#truly don’t understand why the when where and by whom a label was created would matter more than someone feeling seen by a label

[posi-pan]

for anyone who has ever seen someone claim pansexual was coined on social media by teenagers in the early 2000s, the 2010s, and even in the past few years, and believed it or wondered if it’s true, or known it’s not true and been annoyed by the misinformation, this article is for you!

after listing out all of the claims i’ve seen, i succinctly debunk them by laying out a brief overview of pansexual’s history dating back to the 1960s, both as a term generally indicating universal appeal/inclusion and a term indicating sexual freedom/attraction to all genders. i include a look at pansexual’s use specifically within queer spaces, with a focus on bisexual spaces, as well.

i also touch briefly on omnisexual and polysexual existing in similar contexts to pansexual dating back to the 1960s. and finally, i discuss a little bit about how when, where, and by whom a label is created doesn’t determine the validity or usefulness of it, because these claims come with the implication that new labels, labels created by kids, and labels originating on social media aren’t legit forms of queer expression and identification.

happy pan week! 🥰💗💛💙

[insfiringyou]

BTS - A Chance Meeting (V & Ara)

Contains: Slight angst

*Alert for potential spoilers for fics not yet written in Jimin x Ara’s storyline*

Ara notices Taehyung sat alone in a quiet cafe and decides to stop by. 

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Content below the cut

Ara hesitated, before tapping lightly on the single-pane glass with her fingernails. She didn’t want to draw too much attention but was unable to stop herself from knocking. It was a surprise to see him after so long and she had double-taken in the street. His hair was a little longer, but that was expected. The last time he had just returned from the military and his short, closely-cropped cut made him seem more somber; years older than he was. Now it was back to a length she found more familiar but the dark, wispy suggestion of facial hair on his upper lip was new. He seemed lost in thought, sat in the back of the cafe with a small cup clutched between his fingers, staring into space. Despite her being gentle, the sound seemed to startle him and he looked up. Ara gave a tentative wave, hoping he recognised her. 

She tucked her fringe behind her ear, watching him pause before he raised his hand slightly in acknowledgement. Her bleached strands felt unfamiliar as she brushed the neck of her hair; the short, pixie cut still freshly blow-dried from the hairdressers that morning. She had asked Da-eun to do it for her but the young woman had refused, thinking she might get into some kind of trouble for it. Ara understood, after all, she had not yet spoken to her manager about a change in style.

Taking the plunge, she tucked her black purse beneath her armpit and walked around the corner to the entrance; the soft tinkle of a bell above the door signalling her arrival. She could not read Taehyung’s expression as she approached his table at the back of the small space but hoped she was not intruding. He was sat snugly behind a column which, luckily, seemed private. The cafe only had a small handful of customers but she looked around cautiously before joining in. 

“Hi…” She beamed, keeping her voice low. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “I’m good.” His tone gave nothing away, but after a moment he gestured to the spare chair opposite. “Do you want to sit down?”

She slid onto the seat automatically. “I can’t stay for long. I’ve got an appointment.”

He blinked a few times. “You’ve cut your hair.”

Her replying smile was bashful as her fingers moved in response to her fringe which had once more come untucked. “It was too warm in the heat. It’s much easier to maintain now.”

“It suits you.” He said coolly. 

There was a long pause between them, though it wasn’t awkward. She had grown used to these drawn-out silences, from the time he temporarily took lodge in her and Jimin’s apartment and when her boyfriend had left for the military. It would have been a lie to say she had gotten a lot from his company. He always seemed absorbed in his books as well as his thoughts, but there always seemed to be something he was holding back; an aura of mystery she couldn’t quite place and at odds with Jimin’s usual openness. But Taehyung was tidy enough and greeted her when she came home, so she hadn’t minded having him around. 

She found herself wondering what she could say to him. It seemed polite to stop and talk, but this chance meeting now reminded her how little she knew about his life now. Eventually, she spoke. “How’s the baby?”

The corner of his lips twitched in a vague smile. “Toddling.”

Ara was silent for a moment, only just realising it had been longer since she had seen him than she initially thought. “How old is he now?” She asked, voice open and inquisitive. 

He took a sip of tea; it’s aroma fragrant in the small space. She tried to read the label on the tag but couldn’t make it out. “Almost two.”

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I can’t believe it’s been so long. I keep meaning to go and see Cassandra, but I wasn’t sure where she was now. Is she still in Seoul?” 

Taehyung nodded, putting down his cup. It made a soft, strangely comforting sound against the china saucer. “She’s in Gangnam. Do you have her number?”

She thought for a moment, before nodding with a frown. “If she hasn’t changed it. She was kind of hard to get hold of for a while.”

“Gabriel had colic.” He replied with a shrug, as though that explained the years of absence. Ara thought the explanation a little odd, but did not comment. 

“Did you choose the name?” She asked. 

“It just seemed right.” He quickly murmured, not entirely answering the question. Ara thought the reply seemed rehearsed, as though he had answered it many times. She wondered if his family had commented on it and whether he felt the need to defend the decision. Jimin had not spoken much about Taehyung’s family, and she herself had never heard them mentioned in conversation. All of a sudden she found herself hoping they had been supportive; not just for his sake but for Cassandra, whom she had known for so long. 

Ara forced the thought away. “I bet it sounds lovely when she says it. Cassandra always had the most wonderful voice.”

Taehyung looked up from his tea cup. “She still does.”

Her mouth opened, forming an ‘oh’, thinking she might have gotten it all wrong. Or maybe things had changed in the past two years. She approached the topic tentatively. “Are you two…?”

“No.” He confirmed. “But we make it work.” He quickly added.

Ara settled back in her chair; understanding. She gave a soft smile which she hoped didn’t come across as patronising. “I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s the mother of my child, Ara.” He said quietly.

She sensed the sadness in his voice; a longing he couldn’t quite put into words and she nodded. “Of course.” She changed the subject lightly, seeing there was nothing else she could say on the matter of her old friend. “You should get in touch with Jimin. I know he wants to see you.”

He appeared to wince a little but recovered well. She almost hadn’t noticed. “You can tell him he’s welcome any time he wants. He knows where I live.” He murmured. 

Ara fell silent, realising he didn’t yet know. “You really haven’t seen him in a while have you?” She asked, before pressing on. “We broke up.”

He met her eyes across the table and she saw the shock in his expression. “When?”

“A few months ago.”

Taehyung was quiet, pensive, before he asked. “Was it mutual?”

She smiled sadly. “I think he needed it too. We still speak sometimes.”

The man opposite nodded in confirmation. “That’s good.”

Ara watched as he leaned forward to pick up the cup, looking downwards as he took the last few sips. She realised how lonely he looked; how the times she had come home to find him seemingly preoccupied masked the fact he didn’t seem to have anyone. His fans, she remembered, always thought him something of an enigma. She wondered now if that was truly it. 

“Have you thought about dating again?” She suggested, making sure to keep her voice down low, should anyone else hear. 

He didn’t look up from his cup. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…” She trailed off, figuring out how best to word it. “Being in a relationship seemed to suit you.” She shrugged. It seemed silly now she said it out loud. “As far as I could tell anyway.”

“Cass has moved on.” He murmured, frankly.

Ara hesitated. “I meant with someone else.”

Taehyung’s eyes snapped up, meeting hers purposefully and she let out an unexpected giggle. 

“I didn’t mean me.” She confirmed, shaking her head. It felt strange without the usual brush of hair against her shoulders. She settled down, her laughter subsiding, and gave a long, dramatic groan, anticipating how pathetic she must sound. “I’m still trying to find myself.”

He looked back at the table, picking up a napkin and twisting it absently between his long fingers. “I don’t think I could have that again.” 

“You never know.” She easily dismissed.

His brows knitted together, creating deep, frustrated grooves in his forehead as he mumbled, glumly. “Maybe some people are only meant to be with one person.” 

Ara raised a questioning eyebrow. “You never dated anyone before Cassandra?”

Taehyung looked up once more, answering quickly. “That was different.” He sharply declared. “I was young.”

“You’re still young.” She said, deliberately gently, seeing he was hurt.

He grew quiet and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. Ara feared she might have crossed the line and she tightened her grip on her purse, getting ready to leave before he suddenly spoke. “I wouldn’t even know where to meet someone.”

Her hands stilled and she relaxed. “Well…” She held out the palms of her hands. “What do you like?”

He met her gaze. “In a girl?” 

She shrugged. “Or a guy.”

Half-expecting him to question this, he surprised her by remaining silent, meditative; thinking deeply. She wondered if he knew about her. Perhaps Jimin had told him. 

“Someone sweet.” He eventually said. “Someone kind.”

Her lips curled, simpering. “Is that all?”

“I’m not that picky.” He stated. 

She couldn’t help but scoff. “You dated the most European girl in Seoul.”

“She’s only half European.” He contended, entirely missing the point. 

“You know what I mean...” Ara shook her head with a grin and sitting back, she reflected for a moment. “What about looks?”

“Personality is more important.” 

“You must have a preference?” She challenged, suddenly curious. 

Once again he fell silent and Ara found herself a little impressed at how seriously he was taking this. “Dark eyes...soft and sweet.”

“The kind of girl you’d bring home?” She questioned with a smirk. 

“Someone I could marry.” He stated, a little dreamily.

Ara nodded, amused. He sounded strangely serious. “I know just the girl.” She teased, an idea already forming in her mind. 

He looked at her; eyelashes heavy, giving him a sleepy look “How about you?”

She stretched in her seat, realising she hadn’t thought about it much before and was surprised he asked. Smiling to herself, she blushed. “Smooth skin. Nice lips.” She giggled in embarrassment, adding: “No stubble.”

“So Jimin?” He challenged. 

The corners of her lips turned up and she looked away, unable to help the way her heart still skipped a little at his name. “I don’t know…” She admitted, drifting off and watching from the corner of her eye as he reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet. She took the opportunity to flick through her phone, typing a name and bringing up a familiar social media account. She swiped through the pictures with her manicured thumb before finding one which showed the girl in question at a good angle. It was taken at a company event, and the dress she wore was uncharacteristically short. The other girls on the make up team had talked her into wearing it but Ara saw the way she had tugged on it incessantly all night, trying to cover her pale knees with the frilled hem. 

“What about her?” Ara held out the screen, showing him. 

Taehyung squinted at the picture. “Do you know her?”  

“She’s my stylist.” She confirmed before tucking the phone back in her purse and closing the magnetic clasp. “You’d like her, she’s sweet...and single.” She added.

“What’s her name?” He asked casually. 

“Da-eun.”

She thought he was going to ask more, but instead changed the topic. “Are you going back on tour soon?”

“Once the new album’s out, we still have a lot of work to do. I’m meeting the producers this afternoon.” 

“That sounds good.” He murmured, sounding a little tired. She sensed the conversation was drawing to a close. 

“Are you working on anything?” She asked politely. 

“I was thinking about it.” The other man shrugged indifferently. 

“I’m sure your fans would really enjoy it.”

“I’d be doing it for me.” 

The steely tone of his reply took her aback a little and she found herself recalling the news headlines in the days following the birth. “Even so…” She drifted off weakly and checked her watch before drawing her chair away from the table. “I’d better be going.” She murmured apologetically, getting to her feet. “It was really nice bumping into you.”

His eyes followed her as she gathered her belongings and extended the strap on the purse across her shoulder. “You too. Take care.”

“I will.” She smiled, tucking the chair neatly beneath the table and turning to leave. 

“Ara?” He called softly and she spun back. He was silent for a few seconds but she waited patiently. “Your friend Da-eun…” He seemed a little embarrassed. “You can give her my number.” Another pause. “If you like.”

It took her by surprise but she nodded in agreement. “I will.” She confirmed, giving a gentle wave. “Goodbye Tae.”

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook

& Our full masterlist of fics and original art can be found here

& Our masterlist of preferences/most likely to/quizzes and fun stuff is here

You can support us by buying admins a coffee here (if you wish). :)

[45paperplates]

More about Olivia Rodrigo: On her Lyrics

Starting some time in 2018 or maybe a little earlier, Olivia Rodrigo began to play original songs, or more often pieces of songs, one verse and a chorus, apparently unfinished, for her followers on Instagram Live. She was about fifteen at the time, although one of the more complete songs (“Naive Girl”) can be confirmed to date back to 2014 or 2015, when she was twelve years old. I began to listen to these songs, all but one of which are available to hear conveniently compiled into a single twenty-five minute Youtube video, when my appetite for her music was only beginning to grow to its present size, after I had listened to the album on repeat for a good three or four days straight. They are the kind of thing only obsessive fans can really gush over, something akin to Bob Dylan’s early Minnesota Hotel Tape from 1961: badly recorded and casually created by a young artist who never intended them to be anything more than they are, a fun and easy way to show off their talent at a time when a wellspring of inspiration was already pouring forth with no better available outlet.  

These little pieces, however, establish finally for sure what a major label pop debut with other ambitions, no matter how special it may be, can only hint at, which is that something within her is driving a preternatural attention for detail, currently unmatched in it’s free naturalism, imaginative power, and consistency, only possibly consistent as a result of its being deeply possessed and long established, despite her youth. I have already touched on what I think that something may be in my first post about her. But whatever it is, it is immediately apparent in her performances here, an instinct that had already cemented deeply considered vocalization as her default, as a simple creative necessity, although a few of the earliest recordings have added even another layer of Broadway-like drama that has since been stripped away, I am guessing as a result of the nascent growth of some level of creative confidence.

Songwriting, then, is to some degree shown to be a third result of that engrained ability, after said holistic sincerity and its resultant vocal intuition, and yet a good chunk of the songs are lyrically composed as well with a just as holistically sincere and intuitive affect, presenting very well-understood conundrums, pared down to koan-like solids one would think by years of rumination. A few are, I would dare to say, more tightly constructed and figuratively multivalent than the songs on her album, many of which share their succinctness but not the violently prismatic irony that seems to be able to overpower the sincere creative drive that gave it life in its brightest inspired flashes. “drivers license” in fact excels by flattening that figurative prism into a simpler and more benign shape, allowing the casual listener to both easily understand and retain some wisp of hope in the end, even if it is only implied.

I would not be so stupid as to claim that Olivia intended these best-written of her unreleased bedroom productions to be metaphysical poems somehow toeing the line between classical balance and baroque terror in their meditation on the reciprocal quality of human sin. That would be silly, not because I don’t think a teenager is capable of such a thing (teenagers have, in fact, always been capable of making high art) but because these few songs focus on themes common to all of her songs: teenage insecurity, uncontrollable jealousy, and betrayal both social and self-inflicted. The depth of her imagery comes instead, I think, from an intuitive understanding of where the cultural meat of an issue lies, and when she writes a song her drive craves and so aims for power and gets rid of whatever there is that lacks it. Perhaps working with a co-writer somewhat slows that drive.  

“Pretender” is a song about being “fake” and how it works both outwardly and internally. It’s personification, the “pretender” of the title, is accused, envied, pitied, and ultimately, understood. It moves through four key lines.

Pointing her finger at this automaton, about whom she alone knows the truth, Olivia first wishes vindictively,

If only they knew what I knew.

But then, now envious of the figure, she prays,

I wish I knew what you knew.

Maybe as a result of these two contradictory desires, she is forced to admit with regret that the pretender can only be a fantastic image rather than a full person, a strawman created by her mind to both embody her sublimated desire and reflexively maintain her own superiority when it goes unfulfilled:

I created you to be plastic and deadly.

Finally, in a relentlessly logical conclusion, she must admit, as the construction falls to pieces, that this is obviously all about herself:

I created you to hide my own envy, ... Maybe I’m a pretender like you.

With her catalog in mind, the canonical interpretation is pretty obvious. The pretender is someone who is perfect and happy and Olivia is jealous of that. By the guilt left in the wake of her accusation, she realizes, indeed it should have been quite apparent from the start, that perhaps the person who seems to be happy is actually not happy. She perceives by juxtaposition that maybe others see her, Olivia, the same way, and in a sinking conclusion, perfect happiness, the other’s and hers as well, is shown to be only truly possible in image and never in the fullness of experience. It is a song about the difficult process of empathy and its bitter personal rewards. This interpretation prevails in Youtube comments, specifically in reference to her other songs about the jealousy encouraged by social media. “I’m happy for them, but then again, I’m not.” Maybe Olivia’s own fun and carefree public-facing presence is just as false?

The genius behind this songwriting, however, is that this other person does not need to exist for the song’s structure to function. This is by design, no doubt; she could very well be speaking only to herself the entire time. If Olivia is pretending too, as the final line suggests, then why could she not have been the pretender all along? Indeed, how else could Olivia be the only one who knows “the truth” about this figure in the first place? A personal struggle with identity, that is the meat of it all.

Her first wish for the pretender’s exposure is based in personal remorse, for lying to the world about who she really is. That her own social facade might be justly but violently forced open to expose the truth would be a painful but cathartic release. She makes her second wish as she recoils in the face of such an embarrassing prospect, hoping against reason that maybe it’s somehow all avoidable, that by abandoning any loyalty to the truth and to herself altogether she might in fact achieve the paradise that the pretender affects, soulless but free of the pain of having a soul too. Third is the realization that this is evil, that her desire is sinful, both grotesque and inhuman (“plastic”), and cruel (“deadly”). Fourth and last she can no longer pretend that her original finger-pointing isn't itself the result of this same worldly desire, as narcissistic an attempt at personal redemption as the outward facade is itself. Insecurity and jealousy, no matter how embarrassing or ugly, no more compose an understanding of identity than any more knowingly-constructed and performative self-image, and are just as self-serving in their own twisted way.

So in this song she is deconstructing herself, from outward composure to cryptic narcissism, shattering layer after layer in an alarmingly accelerating regression. Unfortunately, all that is left in the end is what she has done after what she is—performatively, emotionally, intuitively—has fallen away, specifically the intended result of the accusation she threw at the pretender to begin it all: once again, guilt. What else but guilt is exposed now to be the substance left of the human individual? For Olivia, deep down at least, guilt is always the together creator and eraser of human pleasure, the identity that is desire, and the only thing that fears the emptiness that would be left without it.

That a teenager could write such a penetratingly self-critical work is of course impressive, but the fact that guilt, desire, pleasure, happiness, identity, and fear are shown ultimately to be one and the same generative source is far more exciting. Here she exposes the potential versatility of her created and creative ability, that in maturity this raw power without singular definition could be manipulated into many other things completely new, things only Olivia and not I can imagine now.

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Penny For Your Thoughts (II)

Pairing: Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has lived in the Potter household since she was eight years old. Even amongst the Potters, whom she knew loved her, she has never felt truly accepted, never felt like anything other than a burden. Until she went to Hogwarts. For the first time she had friends who weren’t forced to act as such, she had a family who loved her by choice. There, she met Sirius, the first and only person to ever truly understand what she was going through, to listen to her and not judge.

Chapter Warnings: Ummm not sure - maybe swearing?

A/N: And here’s part two! I hope you enjoy - here you’ll meet some of my OCs created for the series, characters who I genuinely love a lot so I hope you also like them! Please let me know what you think - especially if you’re on the taglist, hearing your comments always inspires me to keep on writing, so please do let me know. If you wish to be added to the taglist send me an ASK, replies to the parts asking to be added onto it won’t be responded to

“I told you - I have the worst sense of direction!” Y/N groaned as herself and Beatrice managed to take another wrong turn on their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

“I thought you were exaggerating or - or being modest!” Beatrice laughed, nudging into her gently with her elbow. Y/N pulled a face at her.

“That would be rather Hufflepuff of me, wouldn’t it?” 

“Hey - this looks familiar!” Beatrice exclaimed as they turned another corner and Y/N wrinkled her nose, taking in the painting of a fruit bowl that they had stumbled across.

“B?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re back by the kitchens - we’re back where we started.”

“What’re you two doing here?” They turned to face back down the hallway where the Hufflepuff common room was located hidden behind a pile of barrels. Liane, Jessica and Eric were approaching them, grinning at their obviously lost friends.

“Waiting for you?” Y/N suggested.

“Forget the way to the Great Hall?” Eric teased.

“Maybe a little,” Y/N agreed.  The group continued on, led by Jessica who regularly looked over her shoulder as though to check that her newfound friends were still following her, worried that they may disappear.

“It’s a good thing we left so early this morning,” Beatrice commented to Y/N. “Otherwise we might not have made it to breakfast in time.”

“Why did you leave so early?” Liane asked as they entered into the Great Hall, which was already at least half full with students eating their breakfast.

“I was aware I’d get lost - B just came along for the ride.” Beatrice nodded solemnly at those words as they found themselves seats at the Hufflepuff table.

“I was under the impression that she knew what she was doing,” she admitted. “And I’m ashamed to admit that.”

“You’ve known me less than twenty four hours!” Y/N protested. “For all you know, I could have planned all of that.”

“Why would you have planned getting lost on the way to breakfast?” Beatrice asked in bewilderment.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve known you for less than twenty four hours and you expect me to spill my master plan to you,” Y/N scoffed.

Eric was watching the two girls interact, his brow scrunched together in confusion but a twinkle in his eyes that showed he was more amused than anything else.

“You’re both rather strange.” 

“Well that’s just rude,” Beatrice huffed, pouring herself some juice as Y/N picked up the water pitcher. 

