would reverse its decision. One reason they thought they had a chance was that some of the data purportedly showing that drugs were a problem in the house had been obtained by ethically questionable means—even according to Barnhart. ... What they didn’t know—and what they couldn’t have known from reading the consent form that accompanied it—was that MIT had embedded metadata that allowed the administration to pinpoint the location of those filling out the questionnaire, enabling them to segment the results by dorm. The only question about dorm type in the survey was vague—“What kind of dorm do you live in? Small, large, off campus?”—but by tracking the metadata, Barnhart and the administration were able to see exactly where respondents lived. It was this data that enabled Barnhart to see what she called a troubling hot spot of drug use. “If it wasn’t a direct violation, it was at least a violation of the spirit of informed consent,” Johnson says. Senior House defenders tried to use this issue to attack the administration’s closure of the dorm. “I am extremely angry that MIT used data obtained in a questionable manner to inform their policies with regards to any of their students, regardless of their residence,” wrote MIT parent Elizabeth Glaser in an op-ed in The Tech. Though her son was not part of Senior House, he took the survey and was upset about how it had been used. Glaser, herself an expert in research ethics, took it upon herself to contact the creators of the survey and review its methodology. It was she who discovered the metadata.... More troubling to critics is that, based on the way the data was presented to the student body, it doesn’t appear to take into account that the students in Senior House tended to be marginalized in one way or another—and that those students tend to have a lower graduation rate.

read the whole thing. disgusting.

[professorthorgi]

Hey I've never been a fanatic of manga or anime but a good portion of my friends totally are... I value your opinion on this because I have discovered great comic book series through you... The only two things I have fully invested in are Death Note and My Hero Academia which I really liked

Haha, as I started reading this I thought “Oh I’ll recommend My Hero Academia, it’ll be great,” and then I saw you were already reading it and thought “Oh crap,now what.” 

But okay, let’s see, if you liked Death Note I’d recommend Bakuman, it’s from the same creative team behind Death Note but it’s totally different. It’s about an artist and a writer who really want to make a manga series, and it’s basically an inside look at the world of Manga Making and working at Shonen Jump. In fact it becomes pretty obvious pretty quickly this is like a behind the scenes look at the making of Death Note and what they went through to make it.

Also if you like My Hero Academia I’d recommend One Punch Man, it’s another semi parody of the super hero genre, and it starts off as a series of one shots, but then it actually starts to develop a story and the story gets really emotional and really makes you care for these joke characters.

Speaking of good super hero spoofs, check out the anime Tiger and Bunny. It’s about a world where super heroes have to be sponsored by corporations and they have to compete in a big reality show to get points by saving people, but one hero is still saying “No this isn’t what it means to be a hero, we aren’t here to win points and get sponsors,” but he’s getting old and washed up, so his sponsors pair him up with a young rich pretty boy hero and the two of them have to go out there and learn what it means to be a hero together, loved that anime, never read the mangas though but I think they’re like side stories to the anime so just start with the anime.

Full Metal Alchemist is one of the best manga/anime’s for people who enjoy sci-fi/fantasy who haven’t really been able to get into anime to start with. If you watch the anime though then be warned, there’s a “Full Metal Alchemist” series and a “Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood” series, watch the Brotherhood series because that one was based off the manga, while the first series started being based on the manga but then halfway through went in a totally different direction that wasn’t as good.

Cowboy Bebop is another great series for people who aren’t big into Anime, it’s that anime series that people who dislike anime always stop and say “Except for Cowboy Bebop, that one was great”

If you like Death Note because of how dark it gets, then I recommend any Junji Ito stuff, especially if you like horror stuff, although just to warn you it gets really dark.

Also if you like some darker stuff and want to check out a classic, Neon Genesis Evangelion. It’s a story about fifteen years after Angels came down to earth and caused the apocalypse, the angels have now returned and mankind is now ready to fight them back with giant robots. Sounds goofy, but it is basically twenty six episodes of watching these poor kids who have to fight them back get emotionally torn apart and delving into all their baggage and problems as the world hangs in the balance. Like I said, if you liked the emotional stuff in Death Note, then give this a try.

