#which we ALL do sometimes although we might not choose to be mean for its own sake

[inamindfarfaraway]

Yes! And how Scrooge just recoils! I’m mildly upset the interlude sections aren’t in the soundtrack because they’re also great and I love them, especially this one - the Spirit of Christmas Present throwing Scrooge’s words back in his face is always one of my favourite parts of the story.

Ah well. Guess I’ll just have to rewatch them in the live recording.

Also, to go off-topic as I am wont to do, that particular moment is a good example of how I think AVHSCC really nailed Scrooge’s character. A core trait of his initial characterization is that he isn’t really malicious in an ambitious or sadistic sense; he can’t be bothered to go out of his way to hurt people and he won’t revel in it; the consistent pattern in the first chapter is that other people will start an interaction with him and he’ll be mean in order to get it over with and make them leave him alone. He never seeks people out. His ideal life is being completely separate from the rest of humanity while still getting richer. Heck, he didn’t callously dump Belle once he came to care more about wealth than her, she had to break up with him! Like his father, he’s neglectful, but not necessarily abusive. Dickens makes it clear that he’s a fully law-abiding citizen (taking 1840s employment laws into account). He just doesn’t care to do anything more than the absolute bare minimum to participate in human society, and is constantly working on narrowing that down further. He just doesn’t care, in general. About anyone or anything except money, not even his own health and happiness. What he doesn’t do - attend to his relationships, pay Bob a reasonable wage, show basic compassion and respect to his fellow humans - is worse than what he does. That’s why seeing the Cratchit family’s plights is able to make him feel bad. He doesn’t enjoy suffering. He simply lets it happen because he’s so emotionally shut off and rationalizes that the people deserve it. So, like, he won’t kick a homeless person, but he won’t give to them either.

Or as it’s put much more succinctly in the part of AVHSCC we were talking about, “People need help and you shrug”. Not laugh, not necessarily put them in that situation to begin with or at least do so intentionally. Just shrug and do nothing.

And Dickens’s point was that THAT IS JUST AS BAD. Because people are suffering either way.

THE TRANSITION FROM PRICELESS AND THE FINAL GHOST AHH THE WAY JAMES SINGS "BAAHUUMBUGGG"

[lacucarachapisser]

sad to say i’m already yours colin zabel x gn!reader

a/n : okay omg it’s happening. beware of the cringe conversation and pathetic angst i really wanna punch myself in the face. no warning, this just too rush and lame and pretty basic also apologies if its weird cuz english isn’t my first im so so so so sorry. i just love colin sm.

this wasn’t the first time colin shut one's eyes to your presence. you’ve grown very used to his demanding job that takes energy, time, and even attention, which often makes you feel like you’re just a second priority. or perhaps not even counted. you think these all are pretty normal because colin is a very capable and responsible when it comes to work. and you get it.

you frequently texted him asking if he’s working late again. the dinner you’d prepared often ended up in the fridge. you waited for him with the light of the television or with an open book on your lap, while your eyes close from weariness. alone. his reply always comes with an apology buried in his deep voice. you get it.

sometimes you choose to sleep first, only to be awakened by the creaking of the door. your man, with his tired face, throws himself onto your shared bed.

"rough day?"

colin just nods, burying his face in the pillow with a long sigh.

“wanna talk about it?”

“can’t.”

he clearly didn’t have much contribution for the conversation he’ll just kill it. also, colin would likely act as if you weren’t there, so you just smile at his brief response. you actually not sure if you want to cry or laugh at that. the cases that colin handles are sometimes too horrific to share. besides, they’re confidential. you genuinely respect how dedicated your man is to his job. you get it.

colin turns his head slightly toward you, his eyes half-closed. you move closer, give him a quick kiss on his cheek and say goodnight. colin, already asleep, faster than you thought, doesn’t even flinch, nor does he say it back.

for days, communication between you two hasn’t been that intense— no dinners together, no movie nights like you used to plan on weekends, no dates. when was the last time you became intimate with each other? probably two weeks ago. or three? four? you get it.

“want me to make you some snacks?”

“no, that's okay baby.”

his voice was soft, and somehow, ironically you miss him so bad even though he was right next to you.

“i heard there’s a new coffee shop and they have like bunch of pet inside, interesting 'right?”