“Do you think the professors will be nice?” Jessica blurted out the words, cutting off their conversation. Two spots of pink appeared on her cheeks when all four of them turned to face her. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking down at her plate. 

“You remember what Mum said, Jess,” Eric said calmly. “When she was here she loved all the teachers - she was even taught by McGonagall and Flitwick.”

“Who are they?” Beatrice frowned and quickly added: “my parents didn’t much like talking about Hogwarts,” Y/N thought she saw a hint of embarrassment in her expression and she noted how Beatrice refused to meet any of their eyes.

“McGonagall teaches transfiguration and Flitwick teaches charms,” Liane explained, buttering a piece of toast. “My parents told me that McGonagall’s a complete hard-ass though,” she added and Y/N saw Jessica’s eyes widen.

“Really?” Beatrice asked, staring at Liane.

“Yeah - really strict, apparently,” she confirmed. “Especially if you’re not in her house.”

“That’s not true,” Eric sighed, shaking his head. “The teachers aren’t allowed to favour those in their house,” he insisted but Liane shook her head defiantly.

“None of the teachers stick to that! All the heads of house are lenient towards their own students!”

“So d’ya think Sprout’ll give us a load of house points for like… breathing?” Beatrice asked and she shared an amused look with Y/N.

“Alright - laugh all you want now, we’ll see who’s right,” Liane scoffed, but there was traces of laughter in her voice.

“What do you think we’ll have today?” Jessica asked in her quiet, soft voice, her nerves about their first day seeming to override the shyness that she had shown the previous evening.

“I hope we have Potions,” Liane said eagerly, her voice completely changing from her previous tone of disbelief.

“Do you think you’ll be good at it?” Beatrice asked interestedly.

“My Dad’s fantastic at brewing potions - Mum says that he’s been waiting for me to go to Hogwarts so that he can help me learn how to properly do them myself,” Liane explained through a bite of toast.

“I heard that it was a really hard subject,” Jessica worried.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Y/N mustered up as much of a reassuring smile as she could manage. “What’re you looking forward to?” Jessica didn’t reply immediately, clearly thinking carefully about the question.

 “I think I’ll enjoy herbology,” she decided, nodding her head to confirm her thought. Beside Y/N, Beatrice completely lit up in delight.

“Really? I think I will too - I used to love gardening when I was at home!” She enthused. Jessica brightened at that and it wasn’t long before the two of them were talking excitedly about what they were most looking forward to studying - both of them, apparently, having already read through the text book that had been assigned for their year.

“What about you, then?”

“Care of Magical Creatures,” Y/N’s response to Liane’s question was immediate, the words out her mouth before she had a chance even to think about them.

“But… we can’t study that yet,” Liane pointed out, raising her eyebrows and Y/N let out a sad sigh, nodding her head.

“I know - sucks, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be taking it,” Liane admitted with a slight shiver. Y/N frowned at her, confused, and her new friend offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m not… great with animals. They make me nervous.”

“All animals?” Y/N questioned in disbelief.

“Pretty much - they don’t trust me, I think. And so I also don’t trust them. We’ve got a mutual understanding going on.”

“It’s okay, I’ll change that,” Y/N reassured her with a mischievous smile. “I’ve been told I can be rather persuasive.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?” Y/N ignored Liane’s sigh and looked over at Eric. 

“What about you?” She inquired, but Eric wasn’t listening and was instead looking at his sister and Beatrice with what was almost an expression of concern that Y/N didn’t quite understand. “Eric?”

“What, sorry?” He was snapped back into the present, trying his best to feign attentiveness as he returned to the conversation.

“What subject are you excited for?” Liane repeated, rolling her eyes a little and running a hand through her scarlet hair, pushing it away from her face.

“Well… everyone’s excited for Defence Against the Dark Arts, right?” He pointed out with a ‘duh’ expression. 

Their conversation speculating over their new classes carried them to the end of breakfast, the food disappearing from the platters in front of them, the heads of house descending from the professors table at the front of the hall all carrying piles of parchment. 

Professor Sprout was a squat woman with greying curly hair with a tattered wizards hat perched on top. Her fingernails had dirt underneath and the skin of her hands looked rough to Y/N’s eyes, presumably from the many hours she spent outside in the Greenhouses. Her eyes, despite being tired-looking, were warm and welcoming, smile lines beginning to be etched into the skin around them.

She practically beamed at Y/N and her fellow first years.

“I didn’t get to say it last night - but welcome all of you to Hufflepuff!” Her words caused quiet cheers and giggles from the first years surrounding them. A freckled boy that Y/N didn’t know the name off looked as though he was going to pass out from joy. “For anyone who doesn’t know - I’m Professor Sprout. Your head of House and also your Herbology teacher!” Jessica and Beatrice exchanged yet another excited look.

Sprout handed out the parchment, one to each student, asking each for their name, welcoming them to her house.

“And your name?”

“I’m Y/N, Professor, Y/N Y/L/N,” she smiled. Professor Sprout’s face fell just a little and she nodded, her warm eyes softening even further.

“It’s lovely to meet you - welcome to Hufflepuff,” she said, her voice more gentle than it had been when talking to the other first years.Y/N took her timetable from her, staring down at the little squares labelled with her lessons, not wanting to meet the inquiring gazes of her new friends who Y/N could tell had picked up on Sprout’s change in mood.

“Charms first,” Y/N muttered, reading the writing. “And then Herbology,” she looked at Beatrice who was watching her carefully. “Pretty ideal for you, huh?”

Beatrice cracked a smile and nodded her head.

“Alright - we should probably get going. With Y/N’s complete lack of any sense of direction at all it’ll take us a good fifteen to thirty minutes to find the classroom,” Beatrice declared, standing up and stretching her arms out, smirking at her new friend who rolled her eyes, standing up as well.

“Well Jess has a thestral’s sense of direction so I’m sure we can use her as a guide.”

“I don’t…. understand?” Jessica asked, looking at Y/N with an apprehensive expression.

“It was a compliment,” Y/N assured her as their little group of friends made their way out of the Great Hall, clutching at their timetables. Y/N’s heart was racing with nerves, though she didn’t want to admit it aloud.

They walked together to charms, speculating excitedly about what they thought the lesson could hold for them, what Flitwick had in store to teach them. 

Unsurprisingly, considering how early they had left from breakfast, they were the first ones to find the classroom and lined up outside it, Liane talking animatedly about the different charms that she had already read up about. 

“Who do we have it with, anyway?” Eric asked, leaning against the wall.

Y/N glanced down at the timetable still clutched in her hands and her heart leapt in her chest.

“The Gryffindors,” she relayed, beaming. 

“Why’re you so pleased?” Beatrice asked.

“I already know some of them!”

“You already have other friends?” Beatrice gasped in feigned offence.

“What can I say? People love me.”

“Hey Y/N,” Lily tapped Y/N on her shoulder, who whirled around to grin at her.

“Hi! How are you?” 

“Good thanks,” Lily grinned. “How was your first night?”

“It was fun! Oh!” Y/N turned back to her group of Hufflepuff friends. “This is Beatrice, Eric, Jessica and Liane.” They waved at the Gryffindor girl, whose smile seemed to become shyer with the introduction. “And this is Lily - we met on the platform yesterday and sat together on the train.”

“Nice to meet you,” Lily said, taking Beatrice’s hand.

“Who’re your friends?” Y/N whispered to Lily, looking over at the three other girls dressed in red-hooded robes that had arrived with Lily.

Lily giggled at Y/N’s lowered tone.

“That’s Marlene, next to her is Alice and then that’s Dorcas.” Lily introduced quietly, pointing at each girl in turn. Y/N nodded her head but didn’t get a chance to respond further as James’ booming voice rang out from down the corridor, where he had just turned the corner to the hallway where the charms class was located.

“Y/N! Hufflepuff! Mum called it! Have you written to tell her yet?”

Y/N let out a heavy sigh, removing herself from the company of her friends and walked towards James, who was accompanied by a group of boys - one of whom she recognised from the platform to be Frank Longbottom.

“I haven’t, no - did you write to let them know you’re in Gryffindor?” 

“As if they need the confirmation,” James scoffed. 

“Wait - what do you mean your mum called it?” Y/N’s brows furrowed together as she registered what else James had said. 

“Ages ago! When you first-” James caught himself, “when you first started to ask about the House system. She told me and Dad that she reckoned you’d be a Hufflepuff.”

“She never told me that,” Y/N frowned and James shrugged.

“Well she told me,” Y/N gave him a withering look.

“I figured,” she met Sirius’ eyes over James’ shoulder and he gave her the same cocky smirk that Y/N was beginning to realise was a near-permanent fixture for him.

“Hey,” he nodded at her.

“Gryffindor, huh?” Sirius’ smirk seemed to fall briefly, a slightly worried look on his face as he responded, though he tried to cover it with a poor substitute of his previous confidence.

“My Mum’ll be so proud.” James snickered, glancing at his new friend.

“These are our other dormmates, by the way,” James said, gesturing to the other three boys who had joined in with the conversation held by the other Hufflepuff boys who had turned up shortly after the Gryffindors. “That’s Remus, Peter and - you remember Dad talking about Frank?”

“Your dad was talking about me?” Frank asked, breaking out of the conversation to shoot a confused look at James and Y/N.

“Mine was telling us that he went to school with your Mum,” James explained cheerfully, no hint of the embarrassment that Y/N was feeling having been caught in such an odd conversation. 

“Right…” there was still an air of unsureness in Frank’s voice.

“How was your first night anyway? You doing okay?” James lowered his voice a little, clearly knowing that Y/N wouldn’t want for their classmates to overhear him checking up on her. “You sleep okay?” He added knowingly.

“It was fine, James - I’m fine, I promise,” Y/N said with a smile and gave a half shrug, glancing back to her new friends. “They all seem really lovely.”

“I’m glad,” James smiled, nudging her shoulder with his. “And last night - you didn't…?”

“No - not last night,” she confirmed. Y/N suddenly looked to Sirius, who she realised had been standing with them as they spoke, looking interested. “I snore,” was the first thing she could think of as an explanation. 

Sirius started to laugh and Y/N’s embarrassment washed over her, not that she had time to dwell on it when Beatrice grabbed her arm and tugged her towards the classroom that Professor Flitwick had just entered into.

“You’ll sit with me, right?”

They found a table together in the middle of the classroom, Y/N sliding into the chair nearest the window, Liane and Jessica sitting in the row in front of them, Eric joining a fellow Hufflepuff boy at the table beside them. It was no surprise at all to Y/N that James and his new friends took seats right at the back of the classroom.

“Who was that?” Beatrice whispered to her as Flitwick started his lecture.

“I’m trying to listen,” Y/N returned and Beatrice fell silent.

“No you’re not - you’re doodling!” Beatrice accused, her voice still too low to be heard by anyone other than Y/N.

“Relevant doodling?” Y/N offered and Beatrice gave her a withering look, not bothering to reply further than that. 

“Now it’s over to you to have a go! Remember - swish and flick!” Flitwick announced, clapping his hands cheerfully.

“Any chance you were actually paying proper attention?” Y/N asked Beatrice as Flitwick waved his wand and feathers flew across the room to land one in front of each student.

“The levitating charm,” Lily whispered from the table behind them. Y/N looked over her shoulder at the Gryffindor girl who was smiling. “You know - Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Thanks,” Y/N whispered in return. 

“But who is he?” Beatrice repeated again, the classroom filling with noise as the eager First Years began to cast their first spells. Y/N got her own out of her robes and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Just a guy I grew up with - our parents were friends.”

[marmolady]

Pride

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Diego x Varyyn, Estela x MC

Summary: (Endless Ending– set after my longer fic, ‘Broken Chains’, if you’ve not read it, assume a happy ending).  Surrounded by a barrier of friends, Varyyn joins Diego as they march in their very first Pride parade.

Word Count: 1588

Tagging:   @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr,  @greengroove

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Cloaked in a dark hood, at odds with the popping attire of near everyone around him, Varyyn was wide-eyed with fascination as he stepped out of the Northbridge train station, Diego at his side. The streets were awash with colour, hues that were draped over countless flags, banners, even the skin of revelers.

Diego grasped his husband’s hand tightly. He was awash with emotion; anxiety at having Varyyn surrounded by so many people, but more than that, a feeling of belonging that he’d craved for as long as he could remember.

“This is it, Varyyn,” he uttered hoarsely. “Happy Pride!”

“I am always proud to be with you, my love.”

Taylor was grinning like an idiot-- for her, too, this was a first, as it was for Estela with whom her fingers were entwined. “We’ve got this, Diego, the rest of us should be enough of a barrier to stop anyone from looking at you two too closely.”

Giving his best friend a warm smile, Diego nodded. That he’d been touched to have ten friends putting themselves out there to give him the kind of Pride experience he’d wistfully imagined was an understatement. They had his back. “Yeah, we got this.”

He looked around. Friends surrounded him on all sides, dressed in their colours or else proudly wearing ‘ally’ pins. To think he’d felt so alone before--

“Hey!” Craig exclaimed, “If anyone gets to close to our V-Dog, I can pull off a killer diversion. I’ve been practising my moves for weeks…”

“It’s been fucking torture to watch,” Zahra said. “But, yeah, your dancing will scare anyone off, I’ll give you that.”

As they marched on with the parade, the smile on Estela’s face just grew broader. She’d never had a chance to do anything like this in San Trobida, and probably she’d have steered clear of all the fuss anyway. Since returning from La Huerta, her sexuality, the identity that came with it, meant a whole lot more. On La Huerta, no one gave a damn, and she hadn’t bothered herself with labels. Today,though, her wrist was adorned with a pink, yellow and blue bracelet.

“I didn’t know you identified as pansexual?” Quinn queried warmly. When they’d discussed these things previously, Estela had always been vague-- which had always been accepted without hesitation; but it seemed something had changed.

Estela nodded. “I didn’t think I wanted a label, but then I thought… words have power. They can make you visible. I like who I am, how I love; a lot of people where I’m from struggle with that because for so long they had to hide. Visibility is important.”

“That’s my wife! Fighting the good fight and making the world less shit, one PDA at a time.” Taylor jumped to give Estela an enormous smooch, delighting in the happy squirm she caused.

“So, uh,” Estela tried to continue, whilst her love continued to pepper her face and neck with kisses, “basically, I just… find some people attractive. And I don’t think it would have mattered if Taylor was a guy or a girl or both or neither. She’s my person. It was a weird feeling, like something deep inside me knew.”

“Aw, ‘Stel!” Taylor gushed. “As for me? Basically, I’m gay as the day is long. Useless Lesbian: Alien Edition.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Zahra scoffed. “You’re a walking fucking stereotype. If there were U-Hauls on La Huerta, maybe you wouldn’t have even needed to get hitched after what… how many weeks? Three? Four?”

Diego was quick to swoop to his friend’s defence. “Hey! La Huerta rules apply! Way too much wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff to untangle.”

Quinn smiled warmly. It wasn’t the first time she’d been to one of these events, nor even the third or fourth, but to be surrounded by the friends who’d become her family made for a very different experience. She was not alone, dodging pitying whispers while she tried to embrace a side of herself that was so much more than ‘the dying girl’. And now, she had Michelle.

“Life can be over so fast; if you care for someone, there’s no shame in putting yourself out there and showing it.” She gave Michelle’s hand a squeeze, and they exchanged an affectionate glance. “Being trapped at the end of the world can do a lot to put things in perspective. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m living without regrets. Who I am is who I am; and that includes the pieces I wished I could hide from.”

Grace looked to her friend with admiration. “That’s very brave, Quinn. Sometimes accepting yourself can be the hardest thing.” Especially when the people you love can’t look at the true you and do the same. “Honestly, you’ve helped me a lot.”

Walking beside Diego, Varyyn was beginning to see why they called it ‘Pride’; he could feel it emanating from his husband, creating a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun beating down. And the smile on Diego’s face? Varyyn was sure he’d not ever seen anything quite so beautiful. Though careful not to peer to far out from his hood, he took the time to look over each of the different coloured flags and ask about each one. A young woman jogged past, wearing a cape of black, grey, white and purple-- the same design that was plastered across Raj’s shirt.

“Raj,” he queried, “ I believe Diego told me about your colours. It is for… ‘ace’? For no romantic partners?”

“You got it! Basically, I get all the love I need from my bros. I never really felt like anything was missing, you know?”

“I understand. It’s not something my people have a word for, though I know several friends who have always felt the way you do,” he said, thoughtfully. “So much of this we don’t have words for; we just… be. I appreciate your sharing with me. And I am very grateful to be one of your bros.”

The whole experience was vastly different to anything that could exist among the Vaanti. Sexuality and gender was of so little consequence; there had never been much weight put on words and labels, there were no expectations that it be necessary. By the generally agreed upon human terms, Varyyn supposed he might call himself ‘pansexual’ as Estela did. The rainbow flag, though, was his favourite. In it he saw the jubilation of making it through a storm to something beautiful. Appropriate it was, that it meant so much to Diego, as he stepped out unafraid and loved. Varyyn looked at Diego, his husband, the love of his life; surrounded by a wall of friends, laughing on Taylor’s shoulder. He was truly radiant.

Varyyn put a hand on Raj’s shoulder. “Could I ask a great favour of you?”

“A personal favour for the elyyshar of the Vaanti? I think I can swing that….”

Taylor was chuckling as she ruffled her best friend’s hair. “So, how is it? Everything you dreamed of-- if you’d even dreamed you’d have the Knights’ bi legend Sean Gayle as part of your pride posse?”

“Pretty sure Past Diego would think you’d hit your head too hard if you’d tried to tell him this was coming. I mean, the time travel, the monsters, my best friend being some sort of knockoff ET, are unbelievable enough, but these kind of squad goals…? I…” Suddenly, he found himself choking up. If it was a life-altering adventure, he’d got it. What was left at the end of it was something that could never be truly grasped by outsiders, some bond, sacred even, that had helped him find his own strength. As he struggled to come to grips with the tatters that remained of his family life, it was that strength that would keep him afloat, and that bond that would see his heart start to heal. “I… didn’t think this feeling was possible for me.”

And Taylor hugged him tight. “You’d better get used to it, because you’re stuck with us. You deserve this. Just for being you… and also for being the world’s best wingman. The best thing that ever happened to me happened because you helped me believe in taking a leap. Diego Soto, I will never not owe you one,” she laughed.”So, for my next trick, I will pass you off to someone who wants his arms around you even more than I do. You’re welcome.

With a wink, Taylor spun Diego into Varyyn’s waiting arms, which draped an enormous rainbow flag around the two of them.

“My love,” Varyyn crooned,  “you bring my world more beauty than I believed possible. You showed me hope and light in my darkest hour. Diego, you are my rainbow.”

Cloaked in a fluttering of multicoloured fabric, they kissed, long and tender; the pounding of music and marching, the chants of ‘Variego!’ fading far into the background, beyond their own private euphoric celebration.

Varyyn came away slowly, his expression warm as he stared into a look of fierce affection. How could he ever have dreamed what had been held in store for him, when this lion-hearted storyteller was beyond anything Vaanu had yet shown him. A whispered ‘I love you’ from his beloved Diego set his heart, once again, all aflutter, dancing like the rainbow flag around their heads. “And I love you.”He quirked an eyebrow. “Best Pride ever?”

Diego gave a short laugh and pecked a kiss to his love’s gentle lips. “Best Pride ever.”

[migleefulmoments]

Abb/y has something to s/ay

Let me premise this by reminding everyone that Abby -like Trump-doesn’t “get” comedy. They literally do not understand jokes, punchlines, or humor. So a satirical show about the Hollywood song writers falls flat. Her time away did nothing to sway her conspiratorial aspirations or her misogynistic hatred of Mia. She watched Royalties not once, but twice... not to enjoy Darren’s creativity and performance, not to support the celebrity she stans, and not even to crack up at the humor, no she watched twice because she was looking for confirmation bias. She wanted to document all of the ways Darren wrote his CrissColfer truth into Pierce’s life and she obsessively listened to all of the diss-tracks he wrote to attack his wife.  

Let me also premise this by saying I loved the show. I thought it was funny and the songs are so damn catchy.  The lyrics are quintessential Darren- funny, very clever, and raunchy.  

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

R/oyalties, the Tale of Two Shows with a Heaping Side of Meta

ajw720. So I just finished watching R/oyalties for the second time, this time solely focused on the meta.  Look, we all know, the show is not good, it was not well written and the short format didn’t help as there was no option to develop character or plot.  But D knew it would not be good, he apologized for it back in January 2019.  And I think the effort he put into acting was the effort it deserved. Ok.

But his songs were genius.  As were the videos, hence why i call it the tale of two shows.  It truly was like watching content made by completely different people. I concur with MH, D is “intensely talented.”  And the part of this show he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into, the songs, are evident of this.

But this is a post about that Heaping Side of Meta. I think D, knowing that that show would not be made in the manner he envisioned, instead used it as a vehicle to make some bold statements and parallels with his career and public life.  Shall we begin?  And please, unlike the perfect song, this is not a perfect post and after the second round of watching i canceled my Quibi subscription and never plan to look back, so please feel free to add. I know some of these have been pointed out but I thought it was valuable to have one post.

