#the scientific name is so ugly i love it... it also just FITS so well.. sounds so pretty with her full name.

[neverwednesday]

i’ve decided wednesday’s middle name is brugmansia.... angel’s trumpet... 

[deerydear]

Idle musings of a sour note:

Tumblr has a strange culture. I've enjoyed a lot of stories in my time... Yet, to come onto tumblr and find other people discussing them.... disgusting them...

"Other people", of course. I could play some grim, ugly refrain, giving names to this-and-that...

"I name you... ugly-monkey-butt! ......and I name you.... Poopoo Papa!"

lol.

So, "fandoms" (fan-kingdoms) can build around a story. They may develop their own "fanon" (fan-canon; i.e. things that do not actually happen in the story, but which are memetically-propagated within the culture of the fandom.)

So how do these fandoms propagate?

I feel that a big 'factor' is in people who have not actually read the Original story... or perhaps they "found out about the story through the influence of fandom", and so they may have been primed by the fanonical lense applied to it -- to already react to the events in the story a certain way.

This is why I cherish those stories that I read in the times before I founded a blog. I didn't 'instantly-react', I didn't update my blog to say: "HOLY SHIT GUYS! THIS IS CRAZY!"

It was me with my nose in the book, immersed in an intercourse with the characters of the story.

Now, are there interesting stories inspired by other stories? Yes, of course. Many authors have been inspired by art.

There is a difference in ecosystem between a "fan-collective", and a singular fan, and a small group of friends who discuss something together.

I get a very 'oppressive sense' from tumblr, and I always have, since I discovered it. Yet, there is also boundless creativity to be found on the world wide web... so what will I do?

i feel a good balance of nice energy & rude energy cioming through the monitor at me, and i think i will stay online for about 3 more hours. --- wint@dril

fucking lab rats drinking morphine-laced water when they're kept alone, and preferring normal water when they're socially-engaged. (both sets of rats have a choice of drink)

....but can't anything have a 'fanonical lense', so to speak?

Such as... trying to interpret the results of a scientific experiment. Just like what I just said... the way I phrased it. How I related it to my own set of experiences... that's all... so...

human.

I think I have a deep antipathy for ....something. I thought "the human race", but then I recoiled from that. Its more about the 'cultures' of people. Sick, empty, impoverished of meaning. Is this all a result of "the greater system at work"? Don't people have a choice in where their own lives go?

Yes, well, at the same time.... the product ends up very ugly if you try to force people to change.

Even if they acqueisce, agree, follow you enthusiastically... it just is not natural. Believe me, I've tried. I learned my lesson. Even myself: I guillessly followed a few self-assured idiots, and only through realizing that my "new output" had become irredeemably ugly, did I ever put it down. Who cares about heartless, intellectual arguments, in the face of beauty? Beauty is intellect that becomes integrated into the sense world. It's deeper... Simplicity.

In the theoretical realm, I sound really mean. -- like I'm just 'berating fans for no reason'. but if I showed an example.... hm, well what inspired me to write this?

continue reading...

A few people have written offshoot stories where the child B had loved the child A, and mourned their death. This became a popular 'fanon': that idea of a motive for revenge against L.

....but, I find that so.... saccharine.... cloying. Stupid. Perhaps that feeling stems from my own detachment from social bonds, wherefore I........

Well, actually...

My question is:

"Do you think you can replace Madness?"

As I see it, Grief is an exhaustible motive. Eventually you will get sick, and sick of paring yourself down and down to fit into the box of the "Victim", the "Underdog who is supposed to overtake the Suppressor".

what if you were doing things just to see what happened?

what if life was an experiment?

as yelyahnaloj said today, it's good to think of an experiment as telling a story. it cannot be separate from the context within which it took. At least... not without sacrificing data.

So maybe this child was inspired by what he saw going on around in life.

I think that human relations can be much more complex than simply "love" or "hate", or shades in-between. After all, we have Sadism and Masochism, which seem to light up both centers at once.

...feeling for another person can be "layered". Perhaps the ones "on top", (i.e. conscious) are not Falsities.... Are there rules to human cognition? Who is to say I haven't loved someone who I also hated so, so much. I was glad when he died, even though I love him. I still love him. People are more than paper.

Perhaps "fandom" can seem strangely neutered. After all, a blogger may want to "portray a good face". So-called "social-justice culture" is endemic to this website...

Actually, no, I think it's just a welcoming host. From what I heard, SJWism (and the annoying, cloying attitudes) may have originated (in their recent forms)... on the Something Awful webforums.

I think vanity is ugly.

I relate very much to Czesław Miłosz's profile of Beta:

"When I met Beta in 1942, he was twenty years old. He was a lively boy with black, intelligent eyes. The palms of his hands perspired, and there was that exaggerated shyness in his behavior that usually be­speaks immense ambition. Behind his words one felt a mixture of arrogance and humility. In conversation he seemed inwardly convinced of his own superi­ority; he attacked ferociously yet retreated immedi­ately, bashfully hiding his claws. His ripostes were full of pent-up irony. Probably, though, these char­acteristics were most pronounced when he spoke with me or with other writers older than he. As a beginning poet, he felt he owed them a certain re­spect, but actually he believed they were none too deserving of it. He knew better; in him lay the prom­ise of a truly great writer.

In 1942 in Warsaw, we were living without hope, or rather on a hope we knew to be a delusion. The empire which had absorbed our country was so mighty that only an incorrigible optimist could be­lieve in the possibility of a totally vanquished Ger­many. Nazi plans in regard to our nation were per­fectly clear: to exterminate the educated class, to colonize, and to deport a segment of the population to the East.

Beta was one of the young people who started writing during the War, in the language of slaves. He supported himself by various odd jobs. It is hard to define exactly how people earn a living in a city completely outside the law. Usually they took half-ficti­tious posts in an office or factory that supplied them with a work-card plus the opportunity to operate a black market or to steal, which was not regarded as immoral because it injured the Germans. At the same time, he studied in the underground university and shared the exuberant life of the resistance youth. He went to meetings where he and the other young peo­ple drank vodka, argued heatedly about literature and politics, and read illegal publications.

But he smiled scornfully at his comrades; he saw things more clearly than they. He found their patriotic zeal for battle against the Germans a purely irrational reflex. Battle-yes, but in the name of what? None of these young people believed any longer in democracy. Most of the countries of East­ern Europe had been semi-dictatorships before the War; and the parliamentary system seemed to belong to a dead era. There was no question as to how one came into power; whoever wanted to take over au­thority had only to seize it by force, or else create a "movement" to exert pressure on the government for admittance into a coalition. This was an age of nationalist "movements," and Warsaw youth was still very much under their influence even though, ob­viously, it had no sympathy for either Hitler or Mus­solini. Its reasoning was confused. The Polish nation was oppressed by the Germans; so, one had to fight. When Beta declared that they were merely counter­ing German nationalism with Polish nationalism, his comrades shrugged their shoulders. When he asked what values they wanted to defend or on what prin­ciples Europe was to be built in the future, he got no reply.

Here indeed was a well of darkness: no hope of liberation, and no vision of tomorrow. A battle for battle's sake. A return to the pre-war status quo, bad though it had been, was to be the reward for those who might live to see the victory of the Anglo-Saxons. This lack of any sort of vision led him to see the world as a place in which nothing existed out­side of naked force. It was a world of decline and fall. And the liberals of the older generation, mouth­ing nineteenth-century phrases about respect for man-while all about them hundreds of thousands of people were being massacred-were fossil remains.

Beta had no faith, religious or other, and he had the courage to admit it in his poems. He ran off his first volume of verse on a mimeograph machine. No sooner had I received his book and pried apart its sticky pages than I realized that here was a real poet. The reading of his hexameters was not, how­ever, a joyous undertaking. The streets of occupied Warsaw were gloomy. Underground meetings in cold and smoky rooms, when one listened for the sound of Gestapo boots on the stairs, were like grim rituals conducted in catacombs. We were living at the bot­tom of a huge crater, and the sky far up above was the only element we shared with the other people on the face of the earth. All this was in his verse-gray­ness, fog, gloom, and death. Still his was not a poetry of grievance but of icy stoicism. The poems of this entire generation lacked faith. Their fundamental motif was a call to arms and a vision of death. Unlike young poets of other epochs, they did not see death as a romantic theme but as a real presence. Almost all these young writers of Warsaw died before the end of the War either at the hands of the Gestapo or in battle. None of them, however, questioned the meaning of sacrifice to the same degree as did he. "There will remain after us only scrap-iron and the hollow, jeering laughter of generations," he wrote in one of his verses.

His poetry had in it none of that affirmation of the world that is present in the sympathy with which the artist portrays, for example, an apple or a tree. What his verse disclosed was a profoundly disturbed equilibrium. One can divine a great deal from a work of art, e.g. that the world of Bach or of Breughel was ordered, arranged hierarchically. Modem art reflects the disequilibrium of modem society in that it so often springs from a blind passion vainly seeking to sate itself in form, color, or sound. An artist can contemplate sensual beauty only when he loves all that surrounds him on earth. But if all he feels is loathing at the discrepancy between what he would wish the world to be and what it is in reality, then he is incapable of standing still and beholding. He is ashamed of reflexes of love; he is condemned to perpetual motion, to a restless sketching of discon­tinued, broken observations of nature. Like a sleep­walker, he loses his balance as soon as he stops mov­ing. Beta's poems were whirlpools of fog, saved from complete chaos only by the dry rhythm of his hexameters. This character of his poetry must be attributed at least in part to the fact that he belonged to an ill-fated generation in an ill-fated nation, but he had thousands of brothers in all the countries of Europe, all of them passionate and deceived.

Unlike his comrades who acted out of loyalty to their fatherland, on Christian or vague metaphysical grounds, he needed a rational basis for action. When the Gestapo arrested him in 1943, it was rumored in our city that he was taken as the result of an "acci­dent" to one of the left-wing groups. If life in War­saw was little reminiscent of paradise, then Beta now found himself in the lower circle of hell: the "con­centration universe." In what was then the normal order of events, he spent several months in jail be­fore being shipped off to Auschwitz. Incredibly, he managed to survive there for two years. When the Red Army drew near, he and the other prisoners were transported to Dachau, and there they were eventually set free by the Americans. We learned of all this only after the War, when he published a vol­ume of stories recounting his experiences."

[...]

"I have read many books about concentration camps, but not one of them is as terrifying as his sto­ries because he never moralizes, he relates. A special social hierarchy comes into being in a "concentra­tion universe." At the top stand the camp authorities; after them come prisoners trusted by the administra­tion; next come the prisoners clever enough to find means of getting sufficient food to keep up their strength. At the bottom stand the weak and clumsy, who daily tumble lower as their undernourished or­ganisms fail to bear up under the work. In the end they die, either in the gas chamber or from an in­jection of phenol. Obviously this hierarchy does not include the masses of people killed immediately upon their arrival, i.e. the Jews, except for those who were single and especially fit for work. In his stories, Beta clearly defines his social position. He belonged to the caste of clever and healthy prisoners, and he brags about his cunning and agility. Life in a concentration camp requires constant alertness; every moment can decide one's life or death. In order to react appro­priately at all times, one must know where danger lies and how to escape it: sometimes by blind obedi­ence, sometimes by calculated negligence, some­times by blackmail or bribery.

[...]

"In the abundant literature of atrocity of the twentieth century, one rarely finds an account writ­ten from the point of view of an accessory to the crime. Authors are usually ashamed of this role. But collaboration is an empty word as applied to a con­centration camp. The machine is impersonal; respon­sibility shifts from those who carry out orders to those higher, always higher. Beta's stories about the "transport" should, I believe, be included in all an­thologies of literature dealing with the lot of man in totalitarian society, if ever such anthologies are compiled."

[...]

"Beta is a nihilist in his stories, but by that I do not mean that he is amoral. On the contrary, his nihilism results from an ethical passion, from dis­appointed love of the world and of humanity. He wants to go the limit in describing what he saw; he wants to depict with complete accuracy a world in which there is no longer any place for indignation. The human species is naked in his stories, stripped of those tendencies toward good which last only so long as the habit of civilization lasts. But the habit of civilization is fragile; a sudden change in circum­stances, and humanity reverts to its primeval sav­agery. How deluded are those respectable citizens who, striding along the streets of English or American cities, consider themselves men of virtue and goodness! Of course, it is easy to condemn a woman who would abandon her child in order to save her own life. This is a monstrous act. Yet a woman who, while reading on her comfortable sofa, judges her unfortunate sister should pause to consider whether fear would not be stronger than love within her, if she too were faced with horror. Perhaps it would, perhaps not -- who can foretell? But the "concentration universe" also contained many human beings who spurred themselves to the noblest acts, who died to protect others. None of them figure in Beta's stories. His attention is fixed not on man -- man is simply an animal that wants to live -but on "concentration society." Prisoners are ruled by a special ethic: it is permissible to harm others, provided they harm you first. Beyond this unwritten contract, every man saves himself as best he can. We would search in vain for pictures of human solidarity in Beta's book. The truth about his behavior in Auschwitz, according to his fellow-prisoners, is ut­terly different from what his stories would lead one to suppose; he acted heroically, and was a model of comradeship. But he wants to be tough; and he does not spare himself in his desire to observe soberly and impartially. He is afraid of lies; and it would be a lie to present himself as an observer who judged, when in reality he, though striving to preserve his in­tegrity, felt subjected to all the laws of degradation. As narrator, he endows himself with the qualities which pass as assets in a concentration camp: clever­ness and enterprise. Thanks to the element of "class" war between the weak and the strong, wherein he did not deviate from the truth, his stories are extraor­dinarily brutal."

Here, you can keep reading the rest of his story, including what I left out in the beginning.

I first heard this story being told by another man, through his voice. These were not words on a screen, they had come alive. He was a Polish man. He understood the horror.

"I have no way of knowing the inner-workings of his mind."

I appreciate Mello's honesty.

Yet...

"How deeply do I grasp my own mind?"

....of my own choice?

Is it in Action? Is it in Theory?

Perhaps both, in some ways.

I'll end with some commentary on the 45th passage of the Tao te Ching.

[oncillabrigade]

Alright, for @beeceit and anyone else curious:

Machatunim is the Yiddish word (and I think also the Hebrew word? My family are only Yiddish speakers) for your kid's parents-in-law. They're sort of like your counterparts on the other side of the wedding party. So if Kon, son of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent, married Tim, son of Bruce Wayne, then Bruce's machatunim would be Lex and Clark, and vice versa. (Well, Bruce is just one person, so technically he'd be their machitin. That's the masculine singular, meaning your kid's father-in-law.)

In Ashkenazi Jewish culture (aka Bruce's heritage on his mom's side), your machatunim and all your child's other in-laws are people you consider part of your family, which I think fits with B saying "I'm still pretending that you wouldn't hurt me this way" (an extremely Jewish parental take imo).

Because machatunim is a Yiddish word, there's no one correct way to spell it in the letters English uses. Yiddish is natively written with the same characters as Hebrew. But don't worry: YIVO is here to help!

YIVO is the Yidisher Visnshaftlekher Institut, which is Yiddish for "Yiddish Scientific Institute," and their mission is to study, celebrate, promote, and preserve Yiddish and Ashkenazi culture generally. They have come up with their own standardized way of writing Yiddish with the Roman alphabet... and a lot of people hate it because it's ugly and unintuitive for English speakers (the majority of YIVO's community).

For instance, how does one pronounce the word" khanike"? The way that I, someone who's been around Yiddish my entire life, would guess you say it is "kuh-nayk? Cha-Nike, like the shoe company/goddess?"

And I would be wrong! It's said Hanukkah. Khanike is how YIVO suggests you spell Hanukkah.

Another example: here's how I would describe saying machatunim to English speakers:

1) Say "macha" like you're combining the word matcha with Mach (as in the unit of speed)

2) Say "tun" with the same u as in "put" (or the double o in took)

3) Say "im" like in "let's get 'im!"

And there you have it! Machatunim = Mach-uh-TUHN-im! Not a perfect spelling, but pretty decent, right?

Meanwhile YIVO spells it makhetunim. Not as bad as khanike, but personally I look at that and think "must be a pharaoh's name," not "ah, yes, this is a word I already know in Yiddish."

So who the hell put YIVO in charge of this?! Well, no one. Jewish culture and religion both reject central authority and encourage the traditions of asking questions and entering into honest debate and discussion over differing points of view. Some Jewish historical communities even required that if a jury were unanimously agreed that someone was guilty of a crime that was punished by death sentence, they should not be found guilty on the principle that if not a single educated, adult Jew in a group has a different opinion, there must be facts missing from the discussion.

All the same, humans gonna human, and people get defensive around practicing a culture that's been under attack for literal millennia. Lots of Jews in the US (and elsewhere, but I'm speaking to my USian experiences) love to play the "I'm less assimilated than you" game and hold knowledge of "correct" Yiddish over each other's heads. YIVO unfortunately plays a role in that. If you're fighting with another Yid about what spelling to use in the synagogue newsletter, the person using the "standardized" spelling invented by and for American Jews is gonna have the edge.

Thus, I'm suggesting that:

1) Bruce, a man who questions everything as a Jew, a detective, and a contrary little shit, would have a BIG problem with YIVO declaring themselves the ultimate authority on Yiddish, and an even bigger one with people who use a well-intentioned cultural institution's attempt to preserve and revive the Yiddish language as a cudgel to attack other members of the Jewish community.

2) Dick got this lecture for the first time (but not the last!) when he was a third grader who wanted to know how to spell "Happy Hanukkah" on a card for his legal guardian... He has still not recovered.

And now, Jewish Batman nerd... AWAY!

Bruce: Connor Kent, the only reason I haven't become your step-father and ground you for your insubordination is because that would make Lex Luthor my in-law somehow, and my heart can't handle that.

Tim: Uh B? Kon and I are-

Bruce: Don't say it. I'm still pretending that you wouldn't hurt me this way

Connor: I feel about 50% offended

Tim: Well, you're 50% Luthor, so that makes sense

[adamwatchesmovies]

I, Frankenstein (2014)

I’m certain that somewhere, a bunch of teens will see I, Frankenstein and love it. Not enough to rewatch it frequently but enough to form warm memories of it. Like a fine wine aging, the nostalgia will grow more powerful over time. Any blemishes their under-developed brain noticed will fade until one day, I’ll be there to tell them “oh, you remember liking this movie? Sure I’ll watch it with you!”

After the events of Mary Shelley’s novel, the monster (Aaron Eckhart) discovers his artificial birth places him in the middle of a secret war that has been going on for centuries. 200 years later, the demon prince Naberius (Bill Nighy) and his hellish followers are on the verge of creating an army of soulless minions to defeat the gargoyles who protect mankind. An innocent scientist name Tara Wade (Yvonne Strahovski) is stuck in the middle when she resumes Victor Frankenstein’s research to create life.

There are things I’m willing to forgive this movie for, others that I cannot. The Frankenstein Monster not aging is fine. Demons and Angels and Gargoyles fighting for mankind, the business about special weapons needing to be used by/against the celestial creatures is fine. It's the premise; the movie's got to happen SOMEHOW. I don’t care for the blending of the scientific and the fantastical in my Frankenstein fan fictions, but it could be interesting if well done.