Also, one last darker Death Note style recommendation, go check out Monster. It’s the story of a doctor who saves this mystery man’s life one night against the hospital’s wishes, gets fired over it, and then years later people start dying and he’s getting blamed. Turns out the person he saved is a serial killer and now this doctor has to hunt him down and stop him.

Now for something completely different, I’d also recommend Eyeshield 21, which is a sports manga. Now I was never a fan of sports mangas, but this one I really enjoyed. It’s about a football team (America football) and they can’t get any members recruited and they’re in last place every year. But one day they find this little wimpy kid who has spent his whole life running from bullies and they recruit him because they realize he can run around the other teams with the ball. From there they recruit all these outcast misfits who don’t fit in anywhere else and you watch them all come together and become a family. It’s actually got an amazing cast of characters and will make you cheer... however I do have to warn you of something, there is one storyline where they go to America and it get’s really culturally and even racially insensitive, it was hard for me to get through that one storyline. Aside from that it’s one of my favorite series, but I do have to point out that one big problem.

And I’ll throw one last obscure pick that most people don’t even know just to impress your friends. I absolutely loved this series and it had a strong fanbase but the fanbase just wasn’t big enough to keep it going. But the series is Psyren, it’s a story about this kid who has to investigate the disappearance of a classmate. As he investigates it he learns of this rumor going around about this game people are playing, one of those urban legends that involves making contracts and phone calls in the night (at this point I should say anybody out there who loves the Persona franchise this is a great recommendation for you too). One night he gets recruited for the game and he gets picked up and taken away to a far away world where he has to fight in these games to survive. Now everytime that he survives, he gets brought back to the real world and he has a card on him now with a number that slowly decreases, and he realizes he has to keep going back to that world until the number hits zero. Now I’m going to spoil one thing for you because this is what made me start loving this series, they eventually realize this world isn’t an alien planet, it’s not another dimension, it’s the future. So everytime they go to this post apocalyptic world, they realize it’s because something happened to their world,so they have to unravel that mystery, and whenever they go back to the present they have to try and change things, then when they go back to the future they have to see what’s changed. It’s a really engaging story with great villains and twist.

Okay, that’s all I got, hope you enjoy them and if anybody reading this has some recommendations then fill them in below.

[organized-lightning]

Personal Values

See my process and iterations here.

Values

Candor: the state of being open and honest in opinion; being absolutely nothing but myself; taking an objective stance to see things as clearly as possible

Passion: being engaged in something that is interesting, exciting, and meaningful to me; motivated to accomplish not because of a need, but because of a desire

Success: accomplishing what I set forth to do in a way that meets the standards and goals I set for myself

Insight: constantly going out of my way to learn new things; having a deep understanding of a wide variety of topics; growing from past mistakes

Progress: becoming a better version of myself with every obstacle I encounter

Support: being there for and being surrounded by the people who are there for me and care about me; having a healthy relationship with people and feel a sense of community

Reflection

I think the value identification was one of my favorite parts of this class. When we did the in-class Model the Way activity where we quickly identified our values and then made a list of things we do that align with/violate our values, I was honestly kind of shocked by the amount of things present in my life that don’t align with what I personally value. To me, this was kind of a wake-up call. I realized that all of these things I do that don’t support my values, that don’t help me live my brand each and every day, were keeping me in one way or another from having what I want and truly being the person I wanted to be. I know this has been a pretty common trend among students following this activity, but after identifying my personal values (even though this was just my first set of unrevised ones) and listing out how they are supported/let down by my actions, I quickly realized that a relationship I had in my life wasn’t serving my purpose and wasn’t getting me anywhere I wanted to be. Three days after this class, I ended the relationship. I haven’t been as brash with too many of the other things on that list, but maybe I should be. I felt so much more like myself after doing that and now I don’t really know why I had waited so long or why I got myself into that kind of situation to begin with.