One idea to inpsire the song?  A tiny FROG on a dime.

D’s shirt 1st seen in Episode 2: “It is hard to soar like an Eagle when you are surrounded by turkeys”

And of course “Call me Goldilocks bitch”  Remind you of something?

How about the entirety of Episode 3 when we are told that an artist is completely the product of the team.  That no matter what the artists expresses they want, it doesn’t matter because the Label/manager/publicist/on camera agent/legal will always have a say. And how it will play in America or the Foreign market are key metrics of how the product is produced and presented.  I love the line of the songwriter that tells P/ierce and S/ara to “get out while they are young.”  Or the line by one of her team “we don’t want something different, we want something the same that is different.”  And in the end P&S simply took one of KK old songs and reworked it, making something different that is not different and her team loved it.  

And of course, the line that was an utter slap in the face to the most over praised “director” of an indie band video ever when D reminds her of the real director in his life, the man set to direct major motion pictures, “you know who would be perfect to direct? C/hris.  C/hris would shatter this.”

Not much in Episode 4, but the gorilla suit in my opinion was mocking of a certain MMR video where we watched Swiller and a banana in a song about a gorilla.  Images I never need to see in my head again.

Episode 5, a gem, I am still so fucking proud of D and how he mocked her throughout the entirety of the episode.  New lines I love of that amazing song he wrote about her (in addition to those i posted previously here) “Some people say I’m a  genius, which comes from the greek word for Latin, and other people will say, alright in fact i’m a fuckin’s genius” “I’m not saying I’m a god, but I’m not saying I’m not a god.”  Mocking at its finest made all that much better by the band’s name “Switchback Jacket” that D describes as “butt rock emo” that is performed by a band that doesn’t actually sing, they are just the public image.  He literally told us that what we see is an image created for the public and that it is completely fake.  And he used his beard to make this statement. Just brilliant.  I cannot praise him enough for this, stealing her moment in the sun and making her look like an utter fool, telling us just how narcissistic she is.

Also some wonderful lines from that episode that are beyond telling:

“Power, it felt good to remind Kevin that I hold power over him. You always want to be the one with power”

“p/ierce wouldn’t know where to take a shit if I didn’t tell him.”

“she is like my wife except we don’t have sex and we are friends.”

“alright boss, I am ready to record that song, but where should i take a shit?”

“You will do anything to succeed.”

Episode 8 starring “Poly Amorous and the Unicorn Guild” an episode used to shine a light on how absurd it is that people believe D&PBB lived with platonic roomie B/enny for something like 4 years.  3 grown ass adults, all of whom have money to spare lived together in a relatively small house for four years.  It is pure comedy that anyone would believe that this is normal.  But hey these are the same people that explained away the infamous arm around her while at an awards show with D looking on:

And the cherry on top of this episode, the inclusion of C/huck (for some background, see my post here).

I really like the one bit of dialogue between P&S, where D pretty much tells us once again that M will use anyone to get what she wants:

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe just maybe, I don’t like where we are now? There were a lot of really great things about the way things were.  Things that are worth preserving.  Not that you just take and use and through out.”

Episode 9 had some really impactful lines:

“you think i wouldn’t steal for my career? You think I wouldn’t lie?  I would do anything.”

The Neils being the nameless individuals, nothing more than a number, who are the ones who actually create the product.  And then the song, some of the translations are D telling you how he feels, because sometimes i think in terms of his public image he is just a Neil trying to escape the cage that has been built around him:

“I dream about getting away, I have been locked up in this cage wishing i could make my escape. I hate that I need you.”

And finally Episode 10, where we learn the Neils get no credit and no royalties. This reminds me of a script C wrote that never saw the light of day but suddenly the next season of AHS had the same theme as his script.

And that is all i got, if you have more please add. I think the fact that D took what he knew would be a mediocre project and projected his voice and story throughout it was pretty genius and a smart way to utilize this vehicle, that was clearly payout for so many that have used him for years and to shine a bright light on the truth.

elicc  The “perfect song”’s performer is called Bailey Rouge, a clear link to TLOS.

He is a genius.

ajw720   @elicc damn, that was on my list and I forgot. And we all know who Red is inspired by, so seems fitting Bailey Rouge would get the perfect song.

ajw720. Just adding one more I thought about putting in my original post but admittedly think it’s a stretch. But maybe not? Just adding here for fun.

When Theo tells P to bottle up all his romantic feelings I couldn’t help but think of a certain chapter in a book

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

Oy Vei! Abby didn’t use her time away getting any therapy or perspective.  She hasn’t learned any lessons. I have no doubt she’s been reading just as much as she did before and she’s speaking to Cassie, Flowers et al all day. It’s really sad. It’s sad that she can’t see how silly she sounds, what an asshole her version of Darren is. If she could restrain herself even a little bit it might come off less unhinged because turning every single moment of Royalties into some crisscolfer wet dream reeks of desperation. 

Abby hates Royalties. In last week’s “Dear D” she had the audacity to say 

....Fans that are beyond devoted and mainly because of the way you have treated fans with respect and a level of caring that far surpasses the majority of public figures.  And while I am not enjoying the show itself, the music shows how diverse you are as a writer and how you can virtually write for anyone or any genre. The songs are fantastic.  Memorable.  And really fun.  

She knows the the Langs wrote the show and Darren wrote the songs but what she can’t seem to comprehend is that Darren IS Royalties. Everything in the show is Darren’s.  

Staying in the closet would be less painful than trying to express oneself through a short-form satirical comedy.  Can you imagine trying to express your devastation and pain through Kick Your Shoes off or Break It In? 

“I’m the king of the hard fuck....pile drive the bed like a young buck...if you like feathery shit thats pretty cool but I don’t need that...people say I fuck too soft, saying that I can’t please a woman” 

BTW Abby- “call me goldilocks bitch” isn’t a reference to TLOS it’s a reference to Goldilocks and Three Bears because because he fucks perfect, not too soft, not too hard. It’s much more believable that he is referring to a random nursery rhyme than it is to believe he is referring to a children’s book his lover/husband/boyfriend wrote 8 years ago. You might love the book but Chris has moved on and written new things. 

Darren wrote funny lyrics. I loved Kick Your Shoes Off because it’s written by a man whose watched his wife and female friends wear painful shoes for the same of fashion even though its painful as fuck.   

“Yeah, I’m a bad bitch so don’t be mad bitch. I turned the room into a catwalk like a sad bitch. I can’t feel my toes in these stilettos. when I walk out my roomate says you’ll regret those....Beauty is pain but oh I look amazing.  You won’t hear me complaining but oh my instep (inside?) is screaming...kick your shoes off (kick em off) ooooooo I do what I want..(Kick em off) ooooo Hey I can’t walk in these, blisters start to bleed now both my feet are swollen. Kick your shoes off (Kick em off).....It’s like i feel so good when my shoes are on, but like i also feel sooooo good when they are off” 

Abby’s convinced I am So Much Better Than You is straight up about Mia because Mia is in the video. She listened to it on repeat the day after it came out. In her “Letter to D” last week she said 

Especially after you made an effort to mock her for the entirety of Tuesday when her episode aired (and for the record I am still really, really proud of what you did with that episode and how you handled the roll out, that is the fighter I admire and that inspires me.  I listened to I am so much better than you on repeat on my drive home from work yesterday).   

Good Lord  The lyrics are as silly as all the other songs: “My mirror wants to bone me (but it can’t because it’s a mirror)” How did Abby miss the obvious TLOS mirror/ Halloween costume reference here?  

“You keep doing push ups while I get buff eating mac and cheese (with overpriced lobster and truffles because I’m worth it)”  

“Some people say I’m a genius (which comes from the greek work for latin) Some other people will say yeah I’m right I’m a fucking genius (I’m not saying I’m a god but I’m not saying I’m not a god). 

“And even when you sneeze, God blesses me, he blesses me. And even when you sneeze, god blesses me, he blesses me, he blesses me”

“I’m am so much better than you at everything”. 

She believes Darren would be- and stay- married to a women that he publicly ridicules and attacks. I don’t get why she thinks that is something admirable . 

She thinks Also You is referring to Ben living with them.  Where to start with this one? She says

“Episode 8 starring “Poly Amorous and the Unicorn Guild” an episode used to shine a light on how absurd it is that people believe D&PBB lived with platonic roomie B/enny for something like 4 years.  3 grown ass adults, all of whom have money to spare lived together in a relatively small house for four years.  It is pure comedy that anyone would believe that this is normal.  But hey these are the same people that explained away the infamous arm around her while at an awards show with D looking on”

I’m gobsmacked.  Also You is about Polyamory. She doesn’t even understand her own theories if she thinks that is the message Darren wants to share about Mia and Ben.  In no world would someone try to proclaim their wife was cheating on them with a live-in houseguest by writing an episode called Poly Amorous and the Unicorn Guild.  Also, someone needs to explain cuckholding to her because her theories about Ben and Mia make Darren a cuck.  

OMG I just realized that Darren is a cuck and Royalties proves it.  He hired Kether to be his costar in Royalties,...Kether is in You’re the Worst as Lindsay.  Lindsay cuckholds her husband. Bam! mic drop.   

Why isn’t Perfect Song about Mia, you know, if we are playing confirmation bias “No one is as good as you because you're my perfect song” 

[mack-yohe-edhi-602-rnas]

RNA #7 - Due March 16

Being Gay at Jerry Falwell's University:

“But really, I am just gay-annoyed.”

This article was interesting because it highlights an incredibly interesting dichotomy of identity development and social expectations. While a religiously affiliated institution is far more likely to put pressure on a student developing their sexual identity, I believe we can find this at a microlevel at every institution. Identity development, especially when it comes to sexual and gender identity, can be an incredibly scary and painful process. However, this article simply did not go in the way I expected it to go when I read the title and the initial introduction which included this student’s decision to drop out.

This student found multiple areas of support, true support, at an institution one would expect to exile gay students. It helps highlight exactly how administrators, regardless of belief, can support students, and support them at institutions that may not accept the student’s identity. All of this student’s support systems could have easily turned a blind eye or isolated this student, but instead but the student first to encourage his own identity development.

Language of Appeasement:

This editorial piece targets an incredibly important piece of transforming higher education in the ways we have discussed wanting to see. The notion that diversity and inclusion efforts are the end all, be all, is wholeheartedly not true. This article discusses how equity and social justice are significantly more helpful in providing transformative change to institutional and systemic issues that are still prevalent in higher education. Ultimately, the small changes institutions are making, like hiring more faculty of color or admitting more students of color, are not only not sustainable, but not helpful in the long term. If we do not see a change to the reasons students and faculty don’t want to be at an institution, it doesn’t matter how many people you hire or admit. Turn-over and drop-out rates would actually increase because the issue still remains: we are continuing systems designed by colonization that hinge on white supremacy. Until we start focusing on equity and social justice education, we are simply confirming student’s views on the world. This has been proven through election results as the predominate group whom ushered in the era of Trump were college-educated, middle-class white men and women.

I also felt a bit of low self-efficacy reading this article. How do you fight for these changes when you’re constantly at whim of donors, prominent alumni, and boards of trustees who do not value this change? Why is that a battle faculty and staff are faced with? And will this be possible in my lifetime? Because I know so many young people with this mindset who want to do this work and ask the kind of questions Dr. Stewart provides in the differences between diversity/inclusion and equity/social justice. However, we are young. We are entry level. We are far from the ivory towers big decision makers sit in. And every day I feel that weight and that threat to the missions I have in transforming higher education. I can see this cycle repeating in some of my peers as well and so it isn’t even like a full generational thing where we can come in and sweep the floor. It shouldn’t be like pulling teeth to get people to care about others.

Justice and Equity PDF:

I won’t touch on this too much because it is an infographic that goes along with the article discussed above. However, please reference back to this for Big 4 Retreat in the fall!!! It is an incredibly helpful graphic that can break down these different ideas for your students.(It’s saved on your work computer, FYI)

Race on Campus (From The Chronicle of Higher Education):

What it Feels Like to be a Black Professor:

the notion of “twice as good” is something I’ve seen, predominately from minoritized groups. As someone with PTSD, I find myself with this mentality quite often. It’s a feeling of having to prove something to the dominant group. While I’ve heard rhetoric that I finally have a name for, around the culture of poverty, before, it has always come from dominant groups. It’s something I’ve never quite understood and when laid out like this, I still don’t understand but at least have a full view of the argument. 

The suggestion to embrace everyone as adequate ambassadors for their own fields and cultures is important. This is a big piece of my work and personal philosophy and I think it would serve everyone as useful.

The Invisible Label of Minority Professors:

Minority professors are often tasked with serving as mentors and guides to minority students as their identities help put students at ease, especially at PWIs. - This concept is called Cultural Taxation.

Cultural Taxation is exacerbated when the student population is diversified faster than the faculty population. 

Minoritized faculty members also often sit on committees and serve as DEI liaisons for the office, whether it is in their job description or not. It’s very similar to the expectation that students of color should teach their peers about racism.

How to combat this invisible workload:

1. Don’t say yes right away - have a discussion about your other priorities.

2. Make it count for them and you - involve students in learning opportunities that foster mentorship while also helping them develop.

3. Enlist the help of an ally - Have someone who can help you say no.

4. Think of the big picture - if you don’t take care of yourself, you will burnout quickly and that impacts the amount of students you can serve down the road.

5. Keep the goal in mind - remember what you’re aiming for and that you need to do things that serve you and your goals too.

When Pursuing Diversity, Victory is Hard to Define:

This section details examples of the concept discussed in Language of Appeasement. Universities respond to outcries with minor changes that truly don’t address the issues at hand.

Making Diversity Not the Work of One Office, but a Campus wide Priority:

Edit what you do to focus on DEI work. Doing a few small things well is better than doing a lot of things poorly.

When creating committees to tackle an issue, look for people who haven’t been involved before to bring in fresh ideas instead of grabbing the same few people every time. (This could also help cultural taxation.)

Promote events and successes. When people know it’s happening, they’re more likely to buy-in to the idea.

You need buy-in from the top, down. When it is an obvious intentional goal from the top, people are far more likely to join in, especially when it is an expectation set for everyone, not just a singular office.

Spread out the responsibility. When it’s everyone’s job (i.e. a council that includes people from across campus) it immediately becomes a campus wide effort.

Helping Black Men Succeed in College:

Programs specifically designed by and for black men to encourage success in college are one of the best ways to help black men persist. There are many examples of this at different universities.

A Liberal-Arts College Intervenes to Diversify Its Faculty:

Diversity advocates in the hiring process at Skidmore were trained in how to handle faculty hiring with DEI in mind. This targeted how to advertise for jobs with DEI in mind, how to tackle implicit bias in hiring, and how to make the interview environment welcoming to candidates. 

This process naturally brought in more diverse faculty and led to a cultural shift in the perception of one’s role in the hiring process.

‘A Little More Every Day’ How you can eliminate bias in your own classroom:

1. Evaluate the work, not the worker - you do no one any favors by expecting more or less dependent on the student’s identities and backgrounds.

2. Acknowledge that bias exists - if you don’t acknowledge your own biases, you can never fix them.

3. Self-assess - work through your own implicit bias.

4. Actively Listen - you aren’t always right. Listening to someone with a different opinion or view is important to understanding others.

5. Don’t expect a finish line - this is continuous, unfinished work. It’s kinda like working out, if you don’t use it, you lose it.

White Like You: The Challenge of Getting White Students to Grapple With Racial Identity:

Tackling issues of racism must also involve white students. Often we focus on teaching students of color about racial identity, but fail to teach white students the same concepts.

It’s important to push students to their learning edge, but not out of the conversation completely.

White students can easily escape these kinds of conversations or withdraw because the weight of racial injustice doesn’t weigh on them. It’s important to accept the negative feelings one may have in these conversations and figure out how to move past it to then contribute to the conversation and actions that will help change things.

[kateelizabethporter]

“my writing advice is..” stop listening to writing advice

I know that posting this to writeblr may seem contradictory, but consider the line of thought that writing is an inherent craft, one that lives within ourselves and therefore cannot be wrangled and stuffed into a neat column.

I only say this because writing is one of the most personal things a human can do. You are quite literally splitting yourself into pieces of story, birthing characters with understanding of unique slivers of perspective that you bestow upon them with syntax, entire worlds with societal barriers, structures and expectations, fragments of narrative in the form of the macro- “the Chicago skyline,” to the micro- “fluttering of her eyelashes in the blue light as we stood on the porch steps.”

Writing is a means of exposing your soul for the world to see, for a stranger to hold in their hands and consume, judging and dissecting with each grave turn of the page. Sharing your writing should feel like stepping naked into a grocery store, and if you don’t feel this way you most likely haven’t dug deep enough.

I ask you, how is it possible for any given person to give another writer advice on the manner in which we must, should, potentially will, might want to later write? For any person to give me advice on the practice of my craft, they would have to garner the ability to unscrew my neck from my head and climb inside my brain, (being prepared to stay awhile), sip a few cups of coffee, and read the files I’ve stored in very specifically categorized boxes labeled, “fragments,” “story openings,” “characters without discourse” etc. until their fingers are bleeding from papercuts and their eyes can barely open from exhaustion.

(In other words, you would have to be me because nobody in their right mind would stay in there that long with such a mess.)

I know that this may come across as if I deny the aid of others, and that my writing process will cease to grow, and therefore my writing itself will cease to grow and never splinter into facets of wondrous ability and fostered potential, and I’ll never find those perfectly perfect metaphors to describe the way water rests on someone’s skin or learn to use the word pulchritude in a sentence--and I will inevitably stagnate into the murky depths of unpublishedhood-- however, I’m pretty optimistic about my unprocess, disprocess, lack thereof?

My thought is that if you’re going to bare your naked, vulnerable, multifaceted, illustrious soul to the world, you better know and trust yourself, your words and your rhythm.

You know it well. That internal rhythm that tells you--even though you just got comfortable in bed, phone charging across the room, the moisturizer still drying on your cheeks, neck propped perfectly by two pillows--that a character is pinching you to get up and write down the death of their grandmother, because this will deepen their emotional bond with the love interest whom you have just created in your head and she has long flowing midnight hair that rests on her shoulders like rorschach inkblots.

“Inkblots.” That’s beautiful and precisely the kind of poetic laser focus idealization you want them to have for one another, and so you (if you’re me) groan and get up to write, and probably stub your toe after you’ve shut the light back off, but you feel full and satisfied, like you’ve just eaten a piece of fresh apple pie or took a cold shower after a long run in the summer.

Writing is just like that, like wandering around in the dark until you stub your toe, turning the light on you realize the edges of your bed are far too close to your nightstand, and you wonder if its always been that way or if it seems this way because you’ve taken your glasses off for the night.

And as you’re wondering these things, you realize you too are a character, and that the fact you often clumsily stub your toe, wear wire framed glasses, have a carpeted bedroom with one light switch by the door, are aspects that craft your literal humanness. They make up your character. And so you use it. You write and you use those moments selfishly and rightfully. They are yours and you apply them.

If you wish to write with your soul, stand in a cave in the dark and use your existence as lighter fluid for the chance something might spark from the nothingness, then you my friend have the desire and drive to complete your story, poem, sentence, word tangling--whatever you may call it. You don’t need advice.

On the offhand occasion I have engaged with these so called ‘writing advice posts,’  I shudder at the thought, in which another writer asks me kindly to sit at a clean desk, put my phone away, find a fun gel pen at Target, and set the timer for fifteen minute to write as much as I possibly can, I have been left feeling confused.

Thinking of writing as an impersonal act, one that I must carve pieces of time from the day and night deliberately and calculatingly, one that exists in a proper journal with a key, to essentially inspire inspiration is unfair to impress myself and upon others. (Inspiring inspiration, can it truly be done?)

I don’t want to feel that way by any means, and respectfully speaking, the moments of clarity and true inspiration do not always come when we need them most, but then again with the mindset that verse is a natural occurrence--one that flows in our veins, not on command, why should we be able to conjure it from nothingness? From a blank sheet of paper, or an empty google docs, or the spiraling void of writer’s block simply because we followed a “process?”

Any writer knows this, that we do not select the fleeting, fluttering, twisting, effervescent, lovely ideas that fragment beneath our tongues and crawl up our throats when we’re safely in bed, in the midst of conversation with a crying, heartbroken friend, or taking an exam with fifteen minutes left to answer twenty-six more questions but you can’t stop thinking about the sound of all those pencils hitting the paper, the dullness, repetition, tap tapping in harmony.  

It is not a definable process to see a person you love with a face full of tears and consider the way the mascara has seeped down their cheeks like contusions and to wonder if you could write that into a poem when they finish crying.

It is not a definable process to feel everything and nothing all at once and bottle it, channel it, throw it in the blender, box it up in the garage, stuff it into light sockets using shredded poetry as insulation as you sit in the livingroom and knit together syllables, breaking syntax over your knee while the sound of the rhythm pulsates through the room, the air, catching itself on your sweater sleeve.

Any writer knows that anyone can create anything if they make themselves do it enough times, at enough intervals. You will create. You will produce something that will live on the paper. (If that’s your goal, for your writing to simply live ON the paper, rather than jumping from it, leaping, dancing, shouting so loudly that the reader thinks you may very well be in the room.)