This picture is more concerned with being “cool” than telling an actual story. Why is it demons vs. gargoyles instead of angels? because the former would be too generic. Not that the gargoyles are any different from angels since they even fly and pray. The clear comparison is with films like Blade and Underworld. In those stories, it makes sense for the creatures of the night to hide from humanity. They operated better if people believed they were mythological creatures. Why do the gargoyles operate in secrecy? I don't know. The concept of a “secret war” gets dropped halfway through anyway. I’m certain potential sequels would pretend that’s not the case, but after the rampant destruction in open streets, the next morning’s newspapers all around the world would read on the front page “Demons are REAL! Convert today and believe in our Gargoyle defenders! (page 1-3, 9, 11-14) Also, legendary Scientist Dr. Frankenstein no longer consider a myth, see pages 4-8”.

I, Frankenstein exists in a realm where there is no logic, only potential for style. The gargoyles fight with medieval weapons, or weapons inspired by the Middle Ages that are so stylized they become cumbersome to wield. They should at least be fighting with weapons they can use from the air, far away from the gravity-bound demons, so how about bows and arrows, or slings if they can’t use guns? Oh right, I forgot that fights where humans shoot at each other aren’t nearly as visually impressive (not to a thirteen-year-old anyway) as chaotic brawls where flying rock monsters are getting dog-piled while swinging swords and using elbow knives to defend themselves.

I know it’s the criticism everyone will start with, but how am I supposed to believe that Frankenstein’s Monster was ostracized and hated on-sight when he isn't ugly? Frankenstein’s Monster is nothing more than a handsome, ripped Aaron Eckhart with some scars on his face and body. He fits right at home next to Beastly. The demons he fights against, they’re downright lame. Regular people with makeup uncannily similar to the kind we saw in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The gargoyles are better - it beats seeing guys with feathered wings again - but to me, the fact that they can appear human makes them ten times duller. And it makes the movie look cheap.

I, Frankenstein has the good grace of never being boring. Combined with some good-looking fights and special effect sequences, it allows me to award it a lone star. In terms of plot, it never deviates from the mold. The instant you see a character you’ll be able to tell “Bad Guy”, “Love Interest”, “Traitor” or “Checkpoint Boss”. It’s a soulless patchwork of other movies put together. You get the Underworld plot, throw in some generic bad guys whose motivation is “being evil”. Add in a love interest, a reluctant protagonist who is "deep" and mysterious because he’s lived for ages but just wants to be left alone, cake on the special effects, and introduce us to a mythology that looks shiny on the outside but has no weight to it. There you go, you have I, Frankenstein. (On DVD, December 13, 2015)

[riviae]

There it is again, Geralt thinks. That damn smile. 

It should terrify him—the echoes of safety and warmth that drift into his mind at the sight of too-sharp teeth. How the reminder of Regis’ inhumanness softens his gaze, slows his heart rate, relaxes the tension from his muscles. The enormity of emotion he felt whenever the vampire showed his fangs, all laughter and mirth, dark eyes twinkling at him with something akin to adoration. 

(Not that Geralt knew much about being adored—he knew what hatred looked like, what it meant when someone spat at him, called him a mutated freak with the stench of beer and bile on their breath. But love? The witcher did not know much about love except that it did not suit him; it couldn’t, even if he desperately wanted it to.) 

But nothing about Regis scared him anymore. Never had, really, if he was being honest with himself. 

“Is something the matter, my friend?” Regis asks, smile dissipating slowly until there is only the suggestion of a grin on his face, lips pulled into a thin line. It is a minuscule shift, but Geralt feels it in the way the vampire curls away, makes a wall out of his bended knees, pressing them close to his chest as he clasped his hands together. 

It was like Regis had closed a door between them. There had been a brief moment where the door had been left ajar, where Geralt had been given a glimpse into the sanctuary of Regis’ mind, a place where his monstrous features simply existed, no expectations or fears pressed upon them. His fangs were just fangs, a natural extension of himself, as benign as the crooked shape of his nose or the onyx color of his eyes. It was Regis allowing himself to be seen for who—and what—he was, no more self-imposed barriers between himself and the world. And then, just as suddenly as the door had been opened, the vampire had slammed it shut. 

Shit, Geralt curses to himself. How do I keep fucking this up? “Sorry. Just got lost in my head.” 

“Hmm… I do wonder what kind of profound thoughts plague the famed witcher Geralt of Rivia. Perhaps something about what our company will be having for dinner?” Regis smiled, but his teeth remained hidden even as he continued to speak, tone light. “I, for one, could most certainly go for soup. Perhaps fish again?” 

The witcher resists the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious teasing. Instead, he offers a small, crooked grin in return. He feels some of the tension slacken in his chest. Maybe he hadn’t scared Regis away—at least not completely. “It shouldn’t be a problem for a higher vampire to catch some fish, right? Something tells me that you’d probably be able to breathe just fine underwater.” 

At his words, Regis’ features twist into a decidedly unpleased expression. “Please, Geralt, you know better than that. I can’t breathe underwater—I’m no siren or mermaid. Rather, you know that I have no physiological need to breathe, except to, of course, talk, sing, or admonish our group whenever they needlessly put their lives at risk.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, vampire. Don’t get your fangs caught in a twist.” 

“That’s rather rich coming from a man who can see clearly in complete darkness.” 

“Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Regis,” Geralt drawls. “Huh, I don’t know how I never noticed before, but your eyes really do glow in the dark.” 

The vampire’s face brightened and Geralt immediately knew he was in for an impromptu lecture. “Ah, they actually glow due to the addition of a thin membrane that lies just behind the retina. The tapetum lucidum acts as a light reflector, allowing light to reenter the retina, thereby activating photoreceptors and relaying these external signals to the occipital lobe. This ultimately improves one’s ability to see in low light environments and it is why diurnal species, like humans for example, do not usually have the membrane because they are neither nocturnal nor crepuscular and would not benefit as much. Also, the color an animal’s eye shine differs from species to species, but interestingly, all vampires regardless of classification possess a silver to grey shine.” 

“That’s a long, fancy way of saying that some species evolved specialized membranes to see in the dark so they can hunt better at night.”

“Why yes, I suppose that is a rather fitting summary…” Regis trails, his curious gaze drifting to Geralt’s face. “Do you know that you, as a witcher, have an eye shine as well—a color that can be seen without the aid of a reflective light source?” 

The witcher blinks. “No… are you serious?” 

He hadn’t been too rigorous with his readings when it came to all the ways the trials had mutated his body. By the time he had left Kaer Morhen and its monopoly of scientific artifacts, Geralt had wanted nothing more to do with anything that reminded him of how truly inhuman he was. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious now, his years on the Path softening the trauma of the Trial of Grasses to a degree where he no longer woke up from nightmares where the overwhelming scent of sweat, blood, and tears seemed all too real. It was a trauma that weighed on the edge of his mind, quiet and sated with time, but existed all the same. 

“Yes. Your eyes glow a rather beautiful gold—quite fitting, given your eye color. It’s likely imperceptible to humans or even witchers, but it may explain why you seem to more readily cause people to keep their distance at night. There’s something about you that seems dangerous, but they’d be unable to name it as anything other than, perhaps, that you give off a threatening aura.” 

“And here I thought it was my ugly mug and charming personality that was driving people away.” 

“Geralt,” Regis begins, “While I’m usually quite a fan of your sarcastic wit, you are often entirely too harsh on yourself. There’s nothing about you that is ugly—neither in physical features nor personality. I mean it. You are so much more than a man who hunts monsters.” His serious tone brokered no argument. 

The witcher rubs at his neck, purposefully avoiding Regis’ stalwart gaze. What could he say? Self-loathing came as naturally to him as holding a sword. But, it was actually rather pleasant to hear someone speak otherwise. To find merit in him as a person rather than in his capacity as a witcher. 

“Thanks,” he eventually said, letting the dull hum of cicadas fill the night air. He heard Regis shift, the scent of herbs growing stronger, and then, suddenly, there was a hand at his shoulder. The vampire squeezed his shoulder gently, his nails only giving the briefest indication of their sharpness as they ghosted over the thin white fabric of his shirt. 

“You’re welcome, Geralt. I’ll always be at your side to remind you of your better nature—of who you really are.”

The witcher did something he had wanted to do ever since he saw the lone arrow pierce through the vampire’s chest. When he had thought for a horrifying few moments that Regis had been seriously injured, only to see the man sit up later, the wound closing almost immediately after the arrow was pulled out. When Geralt had felt the swell of genuine relief in the midst of the battle, he wished he could have hugged the vampire. 

When he pulls Regis into a hug, he feels the vampire stiffen for a brief second, his analytical mind likely rattled with surprise at the sudden gesture of affection, before he hugs back, wisps of grey-black hair tickling Geralt’s cheek. He leans into Geralt’s touch easily, a pleased chuckle leaving his lips, his hot breath fanning at the witcher’s neck. Regis closes his eyes in contentment, silent, letting his actions speak for him. Trust, Geralt realizes. Regis trusts me. A vampire trusts a witcher who, at one time, pointed a sword against his throat. The thought warms his chest in a way that he can’t quite explain, at least not now, not with the weight of Regis resting against him. But above all, he was pleased to have a vampire pressed against him even though he was unarmed and without his usual wolf-school armor. 

Geralt eventually clears his throat, arms still wrapped around the vampire.  “Also… you don’t have to hide your smile, Regis. Not around me. Sorry if I made you think otherwise.” He wanted to say more, to be as open and honest as he should be, but the words wouldn’t leave his tongue. Not yet. But he thought them all the same. 

And because we’re friends, because I care about you, I want to know you—all of you. Not the walls you hide behind. I trust you, Regis. Nothing will change that. 

In return, the vampire pulls away and smiles, showing off his sharp, pointed teeth. It made something in Geralt’s slow-beating heart flutter, but the witcher didn’t feel panicked or anxious. Instead, he leaned into the feeling—a feeling that he was not afraid to call love.

[calliecat93]

One of the biggest criticisms of Volume 4, if not the biggest criticism, was it usage of multiple plotlines. While an ambitious idea, the balance was really off which really affected the pacing. It felt like everything was scattered around and like things were being dragged out, or not even given as much attention as needed. But it looks like with Volume 8, CRWBY is getting a chance to try it again. One advantage is having all the relevant characters in tow main groups so only two major plotlines to focus on. This chapter focuses on RWBNP as they break into the Atlas Military Facility. How will it go? Well... since this is late you already know, but I’m gonna blab anyhow. Enjoy~

Overview

Team RWBNPM have made it into the military compound and Penny has located where the terminal is. They’re able to wonder around the base undetected via May’s Invisibility Semblance and Penny is able to use Pietro’s credentials to access the doors. They eventually reach an area that even with May’s Semblance, will be too difficulty to get through without being spotted. Penny, however, has a solution. You remember how Harriet pointed out Ruby’s Semblance was more than she thought in V7? Well Penny actually breaks it down here. Ruby essentially breaks down her mass and is able to more or less teleport herself and others before reforming, so Ruby should be able to do this with all of them.

Meanwhile, remember when Watts got taken by security last chapter? Well it’s because Ironwood is now forcing him to work for him, having a whole squadron ready to shoot him to death if he doesn’t comply. What does he need Watts to do? We’ll go into that later. Until then, Watts points out that Pietro’s credentials have been used, causing Ironwood to raise the alarm. This means that the team has to hurry, so they trip a worker with coffee as a distraction. As the guy's co-workers yell at him, RWBNP move past via Ruby’s Semblance as May goes to commandeer a ship.

Eventually, RWBNP reach the terminal. It is a VERY highly secured area with the door being guarded by some powerful electricity. It’s so secure that no humans even work in there. Penny allows Pietro to take over manually to begin the process of green lighting Amity. During this, Blake expresses concern about ruby and Yang’s fight, though Weiss assures her that sometimes sisters just disagree. Nora also tries to help by pointing out that Jaune, Yang, and Oscar should be fine (haha...) but noticeably leaves out Ren. It’s here that Nora expresses how upset she was about their argument and how just when things look up for them, it goes right back to zero. Even worse, without Ren, Nora doesn’t feel like she even knows who she is aside form the strong girl who hits stuff. Blake and Weiss point out to her that Ren is only a part of her, the rest however also matters and that maybe she can use this chance to discover more about herself.

The process is completed and Penny can now launch Amity. But despite wanting to resume helping Mantle afterwards, both Pietro and the girls believe that it’s best for Penny to remain with Pietro and Maria in Amity once it launches. This disappoints her. As the group gets ready to leave, they are confronted byt he Ace-Ops. Vine tries to reason with the g4roup, but they continue to refuse. it doesn’t help when Harriet and Elm essentially blame Penny for Winter’s condition and accuse her of stealing the Maiden power, nor does Harriet threatening to lock up Ruby alongside her uncle. To no one’s surprise, the group refuses, so the Ace-Ops trap RWBN in the room, leaving Penny to fight on her own.

Penny is ale to hold her own, even managing to make good use of her Maiden powers. However, the Ace-Ops are able to match against her and eventually Marrow is able to use his Stay power on her. RWBN try to break through the door, bot nothing is working. Nora, staring at the electric door, decides to do what she dos best be strong and hit stuff. Using her hammer and Semblance, Nora absorbs the electricity until she’s powered enough to blow the door off it’s hinges. However, even for Nora, this was far too much as her body gets some ugly scarring. She collapses, her Aura breaking.

Seeing the fight, Watts suggests that the Ace-Ops get one of Penny’s swords. Ironwood orders this, and they bandage to rip one off of Penny before retreating, though Marow noticeably is hesitant. WBNP reach a hangar where May has gotten an airship. They escape, but Nora is still passed out and seriously injured. After this, Penny agrees that she needs to remain in Amity and it’s time for her to go. She and Ruby hug one more time, promising to see each other again before Penny flies off for Amity. Meanwhile, the Ace-Ops turn over the sword to Ironwood. Why did they need this? The same reason that Ironwood recruited Watts: to hack into Penny and turn her back onto their side.

Review

Ah, action, emotions, and spilt coffee. All the things I love in a RWBY episode~

Let’s talk about Ruby’s Semblance first since I’ve seen some debate about it. IDK how scientifically accurate Penny’s explanation is... but Ruby is a girl who can trail rose petals behind her, so I’m not all that concerned about accuracy here. But this just more or less confirmed what I’ve been thinking for a long time now. I, as well as others, have pointed out that her Semblance doesn’t really appear to act line a speed-based one. Heck as I said, Harriet pointed it out just last volume. Now we know that Ruby’s power is essentially a slow-formed teleportation. Considering I always assumed that Summer’s Semblance had a similar breaking her body down function, this makes a lot of sense to me.

I’ve seen some complain about how Ruby didn’t know this... but really? That’s perfectly in-character for her. She’s a clever girl, but she’s always been one to act more than give deep contemplation. She knows the basic function of her Semblance, to move fast compared to normal, and that works for her. Heck remember last volume when she used her split apart trick. Oscar asked how long she could do that, and she answered that she had never really thought of it. Sure Ruby HAS carried people with her Semblance before (Penny in V2, Nora in V4, Weiss in V6), but that was with a single person. She had never tried it with a group before. It fits into how Semblances evolve over time and I’m really happy to see Ruby grow more. I get the feeling that she needs all the happy development she can get before things really go off the deep end.

Speaking of though, the chibi art accompanying Penny’s explanation? Both cute and hilarious. It reminded me of Ruby’s imagine spots back in Volume One. This chapter had quite a few funny moments. Weiss pulling Nora’s ear for last episode, Nora pushing all the elevator buttons. Blake clearly hating all forms of unconventional transportation, and while I feel it clashed with the tone a bit the coffee guy tripping up was great. The crude poster of a Shark Grimm (when do we get that?) especially got a giggle out of me. Like I said last review, it’s nice to have these bits of levity. I love it when Ruby gets feelsy and serious, but I don’t want it to divert form fun and light-heartedness all the time. They’ve gotten a lot better at keeping a balance and transitioning us from one mood to the other. I feel last chapter did it a bit better, but this was still well done.

Now lets talk about Penny. It was nice to see her act like her usual perky self a bit with her Semblance explanation and the direction to the terminal. But still, it’s clear that things are still haunting her. She’s still reminded of her robot identity with May’s comment, which no IDT May was trying to be offensive or anything, after all Robyn uses nicknames like that all the time and she DID use Penny’s name after the correction. But even past that, we have Pietro manually taking control of Penny. Now it WAS done with permission and there’s a good reason why, but my reaction to it was the same as Ruby’s. You ca tell that Penny wasn’t looking forward to it since it one more emphasizes that she is a robot. We all know she’s more, but Penny is still trying to figure out her new place.

This is especially evident in her reaction to remaining on Amity. Of course she doesn’t want to do that. She still considers herself the Protector of Mantle. She is now the Winter Maiden. She wants to help people. She wants to be out there doing good alongside her friends. But unfortunately with the target on her back from both sides, it’ simply too dangerous. She not only puts herself at risk, but those around her. We already know that ironwood will now go to any extreme to get his way, including work with an evil scientist and have a firing squad ready to fire. Salem... do I need to explain any further? The safest thin is for Penny to remain in Amity, but it still clearly pains her even after accepting it as necessary. And with Watts now having a piece necessary to hack her AND the episode showing us how it can be done... yeah, pray for Penny folks.

She DID however get to kick ass with her Maiden powers. While we had some Grimm fights last chapter, this was the first major fight of the volume, and it was awesome. Penny, even after just getting her power, uses it to great effect. Not as much as Raven or even Cinder, but is clearly more than capable of controlling it. But the Ace-Ops do manage to match her. They aren’t holding back now, they are going in for the kill and all of them (save Marrow, I’ll talk about him in the CH4 review) seem to be on the same wavelength. I think this helped the complaints about the Ace-Ops losing to RWBY (ones I don’t agree with, but still) and shows how even with Clover dead, they are still a capable force. Harriet and Elm’s words were still overly cruel, but I can’t deny that they can fight. Oh and we also FINALLY got to see Vine’s weapon, so there’s that. It was a fun action sequence~

But now we get to the star of this episode for me: Nora. Now... I have made it no secret that Nora is my least favorite character of the main group. Why? There’s two main reasons: her lack of development compared to the others and her character largely revolving around Ren. I won’t lie, some of the over-exposure and her portrayal in Chibi also contributed, but those don’t really affect her character in-show. While I feel that she has slowly improved, last volume especially being a step up, I still felt like she was the least developed. So going into Volume 8, I was very curious about hat they would do with her now that she and Ren are divided and she is on her own.

I have to say... I am very happy with her in this episode. It addressed my complaint about her and Ren being co-dependent as far as their portrayals in-show went. They outright existed more or less to fill out Team JNPR, and they spent Volumes 1-3 as comic relief to focus on Jaune and Pyrrha. I miss Pyrrha to this day, but her death DID allow the two to finally grow as characters. I don’t like it when the focus of a character is mainly on their relationship with another, hence why shipping gets on my nerves a lot. It was a HUGE issue I had with Renora until they became fleshed out. Here we have Nora expressing how upset she is about Ren, how every time it looks like they’ve gotten closer something comes in to ruin it (Volume 4 for example), and now that she’s without him for the first time in who knows how long... she doesn’t really know who she is. This has been something that I’ve wanted the show to go into since at least Volume 4, and it is FINALLY happening.

I love how the ones who talk to her are Blake and Weiss. Blake struggled with separating herself from a previous attachment, and knows how hard it is to remember that that’s only one part of yourself. Weiss has struggled with carving her own identity which while not in the romantic context, is still relevant as her family name is only a part of her, not the whole thing. It’s a dynamic I never knew I needed, but I am SO glad we have it now! I think as hard as it is, Nora needed to part from Ren for now. She needs to remember to care about herself and know that she is more than just the girl who likes Ren and hits stuff with a hammer. She’s funny, she’s caring, she’s loyal, she’s fun to be around, she can get carried away with things yet it’s always entertaining when she does. She is Nora Valkyrie before everything else. And in the end, she more or less sacrificed herself to break the door and save Penny. IDK if she knew that the electricity would be too much, but she still made the choice by herself. Now we just need to hope that she recovers... and that when Ren finds out, he doesn’t snap...