Every single day I think about my values and how I live my values in my day to day life. I find myself reflecting on my values before I make any choice or decision and asking myself if the way I’m acting supports the things I value. I’ve started to notice the ways in which I have been reflecting my values in my day to day life without really even noticing. For example, despite my general lack of emotions, I am relentlessly there for the people I care about and go out of my way to show them compassion because I truly value my support system. I had never really noticed until now how I have always fought against my tendencies and preferences to support those who support me.

Today, I’m striving to do more of the things that reflect my values and find ways to cut out the things that don’t. I’m not going to lie- this has been a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. Of course, living my values isn’t difficult on its own, but some of the limitations in my way make it more difficult to live my values wholeheartedly.

Some parts of my life that aren’t reflective of my values are just out of my own control. For example, I hate living in Ohio. I was never, ever wanted to come visit here and I was absolutely never ever excited about moving here, so I don’t feel like myself trying to immerse myself in something I’m not passionate about. By living here, I feel like I’m being ingenuine and hypocritical every single time I feel even slightly happy because of all of the negative things I say (and mean) about having to be here. I feel like my value of success is violated because I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was committed to and enrolled in UCLA for about two weeks before my parents discovered that UCLA had not given me, and was never going to give me, any financial aid. So, without my input or knowledge, they committed me to Miami and withdrew my enrollment at UCLA. I was absolutely devastated; I felt, and still sometimes feel, robbed of an opportunity to learn, achieve, and succeed the kind of environment I had always wanted. I feel like being here violates my value of support because honestly, I don’t have much of that here. I feel little to no sense of belonging. Yes, I have made a friend or two that I genuinely believe will last a lifetime since I’ve been here, and yes, I’ve joined an organization that I really enjoy, but having one or two people to lean on and a group of people to eat dinner with on the weekends isn’t the same as feeling like I have a community. I still feel like the odd one out, like a misfit.

This is just one of many value dilemmas I face, but I’m still facing them head on. I know I need to adjust my life to fit my values in order to continue feeling fulfilled; dumping that relationship lifted such a weight off of my shoulders and made me feel so much more like myself, so I cannot imagine continuing to live the way I did, suppressing my values, when I know how revitalizing it feels to do what I believe is right for me and be 100% exactly who I am.

[technologywearables]

Misfit Shine 2 review

The initial Misifit Shine health and fitness tracker was a game changer, yet not since it brought brand-new features or capability to the table - as a matter of fact the Sparkle was a quite fundamental device as compared to a lot of its peers. What made the Sparkle so unique was how great it looked, and just how that look could possibly be customised to match your personal taste.

The Misfit Shine was the very first physical fitness tracker that was manufactureded to harmonize your way of life whatever you could be doing, from heading out for a go to participating in a black tie, gala dinner.

That emphasis on style and excellent looks made the Sparkle an alternative for consumers who could have taken into consideration health and fitness trackers to be also unsightly to wear on a daily basis. And also any individual that did get the Shine based totally on its appearances would have been pleasantly stunned to discover a rather suitable health and fitness tracker inside that little disc.

The Misfit Luster 2 elevates bench, yet not stratospherically so. It constructs on the strong foundations laid by the original as well as adds a few good attributes. Simply like with the original Shine the Shine 2 isn't really about functions, it's about style.

Design

Although fashionable layout was clearly of paramount problem to Misfit, kind does, to some degree at least, comply with feature. The shape of the Luster 2 is dictated by the CR2032 battery that electrical powers it, yet at just 8mm thick, the Sparkle 2 isn't actually much bulkier compared to that battery.

The Sparkle 2 is additionally light as a feather, considering just 8.5 g with the battery set up! Certainly that's simply the tool itself without the wrist band or clip, yet its slim form and also ultra-lightweight mean that you might easily slip it into the coin pocket of a pair of denims and never ever also observe it's there.

The covering is created from anodised aluminium, which indicates it'll stand up to virtually any type of misuse you throw at it. The aluminium case also provides the Shine 2 a pleasingly tactile feeling-- smooth, yet strong. You could additionally pick between an underrated black coating or a slightly more obvious rose gold.