My non-advice is that the root of all inspiration lies within ourselves. The root of inspiration is what deems our processes unique and infallible. So the next time someone tells you how you should write, what you should write, where you should sit, stand, breathe when you write--think about those moments of clarity that sweep over you without notice, like a gust of wind in the middle of August when your clothes cling to your skin-- and trust yourself.

[inanawesomewave]

GAME RESENTS GAME

When you have a Cluster B personality disorder, you can spot others of your kind a mile off. Whether it’s something major like their temper and what it’s based around, or if it’s just the way they accidentally forget to smile in the middle of an insincere moment, we see eachother. We know. So what happens when we meet others of our type? I’ve been asked a few times how I think relationships between personality disorders usually go, and I’ve only got a few personal examples, but the examples I do have, have intrinsically and undeniably shaped my life in lots of ways, profoundly and significantly.  ASPD Surprise surprise, I really like other sociopaths. Not at first, mind. My first instinct with another antisocial is, “something’s off about this guy. Who does he think he fucking is? No, I don’t like him. There’s something about him I just don’t like.” I think this is probably because antisocials have such a lack of connection to ourselves and such disdain for ourselves (not to be confused with self-loathing) that to see ourselves mirrored can sometimes be destabilising. But sure enough, usually in barely any time at all, I grow to like that person a lot. They make me laugh, they say things that I can identify with. I am around someone with whom the jokes keep coming, there’s a sense of fluidity to the conversation, and whether I’ve come to know that person extremely well over the course of years, or whether I’ve only known them for a few months, there’s a fluency of shared in-jokes that haven’t been pre-established, and I like that. I can be partners in crime with other sociopaths. I can say things with impunity. There’s a kinship there, a brotherhood. I’ve mentioned him before, but my early adulthood was shaped by the influence of a best friend I will always remember as one of the finest people I have ever known. More of a factor 1 kind of psychopath, I hated him right away. I’d never immediately hated someone before, but he seemed smug, or self-assured, he seemed... I hate to admit it, but the first time I saw him, we were in a room full of people and he looked better than everyone else (including me) and he seemed more interesting than everyone else (including me) and people seemed really interested in him (more so than me) and he looked really sure of himself (just like I like to be). Looking back I felt intimidated by who I immediately identified as being the top of the food chain. He later told me, and made very clear to me, his immediate reaction to me was much the same. Over the course of just a few weeks, we became friends, then best friends, then we had a bond that was like brotherhood, kinship. Our friendship was one of solid loyalty, and whilst we really did piss eachother off quite a lot, there was something of an unspoken understanding that this was it and we were in this. I had more empathy for him than I’d ever had for anyone at that point. When I heard him talk, I felt I could finally talk.  I’ve met other sociopaths over the years, and I feel like I’ve gone into my tribe. I’m not normally a pack animal, but if it’s a wolf pack, I’m in.  BPD What I’m about to say is from personal experience, and is only from intimate relationships I have been in. I don’t rub along well with borderlines, historically. I will tell you why. And this is why I believe a lot of antisocials shouldn’t date borderlines -- it’s not fair on anyone.  I was in a three year relationship with a man with BPD, and it was a fucking nightmare. I’m self-sufficient, and I like my emotions to be my choice, especially where my empathy and compassion is concerned. I will support, love and trust, until I feel it’s being forced out of me, and then I will react, dismiss, disgust. The borderline I dated immediately latched onto every single part of my life, very quickly. It was like he was trying to become me. At first, I was flattered. I even entertained the idea that this was good for me, good for my ego maybe, if narcissistic supply is being told how great you are then antisocial supply is being powerful enough that people try to emulate you. He was very full-on at first, I remember feeling a little stifled by how constantly he needed to be in touch with me, he’d call me after work, during work, after the drinks after work, he’d call me when he was drunk because he thought he was so hilarious I’d die laughing and be grateful of the attention. And maybe that was his way of showing love, but I was not grateful of the attention, and it didn’t take me long to get bored of it. He was everywhere, and he was everyone, and he was nobody, all at once. His lack of identity and need for me to define it for him exhausted me, and angered me. It was like he wanted me to organise his entire life, tell him what to do, where to be, who to meet, what to say, and then once he realised his own codependence he’d become furious and react by, oh, I don’t know, contacting an ex, talking about former sexual partners, inventing an emotional crisis and then being pissed off I didn’t respond to it (once, after an argument: “Ugh, I guess I’m just a little tired today. It’s the two year anniversary of my ex-girlfriend’s father’s death.” ???). I had to always be there for him, no matter what, and his being there for me was insincere. His rage was equal to mine, and I admit that, he was angry all the time and I was angry all the time. Very quickly a battle of wills was established by the both of us, and for two whole years we were both jousting against eachother. But he would always try to win, by creating a crisis: he’d hurt himself in front of me, he’d perform sadness or pain in front of me (and was a bad actor), he’d “go missing” for a few hours then turn up “confused”, he’d pretend, pretend, pretend, and the more he needed my undivided attention and empathy, the more I resented him. And I would try to win by laughing or ignoring, and both of us came off as bad people, because both of us were being bad people. When he, as the DSM would word it, would frantically try to avoid abandonment, after a while, I would abandon as best I could, and with spite.  I think it’s nothing personal, the way antisocials are with borderlines, but I think it’s in our chemistry, or whatever magic it is that makes up Cluster B: antisocials need to be self-sufficient. We are generous and loving, but we covet that generosity and warmth extremely fiercely. We don’t respond to emotional provocation, we do not respect it. And we’re emotionally very cold, closed-off, and unavailable. Borderlines need to feel loved and catered for. They are too generous and loving, but they can’t seem to regulate all too well how that love comes out, what’s appropriate, what’s not. It’s not the fault of the person with BPD that insecurity has left them with a fear of abandonment, but it’s not the fault of the person with ASPD that abandonment is how we cope.  NPD Tough one, because again, I’ve known narcissists I’ve really liked. It’s the ones I’d call “Evolved” narcissists: they know what they’re about, who they are, why they’re doing what they’re doing, and whether they’re trying to change it or not is irrelevant, the self-awareness is enough. But then again, there’s something in narcissism, when it’s malignant and lacks all self-awareness, that I find almost delusional, I begin to wonder just how close to psychosis it really is, if they say that the “borderline” in Borderline Personality Disorder stands for “The borderline between neurosis and psychosis”, then how did narcissists escape that label? When grandiosity is that pervasive and delusional, I don’t understand how it isn’t a genuine psychotic disorder. It’s true that so many Cluster B traits intermingle with eachother, and the reason I don’t get on with narcissists as a rule and they don’t get on with me, is what I mentioned in my first part about ASPD -- a battle of wills is too quickly established. Narcissists are always looking for evidence that their crown is about to be toppled, and antisocials are always looking to attack, and to defy what’s been handed to them. Antisocials have narcissistic tendencies, but whilst a narcissist will always be a hero (or a victim) in every story they tell, the antisocial will be whatever the situation requires, but the antisocial doesn’t buy into their own bullshit. I’ve found in the past that a narcissist will rewrite history, but then curiously, believe their own retelling of the thing that never happened. Antisocials love to eke out insincerity, to either see how the situation unfolds, or to make someone squirm -- but narcissists seem to become so involved in their insincerity, they have no idea they’re no longer being sincere, or telling any kind of truth. I’ve had a few in my life, and maybe I’m biased because of that, but my most recent experience is the boyfriend of someone I used to be very close to. I think it’s the lying, or the fact that their manipulations really are very intricate, I’m not sure. But it’s ultimate control, impotent power, and hard to stick around for. But having said all that, my relationships to narcissists is probably a 30/70 split. For every handful of narcissists I meet that I hate, I meet one that I find truly amazing. After all, that confidence and that self-importance, it’s hard to look away.  HPD I literally have never met anyone with this diagnosis, and I’m not sure I even understand it myself. 

[raisingsupergirl]

Havok Publishing Hits Realm Makers 2019!

I'm in shock. Or maybe it's awe. I'm humbled, for sure. And tired, too. Definitely tired. But all the other things are overpowering the sleep deprivation, like they usually do post-conference. But this year it's different. I didn't come home with a head full of mush and a bag full of notes. No, this was not a "learning" year like those in the past. Not in the strictest sense, anyway. Though, I certainly am still processing all of the unexpected happenings and possibilities. But to understand what I'm talking about, you first need to understand what I've been up to.

The last few months, I've been talking about how I've been so busy, and stressed, and overwhelmed, and blah, blah, blah. Some of it had to do with my day job as a physical therapist, but most of it revolved around my writing and editing career, the majority of it being work for my company, Havok Publishing.

Yes, I have a publishing company. But it's not "mine," exactly. Not completely, anyway. Almost a year ago, I took the reigns from its previous owner (Ben Wolf) with one stipulation: I'd have gobs and gobs of friends helping me run things. And after splitting the managerial strain with two spectacular women (I run the editorial department while a kraken runs the marketing and tech departments and a jackalope runs the operations department… that probably makes more sense to them than it does you…), I "hired" on almost twenty more volunteers to fill out the ranks. And since then, we've been busting our tails to create something that's so much bigger than any one of us.

But you may be asking why in the world twenty-something people would volunteer for anything so involved as a publishing company. Well, it's because of the spirit of said company. And I was reminded of that in a big way this past weekend.

The Realm Makers writing conference is the summer highlight for a very specific group of about 300 people. You see, we're all Christians, writers, and… kind of weird. That is, we're geeks and nerds. We collect Marvel comics, write dragon stories, and wear ridiculous costumes. And we never feel more at home than when we're among our own people.

Becky Minor and a faithful few created this conference several years ago, and I've been a part of it since the beginning. Which means I've formed some deep friendships with some amazing people, most of whom I don't see in person anywhere other than this conference. And over the years, I've had the joy of watching them grow from scared, flightless writers to bold, soaring authors. So many of them have forged their own path into the wild world, and many more have joined the ranks as wide-eyed newbies. And we all continue to have the same spirit of inclusiveness and excitement for the craft and industry of fiction stories, but unfortunately, we often also share the pain of rejection in said industry. And that's exactly where Havok Publishing comes in.

You see, there are a lot of readers out there. And there are also plenty of writers. But sometimes, getting good stories from writers to readers can be tricky. Polishing stories takes time. As does packaging them and delivering them into the right hands. And time is money, so many writers simply don't have the resources to get the job done, which is exactly why publishers exist. But publishers need to make money, too, which means they're often only willing to offer publishing contracts to the biggest and most well-established names in the industry. And only to the most exciting and well-packaged novels. And all of this leaves a very big hole in the process: providing new writers with an opportunity to improve their craft and put their polished stories in front of readers (other than their grandmas). And when I almost let Havok die last year, that was the only reason I didn't. We truly were a company that provided the bridge for those new writers. And we were one of the only ones in our corner of the industry doing it.

Since then, we've grown at a staggering rate. We've flipped our production and delivery model on end. We've turbo-charged our marketing. And we've been met by hordes of supporters that continue to push us forward toward great things. But, as I said, we're all volunteers. So twenty-something hours per week of pouring in without getting much back except "Good Job" stickers can take its toll. So when we were starting to feel beat down, I encouraged us all to wait until that always-magical Realm Makers weekend before losing heart. And, if I must say, I was right.

The weeks leading up to the conference were a blur. We were busy curating the best stories we'd acquired over the past six months into our first anthology, and unless you've ever published your own book (correctly), I can't possibly tell you how involved the process in. But just know that we barely made it in time. We didn't do everything right, but the final product looked amazing, and seventy-two copies of it came with us for sale in the conference bookstore.

And less than twenty-four hours after the conference began, we sold out.

Yes, all seventy-two books that we ambitiously printed, loaded up, and put on display among so many other amazing novels, anthologies, comics, and crafts completely sold out in less than a day. And I was completely floored. And through the rest of the conference, other writers and fans continued to ask how they could purchase our anthology. They bought t-shirts and went online and bought the anthology there (which you can do by clicking on this link to amazon.com). And it took me a while to figure out how in the world that could have happened.

But slowly, it dawned on me: it was the spirit of Havok. We foster and nurture eager young writers. We build them up. We guide them. We give them hope. And we set them up for success in what is oftentimes their first real publication. And they, in turn, are the ultimate rockstars and advocates for what we're doing. Probably half of those seventy-two anthology copies were bought by authors who were published in it (for gifts for their friends and family), and the other half were snatched up by Realmies (the affectionate name for the Realm Makers tribe/attendees) who felt the palpable excitement generated by those of us involved in the magic.

I think there were eighteen of the Havok Hive (the name for Havok's collective volunteer staff… you will be assimilated) in attendance at this year's Realm Makers. And as a small token, Cerberus (the name for the aforementioned three heads of Havok, myself being one of them. Yes, I know. We have a lot of strange titles. Didn't I warn you that we're weird?) gifted them with bright orange Havok lanyards. And as the Hive busied itself about the conference, helping here and there where needed, it unwittingly lightened the tensions weighing on those young writers whom we love so much. As one woman told me on the last night of the conference, "Every time I see an orange lanyard, I know the person wearing it will be encouraging. Like I can actually do this thing."

And that's when I knew we'd won. We'd accomplished, for the moment, what we set out to do. We'd given back to a conference and a culture that had already made such a difference in the lives of so many. We'd played our small but essential part in the process. And we will continue to do so. We're acquiring hundreds of stories each year. We're putting the best of those stories in beautiful anthologies alongside some of the industry’s biggest names. We're putting our energy and resources directly back into our authors and projects that will benefit them. And we're doing it all because we love it. And we love them. And we couldn't do any of it without that constant reminder. So, thank you, everyone, who has supported Havok Publishing along the way. You're helping us make a difference in the lives of so many creatives. And, in turn, you're helping their stories make a change in this world. 

We're doing good work here at Havok, and it takes a village… or in this case, a Hive… or a Horde. I don't know. Maybe we do need to reconsider how many strange labels we're putting on everything. But you get my drift. Together, we’re weird. We’re writers. And we’re wonderful. Write on!

[heisenbergchronicles]

APPRECIATION & INTERVIEW

Better Call Saul episode posters by Matt Talbot After 4 nearly years, I thought it was time to catch up with Matt Talbot about his Better Call Saul poster project. The last time we talked during Season 1, Matt was deep in the hustle of making his name as an illustrator: juggling a full-time job, freelance projects, as well as band. Finding time for personal projects like this one can be a significant challenge. (Not to mention surviving the death of your tools: During Season 1 his Mac laptop died, and this season, his Wacom tablet bit the bullet). But despite these challenges, the 43-year-old New Hampshire native has persevered to create a clever and thoughtful series of episode posters that has garnered considerable attention, and brought with it new high-profile clients and art exhibitions. 

First, congratulations on all of your success and recognition with this series of posters. It’s well-deserved. What’s been the most gratifying feedback you’ve received? Thank you! Every interaction I’ve had with anyone from the show has delighted me. I've been surprised by all of the cast and crew members who have said nice things – every note I’ve gotten has meant a lot to me. That being said, Michael McKean randomly tweeting at me that he has my poster for Chicanery hanging in his home blew my mind. I was eating dinner when my phone showed the notification and I literally jumped up from the table. I’ve been a fan of Michael’s since I saw Spinal Tap in the ‘80s and never in a million years would I have guessed I’d make something he valued enough to hang in his home.

Tell me about your contributions to Gallery1988 exhibitions. How does that process work? It's a pretty simple process. They invite me to be part of a show, and I make something to send them. I’m very excited for the opportunity to show there, and I feel like it’s a milestone in my art-making career.

Across the 4 seasons, which BCS posters are your favorites? Which one are you most proud of? I’m particularly fond of Rebecca, Rico, Marco, Switch, Sunk Costs and Something Beautiful. Oh man, it's hard for me to evaluate my own stuff. I tend to like the posters where I find a way to get a different take on something they did in the episode. I would say that “Sunk Costs” is also one of my favorites because I did something differently than how they shot it, and because Mike is so recognizable even from the back. I was also pleased with “Off Brand” because it was when I finally figured out how to draw Bob Odenkirk.

How has your process for creating these posters evolved over 4 seasons? When I started this project I had a vague idea that I would focus on scenes rather than portraits or likenesses, but that didn’t even last half a season! The characters were too good not to include. In that way, the posters have evolved in my willingness to draw characters, and also, hopefully, my ability to draw them. 

My process is now something like: Watch the show on Monday; think about it on Tuesday, figure out what stood out to me and do a thumbnail sketch or two; draw it on Wednesday night; post it Thursday afternoon. I’m a bit faster at drawing these now compared to when I started. And I’m a bit more decisive on choosing which subject matter to depict.

There have been quite a few changes on the visual side of Better Call Saul over the last 2 seasons. New directors (Minkie Spiro, Daniel Sackheim, and Andrew Stanton), a new cinematographer Marshall Adams, even new cameras. What are your thoughts on how the show’s visual grammar has evolved? Has any of this impacted your posters from Seasons 3 & 4? I try not to just redraw literal scenes from the show, and I don’t need to tell you that they shoot the show in an incredibly beautiful way. I mean, they always, always, pick the best angle, the best shot to capture something. For that reason, it’s sometimes hard to to come up with another take on a moment from the show.

That being said, the visual style hasn’t really impacted my posters as much as the evolving subject matter has. The show, I think, is substantially darker than it was in the early going. It was easier to depict Jimmy’s hi-jinx in the first couple seasons. But with Chuck’s deteriorating mental state, the cartel stuff, Mike going deeper into Fring’s world and of course, Jimmy’s loosening sense of morals, the funny moments are harder to spot. That’s lead me to some more somber layouts and color choices.

We didn’t discuss this in our first interview. Which typeface are you using in your posters, or is this custom typography? The main logo and episode titles are set in Sign Painter, from the excellent House Industries.

The Heisenverse is known for it’s color theory and use of color. How has that impacted your color choices in these posters? I’ve kind of adhered to their blue=good/red=bad symbolism, but I also try to balance out colors between episodes and not repeat myself in sequential posters.

Many of your posters (especially ones this season) use a monochromatic, or simple palette of 1-2 colors. Tell me more about why you chose that approach. Is this a signature of your style? I’ve seen this approach in a lot of your work. You know, in the early seasons, I was trying to use simpler color palettes, but I wasn’t very disciplined and I got away from that. I’m trying to stick to a more consistent style in season 4. It is a conscious decision. I also feel like with the week-to-week nature of this project, it helps quickly set apart each poster. And, I really do love limited color palettes. Giving myself color constraints helps me figure out different ways to solve layout problems.

I’ve heard other illustrators say that Bob Odenkirk’s facial features are tricky to capture. Do you share that sentiment? Which characters are more challenging to illustrate? I do agree with that. I had a really hard time with him at first. I kind of think I have a better handle on it now, but I’m always trying to get better. I feel like if you can get his mouth right, it goes a long way.

I found Hector hard to capture both times I drew him. Mike, on the other hand, is just pure fun to draw. Jonathan Banks is so distinctive and iconic.

What’s been the most difficult poster thus far? Why was it challenging? Maybe it’s because a lot of time has gone by, but I can't think of one that stands out as having been really difficult.

Francesco Francavilla did alternate posters for some of his Breaking Bad posters. Inevitably, when artists look back at their work, they consider revising or redoing it because of a variety of reasons – their point of view has changed, their skill/style has evolved, or maybe they were never truly content with the final product. Looking back at 4 seasons worth of posters, are there any that make you want to scratch the revision itch? Yeah, more than I would care to admit. I would really like another crack at Amarillo. I know I could do a better job and that drawing is just super flat. In season two, I decided to to experiment with style and I kind of wish I hadn't. I like Cobbler, but I wish I had drawn it in my normal style. I would redraw Nailed for sure. Oh man, if I start going down this road it's not going to end well, so I'll just stop.

You mentioned earlier this season you were excited to draw Track Suit Jimmy. Who or what haven’t you drawn, that you are eager to illustrate? Howard! It bums me out to no end that I haven't drawn him, but it just hasn't worked out. And I need to include Kim more. It's kind of criminal that her face only appeared for the first time in a poster this season.

What’s your opinion of Season 4? Tell me about your favorites – episode, scene, character. I think season 4 is brilliant so far. The Kim/Jimmy relationship has deepened so much this season, and feels so real, but full of inevitable heartache. Oh, the flash-forward to Breaking Bad’s timeline was amazing. Mike doing his audit in the Madrigal warehouse. Really, anything Michael Mando does on screen. It's hard to pick. I so enjoy the deliberate pace of this show.

Where’s your favorite place to discuss the show? I honestly don’t talk about it too much online, though I lurk in a few places and read a lot. I actually discuss it mostly with my wife!

I know you get this question a lot, so let’s cover it here so folks understand: Do you have plans to sell any of this work online? I really appreciate that people like it enough to want to buy it or hang it, but I don't plan to sell the Better Call Saul posters online. I’m doing this for fun, not to make a buck off the show, and I don’t own the rights to sell it anyway.