In the intro, I talked about how V8 seems to be a second attempt at the split teams plot in Volume 4. While I find V4 underrated and a nice character development/world-building volume, the handling of the split plots... did certainly cause pacing issues. The biggest issue was cramming essentially six storylines into the volume, four of which were vital, and not being able to give them all proper attention. Essentially, it worked fine when binged, but going week by week it could get tiresome very quickly. This time, we have the entire team split into two groups with the side plots being the villains and Ironwood’s forces. This only leaves two major plotlines that need the main focus and allows for unique character dynamics, like Nora with Weiss and Blake. 

So far, the pacing with these two groups has been done very well. While we don’t see JYRO in this episode, last chapter did enough that we already know what to expect when we get back to them. Nothing feels out of focus or like one plot is getting more attention than the other. It feels balanced. It feels like both plots matter and I want to see what happens. The writers have clearly learned and improved over the years, with this being a clear example. It’s been really fun (and scary) so far and I’m really excited to see more of these different group dynamics (and since I’ve already seen Chapter 4, they are delivering!), though hopefully we will get the team reformed before long. But for now, I’m loving this~

Chapter Stats

Favorite Character: Nora Valkyrie Favorite Scene: Nora, Weiss, and Blake talk Least Favorite Scene: Coffee Guy Favorite Voice Actor: Samantha Ireland (Nora) Favorite Animation: Penny going Winter Maiden against the Ace-Ops Rating: 9.9/10

Final Thoughts

Three chapters in, and already this volume is looking to be one of the best. Some nice humor, great character dynamics and focus, an epic action sequence, and a lot of heart and emotion put in especially with Penny and Nora. This was a fantastic episode that gave me everything that I was hoping for! If the quality stays at this pace, the this is absolutely going to become a great one! And considering what happens next chapter, we haven’t strayed from that yet. But that review is for another day, for now I’ll say that this chapter was great~

[cavariously]

[Trying my hand at a fan fiction.

I love to write but I have never done anything like this before, so all feedback would be extremely appreciated (Grammer, Plot, Characters etc.).

I love Tokyo Ghoul so I really hope I don't fuck this up 😅. A big thank you to anyone who reads this ❤️]

Caution: Agressive Swearing, Offensive Language, Graphic Violence.

Notes: Takes place post end of TG:re, Reapers = Marshall version of Doves.

1. Crow - 24

City lights and the rushing motions of the landscape turn the 24th ward into a blinding and blaring circus. Humans. They crawl through this city with the assurance that they will be here tomorrow. They will be here a year from now. They will be here forever. They are the only lifeform with this assurance. All other creatures in this world live with the knowledge that their making it to the next moment is a fifty fifty

It is certainly a miracle that they last, noticing absolutely nothing at all. They don't see the effects that the fumes of their veichles have on the planet that they grip so tightly to. They can't begin to recognise that they are being continually watched and targeted by devices that could wipe them from the face of said Earth in less than zero. They don't even notice the apex predictor observing them from less than a mile above.

Humans simply move from one spot to another, only stopping to cause irrevocable disaster and reduce their surroundings to less than ash, and then move on to the next target. Someone said that humans are Parasites, and although it may be naive to believe this was wholly correct, it would be complete ignorance to dismiss it entirely. Ghouls do not indulge in such ignorance. Parasite is an apt description for a human, from the perspective of a ghoul, that and food.

The figure stands tall, wind rushing rapidly through their tied up hair. They can smell the putrescence of man-kind as they go about their sweaty and arrogant business. They would laugh if it wasn't so tragic. What do humans amount to? They are greedy and bloody bags of meat that fight and hate more than any other being, yet they are allowed to multiply and just be. It could be argued that ghouls are the same as humans in this aspect, but most abide by the one meal a month agreement, even though this arrangement can be hell for some. Unlike humans, who see violence as their God given right, when ghouls fight, it is rarely for anything other than survival. Perhaps this view doesn't take all ghouls into account, but all humans gorge themselves on everything, and fight for any fucking reason they want.

Twenty years ago, a disaster was meant to end this disparity. For the first time ever, ghouls and humans fought together to save the world they shared from the monster that had been designated 'DRAGON'. The defeating of this enemy was meant to end in equality, where ghouls and humans shared the world equally. Scientific leaps had been made. Synthetic meats that ghouls could eat, so they wouldn't have to harm humans. The corpse of Dragon even lead to dramatic advancements in the medical field. Humans were now benefiting from ghoul DNA, as it allowed them to combat most illnesses and increase their lifespan somewhat. After all that ghouls had done for them, weren't humans grateful? No. Ten years, then ghouls were back to being vile creatures to be hunted, and were forced back to living in the sewers. The deaths of so many perfectly good and innocent ghouls, just so that humanity could screw them all over again. What a funny tragedy.

Another figure appeared from the shadows, stepping in line with their comrade. Neither looking at the other, they both silently watched the ferris-wheel turn round and round. A world that they saw as rightfully theirs. They were hungry for it and they would have it. No matter the cost. In fact, the more human casualties... the better.

"Are you ready to go?" the newcomer asked, never taking their attention away from everything below.

"Yeah. Any longer and I might have to eat you."

"Like you could" came the cold, arrogant response.

"Just because you got five inches on me now, doesn't mean I can't still beat your ass Da..."

"Don't fucking call me that. While we're out here you call me Kuma and I call you... Blindfold, or Eyeless. Something like that." Even though his response had been quick and sharp, neither his tone nor his concentration had wavered.

"Eyeless" they conceded.

"Fine, Eyeless it is. Just don't go shouting our real names out in public. You're enough of a liability as it is without giving our fucking identities away."

Eyeless finally turned to look at their brother. They couldn't help feeling a pang of nostalgia. He had been so small once, constantly hanging onto their shoulders and making paper birds that he place all over their home. Those memories hurt, especially when they remembered what came after. He used to smile so much and now he's a moody little shit. They'd never been like that at fourteen, they thought smugly.

"Fine. Let's go KUMA before I rip your snarky head off." With that final retort, Eyeless turned and stepped off of the roof.

Kuma watched them drop six stories, landing with grace and poise. Why were they always so aggravating? Maybe he was jealous of their natural ability, or perhaps they were just a pain in the ass to be related to. With a sigh and a wandering look to the night sky, he followed suit.

* * *

The Marshalls finished up disposing of the ghoul. Bikakus are a pain in the ass Haruto thought, but it's better than a Ukaku. Haruto loved the fact that he was an intimidating figure. The ghoul had basically shat itself as soon as it had seen his large muscular frame, and cruel bearded face. The black trench coat they wore, that often announced the end for ghouls, probably didn't hurt either. He nudged the face of the corpse with his foot. He reckoned it wouldn't even be worth removing his Kakahou to get a new quinque. Taking into account the short amount of time it had taken him and Kenji to bypass his defences and cut him through the middle, he was a B rated ghoul maximum.

"Right, time we get back" Haruto sighed.

"Mhm" Kenji agreed. He never said much.

"Did you bring the body bag? You never know, you might be able to upgrade that piece of shit you call a quinque." Haruto laughed loudly. He loved taking the piss out of Kenji, especially when he knew his only retort woukd be 'mhm'.

As expected, Kenji responded with a grumbling "Mhm", and moved towards the body.

Haruto, turned to walk away, lighting a cigarette and beginning to inhale deeply. That Kenji was going to marry his sister. What's he gonna say when the priest asks him if he takes her to be his lawfully wedded wife? Mhm. Haruto chuckled to himself. All in all Kenji was a good guy, and one hell of a Marshall. He could use that crappy Ukaku quinque pretty damn well, even if it did come from a C rated ghoul. Kenji also took Haruto's kids to the beach when he and Mrs Haruto wanted a quiet weekend. He might be an ugly fucker with next to no hair, and a face that made you want to split him down the middle, but he was clean and sometimes smelt nice. Yeah, Kenji could marry his sister if he wanted. She could do a hell of a lot worse.

A loud splatter sounded out behind Haruto. He spun on his heels, instincts flaring immediately into action. Where the fuck was Kenji? Where his partner had been attempting to fit the ghoul into the black bag, there was now the cut in half corpse of his future brother in law, fallen to the sides with a blindfolded figure standing in the middle. His entire being twitched in anticipation of this thing making a move to kill him, but all it did was leasurly bend down and scoop something up from the gore beneath. As the creature straightened up, he saw that it was simply sucking on one of Kenji's bloody fingers. To others, this might signify a psychotic animal, but to a seasoned Marshall, this was a confident and calculating killer plain and simple. A powerful one at that. Their clothes were indistinctive; clad in thin black leather and fabric, however, their mask was a completely different story. Almost the entirety of its face was covered. Its mouth had a tight black fabric wrapped over it, with a skeletal smile that would open, revealing the snaking pink tongue underneath. The huge back leather collar surrounding it could be zipped up to hide all but the eyes from the world. Not that the eyes could be seen either. A bone white blindfold shut them off from view. Foreign symbols were drawn in deep black on either side, with the a closed eye taking centre stage. Although it was just a drawing, that closed eye was unearving, as if the lack of sight heightened its ability to see, instead of impeding it.

Now this was a ghoul. Just by its sheer presence Haruto could tell this one was rated A, or more likely >S. Haruto couldn't deny to himself that he was intimidated, but he was a senior Marshall, and always backed himself in a one on one. He looked down at his fallen partner and gulped. First things first, get into this guys head. Haruto scanned the ghoul, looking for weaknesses that he could exploit verbally. If he was lucky, the reaction could lead to him obtaining an edge. He noticed that this ghoul was slight in stature, maybe five foot five all told.

"You wanna end up like this other piece of shit, you fucking dwarf."

This garnered absolutely nothing.

Haruto couldn't take it much longer. This creature continued to lapp at the guts of his dead partner, that were splattered over its fingers. It obviously didn't give a shit what it looked like to others. It reminded him of a cat, publically cleaning its fur and genitals with no concern for the world. It was fucking reveling in its feast, and it made Haruto's blood boil.

"You killed an innocent man. He was gonna have a family and you ripped him apart. You monsters have no fucking souls and you all belong in hell. That's where I'm gonna send you. I'm a fucking senior Marshall you stupid shit. You have no clue how badly you've fucked up."

Again, the ghoul made no sign of changing emotion, continuing to dip its fingers in Kenji and take its time eating. Haruto knew he needed something else to get into its head so he scanned again. 'Shit' he thought, as the ghost of a smile passed over his lips. The majority of its body was covered in black that mostly obscured its shape, however, his keen eyes saw that although its grey hair was tied up, it was probably quite long when undone. At its chest area, although it was probably bound, there was the hint of a slightly tented structure. The hardest one to spot was the hips. Despite them being covered by black leather shorts, those hips were a tad too wide to be a man's.

"Alright you sick fuck. I'M A COMMIN FOR YA!"

With one last drive to uncover more courage, Haruto raised his Kokaku quinque and lept towards the ghoul.

"I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP FOR KENJI... YOU BITCH!"

As Haruto closed the distance with extreme speed, to less than two meters, the shadow of another figure dropped from the sky, landing directly next to the first. Haruto skidded to a halt, taken aback by the new masked creature. This one was certainly taller, and its face was covered by a red, horned mask. It was only as his attention slipped completely that he realised his final mistake. For the first time, the blindfolded ghoul smiled widely, the skeletal mouth parting to reveal massive bloody teeth.

The next thing Haruto knew was that he was laying down on the ground, face to the sky. His neck was warm and dripping wet. He raised his hands to his throat as the oxygen escaped his body, feeling the deep gash that was releasing his blood. The ghouls started conversing.

"Which one you want?" the first asked the newcomer.

"I don't care. You killed 'em both so you choose" the other responded dispondantly.

"Well, you're the growing boy so you take the ghoul and the first Reaper."

"Damn, well fuck me if you ain't the best big sister" uttered the male ghoul sarcastically, as he casually walked over to Kenji and the dead ghoul. "Why you taking you're mask off you sicko? The guys not even dead yet."

"I like it when they watch me" the female ghoul giggled.

Haruto saw the shadow of something passing over his head. "Ken...Ke..ji" Haruto gasped.

Suddenly, from below him came a the same giggle. "Awww dude, I think these guys were close."

"Eyeless, eat the fucker and let's go" came the voice of the male.

"Hey buddy boy, look at me will you" said the female from his feet.

Haruto craned his neck, scared of what he might see, but thinking 'fuck it' to himself. What's did he have to be afraid of, he's already dead. When he finally focused on the face he was confused. She was chewing on a leg. His leg. When the fuck did she get her dirty hands on that? When she'd finished on his leg, licking the tips of her fingers with delight, she bent down and hovered over him. Eyeless? That's what the other one had called her, but that wasn't true at all. Now that her blindfold was off he could see the entirety of her murderous giddy face.

"You're very funny" she said. "Innocent man. Gonna have a family. Its really fucking funny."

The last thing Haruto would ever see would be a testimony to her names innacuracy. Staring at him excitedly was one grey eye, so remarkably human looking it was weird. The other eye was a pool of darkness... with a violent, blood red pupil that seemed to be trying to force its way out of its black prison. She snapped up the rest of him.

"Sicko..."

End

[xfanfics]

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 7

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity.  Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 39 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

Bare Your Throat and Have Me by highermagic E | 4k | AU, PWP,  a/b/o

Castiel and Dean have only been mated for a few months, but Dean knows how this goes by now.

Deterioration by highermagic E | 33k | Hot,  AU, Cop!Dean, Mystery

Dean has a gift – he can see things. Things that others wouldn't see, motive and calm control between the splatters of blood and fractured mirrors. He solves crimes others simply can't. When bodies are piling up all around him, Dean starts to feel as though he's drowning in it, falling under the weight of his own helpless observations, until he finds something unbreakable. Unwavering. Castiel – if only the man was as good for him as he appears.

Try Something Tuesday by almaasi E | 48k | Fluff, Teacher AU, Librarian Cas

Human AU. Dean Winchester teaches a third-grade class. He's new to this whole ‘bisexual’ thing - but by pure happenstance, he meets Castiel: a particularly dapper male librarian who moonlights as a substitute teacher. Dean's curious and Castiel is willing, so why the hell not? Except, fate never intended it to be one-time-only.

Angel-Cuffed by Luciel89 E | 15k | CANON!verse

Dean wakes up to find himself handcuffed to his angel. Both are annoyed, Sam finds it hilarious and awkward situations await them. But the longer they're tied together, the more things between them start to change...

The Bet List ❤ by StevieCas M | 55k | Fluff,  AU, Underage, wing!kink

"That bet list was the worst thing you've ever come up with, Gabe. If it wasn't for it, I would never have thought about such things. It's bad enough being an earthbound angel, it's bad enough being considered a weirdo even by angel standards. Did I have to be gay as well? Do I even represent a minority or is it just me out there?

I love the world of this fic--and Dean and Cas' relationship dynamic is perfect.    

Ad Astra ❤ by nhixxie T | 17k | Angst

One day Cas says, "Stars died for you, Dean Winchester", against ruffled hair perched atop sun kissed skin and sleepy eyes. Dean stirs, moving to spread his palms against the contour of Cas’ back, tips of fingers languidly strumming the indentations of his spine. One, two, three, four, he counts, the closest he could get to scientifically studying the anatomy of the human body. "Is this some physics crap again?" He frowns with eyes closed. Cas smiles softly. "Far from it. "Dean’s fingers play at the base of his back, ninth thoracic vertebrae, Cas notes. "Then tell me all about it.”

Read it and weep. If this were published, I would buy it.    

Sensitive by nevergotwings E | 1k | wing!kink

Curiosity sparks when Dean gets the urge to touch Castiel's wings.

An Exercise in 'Worthless' ❤ by beastofthesky

M | 26k | AU, Tattoos

"I mean, you’re–" He gestures at Cas, in his neat oxford shirt and nice pants. “–and I’m a high school dropout who tattoos for a living." Wherein Dean makes a hefty living as a tattoo artist who owns the space next to Gabriel's cafe. Sam attends the local university. When Gabe's cousin comes to live with him while starting grad school at Sam's university, Dean thinks for sure that all his negative karma's coming to bite him in the ass because Cas clearly has a thing for Sam. No one would ever choose him over Sam. That's just logic.

Perfection everywhere. Dean's lack of self-worth is explored, and there are tattoos.    

Of ties and wings by perpetuallycaffinated E | 4k | Hot,  PWP, wing!kink

Jealousy, ties and and impatient angel. Also, wings.

pie | by perpetuallycaffinated E | 3k | Hot,  PWP

Dean uses pie to eat out Castiel. That's pretty much it.

I Say, But I Mean by inplayruns T | 4k | Coffee Shop AU

Dean runs a bed & breakfast. Cas works in a coffeeshop.

Heavenly Delights by TamrynEradani T | 2k | Fluff, Coffee Shop AU

Gabriel owns Heavenly Delights, the coffee shop Cas works at and on the day before Thanksgiving, Cas sees someone looking down so he brings him a hot chocolate, and Gabriel conspires to get them together.

New Eyes by ozzutly E | 1k | Canon!Verse

Dean sees Castiel's true form. He decides he likes it.

Resonance by definitely_indecisive G | 1k | Canon!Verse, Soul Bond

The battered and abused presence had poked warily out, almost as if expecting harm. He let his grace drift forward to meet the soul instantly, putting off all of the warmth he could muster. The presence seemed to stutter for a second, before melding itself into Castiel's grace. He allowed the soul to do so, cradling it with his core. He could feel the tiredness and abuse from the poor thing, yet also the amazing light it gave off as it started to slowly heal because of his grace. He could tell this was the most unique soul he had ever met, and that he wouldn't forget the feeling of the presence for all of millennia.

My Roots Take Flight by KismetJeska M | 125k | Reverse!verse, s4 AU

After forty years in Hell, Dean’s more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don’t want found out. Dean’s going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.

Angel Airlines by dancingloki E | 19k | Hot, Airline AU

Dean is an airline pilot with a raging hard-on for his head flight attendant. Fluffy fluffy fluff.

El Tango de Amor by literaryoblivion E | 16k | AU, Fluff,  Angst,

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Dean leaves, is gone for two to three hours, and comes home sweaty and exhausted to the apartment he and his brother Sam share. Sam had asked him where he went once, and Dean had said he was working out, which technically wasn’t a lie. What he was doing was definitely giving him a workout, just not in the traditional sense. In all actuality though, Dean was leaving every Tuesday and Thursday for a dance class. A dance class taught by a one Castiel Novak.

Ugly Sweater!Verse ❤ ❤ by nerdylittledude E | 193k  | Canon!verse,Fluff,  Post s5

If they really go back and think about it... it all started with a tree. A Christmas tree, that is. Castiel is human now, and the apocalypse is not only over, it's been averted. Sam's away at NYU, finally finishing law school, and Dean's stuck in what is probably the most awkward situation of his life. He's not exactly sure how he ended up sharing a flat with Cas in Media, Pennsylvania, but he does know the curious would-be angel is sort of derailing his plans for a life of decadence and booze. Cas is trying to make the best of his humanity by exploring human holidays. Dean can't exactly complain because he's pretty much the reason Cas got his wings clipped in the first place. Dean didn't actually want to fall in love, but how was he supposed to know it would all start with a goddamn tree?