You obtain both a wristband as well as a clip in the box, giving you a number of options for using the Sparkle 2. Both alternatives are matte black, however, and also do little to match the tool itself, specifically the rose gold version.

The initial Sparkle has a dizzying selection of accessories offered, from natural leather bands to steel pendants - there are even bejewelled options from Baublebar and also Swarovski. Misfit has comparable prepare for the Sparkle 2, so you can expect a range of trendy devices to match this latest Misfit tool in the near future.

While the majority of health and fitness tracker manufacturers concentrate on the attribute collection of their tools, Misfit has actually rather developed a tool that individuals will need to use at all times, regardless of what they're doing or where they're going.

One location that could possibly have finished with a design update, though, is the means the Luster 2 is secured in its wristband or clip. Having actually utilized the original Sparkle and the budget-focused Misfit Flash, I've constantly located them worryingly insecure when worn. Actually I shed my Flash while out on a run, finding an empty clip upon my return home.

Unfortunately, it appears that the Luster 2 is equally as vulnerable to vanishing work as its older brother or sisters. In both weeks I've been making use of the Luster 2, it has actually popped out of the wristband and clip over half-a-dozen times. Thankfully I've always seen and recuperated it, yet earlier or later on I recognize my luck will certainly run out.

It’s time to Shine…

One of the best features of the Sparkle 2 is that you don't have to keep in mind to bill the battery. Another clever step from Misfit is the choice to electrical power all its tools making use of basic coin cells, in this case the ubiquitous CR2032, rather than rechargeable batteries.

The battery in the Sparkle 2 will last for around 6 months, ensuring that the tool is constantly affixed to you, tracking your activity as well as sleep, 24-hours a day. I have actually lost matter of the variety of times I have actually left my fitness tracker in the house because it was demanding up overnight-- that's merely not an issue with a Misfit device.

The Luster 2 tracks the steps you take as well as approximates the distance you have actually taken a trip and the calories shed based on that data. It will certainly also track your sleep, logging deep and also light sleep, and also when you wake during the night.

There's no altimeter functionality constructed into the Sparkle 2, so it will not count the air travels of staircases you climb every day. This is a shame, given that trackers that log the staircases you climb up do encourage you to give up lifts and escalators, therefore including in your everyday activity.

In its favour, the Shine 2 does automatically detect activity when you begin on much kind of exercise. Start running and it'll find out that you're battering the pavement as well as log your run appropriately. The Sparkle 2 will additionally log your swims-- it's waterproof to 50m, so you truly could use it anywhere, anytime.

The Misfit app additionally provides you an indicator of what task you 'd should perform in order to strike your daily goal-- 45m walk, 15m run, 20m swim, and so on. This is great if you're obtaining near the end of the day and wish to press on over the finish line.

Talking of the finish line, Misfit doesn't use the typical step count day-to-day objective that a lot of various other physical fitness trackers use. Rather you've obtained a points complete to strike, with the conventional overall being 1,000 factors. Naturally you still rack up those points by taking steps, however it excels to be different.

The actual benefit to using Misfit points instead of a fundamental action total amount is that the Misfit points take into consideration the strength of your activity. So while most fitness trackers will certainly just count actions whether you're walking or running, Misfit will certainly award you with even more factors if your task is much more intensive.

Another plus point for the Shine 2 is its accuracy-- the distance approximates given by the Sparkle 2 are uncannily exact. Certainly, a pedometer-based tracker will never be as precise as a gadget with GENERAL PRACTITIONER built-in, however Misfit's sensors as well as algorithms definitely do a quite great task of judging how much you're walking or running.

The Sparkle 2 has 12 LEDs running around it, every one represents a 12th of your daily goal-- tapping the Shine 2 will certainly lead to some or every one of those LEDs lighting, relying on how close you are to your daily goal. Those LEDs will also reveal you the time, approximately speaking at the very least, with a strong light representing the hr as well as a blinking one the minutes.

Misfit has fitted vibration signals right into that super-slim casing. You can establish the Luster 2 to ringing when you have actually been inactive for also lengthy-- you would certainly marvel exactly how long you sit static for over an hour throughout the day. You could additionally establish quiet alarms so when you get up early, your partner doesn't have to.