What’s next for Matt? Do you have any other poster or illustration projects in the works? Is you band performing soon? I have several more pieces for Gallery1988 shows coming up. I’m pulling together an art show at a local brewery for whom I design all of their labels and stuff. I’m patiently waiting for a t-shirt I designed for one of my all-time favorite movies to be announced. And for the past several Octobers, I spent the month drawing a horror poster per day. I’m not sure if logistically I can do that again this year, but I’ll probably fit at least a few in. We’ll see how it goes. Sadly, with all of my illustration work, I haven’t had any time for music making, but someday I hope to get back to that!

Follow Matt: Web site / Tumblr / Twitter / Dribbble / Instagram / PosterSpy

– Interview by Shayne Bowman, Heisenberg Chronicles

[heydisneyhiremeplease]

Do you ever get sick of people telling you to just hold on? They don’t get it. They don’t feel what you’re feeling. They just want to feel like they’re doing something good. But they can’t make all your stress go away, or end your depression, or fix your bad relationships. You want to feel better. There are happy things in the world. There are people who love you, or could love you if you felt like letting them. But it’s too hard to crawl out from under the shadows some days. Every now and again, a good day comes up. A day when maybe things aren’t as bad as you thought. Maybe there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe you can finally get it together. You begin to feel like you just needed new perspective on life. But those days come once in a blue moon, and before you know it the sun has gone down and you’re in your bed again, trying to fall asleep. But you can’t, because your worries and anxiety are making your heart beat too fast, and your thoughts won’t quiet down. Day after day, night after night, you struggle. It’s easy, for a while, to think that this is just a phase. That when this school year ends, or when you get a different job, or when start a new hobby, or when you finally start dating someone, this will all be over. But the longer you suffer, you realize that this could last for the rest of your life. And eventually you wonder...do you want to live that life? That many years, each of them composed of 365 days just like the ones you’ve been living. Like staring into some deep abyss. What is going to make the suffering worth it? What are you suffering for? Can you do anything about it? But every question you ask, every corner you turn, there’s more of the same waiting for you. It’s just who you are now. Was there a time when you were happy? Or were you always like this, but with more good days sprinkled in so that it was harder to notice the ongoing hopelessness? Does anyone else notice your pain? Do you want them to? Would they help you? Would they pity and belittle you? Would they believe you? After all, no one can see into your mind, or feel your feelings. If they haven’t experienced what you have, how could they know? How could they understand or relate? Your thoughts run in circles, the same notions swirling and echoing endlessly. No one gets it. No one ever will. I am alone. This is permanent. I am alone.

But what if you weren’t? What if someone understood so well, and loved you so desperately that they would give anything to take your pain away? That they themselves would endure tremendous pain just to give you hope? Seems unlikely. That kind of thing only happens in movies or fairytales, where ideas of love are nothing like real life. Nothing like the abuse and betrayal you’ve experienced or seen others experience. No, that “love” is found only in stories.

But what if you’ve just been listening to the wrong stories? What if there’s one that you’ve ignored, or never heard, or never gave much weight to? And what if this one was completely, legitimately true? What if this story could give you hope? What if this story could give you a reason to live?

I believe that there is a God, who made you, and loves you more than your parents, grandparents, friends, teachers, or even your dog ever could. Because of this incredible, unconditional love, He sent His only Son to die for you. That sounds crazy, and unbelievable. But what if it really was that simple? That someone loves you so much that they would sacrifice something so important, just to give you hope? Jesus, God’s Son, willingly died for you and everyone else. Maybe you question why that would even need to happen. What was the purpose? What did that do? To understand, we have to talk about Adam and Eve. You’ve probably heard of them. If not, let’s review.

Adam and Eve were the first human beings God created. He made them to live in the Garden of Eden, where they were happy for a long time. However, Satan, of whom you have also likely heard, became jealous of these humans, because God cherished them. Satan, or the devil, as he is often called, took the form of a snake, and found Eve in the garden. He tempted Eve to break God’s rule, and she in turn tempted Adam. You see, Adam and Eve had never done anything against God before that point. God had only one rule by which He asked them to live. This one rule was that they could not eat a certain kind of fruit, which grew on the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Satan tempted Eve to eat it. She listened. She tempted Adam to eat it, too. He listened. God sent Adam and Eve out of the beautiful Garden of Eden. They set out into the world, which was now full of sin. The sin that Adam and Eve unleashed when they made the choice to disobey their Creator.

Now, people living today have a choice, just like the first two people to ever live did. We can do good, and we can do bad. This is known. But why is it so easy to do something that is considered bad? Every time you ever ignored your mom when she called you because you didn’t want to get up was selfish. Every time you ever told someone else gossip about a mutual acquaintance was a betrayal. Every time you ever borrowed something without asking, even if you later put it back, you stole. Every time you ever told on a classmate just to get them in trouble, you bore false witness against them (lied about them). Every time you looked up one or two of the answers on your homework, you cheated. But these are small things. You feel like you’re not a bad person for these little mistakes, especially since nobody got hurt in the end. So we’ll not worry about trying to classify you as a good or bad person. Don’t even think about that. Just think about why you did any of those things.

You did them because they were easy. Why were they so easy to do? Because sin is in the world. And while we all have been through similar situations, and we all have the ability to choose our actions, we’ve probably all done at least one of these things. Again, don’t worry about trying to label yourself or others as good or bad people, just think about how we all have this type of thing in common. We all feel this desire to do the easy thing. To do the sinful thing.

This is why Jesus died for us. Not because we cheated on a 9th grade math test, or because we ignored our parents when they said to do the dishes. Try not to put it in such simple terms. Jesus died for us because of the way that living in a world inhabited by sin affects us. So maybe you’ve never robbed a bank, or killed someone. Maybe you’ve just never been desperate enough. Think about things you’ve done while under stress. Think about what you’ve seen other people do while under stress. For example, my father is a very kind man. I love him. But when he gets stressed out, he screams at me and the rest of my family. He throws things and yells so loud it hurts our ears. When my mother gets stressed out, she treats us all like we’re stupid and she’s superior. When I get stressed out, I do some sort of combination of the two. I suppose that’s fitting. We’re all normally very kind and gentle, but when just a bit of stress is applied, we break down and start screaming or hurling insults. Because that’s the easy thing. Because that’s what a hint of desperation does. Because that’s what happens when human beings are born into a world inhabited by sin.

A lot of people ask why God would allow such pain to remain in the world. They say He must not exist, because if he did, then obviously He would take care of our problems. I see how that seems very logical. And God did do something, even if it wasn’t the instant cure-all that most people want. God sent Jesus. And Jesus willingly left heaven to be here on earth. He came to earth as a baby, and grew into a man. He experienced hunger and thirst, discomfort and temptation. But Jesus was different. Despite having a full understanding of what it’s like to be human, He was unaffected by the sin in this world. He never did anything bad. Ever. And when it came time for Him to actually be put to death, he did that willingly.

Jesus was crucified on a cross. The Jews, His people, chose to reject Him. They voted for him to be crucified just before the start of Passover. As He was waiting to die, Jesus took all of our sin upon Himelf. All the sin of the people living at that time, and all the sin of anyone who would ever live. When He was finally dead, He was buried behind a heavy stone so that Christians could not come and steal His body. Roman guards were also placed there. The followers of Jesus felt hopeless then, because the person they had given their lives to was gone. They had loved Him, supported Him, trusted Him, and now He was just dead. And they felt lost.

But three days later, on the day we celebrate Easter Sunday, the ground around His tomb began to shake. A blinding light scared away the Roman guards. Some followers of Jesus came to visit His tomb, and upon arriving they saw that it was empty. An angel was waiting there for them, and informed them that Jesus was alive again. They felt joy for the first time since His death. Pure joy.

This all took place a long, long time ago. No one alive today has seen Jesus. There are historical records that prove He was a real person, that He was crucified, and there are recorded accounts of his reappearance after death. But similar to how science cannot prove the existence of God, nothing can completely prove that the man they called Jesus was truly God’s Son. That’s where faith comes in.

Do you want hope? Do you feel like no one is ever going to understand how you feel? Are you afraid that the rest of your life is just going to be a series of bad days repeated over and over? Are you becoming desperate for a way out? Are certain things or actions starting to look easy to you that never did before hopelessness took over?

Someone loved you enough to sacrifice something precious in order to give you hope. God sent His Son to die for you. Someone loved you enough to actually die a painful death to give you a way out that doesn’t end in your death. Jesus died on the cross for you. And neither God nor Jesus will ever hold this against you. You don’t need to think about how you never asked either of them to do anything for you, or feel guilty about what they did. That’s just the strength of their love for you. Did you ever have a person you thought really loved you? Perhaps a parent? Did that person just do things for you without your asking? It’s like that, but on a much, much larger scale.

So...what now? What does all of this mean? It means that if you want hope, you can have it. Have you ever heard of heaven? Probably. It’s where God and Jesus live. It’s perfect. There is no pain or suffering there. Ever. And once you go there, you will never have to leave. It is the place where the souls of people who have accepted Jesus go when their human bodies die. It’s no secret that humans eventually pass away. We can’t live on earth forever. Even children die of cancer long before their time. But our souls will not die. They live on. They can enter heaven after our bodies perish. All you need to do to ensure that your soul will go to heaven when you die is accept Jesus as your personal Savior. That’s why He died. He’s already done the hard work. He’s already suffered for us. Now we need only accept Him.

What if you don’t want to do that? You don’t have to. It’s a choice that each individual person must make. No one can force it on you, not really. But if you don’t, your soul will spend eternity in a place called hell when you die. That’s where Satan is. Remember him? He tempted Eve to betray God. And he really doesn’t like you. He’s the source of all your pain. Literally. All of it. Yes, sometimes others hurt us or we hurt ourselves, but sin is in the world because of him. He’s still jealous of humans to this day. And he loves hurting you. He loves that you’re hopeless. He loves watching you toss and turn at night. And he’ll be really excited to see those of us who don’t choose Jesus, because when those people die they’ll be spending time with him. In hell. Suffering. Forever.

If you think hell sounds bad, you’re normal. Remember how you can avoid going there? Right. Accepting Jesus as your personal Savior and Lord. Wait...where did the “Lord” part come from? That means that you’re surrendering your life to Jesus as well. It means that if you accept His free gift of hope and salvation, and the free ticket out of hell, every decision you make needs to be for Him. You need to read the Bible, and tell others about Him. Here’s where a lot of people really start to dislike the idea of accepting Jesus. I can see why. Sounds like a big commitment. But so does agreeing to spend eternity in hell. The funny thing is that you don’t have to choose hell or Satan like you have to choose Jesus. It’s the default. It’s why bad things are easy to do. Satan has control of this world because God and sin are opposites. God can’t be here like He was before Adam and Eve betrayed Him. But He still sent Jesus to save you.

You might not choose to accept Jesus. Just as I said before, it’s a personal choice. No one can make you. Likewise, if you know someone who has accepted Jesus, you are not saved just because you know them. This is on you. All of it. That’s both a relief and a burden, huh? I understand. Choosing Jesus doesn’t mean that your life will be perfect and you’ll never be hurt or hurt others again. You’ll still be a human being living in a world inhabited by sin where God cannot stay. But it’ll be like increasing your once-in-a-blue-moon good days tenfold, because it will grant you perspective. It will give you hope.

Even if you are not ready to make a decision, are you ready to hear about the process of accepting Jesus? Even if you don’t want to, go ahead and skim over it. You’ve stuck with me this far, after all.

Someone who wants to accept Jesus needs to do three things, and these things conveniently follow the first three letters of the alphabet. Part of this process is meant to be done in a prayer. Start by saying “Dear God.” There are many ways to address Him, and this one works just fine. Then, follow up with these three steps:

A - Admit. A person who wants to accept Jesus needs to admit that they have sinned. We all do it. Don’t let any shame you might feel stop you. God already knows everything you’ve ever done. You don’t even need to recount individual sins. Just admit that you have sinned, and that you understand you are still a sinner.

B - Believe. A person who wants to accept Jesus needs to believe that He is God’s only Son, and that God sent Him to die on the cross for us. If you want Jesus to save you, you must believe He did something to save you. You must also believe that Jesus is alive and residing in heaven with God at this very minute, that death could not hold Him. At this point, you can end your prayer by saying, “In Your Son’s name, Amen.” The final step is carried out around other people.

C - Confess. A person who wants to accept Jesus needs to confess to others that He is their Savior. Tell people about your hope and joy. Tell them how excited you are to go to heaven, because the person who does these three things will spend eternity in peace and comfort, with Jesus. The person who accepts Jesus’s gift of salvation doesn’t need to worry about suffering here on earth, because even death cannot separate a Christian from God.

Here is a sample acceptance prayer from the website LifeWay. You do not have to pray this exact prayer:

“Dear God, thank You for choosing to love me! I know I am a sinner. I believe You sent Your Son, Jesus Christ, to die for my sins. I believe He rose again and lives today. Today, I repent and turn away from my sin. Thank You for Your wonderful love and for changing my life forever. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.”

If you choose to complete all three steps, you are officially a Christian! And as a Christian, you’ll want to make some Christian friends. This doesn’t mean leaving your old friends, just adding on. In fact, you should really keep your old friends, because they just might be the first people you tell about Jesus. As for finding Christian friends, you can start by looking for a church near you. This can be really hard, especially if you’ve never been to church before. Please try to remember that churches are full of human beings, who, even though they have trusted Jesus, can still sin. They might not always be friendly to you. That’s unfortunate, because they ought to be spreading God’s love. You may need to try a few churches before you find one where you feel comfortable. This is normal too.

Something else that is essential is a book called the Bible. The Bible is God’s instruction for humans. In it, you’ll find His commands, as well as His promises. Promises that He loves you and will never stop loving you. Promises that He will protect you. Read your Bible regularly, and try to get a daily dose. When and where is up to you. If you feel like you’re having trouble understanding something (which can happen to anyone), see if the church you’re trying out has a Bible study group you can join. Or ask the pastor. It is also possible to do research to find answers to your questions. However, the internet has a lot of weird stuff on it, so make sure you really trust the source you’re using.

Lastly, now that you’ve trusted Jesus, you have a direct link to God. Talk to Him! Tell Him about your day, your fears, and your hopes in prayer. Ask Him to guide you, and keep you and your loved ones safe. Ask Him for peace, especially in times of discouragement or anxiety. You can even pray for sleep to come when you’re having trouble drifting off. Nothing is too simple or personal for God. He already knows what you’re thinking, why not go ahead and present your desires and requests to Him? Remember that no is also an answer, as in, not all prayers are answered with a yes. You may have a sick friend, someone that you ask God to heal. God will answer that prayer, but He might not do what you asked. He doesn’t always send the miracle you want. I don’t know why. But you must have faith that God has a plan—because He does. You can ask God for strong faith as well. He will help you.

When you pray, you also need to ask God for forgiveness of your sins. This includes white lies and muttered insults that the person you dislike at work can’t hear. But if you ask for forgiveness (and you must), you need to understand that you’re promising to stop doing the things for which you want to be forgiven. If you ask God to forgive you, it will be like you never did those things. However, this is not a license to whatever you want. Sin separates you from God, even here on earth. Christians do sin, but we know to turn away from that sin. You can be forgiven, but you must try not to keep doing the same things. You can ask for God to help you with this, too.

If you love someone, or even if you don’t, ask if they have heard about Jesus. You don’t have to start the conversation on this topic. I didn’t start this post by talking about Jesus, did I? Ask them about their day. Listen to them. Learn to understand how they feel. Let them vent to you, if that’s what they want. Offer them patience and kindness. Once they feel better, or feel comfortable talking with you, introduce the topic of Jesus by telling about something you did. Tell a funny story that happened at church this week, or about a new friend you made in Sunday School. Maybe ask if they want to go to church with you next week to meet this person. You can pray about finding ways to tell others about Jesus. I pray about this myself, and God gives me just the right words every time. Remember that just because you tell someone about Jesus doesn’t mean they will want to choose Him. That’s not your fault. You can’t make someone become a Christian, nor should you try. They might grow to dislike you, and God by extension. Instead, you are merely presenting them with the opportunity, just as I presented it to you here. God wants you to tell others about Him—that’s your responsibility. Making them accept Jesus is not. You cannot save them. Only Jesus can.

How do you feel now? Whether you trusted Jesus or not, do you still feel completely hopeless? Now that I’ve shared this with you, hope is yours to accept or decline. Ignoring this and not choosing Jesus might feel like the easy thing. But, as we’ve been discussing, the easy thing is often easy because it’s wrong. Choose wisely, my friend. Happy Easter, and may God bless you and those you love.

[starscreamloki]

Disobedient Thrall

Chapter: Five

Previous chapter

Read on AO3

Summary: Loki is on earth and has a human Thrall that is able to arrange things for him. But Loki seems to have fallen in a very predatory, even feral, way of treating and is downright dangerous, able to commit murder at any moment. She is trying to make him see that he is more than the darkness he thinks he is, but instead she keeps pushing all the wrong buttons.

Warnings: Dom!Loki, predatory!Loki, violence, lot of Loki feels, Loki is cruel.

Words: 3434

A/N: Thanks again to @laralaufey for this fanfic, who just keeps cheering me on to write this.

For all of you who want to follow Loki’s adventure ‘live’, or ask THIS Loki questions, check out Loki’s blog: Loki the Predator.

---

When she woke up and opened her eyes, she noticed the house was empty. “Wolf? Loki?” she asked to the empty room and carefully got up and stretched to get the stiffness out of her muscles. Her sleep had been peaceful, if sleep was what you could’ve called it because it had more felt like a black-out.

She walked through the house. “LOKI? WOLF?”

No answer.

She snorted and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Where could they be? She didn’t like the feeling of being all alone in this house, it gave her an abandoned feeling.

Saddened she scuffled to the livingroom to eat her breakfast. “Where are you, Loki?” she whispered while a feeling of loneliness washed over her. She didn’t want to be alone. Truth to be told, Loki hadn’t been nice to her but she hadn’t want him to leave either and yet he had. Had it been her fault? Something she had said or done? Or hadn’t said or done for that matter? Had he lost interest in her?

Suddenly she remembered the telepathy Loki had used on her. She had no clue how he had done it, or if he was able to hear her, but she figured it was worth a try. “Are you hunting?” Once again she got that stupid feeling she always got when talking out loud when nobody was there. Maybe it was a good thing that she was alone because she all to well remembered the weird looks people had given her when she had spoken to herself when she had been out on the street yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? She couldn’t remember.

She got up and went to the bedroom and noticed the bed was untouched. “You did not even go to sleep?” She furrowed her brow, sighed and sat down on the bed. “Loki, I’m sorry I have said those things.” She didn’t get an answer and the feeling of being a little bit crazy started to nag at her again. Had it even been real?

“Did you abandon me?”

Silence.

“LOKIIII!” she shouted but still the God did not answer.

She got up and moved to the living room, taking place in the armchair next to the fireplace and picked up a book to read. Yet she couldn’t shake the sad feeling, nor a little bit of guilt gnawing at her, and the letters in the book did not fully reach her brain.

“I’m waiting for you. Please, can you come back?” A single tear rolled down her cheek.

***

After what seemed like forever Loki suddenly spoke to her in her mind, his tone agitated and angry, “Little Prey, I’m not one of your ‘friends’ who you can call at any time you please and will heed to your every whim!”

She briefly felt her heart leap with joy, but it quickly deprived as she heard the anger in his words, making her feel small.

Suddenly the front door opened and she held her breath, but no footsteps followed and apparently nobody was there. She shuddered.

“Why do you want me to come back?” Loki sighed still irritated, the underlying anger building, and she grabbed her head when he suddenly screamed in her mind, “WHY DO YOU WANT ME TO COME BACK?”

She wanted to answer him but couldn’t speak, his scream still pounding in her head and her mind whirled, a throbbing sensation in her skull. Her incapability to answer only evoked more anger from his behalf and it sounded as if he spoke between clenched teeth. “Give me one good reason!”

When he finally stopped talking and his anger resided a little, the fuzzy feeling in her head became a little less and she smiled when she answered him. “Oh, so you can really hear me! Come on, I already told you that I’m sorry. Last night you seemed sorry that I left, in the end I did not leave. And now even wanting I couldn’t leave and go to town due to the snow.”

The spark of joy that had evoked within her at the return of God had created the waterfall of words tumbling from her mouth and she had to close her eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over her, her mind still recovering from his violent shout.

But she pressed on. “At least we could try to have a dialogue. You could tell me why you suddenly became so predatory.” She swallowed. “I would like to understand your perspective.” She halted her waterfall of incoherent sentences and steadied herself with a breath suddenly remembering what he had said. “When I call my good friends it isn’t to order something! What kind of person you think I am? It’s because I want to stay with them!”

What was it with him that he just didn’t understand these basic concepts? Or did he just choose to not understand them, making her scramble for the pure pleasure of it and evoking anxiety within her? “You don’t want to be my friend because I’m only an annoying mortal prey right?”

Loki huffed and interjected, “Annoying mortal prey? Annoying… sometimes. Mortal… Definitely. Prey… we’ll see about that.”

She couldn’t see or feel the little smile that played around Loki’s lips. He indeed found her annoying sometimes because she could be all over the place, so chaotic, but that was also what drew him to her. The mortal aspect was just a given statement, something he could change if he truly wanted, but for now he didn’t care. And the prey part? Loki licked his lips. He would get what he wanted eventually but for now he just wanted to play and see how far he could go.