 My favorite fic ever. I don't know how many times I've read it. There is switching, fluff, angst, and slow building romance. I will rec this forever.    

More Than Alien Mojo by remivel

E | 29k | Men in Black AU, Fluff,

Dean was one of Men in Black's best agents. In fact, he's been knee deep in extraterrestrial crap his whole life, and he's gone through more apocalypses than he could care to remember. He thought he's seen it all-- until he and his partner, Sam, were sent out to a routine meteorite crash inspection. What was supposed to be a meteorite turned out to be a golden spaceship, and instead of hitchhiking intergalactic pathogens, it was an alien that took the form of a human male. A very naked human male. Soon, they discovered that this alien named 'Castiel' was a refugee from a war-torn galaxy.The first of his kind to ever venture to Earth, Castiel agreed to share information about his galaxy and his race in exchange for his relocation on Earth. The only catch was: since Castiel was a new alien species, nobody knew what he was capable of, whether he was as harmless as E.T., or as dangerous as the Predator. And it was Dean's job to keep an eye on him and assess just how much of a threat Castiel could be, and if necessary, eliminate him. It wasn't a job Dean was looking forward to doing. Especially since he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off him, naked or not.

Come On With the Rain by remivel E | 36k | High School AU, dubcon

When Castiel was 15, his life changed. In one tragic instant, he lost his parents, and he was forced to live with his Uncle Bobby in Lawrence, Kansas. There he met the Winchester boys, Sam and Dean, who were living next door. He thought Sam was pleasant, and Dean, well, Dean was special. Three years passed and Castiel’s relationship with the boys developed in an unexpected way. Sam became his best friend. But Dean was a different story. Dean was not Castiel’s friend. He was a neighbor, a classmate, the brother of Castiel’s best friend, and the guy who worked part time at his uncle’s salvage yard. That was all. But on the rare times that Dean asked Castiel for help, Castiel couldn’t find it in him to turn him down. Because this was Dean. And the answer would never be “no” when it came to Dean.

Crossroads State by Mercy M | 51k | AU

Castiel has a nice predictable structured life teaching high school, even if he happens to be overqualified for it. Then this guy moves in around the corner and literally knocks him on his ass.

Heart of Glass by omphalos E | 17k | Canon!Verse

He's the one who was punished, severely, because of his feelings for Dean, but who still gave up everything for him in the end. Surely there should exist between them a better level of comprehension than this.

Domesticated by kototyph E | 15k | AU

Being the only angel in the entire Pacific Northwest can be tiring, even if these days Castiel spends more of his time shoveling manure than fighting off the hordes of hell. It's an occupational hazard, unfortunately; he earns most of his living rehabilitating wild animals a few miles outside Spokane. Wild animals like Dean, for instance— a mountain lion who's entirely too smart for his own good. There's a man in Castiel's dreams named Dean too, but that part's just a huge coincidence.

Excite by perpetuallycaffinated E | 3k | Crack, wing!kink

"Sam Winchester, I am going to carnally worship your brother whether you are in this room or not.

Snapshots 'Verse ❤ by highermagic E | 60k [WIP] | AU, Wing!kink, a/b/o, omega!dean

A series of one-shots following the meeting, courting and eventual love between an Angel doctor named Castiel and an Angel teacher by the name of Dean.

Less of a WIP, more of a series of one-shots. Rowan's worldbuilding is lovely, and the sex is perfect as usual. EDIT: Apparently this has been removed.

Angel's Wild ❤ by riseofthefallenone E | 389k | AU, H/C, Wing!kink

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Perfection. Go read it now.    

Sharing Hands by almaasi E | 6k | Hot, Canon!Verse

Dean feels something strange when he touches himself, and realises Cas has been using him as a vessel ever since he came back from Purgatory.

The Good Samaritan Rule by manic_intent E | 6k | AU, wing!kink

Written for deancaskink: "Dean and Castiel are both angels and brothers-in-arms. During a battle, Cas's wings get hurt and [it's] up to Dean to help him out. In the process, Cas finds out how sensitive his wings are and well Dean is Dean no matter what his form [is], so this leads to lovely first time sex." God never made humans. Instead, he made the angels in his image, and on the sixth day he made the is him, and gave them free will.

How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam) ❤ by Vera_Dragonmuse E | 69k | AU, Sam/Gabriel

In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean's angel rather sooner than intended.

Out of the Deep ❤ by riseofthefallenone E | 488k | AU, h/c

Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep. It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep. Castiel should have listened better.

It's long, but worth it.    

Feathers by brightly_lit M | 90k | Angst, Wing!kink, D/s

In an alternate season 5 scenario, Dean, Sam, and twenty of their closest hunter friends stopped the apocalypse by closing the gates to heaven, hell, and purgatory. Now working with his former hunter buddies at Ellen's security company, Dean doesn't know what to make of his weird new coworker who always wears a trenchcoat and leaves behind feathers everywhere he goes. He especially doesn't know that, cut off from the power of heaven, the constantly falling feathers mean his new friend is dying. "Creation cried out against the injustice of a righteous man in hell. I answered its cry.

Vita Nuova ❤ by wordaccordingtofangirls M | 61k | Teacher AU

AU. Dean Winchester takes a job as a teaching assistant to get his little brother into a prestigious academy. He doesn't quite expect such long nights and snobby kids, but the real surprise is professor Castiel Novak: or falling in love with him, that is.

Like a Parched Land by twoskeletons E | 8k | reverse!verse

Written for the following prompt: "Reverse!verse: Castiel is the Righteous Man and Dean is the angel who drags his ass out of Hell." This is an AU version of episodes 5x01 through 5x03.

The Cabin by bookkbaby E | 16k | Canon!Verse, Wing!kink

For an angel, the building of a Nest is sacred. Dean doesn't understand. Written for the 2013 DCBB.

Pies and Prejudice by linoresearch E | 97k | AU

Dean didn’t even want to enter this damn competition. He was happy with his life, more or less. It might not look like much from the outside, or to a younger brother headed towards a big time law career, but it wasn’t so bad that Dean needed to scrabble around for any opportunity to make a change – particularly not one as stupid as this. He’s going to throttle Sam the next time he sees him, for getting him involved in this ridiculous Bake-Off TV show. It’s bad enough that Dean has to cook in front of people he doesn’t know; he now has to go through the humiliation of being judged on it too. Its humiliation piled on humiliation, and to make matters worse Dean has to play nice with all the other suckers involved, like that rich dick-bag Castiel Novak. God, he hates that guy, and he hates that someone so awful has such a frustratingly fine ass. Written for the Dean/Castiel Big Bang 2013

The Breath of All Things ❤ by KismetJeska T | 65k | AU, H/C Angst,

Dean Winchester was twenty-six years old when a car accident killed his father and left him paralysed from the waist down. A year and a half later, Dean is in a wheelchair and lives in a care home in Kansas, where he spends his days waiting to die. It's only when Castiel Novak starts volunteering at the care home that Dean starts to wonder if a changed life always equals a ruined one.

So angsty, and so, so perfect.    

All the Way ❤ by cadignan E | 81k | College AU

Castiel spends the first two weeks of college in much the same way he spent the previous years: alone with his books. He’s fine with it—he enrolled in college to learn, after all. Then in his first chemistry lab, he has the bad luck of being paired with snide, good-for-nothing Ruby, and the further misfortune of sitting behind Dean Winchester, the world’s most beautiful distraction. Ruby catches Castiel staring at Dean and makes him an offer.

Destiel, Actually by Bloodism E | 15k | Crack Fluff,

Picture your typical rom-com cliché. Now picture Dean stuck in that rom-com cliché. With Castiel. Because that's what happening to him - a crazy whirlwind of your typical-and-not-so-typical cliché's. He's playing the main lead in all of them and Castiel's his counterpart. Of course, the culprit is obvious. Gabe's enjoying himself too much, lying back on his favourite cloud with a tub of salted popcorn. It was about time someone kicked the two knuckleheads into gear.

Suburban War by squeemonster E | 100k | High School AU

Moving to Lawrence with his family is the most significant event of Dean Winchester's life. It brings a stability he's never known, and the only thing to have more of a profound impact on him is Castiel Novak: the two boys become fast friends the day they meet. But as Dean grows older, he dreams for something beyond the monotony and constraints of suburbia, and he is haunted by the inexplicable feeling that he was born for something more than what this life offers. As he struggles to reconcile the person he yearns to be with what his family and friends expect of him, a fateful choice exposes just how fragile his life in the suburbs is, and possibly risks losing the best friend he's ever had.

[higgsburyscience]

"Fury" with reverse AU Maxwil (Shadow Wilson and William) please? ♥️♥️♥️

Wilson started at the sound of William's voice; the deep velvet must surely have carried any other message than what he had heard. He turned, just so, his pupils narrowed to inhuman slits in the silver of his eyes. He lost himself easily to the Throne, and his humanity was slipping with it. It seemed only fitting that his eyes reflected that, his hands, his very teeth.

"What did you say?" he asked, a dangerous edge to the words despite the way he purred them. He turned to face the magician, looking much larger than he was in his dapper suit and unshakable confidence. He was the King of Shadows, and he wore his mantle with no end of pride.

He strode towards William, his chin tilted up. There was a chill in the air as if all warmth had been drained out of it by his fixed smile and disapproving eyes.

"I said that I can't do what you ask," William repeated, a little stronger this time. He had to keep firm, lest he lose his nerve in the face of the Lord of Nightmares and of Hopelessness. He was not very courageous; else he wouldn't be here in the first place. Yet, he had learned to be strong, because to be weak would have been to succumb to the Constant and its monsters. "I can't stay away from that Door. If there's something behind it that can help me, or you, then..."

"Do not presume to defy me!" Wilson snapped, black fire flickering madly at the edges of his form, and the corners of William's vision. "I am not to be trifled with, Carter! I am the King of this world, and the Lord of the downfall of all living things! I am Their mouthpiece! Do you understand me?"

He was furious, he was alive with rage, with the darkness that corrupted him body and soul.

William was worried, but he was not afraid. He did not fear Wilson's wrath, nor the sharp claws that spread black from his sleeves. He was not frightened of what Their mouthpiece might do to him, because he trusted that he would do him no harm.

"Wilson, please, don't you understand that I only want to help you?" he appealed gently, lifting his soft, dark hands toward the other man. Wilson was so close now; almost close enough to touch.

"There is no need to help me," Wilson answered venomously, "I am perfectly happy this way, do you not see that? I have power, influence. I have aspirations to rise and grow ever further. What in the world would I need your help with?"

William took Wilson's hands, those long gleaming claws into his own. Instantly, the rage evaporated, the black flames flickering out. The King of Shadows could only look surprised, perplexed by the unexpected touch. So gentle, it was so strange. Foreign to him, who had only ever known insincerity and unkindness.

William ran his smooth brown thumbs over the black surface of Wilson's tainted hands. They were like the feet of crows, he thought, or ravens; rougher and thicker than human skin, completely pitch black and ending in long, curved talons that shined reflectively in the dancing firelight. They were nothing like the soft, ivory skin of Wilson's elegant face. They were nothing like the earthy colour or even the mild callousing of William's own hands.

Left unchecked, was this what Wilson would become in time? Would his whole body turn black like the shadows he reigned over? Would he, perhaps, change into some sort of strange beast? It seemed as if he were already in the process of some dark and terrible transformation, agonizingly slow yet devastating; and heaven only knew if it was reversible.

"You don't belong here," William said softly, as he brought one of those tragically beautiful hands to his full lips. He kissed it gently, and felt the shiver that went through Wilson. "You should be out making scientific discoveries and changing the world."

Wilson's cheeks took on the barest hint of red, fleeting. It was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, as soon as William noticed it. It seemed as if he had diffused the fury so effectively that he had robbed the former scientist of whatever he might have said next, of the fire that made his blackened blood run devastatingly hot.

"Well..." Wilson began to try and recover himself, not taking either one of his crow's hands from William's gentle grasp. He looked up at the magician and his eyes focused again, a look of intent in them and something that William could not identify. "The world has already rejected my genius. Sometimes alternatives must be found for those who wish to shine as brightly as they can." He chuckled dryly. "Sometimes those alternatives come in darkness."

"Oh, Wilson," William breathed. He remembered the struggles he had endured himself trying to make a name in the world, to show his own greatness. Hadn't it led him to make a deal with Wilson in the first place, when the dapper young man had first contacted him through an unplugged radio? He had been promised real magic, and like a fool he had listened, eager to prove himself and to escape from debt.

He'd never anticipated just what he was agreeing to, let alone what grief it would cause. Yet a part of him wasn't sure that he would do things any differently, if he were given the chance.

"I don't believe that there is no place for you out there," he finished, meeting Wilson's eyes and drinking in all that he found in them.

Wilson didn't look away, although it seemed for a moment like he might. Perhaps the magic he had gifted William was greater than either of them had anticipated; he seemed to have been placed under a spell, and was bound in place by it.

"You are very kind, but you are also naive," Wilson said at length, "You cannot save me, Carter. Focus on finding your own way, and forget about me and my machinations. Whatever We do, it won't concern you. I am Their King, but you are bound by no such service."

"I'm bound by the Constant," William answered, "I haven't yet found a single means of escape. I think that I would benefit from a second mind, especially if it belongs to a genius scientist."

Wilson went rigid, and held this posture for some long moments. At length, he started to laugh, and he squeezed William's hands tightly in his talons, yet his claws did not press into the skin. He laughed until he was nearly in hysterics, stepping closer to the magician with his great head lowered so that his face could no longer be seen.

"You are a madman," he choked as he cackled, and William said nothing.

He squeezed his hands tighter still until finally he was finished, and abruptly he let go. Something very ugly and heavy had just torn through him, and worked itself out of his system. He looked small, despite his fury, his suit, his mantle, his stature. He looked lost.

Slowly, hesitantly, William put his arms around the King of Shadows, who remained there silently for some long minutes, resting his head against the magician's chest.

"I do not want for you to go through the door," he said into the fabric of William's vest.

"I know," William answered softly, "but I think that there is something there that can help you."

"You think that, but you are mistaken," Wilson said, tilting his head back to look at William once more, and to be heard clearly. His voice was so crisp, his elegant accent such a reminder of home that it caused William to shiver. "You are too altruistic. You cannot help me, it is impossible; you cannot take me out of Hell. Can't you see that I'm the Devil?"

William shook his head. "You are not the Devil," he replied, "You're just a sinner like me, and I refuse to believe that this is the end of the road for either of us."

The King of Shadows pulled himself free from William's arms and stepped back away, staring at him with a strange wonderment. Had he ever known a kind word?

"William, don't do this to yourself," he said, trying to summon his fury and his firmness back into his voice. "Do not go through my Door. I mean it. I mean it. You can't remove what is part of the Constant. I'm telling you—" he stopped, hesitated. "—I'm begging you not to do this."

His eyes were wide, imploring. His hands were open and his too-sharp teeth were exposed. William loved each of these. He loved the whole that appealed to him with so much passion it made the magician's chest feel tight and full.

"Wilson, I need to help you," he said with finality, "I can't turn my back on you. I won't do that to you." He had done enough harm; he had let enough people down already.

The other man swallowed visibly, making his Adam's apple bob in his slim throat. He could not express that devilish rage in the face of such solemn earnesty, and how they both knew it. "You are a fool to think that a King can be taken from his kingdom."

He did not argue the point further, however, but only turned away at last. He needed to return to himself, waiting on the Throne. He could not bear to look back at William, but only whispered, "I bid you good night, Carter," before dissolving into black flame, and vanishing without a trace.

The magician, left alone, looked down at his own hands, large and fine and brown, and thought long of Wilson's claws, which he wished to hold again. If he had no other reason to want to reach Wilson, even at the risk of discovering what horrors may truly lie behind that Door, regardless of what arcane knowledge or threat to life and limb may await him, then this alone would be sufficient cause. Surely, he would lay down his very life to have that opportunity again, to hold his hands and to assure him that they were beautiful.

[bigboxofbees]

Georgia, Alabama, Missouri and everyone else...

I would like to place a disclaimer here first, since I know some people don't wish to read about this and these are some more serious topics.

This text will include discussions/mentions of:

Abortion

Rape and sexual assault

The holocaust

So if you do not wish to read about those topics, I suggest you skip this text.

Also to note, I'm using pretty heteronormative language here, since I deem it appropriate. However, this does not mean that I ignore the fact that trans men and non-binary individuals can get pregnant, I am well aware, but their perspective might look a bit different from what I'm describing here.

Why did I spend like two hours on this?

In the past week or so, all I've seen all over social media is about abortion. Which makes sense, given the horrendous laws that are being passed as we speak in the US. It's a good thing that people are talking about this, it's extremely important. But it's also very tiring, despite not being american this debate has certainly taken a toll on me. I've wanted to write about this in dept for the whole week, but I haven't been able to get myself to do it. But I'm doing this now. So buckle up, because this is going to be a long post about all the things I've thought about and discussed this past week. However, this is by no means a complete list. And for convenience, I'm going to use different headlines to sort things.

How do we define life and which lives should be protected?

Does life begin at conception? From a legal and scientific perspective, not really. While cells certainly are alive, that doesn't mean that every living cell is part of a living being. And it is living beings we wish to protect, right? Otherwise, we'd protect plants and bacteria as well, and I think we can all agree that plants aren't people. What about animals? They are most certainly living beings, yet we kill them for food (despite the fact that it's possible for almost everyone to live a life without eating meat). I'd argue that any living animal is more worth protecting than an embryo, because animals are sentient. And I am by no means a vegan, but I do find it rather telling when I've asked pro-birth people if they're vegans and all I've gotten was silence.

Speaking from a legal and scientific perspective, a heartbeat does not determine "life". In order to be consider a life, a living being, the organism has to meet a couple of criteria; a embryo or a fetus before around the 25th week does not meet those criteria. What we use to determine life is not a heartbeat, it's brain activity. Brain activity cannot be maintained without a heartbeat, however, a heartbeat can exist without brain activity. That's why relatives can choose to pull the plug when their loved one is brain dead; because they are considered dead, despite the fact that they have a heartbeat. That's why a heartbeat isn't the definition of life; brain activity is.

A fetus can't have more human rights than a person

"It's not your body, it's a separate life! It has the right to life!" Well... does it, really? Let's say it is a person (even though it is not), a fetus cannot be given more rights than a person. Yes, I did say "more rights". Say a fetus would have all the human rights a person has, that still doesn't permit the fetus to use the pregnant person's body against their will. Nobody has the right to use another persons body unless they consent to it, I don't and neither do you. Doesn't matter if it's the only way to survive, it is still not a right to survive using another person's body. So why should a fetus have that right? If a fetus is equal to a living human person, then it doesn't have that right. In fact, you can't do anything to another person's body unless they've given consent, not even after they're dead. Pregnant people should not have less bodily autonomy than a corpse.

The poor becomes poorer

Rich people won't be affected by abortion bans, period. Really, anyone with the means to travel out of state for a weekend can still obtain an abortion legally. So who will be forced to give birth to children? Teenagers with little to no support and the poor, those who's lives are affected the most by unwanted pregnancies. Teenagers who likely have to put their plans for the future on ice to work a low-paying job to support their child, thus landing themselves and the child in poverty. And the poor will be forced to have more children resulting in even more severe poverty. Abortion bans feeds the circle of poverty. I don't mean to be a conspiracy theorist here, but who profits from this? The rich. Who has the most influence over the creation of laws? The rich.