The Luster 2 will also ringing when your phone is calling, or when you get a text message. Without any screen, you obviously cannot see that's calling you, or what the message claims yet it's an actually useful extra if you have a tendency to maintain your phone in your bag and also typically miss telephone calls because of it. Continues on Page 2 ...

[cupofcuntea-blog]

The Notorious Ali Doom is Socals premiere burlesque, body positive, animal loving bio queen. You can catch Ali hosting "The Garter Lounge" at 340 Club and co-hosting "Whore Haus" at Redline in DTLA.

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FULL INTERVIEW ALSO AVAILABLE UNDER THE CUT!

1. Who is Ali Doom?

Ali Doom is all about body positivity, animal activism, glamour and stiff drinks.  She's not afraid to show too much skin.  She loves to wear tons of makeup.  She loves to go thrifting even if she doesn't make a purchase.  She loves to try to turn you on.  She loves shaking what God and Del Taco gave her.  She's a nudist and a sadist.  She loves brunch dates and 32oz Diet Cokes.

2. When and why did you begin doing drag? 

I started my performance career in 2009 but I was doing burlesque.  I loved it though.  I loved making my own outfits and coming up with new acts, etc.  There was always something missing though.  A lot of showgirls just wear the cat eyeliner and red, bold lip which isn't bad but I wanted more.  I wanted to be over the top.  That's when I discovered drag.  I saw RPDR on TV and I was immediately intrigued and that's what I wanted to be like, a drag queen.  They had big hair, big costumes, big personas.  That's what I wanted. So, that was in 2012, when I got into the whole drag scene and I remember I would go to drag shows alone because all of my straight girl friends didn't want to spend their weekends at gay bars.  After a while I started befriending queens and other fans of drag...the rest is history.

3. How did you come up with your drag name? 

There is no epic story around this but basically my cousin called herself Gabby Doom so I started calling myself Ali Doom.  The whole "Notorious" thing is pretty self explanatory.  So, that was that: Notorious Ali Doom.

4. Where does your inspiration come from? 

I get my inspiration from anywhere and everywhere.  When I was younger my mother would talk about the shows in Vegas where the showgirls were all done up in huge headdresses and rhinestones.  She would tell me they were so beautiful that you would barely notice that they were topless.  That's where most of the curiosity came from.  In the beginning of my performance career it was all about burlesque and showgirls, etc.  I also drew a lot of inspiration from my favorite drag queen, Raven, because she is seriously a chameleon she can do glam, comedy, dark glam, club kid, camp, etc.  I wish I could be as versatile as she is.  Now, I'm surrounded by so many creative individuals so I draw my inspiration from my drag family and my fellow performer friends.

5. What would you say is the most unique thing you have to offer? 

"A nice round butt and a pair of DD's" LOL in a nut shell.  I think I provide a lot of inspiration for women who don't feel confidant because they don't fit into society's mold of what is considered beautiful.  I'm a big woman and I exude confidence.  That's what I want people to take away from my performances.  I want them to be turned on and tantalized, of course, but I also want them to see that all bodies are beautiful.  I'm 202lbs, and I love my body, imperfections and all. 

6. What is your most embarrassing moment? 

RECENTLY, I was performing at D'Vil Dance Haus at Ripples in Long Beach and my wig flew off while I was performing.  I might have drank too much, I didn't glue her down and I obviously didn't pin her well enough.  That's the T.  You'd think it would be the time that one of my nipple pasties flew off, but no, if you're lucky enough to see one of my nipples consider yourself blessed.