She had rebuked at his words but collected herself quickly. “Then tell me why you shouldn’t come back? Or give me a reason why I annoy you so much that you don’t even tell me all these things in person.” She could feel a simmering anger building. “You are talking in my mind - even shouting at me - and do not have the decency to come over here and talk to me face to face!” She was angry now. Everything she had said he just almost seemed to ignore, the words falling on deaf ears, and she hated it!

“Little One,” Loki spoke in a calm tone, “you think that not talking to you in person is impersonal while I’ve seen you… fiddle... with that black device of yours. How is that personal? Talking in your mind is not personal? It is a grace not many mortals receive from me or from any God for that matter. You might want to consider that.”

Loki sighed. Sometimes Mortals were so short sighted, questioning his methods and labeling it as wrong while they themselves had their weird ways as well.

That caught her off guard and her brows furrowed. “Well, you are right. Thank you for talking to me in my mind. It’s just that it’s uncommon for me.”

Loki snorted. “The reason I might not come back is because I’m busy. Gods are busy creatures! And I need a better reason to come back than I have reason to stay away.”

Loki felt he was horribly offended by her and he actually wondered what went on in that pretty little head of hers that she treated him like she did. Well, if he wanted he could just roam around in her mind, searching for the answers, but he’d wanted to give her a change to explain it herself before he’d do that.

And was she actually thinking he was her friend? Was a mortal trying to befriend him? It was propusterious, just like loving one! Was he not their king? Had they not pledged their fidelity to him? It angered him and he actually wanted a good reason from her why he should return, because he was pretty sure he owed her nothing!

Loki’s contemplations got interrupted by her answer. “There are so many reasons and I’m actually feeling a little sorry that I must explain them to you and that you don’t already know them.” Sadly she stared at the fireplace, it’s fire long died.

A spark of curiosity fired in Loki’s chest and he bade her continue.

“For example, I have done everything to arrange this home for you. I mean, residence, so I would like to know that you would like to stay here and come back willingly because it would mean that you feel comfortable here,” her voice trailed a little bit but she quickly continued. “And I know that you don’t want to consider it as a ‘home’ because you’re so busy that you don’t have a home, but it’s also true that you can teleport from one side of the earth to the other in a second so why could this not be your home? I mean-,” she swallowed. “Even if you’re busy, when you’re done with whatever you are doing, you could always come back!”

Loki didn’t interrupt her but only hummed at her words which drew a sigh from her. “You know, having a home and friends will not make you less of a God or even human for that matter, on the contrary, it could help you. Think of it as having a quiet place where you know you can come back to find peace, to retreat, whenever you want. And don’t worry, if you’re afraid that I will disturb your business, you just have to ask me and I will leave.” She felt her heart clench out those words because even as she spoke the words, she didn’t want to leave and she had to muster the gut to voice that out loud to him. “But… But I’m not saying I want to leave because I like it here! So I would only leave if you asked me. Ask! No shouting or threatening.”

She laughed at the futility of it all. If Loki wanted to shout, he would because he just did what he desired, whenever he wanted and with whom he had chosen for that moment, he probably cared not. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. At least, she hoped it wouldn’t hurt because that was something she wasn’t entirely sure about either.

“And if you want I could visit you from time to time, as friends do, during our free time, if you think you will be pleased by that. I promise I will never interfere with your business.” She coughed, her throat dry from the many words she had spoken though she tried to phantom only now why she had spoken out loud for he could read her thoughts. This time she didn’t speak out loud but only thought the words. Are these reasons enough?

Loki had mostly silently been listening to her words and he didn’t have an immediate response. It was one of those very rare occasions someone had rendered him speechless and he didn’t like it very much. The foremost reason for that was that he liked what she was proposing, on the other hand he wasn’t sure if he could bind himself to one place even if he was free to go and leave as he pleased. He actually needed some time to think about this.

“By the way,” she spoke suddenly, “I’m starting to prepare lunch. It could be another reason to come back, right? Could we have lunch together?” She smiled and walked to the kitchen. “There are some things I would like to tell you, but I’ll save that for later when I’m sure you will be calm and not scream at me.”

Her words lingered in Loki’s mind. Had he screamed at her so often that she already viewed him as an angry monster? Or was anger just his trademark these days? Loki shook his head for he truly didn’t know, neither did he want to know and yet her next words tore open such a sore wound it instantly infuriated him and he felt the dark magic in his veins boiling.

“Just come home, Loki...”

“I can not come home for I do not have it!” Loki could feel the dark tendrils of his magic tug at him, his blood violently coursing through his veins. Every single time he had calmed down a little she accomplished it to push one of his buttons, pulling him down that dark spiral again.

“You are wrong! This IS your home!” she retorted angry.

With a bang the front door of the house closed, which made her jump, and the air in the house grew stale and cold. She could feel a dark presence behind her and goosebumps ran down her spine. Loki’s dark voice threateningly spoke in her head, “Are you sure you want me to come back?”

Quickly she scurried to the living room and placed the food she had been preparing in on the table. Stricken with fear she looked around as she felt the atmosphere in the house plunge. “What the hell is going on here? Loki, is that you? Something is happening!” her knees were shaking and her breaths game in shallow gasps, terror gripping at her heart. “PLEASE STOP!” she screamed, covering her ears and eyes with her arms. “Loki, if this is your way to ask me to leave, I will leave. If it isn't you-” her words were shortly broken by a sob, tears stinging in her eyes. “...then this is goodbye because something is about to kill me.” It had been a long time since she had feared for her life, if she had ever feared for her life so much as now. She was trembling and just prayed that whatever was coming for her would just kill her quickly and merciful. Her mind reeled with possibilities for what might come, feeding her fear further.

The lights in the house flickered and she could feel the dark presence standing behind her, its breath hot in her neck sending shivers down her spine.

She could hear Loki sigh in her mind before he spoke, “Really, Little Prey? You almost beg me to come back, yet your are frightened by my tricks…”

Loki was actually surprised by how frightened she was but a quick glance in her mind told him she wasn’t necessarily afraid of what was coming, but of the torment her own mind bestowed upon her, the most horrible scenarios running through them. Such a wild imagination she had, and he liked it, but on the other hand it could very well be her downfall. Just like his illusions he sometimes like to wade himself in, one could lose grip on reality. Though he often pondered the loss of that.

When she realized it was the God of Mischief that was messing with her, she calmed a little but her breathing was still ragged and the adrenaline wouldn’t leave her veins. “OH MY… It’s you!” She still breathed shallow but could feel her inner balance return slowly. She walked to the other side of the table to prepare her own lunch and ignored the weird, unidentified presence. “Why don’t you stop scaring me? I’m not afraid of your jokes, I thought it was someone else and since strange creatures just walk in and out of this house when they please, you know...” She shuddered.

“Well, apparently you are afraid of my jokes because mere seconds ago you were a quivering and mewling quim,” he berated her, his voice mocking in her mind.

She paid his jab no heed as she set the table and continued talking, her voice mocking this time, “I know that you do not want to kill me or you would already have done so, you only scare me for fun, so stop playing with the lights, I need to be able to see and prepare lunch!” She snorted in exasperation. “And could you change the atmosphere in the house back to normal? It feels like it is abandoned while it is not!”

Sometimes she just didn’t understand what she should do with him, his mood swings were insufferable and she just didn’t understand them either. She liked him but sometimes he was just a little shit and acted like a five year old, making her blood boil.

While she put the last stuff on the table for lunch, she rambled on, still trying to get rid of the fear that hadn’t quite left her body. “Thank you Loki. Oh, I’m annoying, I know.” She turned to the dark presence behind her, fully assuming it was Loki - which it was - and grinned, “Do you like your eggs with tomato sauce, darling?”

Loki’s expression grew dark and his words sounded just as dark in her head. “I am not your darling!” He cringed his nose, his face a snarl.

Suddenly the lights in the house blinked out and the daylight falling in through the windows got swallowed by darkness. With a menacing and threatening voice he continued, “and of course I’m having fun in scaring you. After all, I am the God of Deceit.” The dark tendrils of magic that had gripped his veins some time ago flared again, demanding to be used, to be freed, to hurt this mortal, but he wouldn’t let it and he could feel the painful pricks in his veins at the powerful force he held back.

She huffed and when she spoke her voice was riddled with annoyance, “Someone is trying to cook here. You start to be predictable, you... You are-” suddenly she lost all her patience as she walked through the darkness of the house. “ENOUGH! STOP IT I’m starting to get enough of you, you know? Curse the day when I thought I could help you! You don’t care, you’re just having fun watching your rat in a cage! But I’m tired of your jokes.” Briskly she walked to the window and opened it to let in some daylight. “And do not worry, you’re not MY darling. I call everyone like that, it’s just my way of speech. Dear, darling, beautiful… I do not mean anything when I call you DARLING, my dear!” She almost shouted the last words and gave him a vicious look. She set herself at the table and pouted. “Just let me have lunch, then I’ll leave, while it’s still day. I don’t want to be your rat in a cage anymore!”

Angrily she pointed a finger at him. “You’re bringing out the worst in me but I will not give in to your satisfaction. Find someone else for your entertainment!”

The dark tendrils viciously tugged at him, sending little jabs of pain through his body. When Loki spoke in her mind again he couldn’t help to keep some of that darkness at bay and his tone was malicious and dark. “Not only can I reply to you in your mind, I can also read your thoughts and feelings. You might want to consider that… Because Little Mortal Prey, you are lying. You love the fact that I’m toying with you and you do not regret that you came to me.” He bared his teeth and he could feel the dark tendrils releasing their hold on him, giving him some room to breath.

She stared at him and almost choked on her breath at his insolent words. “Well, you ‘read’ bad, I was lying!” Her voice raised, “and get out of my mind!” She tried to shield her mind and feelings from him by pulling up a wall of anger and hate, but she knew she couldn’t make that hate feel true because she didn’t hate him. Truth to be told, she didn’t like him very much at this moment either, but she knew his story and could also somewhat imagine why he did what he had done.

Yet that wasn’t an excuse to so blatantly intrude her mind and toy with her and she continued her fight against him. “Did you feel that? Then listen to this too,” she snarled at him and in her mind she started to sing the most horrible and out of tune song she could think of. “Do you still think it is fun to be in my mind, oh God of Mischief?” she spat.

Loki’s answer was far calmer then she had expected, even nonchalant, but the dangerous tone wasn’t lost on her. “You are still bad at hiding your true feelings. Fine, you can have your mind back,” he bristled.

Slowly Loki withdrew from her mind.

“For now.”

Next Chapter

----

Taglist:  @latent-thoughts, @voca-princess, @the-lady-witchitery, @islandamy, @carydorse, @grosskyjaja, @destiel1597, @nissistylinson,

General taglist:  @lusty-loki, @destiel1597,  @laralaufey, @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @fairlightswiftly, @lokikingofasgardslover713, @daddymarvel, @vesperazylra, @annievvv7, @myclock, @hiddlestoner3095, @vethrvolnir, @occasionallywittyavengers, @wintertink, @jane-labban, @whovianwookie86-captainxev

[auctes]

as someone who believes toko best trigger happy havoc character, i HATE IT when people say "syo has no depth!!!" and "toko's an annoying joke!!! wowzurs!!!", AS AN AMAZING FUKAWA/SYO FAN, CAN YOU HELP ME CONSTRUCT COMPELLING ARGUMENTS ON THE COMPLEXITY OF BOTH?

hi ,   anon  !

it  can  be  frustrating  when  people  reduce  our  faves ,   but  the  first  thing  i’d  like  to  say  is  :   they’re  kind  of  right  about  touko  being  a  joke .   touko’s  fragile  mental  health  is  usually  played  for  laughs ,   and  reduced  to  a  punchline .   the  localization  calls  her  a   “  schizo ,  ”   and  her  maladaptive  daydreams  are  framed  as  something  psychotic  rather  than  for  what  they  are  :  a  coping  mechanism  that  her  brain  has  developed  to  help  her  endure  a  high - stress  situation .

i  love  when  people  ask  these  things ,   because  the  more  we  talk  about  that ,   the  more  we  can  start  to  break  down  touko’s  character .

i  would  also  like  to  state  that  this  is  a  dissociative  identity  disorder   [ DID ]   conversation .   i  do  not  have  DID ,   and  i  am  not  a  psychologist .   i  will  answer  this  to  the  best  of  my  ability  based  on  personal  research  and  an ardent  love  for  the  character ,    but  welcome  corrections  if  necessary .

let’s  talk  about  syo .

syo  has  depth .   she  is  an  extension  of  touko ,   who  is ,   herself ,   a  deeply  introspective  person .   while  syo  is  played  for  comic  relief ,   it’s  important  to  understand  where  she  comes  from  :   trauma .   childhood  trauma  that  touko ,   as  a  very  small  child ,   could  not  cope  with .   due  to  the  intense  physical ,   emotional ,    and  psychological  abuse  to  which  she  was  subject ,   touko’s  mind  created  syo ,   who  fronts  during  times  of  duress  and  guards  those  memories  that  touko  cannot  endure ,   as  a  means  of  ensuring  touko’s  survival  and  base  function .   syo  and  touko  do  identify  as  separate  entities ,   with  a  few  key  points  to  consider  :

1 .   DID  alters  can  be  ...   anyone .   anything .   have  their  own  ages ,   genders ,   sexual  identities ,   ethnicity ,   personal  histories ,   and  memories .   syo  identifies  as  the  name  the  media  give  her ,   but  identifies  with  touko’s  body ,   and  accepts  this  as  her  appearance .   a  lot  of  alters  look  physically  different  to  how  the  body  of  the  core  personality  looks .   that’s  always  been  very  interesting  to  me .

2 .   touko  acknowledges  syo  as  part  of  herself .   both  touko  and  syo  bounce  back  and  forth  when  referring  to  themselves  :  between  singular   (  i  )   and  collective   (  we  ) .   syo ,   to  herself ,   looks  like  touko .   she  looks  in  the  mirror  and  goes ,   “ i  look  like  this . ”   touko ,   especially  in  her  later  appearances  throughout  the  series ,   feels  a  sense  of  belonging  to  syo ,   and  acknowledges  that  she  is  a  part  of  touko .  

3 .   they  “  share  emotions , ”   meaning  that  there  is  some  sort  of  co - conscious  link  between  them  that  doesn’t  go  away  completely  during  a  switch .   when  touko  hurts ,   syo  hurts.   when  touko  is  in  love ,   so  is  syo .   while  syo  may  not  be  able  to understand  and  interpret  complex  emotions  to  the  capacity  at  which  touko  does ,   she  absolutely  still  feels  them .   this  is  what  enables  syo  to  act  upon  them  :   as  a  persecution  alter ,   and  later  a  protector  alter ,   syo  knows  when  she  is  fronting  that  touko  is  scared ,   or  stressed ,   or  in  danger .   these  are  the  cues  upon  which  she  justifies  her  murders ,   but  also  those  upon  which  she  is  able  to  fall  in  love  and  build  friendships .

which  leads  me  into  my  next  point  on  syo  :   everything  shed  does  is  with  the  health  and  prosperity  of  touko  in  mind .   DID ,   as  a  trauma - based  disorder ,   is  a  neurological  mechanism  in  place  to  protect  the  integrity  of  the  individual .   alters  fulfill  a  purpose  :   they  perform  roles  that  the  core  personality  physically  cannot .   syo  is  absolutely  no  different .

when  touko  decides  to  actively  end  syo’s  murderous  tendencies ,   syo  complies .   she  knows  that  touko  is  suffering  maltreatment  at  future  foundation  on  the  basis  of  her  being  labeled   “  unstable  and  dangerous ,  ”   and  so ,   syo  abstains  from  killing  so  as  not  to  jeopardize  touko’s  wish  to  eventually  join  the  foundation .   while  she  still  responds  aggressively  to  threats ,   the  only  time  she  seriously  contemplates  killing  is  during  another  episode .

you  can  watch  it  here .

this  scene  is  so  loaded  with  depth .   firstly ,   we  see  a  clear  co - conscious  link  between  syo  and  touko .   syo  volunteers  control  of  the  body  back  to  touko  when  touko  is  ready  :   even  then ,   touko  is  able  to  recall  the  moments  immediately  before  the  switch ,   when  komaru  makes  an  emotional  appeal  to  syo .

here ,   we  also  see  a  reflective ,   emotive  side  of  her .   we  see  her  pause ,   despite  whole - heartedly  believing  that  she  is  going  to  kill  komaeda .   it  is  apparent  to  syo  what  is  important  to  her  :   byakuya ,   and  komaru .   these  things  are  important  to  touko ,   and  therefore ,   important  to  syo .   she  has  never  been  treated  as  normal  :   she  has  never  really  been  considered  by  anyone  to  be  a  part  of  the  system ,   as  opposed  to  a   “  deviant  who  kills  for  pleasure .  ”   and  she  thanks  komaru  for  talking  her  down .   in  saying ,    “ i  betrayed  you ,  ”   syo  is  feeling  remorse .   it’s  touko’s  remorse ,   because  it  was  touko  who  made  the  deal  with  komaeda  to  exchange  komaru  for  byakuya .

but ,   in  the  end ,   it  was  syo  who  threw  the  fight  in  order  to  spare  komaru’s  life ,   because  she  cannot  bring  herself  to  hurt  a  person  for  whom  she  and  touko  feel  so  warmly .

i’d  also  like  to  turn  your  attention  to  danganronpa  3  :   future  arc  episode  six ,   in  which  we  can  further  witness  syo  and  touko’s  co - consciousness ,   and  syo  ultimately  choosing  to  pursue  what  feels  safe  and  warm  and  inviting  rather  than  exacting  vengeance .   komaru  talks  her  out  of  killing  monaka  :   out  of  quite  probably  letting  herself  die  in  the  process .   komaru  knows  instinctively  that  syo  has  emotions  :   love .   protectiveness .   bravery .   syo  loves  byakuya  and  komaru  more ,   and  feels  a  desire  to  protect  them ,   more  than  everyone  assumes  her  to  simply  love  violence  for  violence’s  sake .   if  something  won’t  serve  the  purpose  of  protecting  touko  and  what  is  important  to  her ,   she  isn’t  going  to  do  it .

now ,   let’s  think  about  touko .

my  blog  is  full  of  essays  upon  essays  regarding  touko ,   but  i  believe  she  can  be  best  summarized  by  the  phrase ,   the  heart  wants  what  it  wants .   a  truly  emotional ,   giving ,   and  romantic  woman ,   she  actively  hides  herself  underneath  a  repelling  armor  of  grossly  exacerbated  flaws  in  order  to  protect  her  heart  from  being  harmed .

touko  has  suffered  in  the  past  from  consistent  dehumanization ,   belittlement ,   and  abuse .   her  parents  expressed  that  they  would  have  preferred  her  dead ,   and  so  they  abused  her  at  home .   her  classmates  thought  she  was  weird ,   and  so  they  bullied  her  exorbitantly .   whenever  touko  would  actively  reach  out  to  others  to  pursue  friendships  or  romantic  relationships ,   she  would  be  betrayed  by  others ,   and  made  to  suffer  for  it .

to  help  you  understand  the  breadth  of  the  psychological  impact  that  nearly  two  decades  of  being  treated  as  less  than  human  has  had  on  touko ,   here  is  a  link  to  a  short  thing  i  wrote  on  her  ablutophobia ,   or  fear  of  bathing .   it’s  a  very  quick  overview  of  her  self  image  issues ,   and  self  preservation  tendencies .

next ,   why  don’t  we  consider  how  fully  and  completely  touko  fukawa  loves  ?   as  a  romance  novelist ,   we  expect  her  to  harbor  a  highly  idealized ,   grossly  saturated  perception  of  romantic  love .   instead ,   we  get  a  woman  who  writes  romance  purely  because  she  believes  in  channeling  the ugly  tragedies  of  her  situation  into  something  of  beauty .   here  are  my  style  notes  of  touko  fukawa’s  literary  works ,   but  we  learn  from  her  that  she  :

1 .   prefers  to  write  stories  that  are  grounded  in  reality .

2 .   enjoys  magic  realism ,   aggrandized  settings ,   but  innately  human  characters .