When things get ugly

I've seen several really vile comparisons. But the worst one has to be the one with the holocaust, which I see frequently, tightly followed by slavery. These people consider the termination of embryos and fetuses to be equal to the horrors and dehumanization of the holocaust and of slavery. They can't seem to comprehend that a blob of non-sentient cells is not the same as a living human being. They've argued that "well Hitler and slave owners didn't consider those humans to be people, and you are not considering human life (note: fetuses, but they don't see it that way) people, so how are you any better than Hitler?" In fact, I outright asked a woman if she truly believed a 5 year old child crying for their mother at Auschwitz was equal to an embryo. She said yes, and saw nothing wrong with that. That is probably the most insane thing I have heard this week. Yet it's not too far from what I've seen multiple times; that legal and safe abortion is the "holocaust but for poor innocent babies". And in all honesty, I don't have much to say about this, it's just horrible and I don't know how to respond.

The hypocrisy, it was never about "life"

If it truly was, then this wouldn't be their top priority. And if it was truly about eliminating the need for abortions, this wouldn't be their top priority. Their top priority then would be to reduce the need for abortions through education and accessible birth control for all, and the second step would be to create social programs and fund organizations that help with the financial burden of raising a child, yet the states that have passed these laws do next to nothing to prevent unwanted/unplanned pregnancies nor help those who want to have the child but cannot afford that.

Making abortion illegal would only stop safe abortions from happening, since it does nothing to reduce the need for them. Illegal and unsafe abortions will increase, and women will hurt themselves or kill themselves because they were denied an abortion. It would also mean that all miscarriages would be investigated as a possible crime, putting women in prison for natural miscarriages. Not to mention that I've heard pro-birthers advocate for the death penalty for having an abortion. I have personally encountered pro-birthers who want this to happen, who think women who seek abortions deserve to die from unsafe abortions. How very pro-"life" of them.

I also noticed a parallell with the death penalty, a large portion of pro-birth people support the death penalty and see nothing morally wrong with that. That is also very hypocritical, how can you in the same breath say "all life is precious" and "execute the criminal" without sounding like the biggest fool? By doing that, you are at that point picking and choosing who deserves life according to you, at that means it's no longer about how all life must be protected.

And finally, a fair amount of people who are pro-birth do still think it's okay to have an abortion if you were raped. Why? I thought you cared about all human life? How is this any different? Yet another example of hypocrisy. They know it's cruel to force someone to carry their rapist's child, and they know they can't advocate for that. So for some reason they make an exception, an exception that goes against what they claim is their core belief (keep this particular part in mind when you read the next two parts). It really doesn't make sense, so perhaps it's not truly about "life".

Power play

Being pregnant is much different from getting someone pregnant. One has to be pregnant for 9 months, give birth and alter their body permanently. The other part could simply walk away at any moment and never look back. That is not an option for the one who's pregnant, and they are often the one left to deal with the child once it's born, altering their life to fit the needs of the child. And even if there is a father in the picture, the mother is still more likely to carry most of the responsibility. And if we look to the past, and we only have to rewind a few decades, the woman in the relationship was expected to be a stay at home mom, with no option to have a career. And while she was at home, tending to the home, making sure her husband never had to lift a finger in the house, he was out working and making a name for himself. This power imbalance doesn't exist to the same extent when women have ownership over their own bodies. And I can't help but feeling that this is related to why some people want to criminalize abortion; because if women can exist on the same conditions as them, their spaces are threatened.

It takes two to tango

"Close your legs", "don't have sex unless you want a baby", "it takes two to tango". Sounds familiar? These are all phrases used by pro-birthers, and they are almost almost directed at the female. So why does the man get a pass? When they say "close your legs", they never follow it up with "keep it in your pants". When they say "don't have sex unless you want a baby", they never follow it up with "don't have sex unless you want to be a father". When they say "it takes two to tango", they never follow it up with "if he gets her pregnant, he has to take responsibility and support her".

Men wanting to have sex is seen as natural, normal and a need, but if women want to have sex they need to be punished, the punishment being "having to take responsibility", which really is just code for "pregnancy is a punishment for women wanting to have sex".

A slippery slope

If we consider abortion, the removal of pregnancy, morally wrong because it stops a child from developing, then where do we draw the line? Would embryos at a fertility clinic be entitled to personhood? Would all embryos have to be used to grow a person? Would using a condom be illegal because it interrupts the natural process? Same with other forms of birth control? And what about periods and male masturbation, is that "throwing way" potential life? I know some religious people think contraceptives and plan b should be illegal, and I could definitely see how these types of laws could lead to future restrictions on birth control.

Final thoughts

Pro-"life" has never been about protecting life. It has always been about birthing babies, controlling women in different ways and punishing women who dare to have sex just because she wants to. Pro-birth people also have plenty of flaws in their arguments and the hypocrisy is unbelieveable. Abortion is by no means a black and white issue, it never has been, but criminalizing abortion will do more harm than good and will not stop abortions from happening. And fact of the matter is, morality is subjective. While you may think it's wrong to terminate a pregnancy, I don't. However, I do think it's morally wrong to force your personal beliefs into other people's lives.

[greekowl87]

Ouch! list --> 10: panic attack 😉

10. Panic Attack

A/N: First off, sorry for getting to this so late. Hopefully, this turned out okay and a bit on the long side. It just kinda of kept…growing…and yeah. And inspired after the latest awesome MSR tidbit. Spooning is a thing. Sorry.

Mulder did not recall exactly when the panic attacks would occur. Most definitely after Samantha was taken. It plagued him as a teenager. He managed to redirect all his energy into his studies and swimming at Oxford before Phoebe Green came along. The panic attacks would only come in the dead of the night. After Quantico and during his stint in BSU, the panic attacks still came at night, not as often, but it also morphed into a weird insomnia that kept Mulder from completely losing himself to the monsters and the world he had to venture too. Diana was a reprieve, but she left too, and that was one of his worst panic attacks to memory. All he had was himself and his x-files down in his little dusty basement office where no one bothered him.

Until she came in.

Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully who rewrote Einstein as an undergrad and was determined to debunk him with her skeptical and scientific know how.

And that’s when, for the first time in his long memory, the panic attacks ceased. Until her abduction.

Full force. It struck him full force one night while he sat on the couch in his dark apartment when he had her files before him spread out on his coffee table. He clutched her gold cross that he now wore, pinching the small cross between his index finger and thumb, trying to imprint her on him somehow. He choked her name out in sorrow, as a lifeline, crying out for his partner and the woman he had unknowingly fallen in love with.

The darkness surrounded him, encroaching on the last light he had left in hope of her return, the panic attack growing like brewing storm ready to destroy what little sanity and hope he had left. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He kept his hand pressed to his chest, trying to imprint the cross against his upper sternum. The tears were threatening to appear, no, it was like a dam had broken and he was drowning, unable to breathe.

It was like that for weeks and then she was miraculously returned to him and her family. And the surprising thing? She did not leave. That’s when the frequency of the late-night-early-morning phone calls increased. She always answered. At first, he tried to keep it strictly work-related, but their calls began to grow more personal in nature.

And she was still there. With him

Then the Twin Cities. A death fetishist named Donnie Pfaster and his macabre obsessions. And his unfortunate partner, Scully, caught in his web.

Her petite five foot two partner is made of stronger stuff than he had ever seen. He helped her up from the corner, untying Scully’s ropes as she cast a wary eye as Pfaster was dragged away.

He needed to make sure she was in one piece. “Why don’t you sit down until someone can take a look at you?” he asked her softly.

Mulder’s heart ached as bleary blue eyes focus on a particular spot on his bedraggled tie.

“Mulder,” she began, taking a breath and slowly exhaling it. “I’m fine.”

Mulder recognized the tightness in her voice, the uncertainty that was ratching in her chest as her breathing became sharper and shallower. He knew what was coming. Hesitantly, as this was new territory, he crooked his finger and gently tilted her head upwards, bring her eyes to meet his.

Mulder knew the paralysis that the mind could wreak havoc, either from a panic attack or horrible trauma, which is what Scully experienced. Her control slipped and tears stream down her face. At a loss to do anything else, Scully had always been the strong one to chase away the demons. His panic attacks, with the exception of her abduction, had all but ceased. Mulder just simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She kept her arms around her self at first, as if trying to keep everything physically inwards. Mulder kissed her hair, wordlessly urging her to open up, and as if answering his pleas, she coiled herself around Mulder’s tall form, burrowing beneath his large trench coat, and cried.

… .

“Mulder,” she said softly outside of her motel room. “I’m fine.”

“Scully,” he began, unable to find any other words.

He wanted to tell her how easily she fit into his arms. How she could feel safe with him. That is was okay to cry. That, in the coming hours, her shipwrecked emotions would show its ugly face again, and she would lose control. She would panic.

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, he thought.

“Scully, I just think–”

“I didn’t ask you, Mulder. Good night.”

Without another word, she shut the door in his face. He licked his lips and nodded to himself. He looked down at his feet and heard her click on the tv and start the shower beyond the locked door. He would leave their adjoining door open just in case, even cracking it. He would stay up for her, he would wait for forever if he had to.

… .

Scully saw the scrapes on her face and bright red-turning-purple bruises emerging over her pale skin on her back and side of her ribs as she tore. The adrenaline was finally wearing off and her brain was finally able to process the night. The fear. The uncertainty of her death. The fight or flight instinct kicking in. Mulder. At this point, her body was on autopilot and she had placed her self in the scalding water, as she absently began to scrub her skin roughly over the already injured skin, marking her pale body even worse in punishment (was it punishment?).

Scully stopped immediately. Her last thought was of Mulder. Him holding her. Protecting her. But Pfaster. Pfaster was there. Looming over her. He wasn’t a man. Wait. Demon. No wait. He was human. Pfaster was a human. He bleed. But he loomed over her, not a man, but something else. He was looming over her.

She was not in her bath in the seedy motel. No. She was back in that closest, trapped, and tied, her mouth gagged trying to scream.

The next thing she knew was that large, warm hands grabbed her flailing wrists, stilling her. “Scully! Scully!”

She looked wildly around the room and realized what was happening. The bright light of the bathroom blinded her and she focused on the warm, concerned hazel orbs of her partner’s eyes. “Mulder?” she whispered distantly. “What are you doing here?”

She looked wildly down, noticing her naked body. He immediately let her wrists go and turned his head, useless grabbing a towel and holding it out as he looked away. “Um, you were screaming.”

“I wasn’t. I would have remembered it.”

“You were.” He knew better than to recite spurting psychological analysis and profile her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her discretely stand and he winced when he glimpsed at the damage she took. “Um, I’m sorry. I’ll leave, Scully.”

She sighed, and wrapped the town around her small battered body and looked down at the draining water from the tub. When did she pull the plug? “No,” she sighed, “um, can you wait outside for me?”

“Sure. Do you, uh, want me to get you anything?”

She held the towel tightly around her and mumbled into it, “No thank you.”

“Just uh…”

“I’ll call your name.”

“Scully,” he paused, at the doorframe. “It’s okay to feel. I had…I had panic attacks for years after Sam was taken. It’s okay to feel.”

Scully kept her eyes closed, feeling tears, shattered into a million pieces completely abandoned. She imagined Mulder snaking his arms again around her, swallowing her whole, and shielding her from the evils of the world. And he did it all so selflessly. She raised her head and stared at the closed bathroom door.

Outside, in the bedroom, Mulder sat uncomfortably at the edge of the bed, flipping uselessly through the television as the antennas failed to provide any proper picture and instead gave the “ssssccchhhh” sound of garbled, empty air. Uselessly, he turned off the tv and saw Scully open the door wearing an oversized gray FBI tee shirt and loose sleeping pants. Her hair was damp, just like that first night in the graveyard. She watched him wearily as if she was debating on trusting him.

“I’m so used to keeping my emotions inwards,” she began softly. “You saw that when my father died. Your sympathy…” Scully caught herself. “You empathy…you genuinely cared for my well being.”

“Why wouldn’t I, Scully?”

She shrugged, keeping her arms around herself. She kicked at the stained red rug and walked cautiously towards him. “I’ve never…I’ve never been in a situation like that, Mulder. Completely helpless. Bound.” She shuddered and sat next to him at the far edge of the bed. “You said it was okay to feel. Did the panic attacks ever stop, Mulder?”

He leaned back on his hands thoughtfully. “Not until recently. There was a time about three months ago that they came back, worse than ever, but after about five weeks, they went away again.”

He gazed at the ceiling and then finally looked at her. She did the mental calculations and connected her abduction and return. The double-loaded meaning weighed heavily on her heart and she scooted closer to her partner. “What…uh…what happened?”

“A petite, arrogant doctor, proclaiming that science ruled all walked into the basement office and introduced herself with a handshake,” he said softly, letting the unsaid message linger between them.

Scully nodded. “Will you stay…just for tonight, of course?” She admitted after a long, painful pause.

“Just for tonight, of course. I’ll, uh, I’ll take the floor. Just let me grab a pillow and blanket from next door.” He moved to get up and she caught his hand and looked at her in surprise. “Scully?”

“Just…I want you close.”

“Whatever you want.”

Wordless, Mulder pulled back the blankets and she slipped in on the right side and Mulder laid down on the far edge of the left side of the bed. Quietly, she grabbed his hand and pulled his arm and body along like a blanket until he spooned quietly behind her. She sighed and turned out the light. The street lights danced in the shadows as he took a deep breath and kissed her temple. “Was it me, Mulder?”

“Yeah,” he confessed to the darkness, to her. “I don’t know why, but it was.”

Scully ‘hmmed’ and buried her face into the pillow. “Do you think I’ll heal, Mulder,” she asked in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” he whispered simply.

“Thank you,” she mumbled before drifting off to sleep.

[vagrantblvrd]

Echoes (1/1)

Summary: The end of the world should probably have been a bigger deal, really, when you think about it.

Notes: Sky Factory-ish AU idea based on my ramblings here that mutated on me along the way???

AO3

The end of the world should probably have been a bigger deal, really, when you think about it.

“Don't you think, Jeremy?” Gavin asks, because a second opinion wouldn't be amiss right now. “It's kind of weird we all just got with things afterward, isn't it?”

Jeremy grunts, and Gavin leans around him to inspect the lock that's been giving him trouble. Simple little electronic keypad, a technology that was reclaimed decades ago. The numbers on the keypad are worn down from frequent use. It should be easy enough to crack the pass-code, but Jeremy's been hacking at it for ages now.

Gavin sighs, eyes roving around the compound they've found their way into.

Most of the buildings are dark, but there are a few lights in the distance. Powered by the solar arrays they'd been careful to avoid on their way in earlier. No doubt under guard or wired to some form of alarm system. He can make out the edges of a sign, one that isn't rusted over like most of the ones scattered about the place.

Most likely put up by its new occupants, and that pokes at a half-forgotten memory, rumors and whispers about this place he'd heard about years and years ago. Picked up along the way, bits and pieces of legends and myths and stories salvaged from old books and recovered technology.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, “try 'Olympus'.”

Jeremy pauses, and Gavin can imagine the frown he must have on his face before he shrugs and types the numerical equivalent in. A soft chime fills the air before the light at the top of the keypad glows a soft, inviting green, mechanism inside the door unlocking.

“Seriously?” Jeremy asks, shooting Gavin a look, and Gavin shrugs.

“You've heard the rumors, haven't you?” he asks, slipping past Jeremy to push the door open. “Compound like this at the top of the highest mountain in the area? Bunch of lunatics playing at being gods?”

The compound isn't exactly at the top of the highest mountain, so much as midway up. And they aren't playing at being gods so much as they're trying to recreate the things humanity lost when the world as everyone back then knew it ended. (Lunatics, though. That's a very apt description for the lot of them.)

There have been successes here and there. Enough that the settlements in the area have benefited from them. Bits and pieces of old technology reclaimed and adapted among the greater whole that's been lost to time and mankind's own hubris. Thinking such simple creations, inventions, would surely never be lost, so why worry?

The strides that have been made since people took their first, tentative steps in the new world they found themselves in after what they've taken to calling the Calamity have been...interesting, to be certain.

Monstrous hybrids marrying old technology and comparatively primitive bits and bobs with the magic growing up through the cracks in the foundations of this new world. Wild and untamed and stronger with each passing day until it was a thing people couldn't pretend wasn't real anymore, that it didn't exist.

But among the successes, major and minor, there have also been -  

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?”

There are a few torches on the walls offering cutting through the inky darkness, the whole thing not exactly ideal given what they're doing sneaking in here.

When Gavin looks over at Jeremy, he sees him backing away from a small, feathered thing.

Well, somewhat feathered in that there are a few of the pitiful little things scattered in among the naked, mottled flesh. It eyes Jeremy up and makes this sound partway between what a normal chicken might make and this horrible little groaning noise.

Hideous really, and the singular eye staring up at Jeremy isn't doing it any favors.

“Ah,” Gavin says, and reaches over to push Jeremy's arm down, point the knife he's holding at the floor. “That's Clive.”

“...Clive,” Jeremy says, taking a step back when the creature takes an experimental peck at his foot.

Gavin watches Clive, something a little fond at the way she flaps her wings at Jeremy. Territorial little thing. Protective.

“Clive,” Jeremy says again, accusatory as he turns scowl at Gavin. “You named it already?”

And, yes, all right.

Gavin might have mislead Jeremy a bit when he stumbled on him in a bar in one of the settlements far below them. Might not have told him the truth about who he is, or what he was doing down there, but it's not as though Jeremy asked him really, now is it?

Didn't so much as bother with a “Hello, how are you?” when he sat himself at Gavin's table, half-drunk and cheerful with it. Babbling about the madmen at the top of the mountain and the stories about them that have spread over the years. The wonders that must be hidden away in that compound of theirs, what they would find if they just went up for a quick peek.

“Er,” Gavin says, and freezes when he hears the door shut somewhere behind them.

Hears the sound of a sword being drawn because weapons are a tricky thing in this day and age. Things like bows and blades being by far more reliable than finicky things like guns. Less likely to backfire in spectacular ways when unpredictable magic is thrown into the mix.

“Ah,” Gavin says, and turns to see a familiar figure walking towards them with slow, measured steps.

Hears a drawled, “You forgot the fucking password for the front gate again, didn't you.”

Gavin huffs, because it's not likely he'd remember after having a few with Jeremy at the bar, and he's been away gathering resources for weeks>. Not his fault if the paranoid bastards had Ryan create a system that changes it every so often and Gavin's mind too muddled to remember the pattern it.

“Well that's a fine way to say hello, isn't it?”

Michael snorts, stepping into a patch of light. Slight curl to his mouth when he looks at Gavin, eyebrows going up when his gaze shifts over to Jeremy.

“Who's your friend?”

Gavin grins because Jeremy is a gem. Bright and clever and Ryan is going to love him. They all will, really.

“This is Jeremy,” Gavin says, patting Jeremy on the shoulder. “He's lovely, Michael. Please don't kill him.”

Jeremy stiffens under Gavin's hand.

Goes very, very still as though he honestly thinks that would help him if Michael thought he was some sort of threat.

Michael's watching, of course he is, and sighs as he sheathes his sword. “Did you even tell the poor guy what he was getting into when you dragged him up here?”

Well, not in so many words, no.

It was more of an overwhelming amusement at Jeremy's enthusiasm. His determination to see what all the hubbub was about the compound and their motley little group and the strange goings on here. Some form of agreement when Jeremy invited Gavin along on his little adventure, a quest that had taken him a long way from home.