7. How did you start the Doom family? Who is in the Doom family?

Frankie claimed me!  Not many people know this but the first time Frankie did drag she dressed up as me!  I knew I wanted a drag daughter and I had posted that on social media and Frankie basically shut that down and was very "Uh, no, I'm your daughter the search is over!" LOL  The Doom family isn't just drag performers though.  Lady Forbidden and Fasique are drag queens that are my sisters so they are a part of it.  Forbidden is very in your face, fetish, stripper, badass drag and Fasique is just fucking gorgeous I fucking hate her.  LOL  There's Krustyna Clown, who is a scary sex clown, Logan Doom who is a drag king,  Vivian Hart-Doom who is a modelesque, bearded queen, Matt our cute gogo boy and my henchmen Jacob and Edgar who basically just are my handsome escorts who I bribe with booze.  We're a good time.

8.  How long have you been apart of The Garter Lounge? When did you first start working at Whore  Haus? 

Garter Lounge will be two years old this July (2017) so I am patting myself on the back big time for that one. Whore Haus was my first gig with drag queens.  St. Peter D'Vil befriended me and added me to her group of alternative drag misfits.  That's also how I met Lady Forbidden.  Whore Haus was at 340 at the time but we are a traveling circus and it quickly moved to Los Globos, Micky's and we are currently on the move but that's all I can share on that subject. *wink*  I co-host Whore Haus with Peter so that in itself was a huge accomplishment for me because let's be honest the only gay things that women host are usually lesbian nights but I co-host an amazing drag show with alternative drag queens and creatures of the night.  

9. As a bioqueen up and coming in the community how have you been treated? What is your advice for future bio and drag queens and kings. 

I have been treated with nothing but respect.  I hear so many horror stories about drag queens treating bioqueens like shit and that just simply hasn't happened to me.  I would like to think that my performances speak for themselves and that I am entertaining, that's how I keep getting booked.  My advice is to not give up.  At the end of the day this is your art and not everyone will like it but other people's opinions of you shouldn't validate you.  When I first started out I wasn't booked, I would just go out all done up and people would notice.  It's as simple as that.  Just find your confidence and people will be attracted to that. 

10. What is your favorite makeup brand?

Anything vegan or cruelty free!!!!  I will be honest though, it's freaking hard to be completely cruelty free.  Jeffree Star lipsticks are my absolute favorite!  My signature color is Designer Blood.  I also love Kat Von D's products they are wonderful.  I have been using her foundation and it is just amazing.  Her brushes are amazing as well.  I'm a huge fan of Tarte cosmetics too!  My go to product would have to be Kat's foundation, some Coty powder (old school drag queen makeup),  Kat's contour palette, the Anastasia Beverly Hills "Modern Renaissance" eyeshadow palette, some 301's (stacked!), and Tarte's gel liner.  I forgot to mention Melt Cosmetics!  OMG their eyeshadow stacks are so dope I love them. 

11. What is your opinion on RPDR? Has it ruined drag or made it better?RPDR changed my life, it's safe to say.  Without the show I would've never have been interested in drag.  The fans can be so cruel though and that's where I think it has hindered us.  Death threats and telling contestants to kill themselves is not how we as fans should be represented.  This is supposed to be fun, granted it's a competition and people feel very passionate about it but still, there are lines that should never be crossed and they have been.  It has made drag more mainstream and with that maybe a tad more acceptable...hell my mom watches the show!  I would like to think the positive outweighs the negative but who knows?  I'm glad drag is somewhat more socially acceptable but it's also made people get real ugly.

12. Do you think that RPDR is ready for a bioqueen? 

No, people may not agree but I don't think so.  Give us our own show!  That would be cool.  If they let us try out for the show I would gladly submit an audition tape for it but I'd rather be on a show specifically made for us...

13. If your drag persona was a superhero, what super power would you have?

Invisibility so that I could walk around nude!  LOL just tits out watching you grocery shop.  Could you imagine? 

14. If you got on RPDR, who would you play for snatch game? 

Kat Von D.  I love her and I admire her so but she is pretty easy to make fun of.  I'd pretend to call up Jeffree Star and cuss him out.  Or I would post all of my relationship drama on Twitter.  Or I would pretend to use a non vegan product and claim that it was burning my face.  The possibilities are endless!!!  I have the voice down too.  When I was thinner and had dark hair people would always say I look like her!  I obviously don't see it, lately people say I look like GAGA, I also don't see that as well.  I just look like me guys...