3 .   prefers  romantic  tragedies  to  happy  endings .    (  komaru  remarks  upon  how  sad  so  lingers  was .  )

furthermore ,   touko  states  that  while  the  power  of  delusion  and  its  subsequent  escapism  is  a  powerful  coping  tool ,   she  understands  the  harsh  line  between  fiction  and  reality .   she  understands  that  no  love  story  on  the  page  can  resemble  how  true  love  feels ,   but  her  work  is  so  intricately  entwined  with  emotion  that  she  scaffolds  her  novels  with  universal  emotional  appeal .   fictional  romance ,   then ,   does  not  satisfy  the  resilience  of  her  own  heart .   she  is  as  cynical  as  she  is  whimsical  :   a  true  hopeless  romantic  who  believes  herself  undeserving  of  loving ,   and  being  loved .   she  pours  her  heart  and  soul  onto  a  page ,   so  that  others  may  feel  to  even  a  small  margin  of  the  scope  of  her  feelings .

touko  has  a  very  resilient  heart .   despite  the  horrible  things  that  togami  did  to  her ,   and  the  abysmal  way  that  future  foundation  treated  her ,   touko  is  able  to  protect  the  last  shred  of  love  within  her  being  and  use  it  as  fuel  to  improve  herself  as  a  person .   please  remember  that  all  personal  tragedies  are  learning  experiences  of  touko  :   the  pain  she  felt  as  a  child  became  a  rich  and  lucrative  imagination .   the  trauma  she  undergoes  as  an  adult  is  the  catalyst  to  her  finally  turning  against  her  self  loathing ,   and  building  herself  from  the  ground  up .

what  do  i  mean  by  that  ?   well  ...   touko  fukawa  is  a  badass .   komaru  naegi  remarks  constantly  upon  fukawa’s  strength  ;   that  she  can’t  imagine  a   “  weak  touko .  ”   touko  loathes  herself  ;   her  fears ,   her  weakness .   loathes  that  she  can’t  function  as  a  normal  human  being  who  holds  meaningful  friendships  without  being  suspicious  of  them  ;   loathes  that  she  can’t  look  after  herself ,   exact  self  care ,   without  knocking  back  a  cocktail  of  conglomerate  anxiety .   loathes  that  she  was  weak ,   and  cowardly ,   and  it  almost  got  her  killed  when  she  has  learned  the  value  of  being  alive .

touko  vocally  objects  to  people  walking  all  over  her .   she  wants  to  be  vilified  ;  she  wants  to  be  autonomous ,   and  respected  as  a  woman ,   an  artist ,   and  a  person  within  her  own  right .   touko  exits  her  killing  game ,   and  the  next  time  we  see  her  in  ultra  despair  girls ,   she  is  the  furthest  cry  from  the  woman  we  previously  knew .   why  ?   because  touko  put  her  foot  down ,   and  went ,    “  i  need  to  change .  ”    touko  decides  to  do  away  with  her  cowardice ,   to  fight  for  acknowledgement ,   and  to  reclaim  her  own  life  when  she  has  been  so  deprived  for  so  long  of  basic  human  kindness .

touko  systematically  exposes  herself  to  blood  to  combat  her  hemophobia .   touko  credits  other  people  for  their  strength  and  uses  it  as  inspiration  to  keep  going .   touko  puts  a  stun  gun  to  her  head  and  endures  fucking  electrocution  so  that  she  can  control  her  switches  and  bequeath  her  body  to  syo  when  she  needs  to  physically  protect  other  people .   touko  mother  fucking  fukawa  admits  that  she  is  scared ,   but  picks  her  broken  body  up  of  the  ground  and  stays  standing  so  that  she  can  do  what  is  right .

touko  has  an  incredibly  strong  sense  of  right  and  wrong  that  was  cauterised  by  her  participation  in  the  killing .   in  this  scene ,   we  see  touko  voluntarily  get  the  shit  kicked  out  of  her  so  that  she  may  save  thousands  of  innocent  lives .   she  calls  haiji  towa  a  coward  for  hiding  underground  and  not  fighting  back  against  the  warriors  of  hope  as  they  terrorize  towa  city .   she  does  these  things  simply  because  it  is  the  right  thing  to  do  :   because  if  no  one  is  going  to  stand  up  and  fight  for  the  people  who  cannot  fight  for  themselves ,   then  by  god ,   touko  is  going  to  do  it .

and ,   finally   ...   the  heart  wants  what  it  wants ,   and  touko  wants  to  offer  her  heart  to  others .    “  i’ll  definitely  protect  both   ...   even  if  it  costs  me  my  life  .  ”    actual  quote  out  of  the  mouth  of  touko  fukawa .   touko  loves .   touko’s  heart  leads  her  into  danger  with  the  full  conscience  of  her  inevitable  death ,   but  she  follows  it  to  protect  the  lives  of  those  closest  to  her .   we  see  her ,   over  the  course  of  ultra  despair  girls ,   as  she  gradually  opens  up  to  the  first  person  who  has  ever  called  touko  a  friend  :   to  have  treated  touko  with  an  ounce  of  humanity  and  kindness ,   and  to  have  assured  her  unconditionally  that  touko  was  not  alone .

pain ,   to  touko ,   is  transient .   physical  pain ,   that  is .   she’d  allow  a  person  to  beat  her  to  a  pulp ,   even  kill  her ,   if  it  meant  she  would  saves  the  lives  of  those  who  matter  to  her .   byakuya  and  komaru  make  her  a  stronger  person  :   love  makes  touko  fukawa  strong .   love  makes  her  stand  against  impossible  odds ,   and  tell  those  odds  to  go  fuck  themselves .   touko  listens  to  her  heart  :   to  what  her  emotions  are  telling  her ,   and  for  that ,   her  loyalty  is  stalwart .

i  hope  this  helped  you .   i  hope  you  have  enough  in  your  arsenal  to  speak  up  for  our  girl ,   and  to  remind  everyone  of  the  strong - ass  motherfucking  hero  she  is .   if  you  have  any  further  questions ,   i  am  always  up  for  talking  about  my  daughter ,   and  how  phenomenally  important  she  is  to  me .   i  don’t  think  this  post  really  scratches  the  surface .

in  conclusion ,

[gregellner]

Artwork by Tim Seeley, Daniel Leister, Mark Englert, and Chris Crank through Image Comics from “Hack/Slash: My First Maniac” #1. 
(Mild censorship applied to Mortimer Strick’s buttons.)

For October 30 and Halloween of 2018, I did a thorough analysis of “Hack/Slash,” the horror comic epic (in the classical sense of the term) primarily by Tim Seeley. The analysis (viewable here as Part One and Part Two) was deliberately incomplete, as not only did it only intensely cover the first half of the original 2004-2013 run, but doing so involved providing intentionally inaccurate information as to the way in which the world of “Hack/Slash” functions so as to entice incoming readers without giving too many spoilers.

Here, I will be examining one way in which the world of “Hack/Slash” actually seems to function, by way of looking at the creatures that inhabit it so far as can be thoroughly explained.

There are many different kinds of beings in the world of “Hack/Slash,” all of which initially were collapsed under the overall collective name of “slashers.” While the Psychofiles in the earlier volumes (Volumes 1-5, collected in Omnibuses 1 and 2) did label them all as “slashers,” there were enough outliers, especially those who are given their own, unrelated categorization like “Faustian,” that the term itself seemed too generalized. In fact, many of the most famous villains of the slasher genre do not technically qualify under the actual, more precise definition proposed roughly halfway into the epic’s initial run.

As a note, “Hack/Slash” is a mature comic series. As such, there is the possibility of the occasional swear, as well as graphic imagery.

Furthermore, there will be no censorship for spoilers on this article either, so it assumes the reader is comfortable with the epic as a whole.

Some of the information gleaned here is from inference based on the information presented across the epic, while other pieces are from direct questions asked to Tim Seeley himself either online or through in-person conversation at New York Comic-Con 2018.

Slashers

For convenience, it seems best to list at least part of the first half of the analysis I did on Halloween for this.

What are slashers? Well, imagine your basic slasher movie villain. Revenge driven, extremely durable and at times supernatural. Commonly able to survive and escape if you don’t keep them in your sights. In many cases having additional supernatural abilities, most commonly superhuman strength and at least some level of physical regeneration to come back from death again and again. These villains focus on hurting those who are often guilty of some vice, mostly in terms of sexual activity.

Some of these villains, including many in “Hack/Slash” itself, focus on a specific day or a specific set of circumstances, in particular a holiday or otherwise a single day a year, before returning to their graves. These types of slashers are definitely the most predictable, and so are only very rarely dealt with, but do come up, in particular ones for Groundhog Day, Memorial Day, and Christmas each having some time devoted to fighting them in the story, and some others being mentioned as having been fought off-panel.

[…]

As defined, the slashers in “Hack/Slash” are also known as revenants, an older variation on the zombie archetype from European folklore as early as the Middle Ages, if not earlier. These undead are reanimated corpses that are believed to have revived to haunt the living. In the case of the slashers, as far as Cassie Hack knows from the beginning, they are reanimated by their sheer unstoppable hatred and insanity, their need for revenge, and are drawn to the things that they miss from life, mostly the aforementioned sexual vices. Furthermore, they often (but not always) retain intelligence on some level, enough to remember their past lives in spite of their new (or perhaps not-so-new) murderous obsessions, with their homicidal tendencies geared toward those memories, or even just basic impressions on the moments prior to or directly involved with their deaths in particular.

Additionally, several slashers tend to develop a skill set associated with the method of their death, making for a range of different types of villains. These powers range from someone who can kill others in their dreams, to secreting acids when sexually aroused, to the ability to detach one’s own limbs and move them independently, to transmission through the Internet like an electronic ghost. Each of these powers connects primarily to the manner of death, but also sometimes connect to the users’ personalities, in particular with respect to the acid user and the Internet transmission. The powers eventually tend to evolve over time and with subsequent appearances, developing new means of utilizing skill sets like the acidic secretions or a merger of dream-based powers with general psychic illusions, but on the whole, the power sets stay within set parameters in terms of what kinds of things they can accomplish.

While they do have a variety of powers, there are also some weaknesses that often do not come up in slasher movies. For instance, the most common slashers can be taken down with gunfire if in sufficient amounts, and can also suffer greatly from other forms of damage including blunt trauma or being cut up. In essence, while some slashers may have incredibly high healing abilities, they still can only take so much damage. One especially powerful weakness is fire. Whether or not it is truly the case, fire and explosions seem to do more damage than most other things. Those killed by fire have a tendency to have far more difficulties coming back from the dead again. The weakness is potent enough that Cassie tells others that “fire is your friend” when it comes to slashers. How exactly it works is unclear, but there are a high quantity of stories (which Cassie researched in the process of learning more about slashers) that include fire being used to keep things dead, especially zombies or vampires, so perhaps the same rules of “purifying the unholy” follows, as far as she can initially understand.

Now, all of that is all well and good. But why does fire work so well? Why do only some vengeful beings come back as slashers, while others do not? Not every serial killer Cassie Hack and Vlad face returns as undead, after all, and some of the slashers, like Blackfin the shark, are not even human in the first place.

The answer lies in where they come from, and by whom they were initially created. In fact, the elements stated before are an oversimplification at best.

The two elements at play are best said together at first, then explained separately. Rather than try to tell in general terms, it seems best to go to a certain quote from “Hack/Slash: The Series” #24.

“During his travels, Akakios discovered a small African tribe whom regularly used a plant with many unusual properties. When burned, it created a black flame. When its nectar was injected into a corpse, the body would regain a semblance of life. The plant was used respectfully, and in moderation. Inevitably, the plant’s effects on the brain wore off, leaving only a starving, unliving beast that fed upon living flesh. Akakios destroyed the tribe, taking the secret of the plant, which he called black ambrosia, with him back to Greece. […] Akakios synthesized a chemical from the flower, which he and his followers ingested. Akakios’ alchemy would allow the most devote among the believers to return to life after death, as true paladins of their beliefs. They would live again, stronger than ever before, some with bizarre powers and abilities like the Roman gods of myth, to destroy the Children of Dionysus and save the world. […] [Modern] paladins are those who have the nectar of the black ambrosia running through their veins even after many generations. Those you call slashers.”

First, let’s talk about black ambrosia, and its applications. The flower itself is rarely ever seen, but its nectar is rather prominent. The use of fire seems to burn away the black ambrosia nectar in the slashers’ blood, thereby making reanimation far more difficult (if most of it is removed) or outright impossible without other magical means (if all of it is removed). In the case of fire from lighting up black ambrosia flowers’ oil, the effect is even more potent, first negating the supernatural powers of a slasher, then killing them without the ability for the alchemy to bring them back. Furthermore, every subsequent death seems to result in both heightened powers (if they have specialized abilities) and lessened morals (to the point of attacking those formerly out of their own personal morality either without much care or with deliberate malice, such as in the cases of Bobby Brunswick and Acid Angel). In all, it seems as though a part of the slasher is left behind with each return, replaced with the power that flows through them.

The fluid is not limited to humans, as it has been shown to reanimate and make hostile at least one shark (Blackin) and one car (which will go unnamed intentionally, but appears in “Hack/Slash: Trailers 2”), indicating that ingesting the fluid can also cause one to turn given enough time.

Black ambrosia sees use in two distinct forms: through the bloodline of those who previously been given it, or through direct experimentation to create similar effects artificially.

The ones born into a bloodline with the black ambrosia can be considered “pureblood” slashers. They are the most common of slasher types, seeing as they can crop up at random and are bound to the anti-“sin” mentality originally thought up by Akakios himself, be it intentionally going after such people or unintentionally targeting them. The substance has to be activated, most commonly by the subject’s death, but it can, in theory, be neutralized by certain modern science to at least be rid of the homicidal insanity (or at least the exacerbation of it by the black ambrosia itself), but leave them biologically at the apparent age of their initial death until they are killed by external means. In this case, some of the more famous examples include Jason Voorhees of the Friday the 13th franchise (with his resurrection as a zombie) and, possibly, Michael Myers/The Shape of the Halloween franchise (with his ambiguously supernatural abilities even in continuities that lack the Curse of Thorn). The members of this group that are “Hack/Slash” villains are extremely high, including, but by no means limited to, Doctor Edmund Gross, Angela Cicero/Acid Angel, Ashley Guthrie, both Fathers Wrath, Ian Mattheson/D1aboliq, Matthew Ravenswood/Grinface, Delilah Hack/Lunch Lady, and many, many more.

On the other hand, certain organizations have taken to creating slashers artificially, either intentionally or not, by utilizing black ambrosia-related substances.

On the unintentional side, we have “hate juice” distilled from captive slashers by the pharmaceutical company Ceutotech, Inc., which engaged in “experimental cosmetics” as one of its bases. The goal was to replicate slashers’ ability to heal in order to make better anti-aging creams and presumably other applications to that effect. Of course, the fact that the name was “hate juice,” along with Emily Cristy’s to use it herself, indicates that Ceutotech was aware of its dangerous nature. After ingesting the fluid orally (by drinking it), she began to take on some elements of a slasher, primarily in the form of some limited healing. Cristy, unfortunately, also took on some of the negative side effects as a result, including the “back of your head ‘panic attack’” voice (to quote Cassie from ‘My First Maniac’) and highly violent actions, but managed to keep herself more or less under control aside from some slips until her first death in the explosion of her building. Despite probably not being a hereditary slasher herself, she reanimated, and was far more lucid than many others, even to the point of paying back Cassie and Vlad’s kindness by saving their life once. Her ability to reanimate appeared to be far less potent than most, as being impaled killed her once again, and subsequent reanimations were quickly dealt with.

On the more intentional side, we have the work of Doctor Ezekiel Chase at the Englund Prison in Indigo River (examined in ��Resurrection’ during its first arc). He seemed to be completely aware of the nature of slashers, to the point of having sought out Vlad to help her, and various “resurrection fluid” formulas (which are directly identified as connected to black ambrosia by Cassie and Vlad both) are able to reanimate subjects in varying levels of cognition, ranging from Vlad having all of his faculties back to Dominique Peacetree being little more than a zombie, as was the case with the “controlled fun-dead” of the prison and the fatally poisoned counselors. While this type does engage in some ritualized behavior in the case of the less aware, as Cassie herself says, “their brains are mostly soup at this point.”

Outside of black ambrosia itself, we have its originator, the mystical alchemist Akakios. Without indulging too heavily in who he actually is, his power over existing slashers, especially those of the pureblood variety, cannot be denied. To explain, it seems best to indulge not only in the events of his life (and apparent unlife) but also what came after his final death. During ‘Final,’ he seemed to have an unparalleled control over slashers as a whole, able to control even the most volatile of his “paladins” such as the first Father Wrath and Grinface with little more than a look and a speech, could control entire hordes of slashers in the averted apocalyptic timeline, and could even “feel their deaths, new and final” when Nef magic annihilated his army at the end of ‘Final.’

As Cassie says in “Hack/Slash vs. Chaos!” #1, “Vlad and I put an end to the slasher bloodline. They don’t come back anymore.” In arcs ranging from ‘Crossroads’ to ‘Final’ (especially those two), the black flame seemed able to resurrect many slashers without any direct input, something that ceased entirely after Akakios was finally executed with extreme prejudice, indicating that the slasher repeated reanimations relied upon his continued life as a mystical tether. This idea is further proven by the fact that Dick Weiner of the final issue of “Hack/Slash: Resurrection” was reanimated in the 1980s, but unlived long into the 2010s until his death by woodchipper being his last demise, as well as the reanimation fluid of Dr. Chase only allowing for one extra life.

Putting together these clues, Akakios seems to, as the “father” of the slashers as a whole, link the slashers’ reanimations to himself through his mystical alchemy to enhance his control over them and render himself indispensible (not to mention heighten his apparent messiah complex as the “murder messiah”). The problem with this is that Akakios renders the entire group vulnerable once he is killed off, but what can you do?

Witches

Some characters can use magic, but only a rare few are so integrated with magic that they can easily learn it. Only directly identified as “witches” in ‘Murder Messiah,’ this kind of magic user is distinct from other ones due to the fact that she (the examples given are both female) is intrinsically tied to magic through her bloodline, rather than being just any random person who can use a spell book.

In the world of “Hack/Slash,” the two primary examples are Laura Lochs and her black sheep sister, Liberty “Libby” Lochs. Magic comes exceptionally easily to these, and likely other, witches, regardless of its form. However, the type of magic used differs depending on the witch’s preferences (in terms of the style of how they use it) and what they come across (in terms of the magical systems themselves) more than anything else. Both of the Lochs sisters were able to learn myriad types of magic about as easily as basic study of a book, rather than needing any real training in many cases.

For Laura, it came in the form of the spell book with which she originally learned magic in her first story, ‘Girls Gone Dead,’ which seemed to consist of verbal magic and blood rituals, but very little, if anything, in the way of direct offensive use of her power. On finding Papa Sugar, she learned the use of certain voodoo magics (in the style of Child’s Play, on account of it being during the ‘Vs. Chucky’ story) such as the creation of certain potions and use of specific incantations, with little apparent effort needed to learn any of the intricate elements. She also appears to have known necromancy, which she taught to her sister Libby. Her own style focused on controlling others and the environment through murder, including creation of voodoo zombies, controlling a slasher’s actions through verbal commands said backwards, and leading her sister to control Julian Gallo the Mosaic Man by linking him intrinsically to the powers of death.

Libby, on the other hand, stuck to a different style. Aside from controlling the Mosaic Man in the name of revenge against Cassie’s hand in Laura’s death, she used necromancy’s control of souls to attempt to help people by manipulation of luck. After abandoning necromancy itself, she took to a more “modern” sorcery, to the point of openly calling herself a witch, focusing in on the use of verbal commands to control those who can hear them, to the general effect of far more offensive use of magic in the name of helping others instead of her sister’s malevolent, more low-key use of spells in general. She also seems to have a very good grasp on Neffish black magick (to be discussed lower down), such that she is capable of using the Neffish guitar for time travel relatively easily (physical illness notwithstanding).

According to Libby, every witch gets a “broom” (hers being a motorcycle) and a “familiar” (hers being flesh-eating bacteria), leaving the possibility that the reason why Laura did not develop either of these things is that she never took the time to do so or did not live long enough to accomplish it, unlike Libby’s several months on her own learning new magic.

Just because witches can have easy access to magic does not mean that they are completely aware of all of the intricacies of the magic that they use, as can be seen from attempts to use necromancy for benevolent purposes without understanding its basic manipulation of souls.

“She ruins everything she touches. She wanted to do ‘good’ with a necromancy book. She tried to make lucky items for the dregs, the luckless losers like her. But necromancy isn't meant to bless items. To do so drags a spirit out of the afterlife and binds it to the object. A slave spirit that doesn't want to be there.”

On account of their mystical nature, some of these beings (in particular Laura) can subvert their own death by latching on to another witch’s consciousness to teach how to use some magic, becoming a kind of ghost in the process, albeit one with very limited connection to the physical world.

Mystic Empowerment

Certain entities were empowered by magical sources, whether through spells they cast or those cast upon them or others connected to them. As these entities are not intrinsically magical in the same way as witches, they seem appropriate to discuss separately.

Insofar as famous examples in fiction go, we have Charles Lee Ray and his transformation into Chucky through voodoo magic of the Heart of Damballa in the Child’s Play franchise (though he might, possibly, be a witch), and the cursed, corporeal ghost of Victor Crowley in the Hatchet films, both of which coincidentally appear in the “Hack/Slash” series themselves.

While slashers can be additionally mystically empowered, such as the case with the Mosaic Man in ‘Sons of Man’ and ‘Foes and Fortunes,’ that power is distinct from that of external spells, and so cannot truly be considered the same type of foe. However, empowering certain beings with additional magic may leave them as servants of said forces instead of their own will, as is the case with the aforementioned slasher.

“When we raised Julian, we bonded him to the powers of death and black magic so that he would be at our beck and call. Julian serves death. He'll free any spirits imprisoned on this plane.”

In general, mystic empowerment is a subset to the doings of witches more than it is a distinct power on its own.

Nef

The creatures of Nef (adjective form “Neffish”) are, by and large, some kind of amalgamation between aliens and demons. They are called demons, and treated as such, but in fact are not in any form of Hell that can be accessed by humans after death. Instead, Nef seems to be some kind of alternate dimension.