“Er...”

“Goddammit, Gavin,” Michael says, rubbing his temples as he looks at them. “You know why we don't let people up here.”

Clive makes a sound of protest, this eerie little thing that sounds a bit like a wail.

“That,” Michael says, pointing at Clive when Jeremy flinches away from her. “That right there, that is why. Geoff and his godforsaken abominations. You remember what happened when Edgar got out?”

Gavin winces, remembering the poor little...thing Ryan had named. Part cow, part something Geoff had never come clean about because Edgar had been a misstep in his experiments.

Ugly and misshapen and dumb as anything, but a gentle creature under it all.

When it had become clear his lifespan would be a short one, they'd decided to let him live out his days in the pasture at the edge of the compound, but somehow he'd managed to slip past the gates. Caused a bit of a panic when some unsuspecting forager from one of the nearby settlements stumbled on him, thinking he'd contracted some kind of disease, plague.

Brought up concerns about what was going on up here that had put everyone at odds for a long, long time in spite of all the scientific evidence Geoff and Ryan put forth to soothe fears.

The whole situation had made venturing past the compound's gates a dangerous thing for any of them for a long, long time.

“Ah,” Gavin says again, watching Jeremy watching Clive as she pecks at his foot once more, the flinch he tries to hide with two of them looking at him. “True.”

Michael sighs, shaking his head as he gestures for the two of them to follow him. “Come on, the others want to talk to you – both of you – and it's fucking late. Get a move on, assholes.”

Gavin glances at Jeremy who doesn't seem angry about the bit of misinformation on Gavin's part. More like -

“We're going to have a talk later, buddy,” Jeremy says, more of a promise than a threat as he walks after Michael, and Gavin.

Gavin sighs and crouches down to gather Clive in his arms because Geoff will pitch a fit if he loses another chicken, and really, she's lovely.

“Well then,” Gavin says to her as he trails after the others. “That went about as well as I expected it to, now didn't it?”

Clive clucks, this odd little trilling noise that ends on a gurgle with a bit of an upward lilt to it like she's asking him if he's sure about that.

Gavin stifles a laugh as he hears Michael yelling at him to hurry the hell up because she's got a point. One thing's certain, things are definitely going to be interesting in the coming days.

[bluraaven]

Smoke and Mirrors

El Abuelo is the most notorious of crime bosses, and it falls to Special Agent Reynauld Maurouard to take him down.  His only lead: Dismas, an ex-bandit whose outfit was in the mobster’s hire. Things go downhill from there.

Chapter 2

"I thought you wanted to quit?"  

Dismas jerked and cursed when the cigarette he was about to roll slipped through his fingers, spilling brown tobacco leaves into his lap.  

"Shite!"  He turned to glower at the woman who smirked at him from behind a glass full of what Dismas hoped was wine, and not blood.  With Audrey, you could never be sure. "What's wrong with ya?"

Audrey shrugged and sashayed over to kiss his cheek in welcome.  Dismas got a whiff of the heady perfume that surrounded her like a cocoon, the effect of which was only slightly spoiled by the alcohol on her breath.  Audrey then gracefully sank down onto the seat his feet had been up on just a moment before.

"I thought you were on a date tonight," Dismas asked, eying the blonde's high heeled boots which reached just above her knees, and her form-fitting dress.  With her nails painted black and dark red lipstick, she looked like she had stepped out of one of those old spy movies; the ones where all the men wore coats and hats, and the women were as likely to seduce the protagonist as they were to poison him.  He liked Audrey, she was one of his closest friends – not that he had many of those – and he enjoyed working with her, but that did nothing about the fact that she was batshit crazy.  

"I was," Audrey confirmed, brushing the matter aside with a wave of her hand as if it were no more than an annoying fly.  She swirled her drink around before taking a dainty sip.  She must have brought the wine herself.  With the exception of beer, Boudica would never touch anything under forty percent.  

"You were what?" the woman in question asked, coming in just in time to overhear the last part.  

"On a date, darling," Audrey replied, and fished a pack of thin cigarettes out of her purse.  The smokes were more expensive than the ones Dismas could afford, which did not stop Audrey from making pleading eyes until, with a sigh, he tossed over his lighter.  "I'm sure you remember what that is like."  

"Barely," Boudica replied drily, and Dismas watched his two best friends exchange kisses in greeting.

They couldn't be more different in appearance, the dame fatale and the rocker girl who repaired cars for a living. Just like Audrey, Boudica was tall, but unlike her, she was also muscular and wore leathers and tattoos instead of silk and jewellery.  Boudica owned a garage where she ran a small business of repairing and selling cars, and in the evening when all the work was done, it was open to friends.  It was and a good place if you wanted a drink or a chat, and she let Dismas borrow her tools whenever he needed to fix his bike.  

She had a boyfriend whom Dismas had not seen around today.  Secretly he was glad, because there was something about Tardif that had Dismas convinced that he was a serial killer.  

"How is my favourite grave robber?" Boudica asked, grabbing herself a bottle of beer that she deftly opened with a screwdriver, before plopping into the beat-up leather couch and putting her boots up on the table.  

"I'm an archaeologist!" Audrey protested in fake, albeit perfectly credible outrage.  She tilted back her head and released a plume of aromatic blue smoke towards the ceiling, her posture somehow even less ladylike than that of her friends.  

"What's the difference?" Boudica asked, taking a healthy swig right from the bottle.  

"The difference between archaeology and grave robbing," Dismas explained before Audrey could, "Is that they need to be stiff for more 'n a few centuries –then if you dig them up, it's considered scientific excavation."  

"So which one's your job and which one's your hobby, now?"  Boudica asked Audey with a grin.  

"Judging by what pays better... ," the blonde snorted, then suddenly shot upright, one hand disappearing inside her purse.  With a cry of victory she held up a small item so that it could catch the light of the naked bulb overhead.  "Look!"  

"What's that?"  Boudica asked, leaning closer to have a better look.

Dismas recognized the trinket in Audrey's palm as one they had collected on their latest stint.  It was a ring in the form of a raven.  The corvid carried a crest that depicted a tower on a field of red and gold.  A fine piece of craftsmanship, but way too ornate and old-fashioned for his taste.  No wonder Audrey loved it though. She collected mementos of her midnight outings like saner people might collect stamps or cards of their favourite sports team.  

"Gotta do some research on who this crest originally belonged to," Audrey said, fondly looking at the ring before trying it on.  "Think they'd want it back?" she asked with a cheeky grin, holding out her hand for all to admire.  

"No," Dismas immediately threw in.  "It's ugly."  

Boudica laughed as Audrey pouted, pocketing her little treasure again.  "What did the Chief ever do to you anyway?" she wanted to know.

"He took my money," Audrey hissed, her painted eyes narrowing dangerously.  

"Don't you mean your ex-husband's money?" Dismas asked.  Audrey's husband had been some business mogul, a CEO of one syndicate or another. Like all of them he'd been running a crooked shop – unlike all of them he'd been caught.  Dismas had seen the bloke only once, and frankly he was glad he wasn't going to do so again.  Someone in prison had seen to that.  

"We had a deal!"  Audrey fumed.  "I was going to file for a fault divorce, which meant I was due most of our martial property and alimony!  Of course, no one told me that I would only get what was left after the fiscal authorities confiscated every last penny."  

Which, as far as Dismas remembered, amounted to a quite sizable debt.  "Why did ya trust the police anyway?"  

"What else was I supposed to do?" Audrey fumed.  " Did I know that pig was a mobster? Of course I did!  Should I have gone to prison alongside him?"  

Dismas shrugged.  He did not blame Audrey,  but he also did not pity her.  After all, she had never lied about having married her ex only because of the money and social status it had given her.  "Well, better luck with the next one."  

"Oh, I don't want to remarry," Audrey declared proudly.  

"You sure?  Might be more money that way."  Out of the corner of his eyes, Dismas caught Boudica shaking her head and running a finger over her throat.  

Audrey smiled indulgently, but Dismas could see a spark in her eyes that confirmed he had overstepped some line. "And when will we finally get to meet Mr. Paixdecouer?" Audrey asked in a voice as sweet as nightshade essence.  

"Fuck off," Dismas grunted, regretting ever having told her his real name.  

"Speaking of lovers, future and past," Boudica made an attempt to steer their talk to safer waters, "Have you seen or heard from Louet?  He wanted to meet me, but didn't show up, and I haven't heard from him since.  I think he said he had something for you, Audrey."

"Oh?"  Audrey perked up, but Dismas wasn't paying attention to her.

It wasn't like Louet not to come to a meeting.  He was one of the few people that could be really relied on.  Dismas shifted, a spark of worry gnawing at him.  He wasn't on the straight and narrow by any means, but he was a different man now than he had been during his time up North.  Back then, he had lived for the thrill of life, the rush of a raid.  But with the anger and vigour of youth spent, the lust for adventure abated, and recklessness gave way to caution.  

Experience had taught Dismas him that banditry was going to lead him to an early roadside grave, and age made him value stability over a quick profit, even if it was in the form of shitty day labour.  s

As far as he knew though, Louet was still involved with some of the local gangs, smuggling goods and information.  Unlike Dismas, he still liked what he did, but then Louet had always believed himself invincible.  It was part of what Dismas had loved so much about him.  

 The conversation turned away from Audrey's love affairs and filthy lucre and to more everyday things.  Boudica suspected Bigby, an employee of hers who was responsible for the paperwork, and whom Dismas remembered as a morose gothic kid with lanky hair, to be smoking pot.  As long as he stayed away from any real drugs she was willing to close an eye – the type of customers that she had certainly didn't care either.  

Audrey in turn bitched about university life, about her colleagues, and how their funds for a project she had been applying for were being cut again.  "I swear," she said, "Either they give me tenure, a raise, or the Dean's gonna have to buy himself a better car insurance. Again."  

A feral grin suddenly lit up Boudica's face.  "Well, Tardif and I were planning a trip to Fraehaven anyway."  

Dismas was well aware of where Boudica's main income came from.  A quick exchange of plates, some readjusting of the odometer and a paint job was all it took for a car to be ready to be sold to a new owner.  Up North, if you knew the right people and diligently paid your bribes, this could even guarantee you a living.  He himself had provided plenty of spare parts and even some of the vehicles for a share of the revenues.  

Audrey elbowed Dismas in the side, jostling him out of his thoughts.  "What do you think?  A few more cars and you can forever say goodbye to that dratty motel and find yourself a proper place to stay in."  

Dismas suppressed a flinch at Audrey's chosen topic instinctively hunching over.  "I'm not in the market."  

Audrey wasn't so easily dissuaded. "It doesn't hurt to look, you know? You might just find a place that you like."  

"If I find a place I like, I'll let you know," Dismas retorted, annoyed with her relentlessness.  Out of everything she could latch on to, why did she have to choose this?  Why not his clothing, or his hairstyle?  "Motel's gotta do for now.  And it's cheaper than paying rent."  

"It's filthy."  

"Would you look at that," Dismas sneered.  "The woman who digs up corpses for funzies is complaining about dirt.  Ever considered I might like it filthy?"

He didn't.  He loathed it; everything from the cold lamps with missing shades, over the flaking tapestries to the cheap furniture marred with burn holes like pockmarks.  Dismas did not want to think about what manner of vermin lived in the cheerless grey carpets, where or who the stains on his bedding came from.  

Audrey raised like a perfectly plucked brow as if she had read his mind on the matter, but she did not comment.  

Of course Dismas would be delighted to leave that shithole.  And when he felt bold and dared dream big, he even imagined what it would be like to have a real home.  A nice, cozy place to call his own.  But the truth was that unlike miss professor, he did not have a prestigious, decently paying job.  

In fact, he did not have a regular job at all.  He drifted between working at gas station a couple miles out of the city, selling cigs and wank mags to passing truckers, to being a burglar and car thief.  Sometimes Jubert would let him work behind the bar, or as a bouncer on others, but nothing he had ever done would make the best impression on a CV.  

No law-abiding person was going to employ him, not for a wage he could live from.  Dismas did not have citizenship, a passport or ID card.  It said something about a person when getting fake documents was less of a hassle than getting the real deal.  

He could probably get one made up North, but he wasn't going back up there.  Dismas had been with the outfits for too long to return to the North, and he couldn't go further South if he didn't want to tangle with the Holy Church of Light.  

So he squatted in-between, with no insurance, no prospect of pension, no access to healthcare – hell, even the card in his mobile was prepaid.  Dismas might be blessed with the constitution of a horse, but what when he got older? He did not want to spend the rest of his life doing one miserable day job after another.  

Most of the time he managed not to think about the future (or his lack of one) at all.  He'd gotten very good at that.  

Motels at least made things a tick easier.  They never asked questions and they did not want to see identification papers, as long as you were good on cash.  

Audrey knew of his position.  It was a sore topic between them.  He knew she meant well.  It wasn't her intention to nag him about his way of living. Hell, she would probably give him the money he'd need to get an apartment.  She had offered only once, but he had never asked.  

There was a part inside Dismas that resisted the idea of accepting help.  He loathed owing people.  He had seen firsthand what a simple favour could lead to, and he had already done things for money he would regret to his dying day.  

"Well, it's been nice to see you but we'll better get going," Audrey said and stood, stretching.  

Dismas began to nod along, before the meaning of her words actually reached his brain.  

"Where are you going?" Boudica asked and rose too.  

Dismas would love to know as well. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Jubie's.  Dismas promised me a night out. "

Dismas brows rose.  He had done no such thing, yet Audrey had lied without so much as batting an eyelash.  

 "I wasn't aware you had planned on me taking you out for drinks," Dismas said once they had bid Boudica goodbye and had made their way outside.  

Audrey shook her head and raised a hand to shush him.  "I wanted to tell you first," she said, appearing to be in a hurry to get whatever it was that was bothering her out.  "Thought you might appreciate it."  She took a deep breath, then dropped the bomb.  "The police got Louet."  

"Fuckin' hell!"  Dismas cursed through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the ice-cold fear that suddenly gripped him.  "How do you know?"  

"Para told me."  

Para?  Dismas was confused for a moment, before he realized that it had to be Audrey's lover. "Your girlfriend?  She's in the police?"  

"Forensics," Audrey corrected, one hand grabbing the lapel of his jacket.  "You should leave, just for a few days."  

"No way."  

"If the police finds your whereabouts– "  

Audrey did not have to finish. Dismas knew full well what awaited him, if law enforcement found him.  

"Louet's not going to talk," he stated with as much conviction as he could muster.  Perhaps it was naive of him to think so, after all, they weren't a team anymore.  It was every man for himself, but he still needed to believe it, for the sake of having something, anything, to believe in.  

"That's not what I've heard," Audrey said bitterly.  "Of course, if he snitches on me, I'm going to have to kill him."  

Dismas was shaking his head, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order.  And then it hit him:  Audrey knew someone on the inside.  

"Why can't she get him out?" he enquired, drawing to a stop.  

"Who?"  Audrey blinked, confused.  

"Para," Dismas clarified, "your – something."  

"Oh, I don't know," Audrey sighed.  "Maybe because there is a fundamental difference between passing on snippets of knowledge when we're in private and breaking out a wanted criminal straight out of high security ward which – wait for it – is located right under the station."  

Dismas grunted and began to pace again.

"Why don't you break him out himself?" Audrey muttered.  "Aren't you the man with the magic touch when it comes to security?  Either they'll get you and you'll make things quicker for yourself, or they won't and you'll have what you wanted."  

"What's gotten into you tonight?" Dismas paused long enough to get a good look at his friend.  

"Oh, I don't know," Audrey snapped.  "Maybe I don't want to see all my friends land in jail!  You know," she began again, much calmer this time, "you can stay with me.  Just for a while and then we'll – "

"Look, I – I gotta go, yeah?"

Occasionally, Dismas wondered if he was just too proud or too thick skulled.  Would it really be so bad to bite the bullet and move in to Audrey's loft? He knew her well enough and she had more than enough space.  But he could not in good conscience stay when every step he took over her polished hardwood floor made him feel like he was leaving a stain.  

"Dismas –!"  

"Love ya too, hun," Dismas said, hurriedly kissing Audrey's cheek.  He heard her growl in frustration, saw her throw up her arms as if to say, 'I surrender'.  

His heart was thundering in his chest and his keys jingled in his hand.  Dismas had already broken every traffic regulation at least once, but never before in a single ride.  If they had gotten Louet... Audrey was right about one thing; he needed to move.  

Dismas accelerated, feeling the noose draw tighter.  

He drew to a sudden halt a few blocks away from his motel.  For a second he had the impression of having stepped into a discotheque.  There were no sirens, but blue lights flashed everywhere and the parking lot was taken up by squad cars and people in uniforms. 

AN: You can also find the story here, on AO3!

[cliche-ish]

Be comfortable in my own skin color

I was born with darker skin than most people in my country and than my culture’s beauty standard. My family and neighbors called me by the nickname “Đen”’, which means “dark skin” in a negative way and also the black color in my language. They even made up a chant that included all the worst quality possible of multiple body parts. It was something like “Bald head, protruding forehead, short nose, dark skin, slanted eyes.” Is that a haiku lol? In my culture, it is believed that you should not call a baby “cute” or “adorable” no matter if the baby is cute or not, because that can jinx it. Yup, calling a baby “cute” is believed to be all it takes to turn the baby into an ugly looking monster later... Instead, it is preferred to always call babies “ugly”. So even though I had none of those characteristics but the dark skin, that chant was my life theme song for a while. At least that was the reasoning of the people I grew up with. That chant was sung to me up until I was about as young as I can remember, maybe 4 or 5 years old. After that, the chant stopped, except for the dark skin part. The dark skin matter haunted me up to high school. 

In Vietnam and most East Asian countries, people are obsessed with having fair, pale, light skin. That is THE beauty standard for Vietnamese women. Beauty salons and cosmetic spas offer a wide variety of skin whitening procedures and products. Dark skin also means ugliness. It is the last thing you want to have if you are a girl or women there. What is worse, it was deemed to be associated with lower social status. People saw my dark skin and made rash assumptions (did I see a pun?) that I was poor and not well educated, because I had to work outdoor, laborious, manual jobs as a kid to help the family. That’s the stereotype. One time I went to the dentist for a quick simple procedure. During the procedure, the dentist said my skin was so dark, I must come from Miền Tây, which is a region where many people were poor farmers back then. (Reminder, I was born and raised in a middle class family in the biggest city in Vietnam, went to the top schools, and the only work I really had to do was homework and some housework.) I felt so offended, yet couldn’t correct her because my mouth was help open by a cheek retractor.

I saw many TV ads about skin lightening lotions and cosmetic procedures. I was still a teenager, so I could only ask my Mom if she could buy me the lotions. It was a big deal, because at that time in our culture, teenage girls were usually not allowed to use any cosmetic products, like makeup, hair dye, or nail polish. So I gathered all my courage to ask her to buy me those lotions. To my surprise, my Mom agreed to buy and let me use the skin lightening products. She probably wanted the best for me. I did use them, but didn’t really see any improvement. I thought it was probably because I was an active, sporty, outdoorsy girl who was out in the tropical sun the whole time lol. So my skin was still dark, and I was teased all the time. When I was little, I was so sad. When I was a little older, I just laughed along on the outside, but came home and cried alone in the bathroom. There were days I felt so shitty and so insecure about the way I looked, wondering why I was born like this. Once I became insecure and conscious about my appearance, it spiraled and more stuff was added to the list of things I was ashamed about: my fat ass (I have a pear-shaped body), my weird jaw (I have an asymmetrical face, you know, like a normal person), my body hair (who doesn’t have that), etc. That list got expanded quickly, as my self-esteem was shrinking substantially.

I started to gain a tiny bit more confidence in high school. I saw a few women on the street rocking their tanned skin with great sense of fashion and bold choice of color, looking like they were joyfully living their lives. Even though they loook different from the many other women out there, their confidence was beaming radiantly, and so I thought I wanted to be like that one day.

But it was when I moved to the U.S. that I truly became confident about the way I look. No one in the U.S. really teased me about my dark skin any more. People even approached me and complimented on how pretty I was. That never happened! I never thought of myself as “pretty”. That was when it hit me. Back in Vietnam my tint was somewhere further towards the end of that normal distribution of skin shade spectrum. That does make me more uncommon but in no way abnormal or ugly. But when I left home and moved to the U.S., a beautifully diverse country, I got shifted to somewhere in the middle, more common area of the spectrum. My point is, the spectrum, the standard, the perception of beauty, they’re all relative and changing all the time. It’s never going to be enough if I keep on chasing these ever-changing standards. I cannot be super skinny while also have an ass. I cannot have light skin while also getting that summer hot tan look. And every body is different, so what works for you might not work for me. I can’t let a few people decide what I and all billions of women in the world should look like to get the world’s approval. What best determines my worth is how I perceive myself. I am pretty and happy when I feel pretty and happy about myself. I’m in shape. Pear’s a shape. Body hair is not abnormal. It’s there for important functions, and we’re more closely related to chimpanzee, not dolphins. 🙂 Each and every part of my body is important, functional, unique, and a part of me. I appreciate them.

My appearance has changed a lot in the past few years, not because it finally adheres to new, updated beauty standards, but because I have learned to love myself, be comfortable in my own skin, and make myself prettier and healthier for me. I look up on what type of clothing fits my body shape. I cut my hair short, because short hair fits my personality and makes me feel like me. I eat right and work out to stay healthy, not because I want to get rid of my fat thighs. I appreciate and love my dark brown skin more than ever before. I look healthy, glowing, and sun-kissed without even trying, and never get sunburn. I mean, what is there to be upset about? I care less about what people think or comment on my appearance, if it is not objective or constructive. (i.e. “Why don’t you wear more makeup?” versus “I have this lipstick color that I think will fit you great.”) I spend more time enjoying life now rather than worrying over things about me that I think people think. I also realized people don’t really pay that much attention. It was just me paying too much attention and scrutinizing my own flaws. I learn to appreciate the diversity of body shape, and strike down those stereotypes or biases that being slim means healthy or being plus-size means you cannot be sexy or healthy or strong. (There is a scientific study about how body type is not a good indicator of health.) I look perfectly fine, and I will never let anyone tell me I am ugly, or not worth it, or not going to make it, because of how I look. And because of how shitty those mean comments made me feel, I promise to never let anyone treat others the same way, to say “I love your [...]. It’s pretty.” when I find something about someone pretty, and to be mindful and every time I am about comment on someone’s appearance.

There have been hopeful, progressive, and empowering changes that took place to challenge the culture based on toxic beauty standards. Several days ago I came across a news article about a decision made by Johnson & Johnson to stop selling skin-whitening creams, as a response to the Black Lives Matter movement. But it is also a great win for women in these countries, as such products had been feeding the toxic culture and the media that shames women for their look.

Recently, my Mom told me about a Vietnamese woman named H’Hen Niê. She is a Vietnamese beauty pageant who was crowned Miss Universe Vietnam 2018, and she was slaying it! She was widely recognized and loved by the Vietnamese people as she smashed every single Vietnamese beauty standards for being a minority with short hair and dark skin. Models who are plus-size, wear hijabs, have skin defects or disabilities are showing up more on American brands where I shop for my clothes. Finally, there are women on covers and who represents and advocates all girls and women of all shapes, sizes, colors, and cultures. Representation matters, because you can visualize yourself there, it’s easier to get there. This is so that more young girls and women would see “There’s someone who looks like me and she’s killing it.” Hopefully, they would feel less worthless, ashamed, and insecure about their features that society should not get to judge or label, and more inspired and empowered to love themselves and be proud of who they are. We have come a long way, and we still have a long way to go and a lot to do, but I’m optimistic that we are on our right track to building a better world for many young girls and women. 

Photos of kick-ass women: Left to right, H’hen Niê, Zozibini Tunzi (South African woman to be crowned Miss Universe 2019 who has been openly advocating and celebrating “black girl magic”), Halima Aden (first Muslim model to wear hijab in Sport Illustrated Swimsuit), Thando Hopa (firsl albino model to be on Vogue cover), Winnie Harlow (internationally recognized supermodel with vitiligo), Ashley Graham (plus-size model, covergirl, and TV presenter who hosts a section on the Ellen DeGeneres’s site, theellentube.com) 

[alittlebitofpersonality]

aLBoP a Scam? Drama, Scandal, Ooh Ahh!

Once upon a time, last winter, we moved A Little Bit of Personality to WordPress from Blogger. It was a long, tedious process with a lot of formatting (which on some posts I’m still not pleased with). The site was down for almost a month. All the urls changed, even though I went through and made redirects for as many as I could.  And all our Google+ comments got removed (which honestly was part of the point of moving platforms.  It was being an annoying system).

All this led to the complex set of algorithms which is Google Search to be very confused as to what was important on aLBoP.  When you Googled aLBoP or A Little Bit of Personality, suddenly it was trying to give search results of random image links and obscure posts, instead of things people really wanted to find, such as Type Specializations, the Super Simple Series or Type Heroes.

It also didn’t help that we were working on other aspects of aLBoP and life in general, so posting has been a slow game all year.  As I understand it, Google prioritizes frequent posting, as well as Google+ shares (nepotism lol), neither of which were in our favor anymore.

But this also meant that non-aLBoP links, especially from popular sites, suddenly came up much earlier in search results.  One in particular, with the most click-bait-y subject line ever, notably rose to the first page of search results right away: a forum thread with the subject line “A Little Bit of Personality Blog: Is it a scam or did I overreact?”

Well if the promise of a scam won’t get people to listen to you, I don’t know what will.  Talk about the most buzzwordy word possible lol.

Ha, which just now when I Googled to be sure I was quoting the name of the thread correctly, I saw something relieving which I didn’t know, but I’ll talk about that in a minute here.

So I have never clicked on this link, I’m pretty sure. As soon as we were live again on WordPress, I was trying to make sure that Google had our sitemap, working on our SEO, etc., so I believe I saw that link there as early as January 2017.  And seeing it there immediately upset me, not gonna lie.  But I wanted to listen to the immortal words of Taylor Swift and shake it off.  Plus I had way too many other things to worry about, not the least of which was continuing to be sure my links went where they said.  And I also knew that reading people lying about me would just upset me and keep me from getting things done.  So I went on with life and working on content like INTJ – The Dragon, which came out in February.

But apparently a lot of my aLBoP friends, (people who we’ve met through their long-time reading and loving of the site, but have become so very much more than just readers, as so many of you have ) had seen this link too, and several of them were even more upset than I was about it.  They checked it out on their own and then came and told me about who had posted on the “scam” thread and what they had said.

As soon as Justin and I heard what the original poster of the thread had said, we were immediately like “Oh, him.”

Now before I go briefly into what this guy’s “grievances” were, let me tell you what I was relieved to see this afternoon while writing.  When I Googled “a little bit of personality” and saw this link there, not actually clicking on it (it’s gross enough to smell a pile of poop, I don’t want to put my hand in it), it says under the link:

“Oct 2, 2015 – 10 posts – 4 authors” [emphasis added]

*Whew* when my friends were describing what was on there to me, I thought it was like pages and pages of all these people saying how much I suck!  To know that it’s just four people, two of which I know who they are and knew that they were like that before they even had anything to complain about, is incredibly relieving.

Okay, so four people. I don’t know who two of them are because I haven’t actually read the thread, although it’s likely I would know them too.

Most of the people who get really angry about aLBoP are ones who liked us at first, often even people who vied heavily for our attention initially, until we say something that offends them, or more often their worldview, and then they hate us with the burning passion of suns and must tell anyone who will listen.  Although I don’t think there is a single one of those people who we didn’t get a red flag in our minds at their first email, “watch out, this is one of those kinds of people” no matter how positive they were toward us at first.  Observing people is our job, after all.

Person 1

So with this particular guy, the one who started the “scam” thread, *sigh* I knew from his first email “ah, one of those.”

He bought a typing + personal chat package from the store, sometime around then in 2015.  We don’t actually carry personal chat time anymore, because it was taking way too much time and we were getting behind. We actually *still* have some out that we sold but haven’t done.  We will either go ahead and do those ones at some point, or refund their money.  But I know there were several really cool people who ordered them near the end, so I would really like to fulfill those at some point here, rather than refunding them.

Anyway, we don’t carry them anymore because they had gotten really stressful and after we had a forum, which we’ll talk more about later, we thought people can get their questions answered there anyway, answer each other’s questions, etc.

We’ve never been especially timely with Typings, but we do always get to them.  I don’t remember how timely we were fulfilling this guy’s order. We do them in big batches, usually, where we sit down and type a bunch of people at once, oldest order first.  So if we took a while to get back to him it wasn’t at all because he was a less pleasant customer, because the time we take has nothing to do with that.  So if you have to wait a while for your Typing, it’s not because we don’t like you, lol <3 (If we’re ever taking too long, you *can* send us a polite email and ask if we can go ahead and get on it.  But we always do get to it and we always feel really bad making people wait.)

Oddly, I vaguely remember doing this guy’s really fast anyway, so I don’t think that was part of the problem. We may have been like “this guy is a live wire, we shouldn’t let his sit too long.”  We do occasionally do that.

Anyway, if I understand correctly, his main reasoning in calling us a “scam” is that the following happened:

1)  He ordered a typing + a video chat.

2)  We felt immediately “eh” about him, but fulfilled his typing order in a normal and polite fashion.

I think it was his condescending attitude toward people in general in his first email that seemed like #badsign to me.

3)  He was displeased with the type we gave him.  We have a post about this.

No matter how consistent and repeatable the results are, no matter how many people are over the moon about our typing of them, no matter how many people are repeat typing-customers because they see how it all lines up over and over again in real life; there are so many people who are set on the type or set of types they want to be a part of, and therefore who dislike the type we give them.  But the way we Facial Type is a science, with consistent data-sets that have proven universally consistent thousands of times, holding up over time and experience.  We can’t go changing the answer because somebody gets his panties in a wad.

There are also plenty of people who are personally threatened by the idea of Facial Typing at all, or just very uncomfortable about it.  You are welcome to feel however you want on the topic.  But I don’t understand why people order from us if they feel that way.

It’s like someone coming across town to tell you he thinks your house is ugly.  I feel like “… Okay, thanks?  Then don’t look at it and get off my lawn.”  The internet is a big place and no one is making you stay here.  Honestly there’s probably a more fitting analogy with someone who hates seafood yelling at Red Lobster or someone buying an orange and getting mad that it’s not an apple, but eh, I like the lawn one.

4)  We don’t give refunds on Typings we have fulfilled.  We never have, and say so very clearly on the Type Me page, which has all the instructions. That page didn’t exist in its current version at the time, but we have always listed that on pages describing the Typing process.

The effort and our typing results are what is being paid for, and people who get snotty about their results take far *more* effort than people who are happy with them.  That’s not to say you are required to be happy, but that even if you are not, our time and our results have still been given to you, so we can’t just refund that.  If you don’t trust our scientific process and our definitions, then that is completely your prerogative.  But if that’s the case, then please don’t order a typing and waste our time, as well as yours.

5)  He also applied to the, at the time, brand new Phase 2, via a separate self-invite system.

Okay, the thing to know about all our websites is that they are 100% free, always are, always have been, always will be.  We currently have—*counts*—4 websites.  They all have free admission and no subscription fees or anything of that nature.  The only things we charge money for as part of aLBoP are specific services and merchandise. That used to include video chats, which as I said we don’t offer anymore, and now includes Personalized Typings and, hopefully in the future, merchandise such as t-shirts (you can buy t-shirts here, but I really want to make more designs and figure out a better system for producing them), patches or whatever other physical or digital items you guys might want to buy.  We do not have any premium content, if the definition of “premium” is content you pay for.

All other funds from aLBoP come to us via Patreon where people can support our content, which helps us produce more of it, or via Love for aLBoP, one-time donations in the aLBoP shop.  (Everyone has been remarkably patient as I haven’t been great at giving out everyone’s Patreon rewards, such as the monthly desktop wallpaper for $5+ people, etc. But I really am excited to do that and plan to do it sooooon.  Not one person has said anything about it yet, I just feel really bad because your support means so much to me. <3)

HOWEVER, we do have content that is restricted to people we have given access. Like I said, we have 4 websites, of which this is the first; Phase 1 as we call it. Yes, this is a blatant reference to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Phase 2 in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Why, yes, we are giant nerds.  Here, have a picture of stick figure Phil Coulson with his gun from Avengers, if you haven’t seen it on the Phase 2 Intro site.

But while we do gate these websites–the Phase 2 Intro behind a self-invite you can use right now if you want (it’ll open up in a new tab so you don’t have to lose your spot here <3), and Phase 2 gated behind applying and us getting to know you—ALL of them are free.  Let me repeat that: none of our websites cost any money.  (The fourth site only has a few people on it so far and it’s still under construction anyway, but it’ll have a similar kind of gating.)  These websites are provided free of charge, including our time spent on the Phase 2 forum, where we give lots of personal help and advice.  We don’t even have ADS on any of the websites!!!! (Although we are considering adding them to our videos, because we find that less invasive.)

6)  Where was I?  Oh yeah, he had applied for Phase 2, but then we were busy and hadn’t gotten to adding people to the new Phase 2, back before the process was automated.

7)  He sent an annoying displeased email.  I could pull up said email now to remember the details (I never delete aLBoP emails from anyone, which is why my Gmail storage is exploding), but I really really don’t want to.

But I recall that he was firstly, really whiny about his typing.  I don’t remember if he actually said he couldn’t be an F, like we had typed him, or if that was just the impression we got from his email, which is a very common tale, especially with people who hold onto the internet’s definition of Feeler.  Men typed as Fs and women typed as Ts have been trends in our grumpiest clientele, because people believe that Feeler means soft like mush and Thinker means Vulcan, and people equate those to feminine and masculine traits, respectively, which is frankly pretty dumb.  Although I can only blame people so much for wanting certain types, when the internet deems some types so wildly more worthwhile than others.  However, how people react when they’re disappointed says a lot about them.

The second thing that really got our eyes rolling about his email was his attitude that because he had given us money, he owned our time.  Money seemed like his main card to play, which makes all the more sense why he made money the focus of his thread title, calling us a scam.  Anyway, it was a very “but you have to do what I say, I paid you,” attitude.

But if you’re not sure on my character judgment of him, go ahead and look at the thread.  I haven’t read it, but if he doesn’t come off whiny and like someone who feels like money makes him entitled, then I will eat my hat. Well, I won’t, but it’s the only idiom I could think of.  But if you don’t agree then you won’t agree, and that’ll be the end of it, but at least I will have left the opinion up to you.

8)  So we saw from his email, which wasn’t a surprise from his original email, that we didn’t want to waste time and energy having a personal chat with him.  We also didn’t want him on the brand new forum, which as a private, free forum was our prerogative.

9)  So I sent him an email telling him that we would refund the chat money because we didn’t want to talk to him more and that he was the first person banned from the forum, which was true.

I think we only actually banned… 2.5 people ever.  I say 2.5 because we officially banned 2 people from ever entering the original site, and were close to banning another, but he quit before we could fire him, so to speak.

Was I especially nice in this email reply?  No. I wasn’t trying to be.  I wanted to really let him know why we didn’t want to deal with him anymore, and frankly he was a buttmunch.  Again, you can go look at the thread if you want to verify his buttmunch-itude.

10)  WE REFUNDED HIS VIDEO CHAT.

Again, like I said in point 5… No… 4, we don’t give out refunds for typings. We had fulfilled that part of the deal, so we kept our $15 dollars (I know, huge quantities of money being exchanged ), but refunded him the $10 for the video chat we didn’t give him.  He was our first refund; we had to figure out how to do it on the website.

11)  I think he probably replied again, angrily, but I was super done with it.

12)  Shortly after (we launched Phase 2 on September 15 and he wasn’t in the first several batches of applications, so he probably rage posted pretty quickly), he started that thread.

Apparently his reading comprehension was limited enough that he thought paying for a video chat was paying for Phase 2…I guess… Even though you would have to read the Phase 2 announcement page from the time to even apply… idk. I’ll give him the limited benefit of the doubt that he was more stupid than flat-out lying… Stupid isn’t a nice word, it implies mental limitations and implies that if other people missed information, I think they’re stupid too, which I don’t.  “Making the decision to be willfully idiotic” is a much more fitting term.  I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that he was being willfully idiotic, rather than flat-out lying.

13)  I thankfully haven’t heard from him since and hope he finds happiness despite his buttmunchiness. Totally a word.

Anyway, you can have any opinion you want about my choices in responding to him, but since he had no purchase that wasn’t either fulfilled or refunded, he has zero claim to a scam.  Although, you know, I’m really rolling in his fifteen bucks.  *Evil laugh*

  Person 2

The other person who I know wrote on the “scam” thread, got upset in the very earliest days of the forum. It was a lot of drama in a short period of time that happened… two years ago today! [At time of writing, which was the middle of September.]  Holy crap, I didn’t know that when I started writing.  Happy anniversary to drama .

There was a lot of drama in those early days of the forum as we were attempting to establish an atmosphere different than so many forums and so much of the internet.  This other person wasn’t the only one involved at the time, but since other people didn’t feel the need to run my name through the mud, I don’t feel the need to address their personal issues with aLBoP.

This woman was INFP and I’m referring to her by her type since I have no intention to be petty enough to share her name.  That doesn’t mean I think all INFPs are that way *obviously,* it’s just easier than saying “woman” on repeat, because that’s weird.

But, as I’m sure she talked about on the thread in question, she thought we were harsh and mean on our forum in a way that she deemed “never called for.”  She was referring to one particular forum post of mine.  Here’s what happened, from my perspective:

If you are unfamiliar with cognitive typing, you will need to know that ESTPs like to poke for reactions.  It’s how they interact with the world, which is a good thing.  And because motives and character judgment is their primary Type of Information, it really really matters to them what people are really like. They hate fakeness, perhaps most of all the EPs, and attempt to cut through the crap of pretension (wow I had no idea that was spelled with an s instead of a t, interesting), or fake nicety, by catching people off guard and seeing how they react.  Reactions are an EP’s bread and butter, after all.

So since very early aLBoP, there was this ESTP.  Great way to start a story lol. And he had been all over the internet and in real life, and had seen people being crappy on repeat, so he was used to that as the norm rather than the exception. We can all relate with that.

So when he found aLBoP he immediately began his routine “poking for legitimacy” like a 19th century miner biting a gold coin lol.  But because of the crappy he had experienced, he was used to having to poke oftenly and fairly hard to see what was really inside someone.

But when he first began poking at aLBoP, I didn’t know this backstory.  I just saw that the same guy was commenting on *every* new post, and giving me pokie lip on each one lol.  He would comment things on each post, trying to get a reaction, commenting about how I said this or that, or on what he’d read elsewhere that disagreed.  And at first I was just like “>:( leave me aloooone! If you don’t like the posts, why are you here??”