The only real method of reproduction for the beings of Nef is impregnating virgin females from the main dimension, regardless of species. The resultant Nef being emerges from the host’s body through their torso akin to an Alien franchise chestburster, killing the mother very violently. Understandably, finding a willing mother is pretty much impossible, hence the use of avatars (see Avatars below).

What type of Nef being emerges depends upon the individual being impregnated. In the case of a dog, the emergent Nef demon will be a “lowbeast,” a kind of hellhound type creature that is what appears to be the lowest form of Nef life, and of which the character Pooch is a member. Others exist, such as the apparent greatest warrior Kuma, a tusked humanoid misidentified as “Bigfoot,” but barring one appearance of hers and some others like minor villain Kumok, there isn’t a lot of emphasis on them as a whole.

One thing that is known is that, again much like the Xenomorphs of the Alien franchise, Nef creatures appear to have some form of DNA reflex, an ability to take on certain aspects of the host creature while still being definitely of Nef. This difference accounts for not only the bizarre look of lowbeasts being vaguely similar to a dog or a horse, but also certain abilities of more advanced Nef beings. Mid-level Nef creatures like Kumok have the ability to utilize weapons such as Nef wands to control “black magick,” but instead of being sorcerers on their own, these wands seem accessible to and easily usable by anyone, including Cassie Hack or Vlad, meaning that there isn’t an intrinsic ability more than there is general sapience.

The most prominent example of this reflex giving powers has to be the Stillborn, a creature that was born from the body of the psychic Martha "Muffy" Jaworski possessed by the dream-based killer Ashley Guthrie, the latter of whom had a psychic connection to Cassie Hack that had only been exacerbated by increased powers through the former. As a result, he had an exceptionally strong psychic connection to Cassie, able to have her see through his eyes during his serial killings even aside from his fame-based cannibalistic empowerment, paralysis-inducing “starstruck” abilities, and eventual electrical manipulation, both of which fit in with the “worship through a rock star” attitude of Nef itself.

Avatar

In some cases, individuals play host to an otherworldly, superhuman power. The means of acquiring these powers differ, but the overall effect is that of a need to keep the connection to that power to retain magical (or presumably other) abilities.

On the one hand, we have the classic Faustian bargain, offering something up in exchange for power from demonic entities, ones that entirely relinquish their hold on said abilities until they decide to take them back through one manner or another. Our most prominent example of this kind of power would have to be Jeffrey Brevvard, a.k.a. Six Sixx of the short-lived band Acid Washed. Given access to the Neflords (see Nef above) by their latest recruiter and former avatar (heavily implied but never outright stated to be a certain music King who is presumed to have died in August of 1977), he sacrifices young women to the Neflords in exchange for various powers that his Psychofiles profile identifies as “black magick,” a skill set that includes raising his soulless bandmates from their crates, transforming into a demonic entity with wings, the ability to be seen as very famous and popular in spite of his lackluster music through probability alteration, and access to his black magick Neffish guitar. The latter is not as much a part of his type of creature as it is a consequence of said power, which can be used by others if they can get their hands on it to do things including opening a portal to different dimensions such as Nef and the Dream World or between different areas on Earth, time travel, projection of blasts of energy, hypnosis of virgins, and potentially much more. In all, the power relies upon a steady flow of virgin sacrifices, to which point Six Sixx develops a body count of at least fourteen before the end of his run.

Another example of this kind of power is famous from slasher films, and even comes up under a different name in the ‘Mind Killer’ arc after a brief appearance at the ends of ‘Shout at the Devil’: the Dream Demons that empowered Freddy Krueger of the A Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. Although the Dream Demons are only identified as “Dread Drinkers” by Six Sixx on account of him not knowing their names, their appearance and fear-inducing abilities make their true identities readily apparent to those with the right knowledge, placing Krueger (who had been previously identified by Chucky and also was mentioned without directly stating his name in ‘My First Maniac’) in the role of an avatar to their power, rather than a slasher in and of himself. The fact that he could be depowered through skillful use of time travel in Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash: The Nightmare Warriors adds further credence to him not being a slasher.

The other major type of power is that of a divine influence, as is the case with Fantomah, Mystery Woman of the Jungle, a character in public domain who was involved in events during the ‘Super Sidekick Sleepover Slaughter’ arc and her own one-shot arc ‘Mystery Woman.’ In her case, the powers granted are fantastical to the point of her being seen as a goddess, able to perform ridiculously powerful, often quite over-the-top punishments on those she deems to be worthy of said behavior, including villains associated with her capture and those who would attack her jungle. However, while the powers themselves are quite memorable, their source is less reliable. Fantomah’s power relies upon the continued existence of her jungle, and with her capture for decades in the “Godbox,” she was unable to prevent the quite realistic destruction of said jungle by modern society’s deforestation. As such, while her powers are quite strong shortly after emerging from her captivity, they quickly weaken to nothing more than illusions, and eventually are removed from her altogether in favor of a more suitable host, leaving her to mortality once more.

Monsters

Perhaps the best term to use for the creatures outright called “monsters” in ‘Son of Samhain’ would be “orcs,” in the classic J.R.R. Tolkein scheme. Judging from how the overall tone of ‘Son of Samhain’ is more of a pulpy action story than a horror story, determining their characteristics is a bit more difficult, in no small part due to them only being brought up for a single arc.

What can be determined is that they are an ancient species that dwells deep beneath the Earth in tunnels, and that they have their own hierarchy. They have a variety of subspecies, including the following: insectoid tinier creatures that can possess and enhance bodies of others by crawling into their orifices, forcing their minds into a dream state; humanoid figures in varying degrees of muscle mass that look like prototypical orcs, with green skin and primitive weapons like clubs; and flying beasts described as “gods” of their kind that are, nonetheless, not powerful enough to withstand sufficient human-based explosives. Their numbers are in the thousands at least, but they are weak enough to be taken down with a single swing of Cassie’s bat, to the point that she seems willing to take on an entire wave of their army more or less by herself.

Vampire

Of course, vampires are known throughout fiction as bloodsucking undead, as one of the archetypical creatures of the genre up there with spirits and werebeasts. Given that, an analysis of their nature seems in order, considering some rules may differ depending on the series. In particular, the ones seen are from the ‘Return to Haverhill’ arc of “Hack/Slash: Resurrection.”

Of the typical vampiric traits, several are shown, especially for Chetly, Earl of Chanders. In particular, they have some form of hypnosis through eye contact, cannot cross into a location without being invited, and have superhuman strength and speed. In at least the case of Chet, vampires can be kept from touching particular people by specifying who exactly is allowed to fall under the “invitation,” with others being treated as essentially a restraining order. All vampires under the head of a group will turn back to normal once said vampire is killed. Vulnerabilities include holy water, silver, and staking (with a stake being any long, sharp piece of wood). Furthermore, multiple types of vampire, from the one first shown in ‘Return to Haverhill’ to the recurring crossovers with Vampirella, are afraid of cats.

As said by a head vampire, “The blood contains many magics.” On the one hand, this could mean sharing of abilities across vampiric strains, such as enhancing one vampire’s control over an area of expertise only held by the other. On the other hand, this also allows for transference of command of a group from an ancient vampire to a younger one through a dark ritual that involves “the purest of sacrifices,” which may include, or in fact be, the heart of the older vampire. The fact that the explanation changes slightly between issues of the series makes determining what exactly occurred unclear.

Hybrids

Across the entire series, there are some hybrids between humanity and other creatures, through a variety of means. Some are born as hybridized creatures, others are granted said hybridization through mystical means, and others still artificially hybridize themselves.

“Each generation brings us closer. We move away from humans and toward monsters with every hatching. It won’t be long before Attan-Soolu’s DNA consumes the human’s, giving it the strength to life on its own.”

First, there is the process of using an artificial selection process of breeding (coupled with directly applying nonhuman DNA) to create hybrid creatures. On a lower key level, this technique was seen with the eponymous creatures from the ‘Sons of Man’ arc. The Society of the Black Lamp used inhumane breeding programs to create specialized human breeds, essentially subspecies, including the following: the “Hades,” with innate night vision; the “Poseidon,” able to hold their breath and swim unnaturally well; the “Artemis,” near-animalistic supersoldiers; and the “Venus,” little more than companions and sexual slavery (with the exception of one).

More overt was the process used in the alliance between the degenerated remnants of the Black Lamps and the monsters under Morinto, which merged the DNA of Akakios (still called “Samhain” for whatever reason) and that of the monstrous god Attan-Soolu to create monster-humans. There are some more disturbing examples present, such as an apparently full-grown man with Akakios’ orange hair and a shell on his torso, but the most successful was one of those that they deemed to be the greatest failure known to live, the eight-year-old October “Ocky” Bourne, who had little if any connection to the monsters themselves.

“Her boon was power. The power to take. The power to kill. She made him better. She made him more than a man. Of course, tha’ power came with certain dietary requirements. Tha’ ne’er bothered Sawney. Eventually he decided it’d be selfish to keep all tha’ power to himself, so Sawney took a wife. When he saw his golden daughters, he knew tha’ he had to keep the blood strong. And so the Beanes passed into myth and legend. But the blood did remain strong…”

In the case of the Beane Clan, descended from the infamous Alexander “Sawney” Beane and his 48-member cannibal clan originated in 16th Century Scotland, the influence is more mystical in nature. After Sawney showed no fear in the face of a demoness that had attempted to kill him, she granted him the boon of superhuman strength and durability, powered by his own cannibalism. For his descendants, he decided to “keep it in the family,” resulting in an incestuous clan spanning all the way to the 21stcentury in Chicago. The women who were born of his line were very physically attractive at first, but were liable to transform into a far more hideous, green skinned form once sufficiently agitated. For whatever reason, private military contractors from Moreci Securities seem fit to call those ones vampires, perhaps due to their habit of injecting some kind of poison into victims to make their faces puff up with blood. On the other hand, males of the line were constantly in the monstrous form, with the green skin also working along with a complete inability to grow hair and an overall deformed appearance. The actual dilution of the bloodline as a way of weakening the power is unclear, seeing as Vlad, a member of the clan who had a father outside of it, was able to defeat one of their stronger members.

The downside seems to come with those who refrain from cannibalism. As the power is inherently tied to that food source, those who do not eat human meat, such as Vlad, seem to have a variety of physical ailments, ranging from respiratory problems (such as those that are half of why Vlad wears his signature gas mask) to a progressive bone disease that leaves Vlad bedridden for a several arcs of the latter half of the comic’s original run. While Dr. Vincent Morrow (of Witch Doctor) seemed to create a serum to cure his bone condition from the blood of Vlad’s grandfather, Bronson Beane, it is unclear if this treatment is permanent. However, considering there has been absolutely no mention of his various ailments since, and considering Dr. Morrow’s treatments are pretty comprehensive, it seems fair to say that the negative effects were counteracted until otherwise proven.

“You know as well as I do that this job, hunting like we do, has a way of aging us in some ways, and keeping us young in others.”

What exactly Caraway Cordero, ancestor of Cassie Hack on the side of her mother, actually happens to be is a bit of a mystery to some, but after some discussion with Seeley at New York Comic Con 2018, that question has been answered in regards to Tini Howard’s plans for her. She is still a human being, but mutated through a variety of deliberate, artificial means in a manner not unlike the Witchers of the novel and video game franchise of the same name. How exactly she imbued herself with supernatural properties is not entirely clear, but seems to involve things like drinking the blood of certain beings, injecting other things, and the like to the point of becoming similar to them, but on a lower level in some respects. Caraway is capable of sniffing out Cassie’s relationship to her down to who her mother was on first meeting, limiting or even entirely disrupting her aging process since the 1800s to the point of still appearing to be roughly in her forties in the 2010s, developing enhanced reflexes to the point of being able to take out a vampire coming at her from behind, an ability to scare away other vampires by hissing in a manner not unlike them, and, most impressively, using superhuman speed to a degree that even Vampirella, a vampire herself (albeit an alien one in this continuity), was unable to even see her until she had already struck a fatal blow to the head vampire of Haverhill.

[david-halim-blog]

This may not be what you call “Unusual” or “Strange” but know that something is missing.

As we entered an entrance of our most convenient access to a nexus known only as Dream Library, a sign that we could hear but not see read, “Gentlemen must not, and others will not, read a book within that holds a respective name of one self individual concerning.” My darling, Valerie and I have come to such sanctuary of a dream library twice or trice before on other times that best flexed for both of us, today constitutes as what would be a first time together to this or any dream library. An excitement bubbled about between us, we could recount adventures we have had without company of one another, but now we have found a time to come together and make new experiences to keep a topical idea of converse when we come to a day of old age.

We have made an arrival to what can be called nothing short of a grandiose lobby, a truly theatrical spectacle of highly admirable architecture reaching higher than any skyscraper outside. Beautiful detail etched into every wall that climbed its own journey to a colossus and terrific piece of art that of an excellent masterful ceiling that arched and flew high over those of us wandering underneath. Valerie and I stopped in middle of such adroit and complicated design work in total awe. This library was created with a size no smaller than cosmic, but yet hardly anybody came within to wander.

I looked down to Valerie, a gorgeous rose within this marvelous spectacle of reality just outside grasps of those unknowing of this beauty that Valerie and I behold. “Dearest Valerie,” I inquired, “Don’t you agree to such an idea to let curiosity to run amuck?”

Valerie changed her gaze away to my eyes and jubilantly fitted a most darling smile to her face, “Why Franklin!” she exclaimed with a great excitement, “How could I resist an offer of this manner?”

We turned completely to each other, an exquisite design surrounded above and beyond our close proximity to one another. I answered to her exciful tone with my own eagerness, “Let us go read dreams of those who could only be described as terrible!”

I could not think that her face could show more excitement, but her expression makes me happy that I was wrong, “I love it!” Her high emotion of joy spread throughout her adorably small stature, “Shall we start with Albert Fish?”

My grin grew to my ears, “Even worse than he Valerie!”

Valerie’s voice rose in pitch out of every anticipated excitement that I induced with giddy suspence, “Who may he be?”

“Adolf Hitler my darling!” we reached a pinnacle of what could only be described as psychotic excitement,

She excitedly pulled ourselves to a row of truly endless books with a calligraphy “A” beside it, “Why did we wait!”

We hurried toward our crazy destination labeled with that sign of letter A. Every book within this gorgeous piece of art was organized in alphabetical order by first name, a name that most people would know any person in question. If any of you only know a last name, where we entered has a nexus within this nexus- you write a name you know and you are taken where that name is held. We have entered our aisle, A. Every book within this dream library holds size that could compete with an entire rib cage of a large man. Every book has a name but no book has an author. If a person a respective book is linked to is deceased, then there is nothing more to add to their book of dreams, if a person of a respective book still breathes then their book isn’t finished.

Valerie and I reached a point of this aisle where a subaisle of “Ad” can be found. Then Ada, Adb, Adc, continuing to a name we searched for, a name of a dream book of none other than infamous Adolf Hitler. But, his book was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t placed on a wrong shelf because every caretaker of this library never makes a human mistake. We have a little swell of disappointment within each of us, but we can look to find if Hitler’s book is elsewhere of this library.

We went to a library caretaker, a rather large man who could carry three books from this library in one hand, he stood twice as tall to that of my height and had a boldness in his hazel eyes. I asked of this giant of a man, “Sir, what is your name?”

He turned from his activity of shelving his giant dream books and addressed us, “Eiqab, sir” his voice bellowed down to our level, his voice rumbled oddly within my loins. Valerie was troubled by his sight and hid behind my stature so she may not gaze upon what she conceived as a terrifying height of an individual.

“Where may we find Adolf Hitler’s book?” chirped in comparison of his voice, “we went out to where his book should have been found, but it wasn’t there.”

Eiqab had a low look about him after we asked, perhaps he had not seen an odd interest of unconventional ideas as we held, or he could have been saddened by Valerie’s fear of his high elevation, or else it was another matter that gave him such a downcast look to his face, “Adolf Hitler’s dream book had been overdue for a greater portion of eight years,”

Valerie reflected a sorrowful look of her own, “What could have happened to it?”

“This I understand, who ever checked his book out last has created a religious cult around Adolf Hitler’s dream book and orchestrates rituals according to select dreams within his book.” Eiqab explained to us,

“Oh my,” I am amazed by this idea,

“What does this eight year late fee account to?” Valerie asked,

We were in a silent moment of thought from Eiqab until he came up with an answer for us, “An eight year fine would cost any party in question a with draw of three children under an age of five,”

I was astounded by this, “Three children under five?” I gave that a thought, it would be awful to have to collect a payment like this to pay a fine such as this. Would someone else’s dreams be worth so much if held onto for so long? Here is an extravagant thought I must ask this giant as we have his attention, “What would a collective fine be for anyone who goes to read a book with their name on it? What is their debt?”

A distressed look came about our good fellow Eiqab, he took a crudely imaged card from his coat pocket and handed it to me. He walked away without another word, I solemnly fear that our silly little ambitions may have troubled him.

I looked down at this rather bland and out of character card that I have been given, I haven’t begun to read it yet and there is a clear distasteful nuance about this card that could burn a person’s eyes if they took too long of sight to this repulsively crafted card of paper.

“What does it say?” Valerie peeked from behind my at what unsightly artifact I held,

I read its dark colored words out loud for her, “It says this, Any eyes of an individual who beholds in front of them a book holding their own name on its cover is burdened with a debt described as follows, furthermore entirety of this payment is due one week after charges are given to guilty party in question.” I read ahead to what anyone guilty of this act is tasked with if they partake in any such activity that breaks a single, solitary rule given to everyone who enters. I have never seen such a hard or cruel punishment in all my life! “Required payment is as follows, two gallons of prostitute blood, four anonymous stomachs filled with glass, a flask filled with liquid from human after birth, a filled blunt crafted from a page of “War and Peace”, and finally- ashes of any of this current guilty individual’s genitalia burned to ashes and collected in an envelope. Once entire payment is collected in one place at one time, every guilty party in question in denied access of our dream library for every remaining moment of their lives.”

Valerie and I were speechless where we stood in fearful awe of what we had read. “Would that mean I would have to cut off and burn my breast if I were to do that?” Valerie’s joy from a moment before could not be found, almost as if what was just put into sound and poured into her ears sapped every piece of joy away from her soul today.

“I suppose that is what’s implied.” My tone was no better than hers, “Would you like to leave? That was a terrible experience.”

Valerie’s face was awe struck with terror, “Yes.” She choked out,

I hate seeing her like this, I hate seeing her afraid of anything like this. I let go of Eiqab’s card, letting its terrible design leave our sight. I reached my arm over Valerie’s shoulder, I could feel every tremor she gave off as we walked to where we entered this expansive masterpiece of architecture. We walked under what was best described as a lasting statement to keep you in amazement even as you left, arches that swirled and twisted above its crowd that they watch over as crowds walk in and out. Valerie and I walked through to access where we came to enter this Dream Library faction, Valerie’s wardrobe. Valerie’s bedroom held an ambiance that strangely captured a greater peace and wonder than any dream library, where even though such dream libraries held designs and intricacies that could be found nowhere else; it seemed as though a greater amount of love and care and empathy could be found within Valerie’s humble room and in any extravagant dream library.

Eight months Later

I wish I had never laid my eyes of any dream library, I dare say I lust such an idea of a lack of existence of any dream library. Every extravagant detail within, every book from every outlet around where we call Earth, I wish, I desire them gone! Endless bookcases filled with visions and dreams and nightmares can return to their God forbidden home in hell! How can anyone endure a punishment like that of a dream library? Such a punishment that strikes fear into hearts of both a Mason and a common man. For that was whom a punishment expressed was deviously crafted for! So those who work any dark practice of Masonic religion could never ritualize any lucid dream they have. For anyone who could create their own altercations to a dream could change what is read another time, agreements could be changed and destroy realities of millions of people. This to which I will boldly state “I blame those cultists!’ For if not for them there would be peace within my fragile life! I wish such circumstances were never a possibility, I wish I could look into my archive of what was presented to me as I lay down in slumber; I could spend my leisure hours old and grey reading my dreams! Dreams telling of a future desired or a world wished for, visions that reveal amazing mysteries of our world and those we care deeply of, and nightmares of vivid abhorrent images that ought not be; all a colorful component to a despicable evil that prays on curious souls.

Valerie, such a beloved soul adored dearly by her friends and family, succumb to her own curiosity and read her own book. We had found a way around that detestable punishment by word of mouth, but her deepest personal curiosity overcame herself and was so swift I couldn’t stop her from that dire action of partaking with unto her eyes her dreams once again and never again. That punishment would devour a strong man’s soul, but it burned her soul and her souls ashes and those ashes ashes. I found her in her room in a terrible hysteria of tears and anxiety and regret. I hated every emotion that radiated from her eyes that day, I saw no motivation to live within her eyes and this brought mourning to my soul. Valerie never made any motion to make any requirement that her punishment asked of her. By week’s end, a librarian giant came and relieved her of her life and every sorrow and regret that accompanied it. I will never go into a dream library again, I wish to forget every sorrow it brought me, but every day I think of my darling beloved Valerie and I can’t think of another thought other than that she was taken from me by her own curiosity.