But that was the thing, he kept staying around.  I didn’t get it.  I felt like his comments meant he didn’t like the posts, so why didn’t he just move on?  And the comments were getting more positive over time, usually just with something pokie at the end or something.  And he ordered a typing from us and I was like “What???  Well, I guess he does trust us some… Huh…”  That was before Facial Typing, but when I realized his type it just made all the sense.  (I have obviously since seen his face and it was spot on what we predicted, for the record.  Take that people who try and pretend this isn’t a science .  When it can accurately predict what people will look like before we see their faces.)  And he had really been open about himself in his typing emails (of which there were several, telling us about himself, which is so adorably ESTP lol <3), and I was already liking him a lot more already.  And then he posted pokie comments on the Spartan, being skeptical and I’d feel grumpy about him again, but as much as I wasn’t a fan of the way he was poking, feeling like “how many times are you going to have to poke me before you’ll believe I’m legit? :P”, I did still really like him and care about him, and was starting to appreciate his bold, frank, poking sense of humor.

But this back and forth dance of poking and a surprising growing loyalty we saw from him about aLBoP, was at an interesting place right before we launched Phase 2.  I remember he had left a really sweet comment on SS:P2 (which isn’t there anymore because we moved, remember?) and I was feeling really supported and happy about him.  And yet because of this history, and the fact that I was aware the poking was still strong with him, lol, Justin and I were nervous about him as we came up to launching Phase 2.  I remember three individuals that we were worried about with it and this ESTP was one of them. But like I said, we liked him too, so Justin and I had high hopes about the whole situation as we launched.

Now, if you haven’t read what is now the Phase 2 Intro, and don’t know about what kind of content we have over there, it’s not only more in depth than what we have here on Phase 1, it’s about understanding yourself in a very core way, even deeper inside than cognition even, which is why we didn’t want it to be drive-by internet bait.  It’s not secret, but we think it’s pretty special, and we wanted to foster an environment of reading-comprehension and self-examination, for this information that is intended to help individuals grow, for people who want to do that. Like I said, it’s pretty special to us, and we’ve had immensely special experiences seeing it work in the lives of others as well as ourselves <3.

But because of the crap he’d experienced, and because most of the time Motives aren’t treated as a valid Type of Information, even after all the times he’d poked us, this ESTP felt very wary as he came onto Phase 2 and began reading the new information.  It was all new stuff and lifted the ceiling on his own potential, making him worried he was going to be judged unfairly for things he didn’t know yet (I hope that’s a fair assessment of his feelings at the time).  And so he sort of acted out about it.  From what he said later, he skimmed the Intro, feeling grumpy about it from the very beginning of the information, and went to the fresh new forum even more wary than he had started.

He read the forum rules, which we had written purposely open-ended, talking about attitudes that weren’t acceptable on the aLBoP forum, and referenced content from the Intro in showing how those attitudes would be identified.  Having been treated unfairly other places for doing the “wrong” action (his last step and mine), and I think feeling grumpy about the new information being referenced again, like he was expected to know everything right away or, like I said, be judged unfairly, our ESTP’s first forum post was a criticism of the forum rules, saying they were too open ended and wouldn’t work.  I remember in one of his posts in this conversation, he said that other forums’ rules were better and said it would be better to be like every other forum, which was the opposite of what we were aiming for.

Justin replied very nicely to him, explaining that he wasn’t expected to know everything yet, and to just relax and settle in, trying to encourage him to get comfortable and let us worry about whether or not we could reasonably make it better than other forums.

(I swear, I don’t know why people consistently treat Justin like he’s going to be the intense, harsh one. 9 times out of 10 *I* play bad cop, not him.  Which people don’t expect from me because I’m adorable and smiley, lol, and the unsuspected nature of it works in my favor.)

But our ESTP (running out of ways to say that) was still feeling upset from the Intro, and didn’t want to be soothed about the topic, still arguing about it being unfair.  I think some others might have talked too at that point?  Don’t remember.  But it was a particular “won’t let this go” thing iirc.

And we were working so hard on the atmosphere of this baby forum.  Justin and I were getting about 2 hrs of sleep a night, trying to help the forum feel like a safe place where people could actually talk about things, and this was the last thing it needed.  And I was so done with this ESTP’s mood and attitude at that moment.  He was being so stubborn (which I lovingly joke ST stands for sometimes, lol <3) and obstinate, and I decided “no more!”

I sat down and wrote a reply post that was intended to smack him upside the head, hard, and say “Stop it!  I think you can be better than this!  Are you going to prove me wrong?!”  It was an intense post, not gonna lie. I actually remember very little about it besides my calculated fury and the fact that I quoted XKCD.  And I said he wasn’t allowed to say “I didn’t do any specific actions wrong, you can’t call me on my bad attitude and intentions.”  Oh and I may have said he was acting like a “dick” at some point … Yeah, apologies, that is a phrase I use, not actually on Phase 1 before this point.  It’s just so concise and jerk is just not strong enough sometimes!!  Is it bad that it’s a little bit funny looking back at how intense I got, since it’s been very resolved on that front since?  Like I’m kind of embarrassed that I am that intense of a person.  You know, as if someone took a picture of my battle face and I’m looking back at it now like  “That’s what I look like angry, huh?”

Which isn’t to say that I rage posted.  I don’t rage post.  Case in point, how the thread that sparked this whole post is now over two years old, and I began writing this post over a month ago.  I am meticulous and thorough and attempt to predict the reactions my words and choices will evoke, as is my one-true-mental-love as an ENTP.

I stayed up all night writing that post, trying to imagine how he would reply to different parts and trying not to let him wiggle out of it, and yet wanting to give him the opportunity to do better if he wanted to.

I am a very passionate person, I’ll give you that for sure.  People and things mean more to me than I can ever say, often against my will.  But that means while I get really truly incensed about plenty of topics, I will never write an angry message to someone if I have no hope of getting through to them.  Like this post for example; there’s a reason it isn’t addressed to the people over on that thread.  I have hopes of actually communicating with very many of *you,* however I won’t try and communicate with them.  I don’t have any hope that that would do squat.

Ask Justin’s brother, also ETP, sometime about the intense face-slap email I sent him, he’s definitely never forgotten it.  But I would never have sent it if I didn’t respect him and his ability to apply things and desire to grow.  (He replied epically to it, btw.)  If I ever get truly angry with you, and let you know it, know that I respect you enough to believe it’ll make a difference to address the issue with you.

ETPs need to be poked as much as poke (saying that is going to get me into trouble with people lovingly poking me, heh), and I wanted to poke this ESTP hard enough to get a reaction of change, and I poked as hard as I felt he personally needed, based on knowing him personally and knowing his cognition.

But the INFP woman in question immediately replied informing us that you never ever ever (need a bunch more evers) speak to someone that way!  She said we were mean and rash and harsh and she would have no part in it!  And for the record, she was definitely not the only one concerned.

The post I wrote *was* in fact harsh, but it was not a knee-jerk reaction.  It was a calculated move decided upon, based on love for the person I was talking to, and the hope that snapping him out of the way he was acting would induce him to be *more*, which I hoped he could be.

And if you consider “lovingly harsh” to be an oxymoron—if you believe that there could never be a situation where harshness would be the appropriate reaction in order to get through to someone you care about—then this may not be the place for you, especially the later Phases of aLBoP.  aLBoP is a place for adults to come of age, and attitudes that say “you always deal with people this way or that way” are, frankly, childish and therefore wouldn’t fit in with the atmosphere of aLBoP’s later Phases.

We deal with people on a case by case basis, not by one-size-fits-all rules, and this was actually what I thought would be most effective.  And to be honest, it worked.  He immediately stopped in his tracks and said “I’m sorry, what can I do differently?”  Honestly, his reaction was much more epic and adult than I expected it to be, but I did anticipate that the best way to handle an ESTP acting that way, was to shock him to get his attention, and stop him in his tracks.

But this INFP woman didn’t care whether or not it worked.  She was all too pleased to be indignant.  She told the forum (if I remember correctly) that she was leaving, and also emailed to chastise us again, and to tell us she was leaving.  We emailed her a short but polite “sorry you feel that way” email, but tbh were pretty pleased to see her go.  (Now when I say “polite,” I actually mean polite.  I don’t consider my harsh post in question to be polite, for example, but it wasn’t intended to be polite.)

She was actually one that we *did* have a video chat with before we even launched Phase 2 (you guys see why I didn’t want to carry them in the store anymore?), after we had typed her.  And while we made it very pleasant and answered all the questions she had, to her stated satisfaction, Justin and I both could tell there was something about aLBoP that made her very uncomfortable.  He and I discussed afterward, “that was good… right?” “yeah, but we had to make it good.”  I could go into the ins and outs of what made her uncomfortable, things having to do with her Type Angst, blah blah blah, but that just seems petty at this point.  Interestingly, I talked about her in What if I’m not the Type I Thought I Was and referred to her as a “cool INFP.”

I was being nice.

I will say, disappointingly, that there has definitely been an FP trend among the people who have been the least cool about aLBoP.  I mean, I know soooo many cool FPs, and I suspect we get more of them, quantity-wise, since their Type Specs are all about the meaning that they can get out of Individuals and Situations <3 and I think and hope that aLBoP is right down that alley.  But when an unhealthy FP feels like we’re a threat to their own personal meaning, watch out!  We’ve especially had a lot of ESFP and ENFP guys (more often guys than girls, interestingly) who have approached us as “nice guys” with obvious warning signs, that when they ended up showing their true colors were anything but nice.  I won’t go into tales of the one who wouldn’t stop emailing me in all-caps not-so-nice words, or the one who spammed comments about how ENTPs didn’t have feelings.  I don’t make character judgments flippantly, especially negative ones.  And unfortunately, my spotting of warning signs has proved depressingly accurate, as individuals have demonstrated with later actions.

But in a twist of couldn’t-get-more-ironic, the reason I decided to write this post was because Justin was chatting with the very ESTP she had said I was abominably too hard on.  He’s been one of our biggest supporters ever since, both in having our backs with emotional support and sharing aLBoP, and he’s been ridiculously generous on Patreon (I hope it’s okay to share that, I never know what is couth when it comes to talking about money and donations ).

Lol, when he found out about people discussing him on that thread he was like “Hey, they’re talking about me!  That’s pretty cool.” ROFL, could he *be* any more ESTP?!  Idec, I love you, you are seriously amazing and I can learn a lot from how you let stuff roll off of you!! <3

But he had a friend whom he’d been telling about aLBoP, and the friend saw the “scam” link and got wary, so I felt like it was finally time to address this.  I have better things to do than tell people on the internet that they’re wrong, but when it’s deterring other people who are looking for aLBoP, then that’s something I need to try and fix.

*Whew* sorry this has been so long!

But I don’t want you guys to worry that this has delayed posting at all.  The only major posts this year have been The Dragon, like I said, and the Four Types of Love, both of which I am ridiculously proud of, although I have been worried sick about not posting more, especially since you guys have earned it with Patreon all year; don’t think I’ve forgotten it!!

But the reasons we have been gone so much are somewhat other aspects of aLBoP, working on later “Phase” stuff, especially training people who want to help us help all of you guys more, but also working on our own personal situation as well.

In June I was offered a part-time job by an INTJ friend of mine that I really respect, at his business, and I felt like it was the perfect time.  (For the record, he doesn’t know I’ve typed him shhh )  And while I’m really enjoying it and I think it’s benefitting aLBoP, I felt fairly overwhelmed and anxious the first few weeks, so that took a lot of my attention at first.  But really, there’s been plenty of other aspects going on with us working things out to establish ourselves for the long haul.

Which, for the record, the part-time job is in financial planning, so I had to have a background check for it, which I passed, so I guess the FBI doesn’t believe I’m a danger to people’s money if that helps with the whole “scam” thing lol… Unless that’s a ruse and they’re watching me *right now.* O_O  Considering that I’m writing this from the bathtub, that would be super pervy.

However, apparently I have very little fingerprints left, I guess from my skin condition, so I am considering a life of crime.  If anyone has any suggestions, please leave them in the comments below.

Anyway, I have two short Super Simple posts almost done, working on a new format for shorter posts and faster posting, so I hope to get those out to you guys ASAP.  I will make up for all the months I’ve missed, I swear!!  Thank you guys for your patience as always.  And for your trust of us as a source.  I can’t tell you how much it means to me those times when people are impugning our character (which thankfully seems to be happening less and less these days), to know you beloved readers are out there; knowing that you know us, love us and have our backs.  I couldn’t ask for a better audience or better friends. <3

My hope in clearing this up is to just soothe people’s worries and hopefully overcome misleading search results so that new people can find aLBoP every day, and hopefully feel like who they are and the way they think naturally is worthwhile and wanted.

Much love, <3 Calise

The post aLBoP a Scam? Drama, Scandal, Ooh Ahh! appeared first on A Little Bit of Personality.

from aLBoP a Scam? Drama, Scandal, Ooh Ahh!

[kostovas]

my diary post about my feelings before going to college

august 22, 2017, 10:06 pm, my room in El Paso

The way that I tend to deal with my problems/worries is that I don’t think about them and ignore them and keep ignoring them until they get so big that I’m forced to think about and deal with them.

That is basically what I have been doing this entire summer. I don’t even remember the last time I wrote in my diary and I’ve decided to start typing it out instead since I’m afraid I won’t have the motivation to literally write out my diary in COLLEGE, aka, the problem/worry, which branches out into a bunch of other little problems/worries (I’m going to be living 10 hours away from home, what if I mess up while doing the laundry, what if the work is too hard, my parents are going to be sad,) that I have been pushing away

Although to be honest about 90% of the summer consisted of me in my room writing fan fiction or watching Netflix or scrolling through twitter, I still really didn’t think much about it…

Orientation? Did I even write about it? It was fine, it was good, I instantly clicked with my roommate sara, yes, same name as me, and my orientation-roommate was nice but I have a weird after-taste about her because she told me she was Latina because although she is German Swedish Irish french Spanish insert a billion other super white ethnicities here, her mom is from New Mexico!

Orientation just felt like a more cramped, panicked version of NSLC camp which I went to last year. NSLC was like, a random pocket-universe where I met new people who I spontaneously had a lot in common with and thought about my future in entertainment business with just for fun. Orientation is where I met new people who I very un-spontaneously had at least one thing in common with, starting ut, and thought about my future for real.

I feel like I’ve got some things down, aka my class schedule and what music I could potentially listen to while walking around campus (my Austin playlist is a lot of vampire weekend and sza and I know that sounds like a weird combo but it feels insanely fitting) but for the most part I still very much have ABSOLUTELY ZERO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING!

I…. AM PANICKING BIG TIME RIGHT NOW… I CRIED LIKE A MINUTE BEFORE I STARTED WRITING THIS… WHICH I HAVE NOT DONE (at least not over anything that wasn’t a book or a tv show or a movie) THIS ENTIRE SUMMER!!!

This summer, although filled with a lot of nothing and empty spaces, felt so perfect and so teenage-me. Maybe not truly me, truly what I would have done in my perfect world, but just… what I would do as a teenager. I know I’m still technically going to be a teenager for at least awhile in college, but, not like this. Not the El Paso bred high school boredom tennis court by Lorde Gilmore girls crying teenager. I’ll be something else, whatever it is, and I have no idea what. I am afraid to meet her. I am excited I am scared I am going to vomit all over this new computer I bought for college

I went to a lot of movies this summer, mostly with nicole and mostly at the Alamo draft house and mostly before they came out (baby driver, good time, which I both liked but baby driver way more).

I got my drivers license and I passed the test by literally oNE POINT

I drove by myself to nicoles apartment and we had weird conversations about our psychic feelings and premonitions about our own lives and deaths. That was the first time I drove by myself and it was for about five minutes and I sung out loud to dua lipa the entire time because I feel like falling asleep any time I go in a moving vehicle and theres no music and my dad drove me back later because it was raining.

I also drove to pick up alondra the Friday before she left for college. Her first day of school was today and she left like a week early. She’s in South Carolina at college of Charleston and I’m even scared for her. We got chick fil a and went home and talked about da Vinci and being Latina outside of El Paso and random memories and feelings and nothing and everything and nothing again

I hung out with my grandpa a lot, who has been staying here all summer. Yesterday he showed me a picture of my great grandpa who I had never seen before and I was so shocked, he looked like a real Mexican movie star cowboy, I have no idea what John Wayne looks like but he should look like my great grandpa, panfilo vela. Yesterday in particular my grandpa worried about pregnant women because the solar eclipse was happening and they were not wearing safety pins, a latino superstition he said so firmly as a scientific fact that I was really confused and briefly wondering if there was some sort of pregnant women’s medical pin. My dad said ‘that’s part of his charm’’ believing things so intensely, I guess. I think I got some of that from him

I went to San Antonio last week with tia 1 and valerie and Abuelita and my family. Tia 2 is usually the one to go on vacations with us, but she has this new best friend who she is in a two-person cult with, with her BFF/Bestie/Twinsie (yes, she is a 40+ year old woman, who calls her that) being the leader and her being the devout follower, paying for all her tickets to schiltterbaun and the movies and everything she buys while shopping and all her food and yelling at her employees for getting mad at her for something to do with a water bottle I don’t know but it’s definitely throwing off the balance of the universe.

But it was fun, tia 1 is very loud and charismatic and doesnt give any fucks and now I like to say “no mas mis chicharrones truenan aqui” also I am mad I am not more tan

I learned how to make crepes I have made at least 7 successful ones

Okay. so. crying. Here’s a text I sent to the vampire weekend group chat earlier:

(redacted) I really feel like my dad raised me mostly and he just took me out to the fanciest dinner of my life as a “father-daughter dinner” before college and he ran into some friends who were older than him and they were like “ur gonna miss her it’s gonna suck!” And I think my dad almost cried and we talked about heaven in the car and now I’m home and there’s boxes in my room and I’m staring at them and crying

end text

My dad put together those boxes for me with longhorn tape. Burnt orange duct tape with white longhorn shapes on them, literally That’s where my arts and crafts related headassery comes from

I’m going to be staying in a dorm at UT with my own restroom and now I’m thinking do I even really know how to clean a shower NOT REALLY

I’m gonna end up googling it while I’m there

I feel like I don’t actually know how to iron like I’m doing it wrong for sure

The restaurant was called cafe central it’s in downtown El Paso which I think is really truly beautiful even though objectively it’s ugly I’m super emotional and so I think it’s extremely beautiful and it’s just. I feel . It’s just how I feel.

I feel so in touch with the El Paso city it doesn’t even feel real. I feel like all the abandoned buildings are just cardboard cutouts and I have the power to knock them over with my fingertips. the homeless guys there don’t even scare me that much even though they probably should, not even the old lady with the bandaids all over her hands who stole Isaac’s hot dog once

god. That dinner was so fancy and I kept thinking about all these early 2000s chick flicks where a girl eats in a fancy restaurant for one reason or another and I kept thinking about how I love my dad and I kept thinking about how why do we need four different knives and I kept thinking about how that place started in 1918 so it probably wouldn’t have allowed someone who looked like my dad in there for awhile but there I was sitting with my dark brown dad eating food with names and ingredients I have literally never heard of and the chocolate cake melted into itself and chamomile tea is a gift from god

I read a lot of matt Murdock fanfiction today.

How am I 18 years old? I don’t want to… do anything ever… I want to read fan fiction and lay face down on the floor, but not even those two things can be accomplished at the same time.

NOTE: (redacted) means I took something out in case some certain irl people read this, maybe I should’ve taken the thing about tia 2 out but, well, I am somewhat at peace with death