"uh-huh"

"yeah they have puppies! i really wanna go there,”

“sure. can we talk later, baby? i’m busy right now.”

although he comes home every day, sleeping in the same bed with you, his presence just clearly made you felt nothing but more alone. it hurts to see him come home every night as if you’re just a place to stay. never home, probably just a hostel. how cruel if he’d forgotten your efforts, how you filled his empty cup after what his ex did to him. you didn’t take the easy route to win him over. or maybe you were never capable to replace her in the first place? where did you went wrong? isn't it ironic to think how heartbreaking and sad that you already belong to him?

that day, he forgot his breakfast, and even the coffee you have made remained untouched. how long this has to continue? you don’t hate him, not for a second. it’s just that your efforts to make him happy always seemed to fail.

“colin, we need to talk.”

��about what?”

it takes courage for you to start this conversation. you’re actually scared to bring it up because colin might think you’re overreacting.

“i always tell myself that you don’t mean to hurt me— which makes it less painful. but you know what? you never really see me.”

you slowly touch his hand, feels the veins through his skin, strong beneath your fingers, firm and solid.

he gives you a crooked smile. “what’s wrong with you? of course i see you,”

“no. i know you’re busy with work, but… col, i’m right here. how long do i have to hold on to this if you keep acting like that? i can’t take it anymore,”

“baby, i have work to do,”

“oh can we talk later? we never really talk later. why can’t you at least recognize my existence that i’m here? talk to me,”

a bitter taste filled your mouth. it hurts to face colin's expression, one that looks disgusted with you—at least, that’s what you think. now he’ll even hate you because you crave his attention.

“okay, i’m sorry i’m always busy, it’s not my fault it takes up a lot of my time as if i have choices. but i promise—“

“no. stop,” you shook your head, protesting with what colin said.

“stop what?”

“you talk to me like i’m stupid. i’m not stupid. i didn’t blame your job, i would never,”

“i know you’re not stupid, but you did blame me for a stupid reason,”

there his classic maneuver. his words seem like a clever observation to shift the blame, but it's all wrong. that’s not the issue, it never was, and you’ve never blamed his job. your eyes start to fill up with tears, and soon they’ll spill over. the lines on colin's face looks vividly serious, gazing you with intense look.

“t-this is why your ex—"

colin’s hand quickly grabs your jaw. it’s not rough, but enough to surprise you and make you stop your sentence. you gasped at his furrowed brows, his expression so tense with his wide-open eyes.

“don’t.”

you immediately regret it. you didn’t mean to brought up his past, you truly didn’t intended to hurt him.

“please, don’t.” his hand is still gripping your jaw, but his fingers start to loosen, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek. your eyes are still locked with him, and then you realize that what you see in colin’s eyes isn’t anger. it was fear.

you throw yourself into his arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck, muttering apologies between soft sobs. colin wraps his arms around you, holding you tight by the waist. he hides his face on your neck, pressing his body into yours with all his strength.

“colin, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry…”

for a moment, he becomes a complete silent. letting you stay in each other’s embrace. then he finally speaks.

“don’t leave me. please, not again.”

[l0stfoster]

butterfly anon yet again, bc why have I just finally processed something…to speak in memes once more, imagine the megamind ‘no bitches’ meme but instead its ‘more death designs?!’

the potential…..symbolism…..

(I’m such a nerd this is ridiculous how excited I am for metaphor potential)

aNyway, in the death design post I noticed Johnny refers to Death as she, so (as you’ve said death is they / them) was this just retconning/change of mind, or did Johnny not know/perceived death more feminine? (Coughmotherissuescough)

also, even though that post said Johnny’s perception changes, would his be the most accurate? (As Death can mess w/ his death tingle (take that Peter tingle) does that potentially mean Johnny sees Death how they desire to be perceived?

WOAH WAIT HOLD THE DING DANG PHONE

DOTS HAVE BEEN CONNECTED

wait I can’t find the post I might have made this up, dots unconnected thrown in incinerator

Moving on to similar dots, Paul’s ancestor, curse creator, would they not have met death? Wait wait would there have been a discussion? Cause like Death big powerful and this witch just made big curse? Is this in relation to why Death is featureless for Paul?????

(Paul anon if you have thoughts pls join in theorizing, Paul is your blorbo you probably know more)

I love watching you realize things it's so awesome I noticed that Johnny refers to Death as she, so (as you’ve said, death is they/them) was this just retconning/change of mind, or did Johnny not know/perceive death as more feminine? (Coughmotherissuescough)

- Although I personally use they/them when referring to Death, I do feel that they can be referred to with, quite literally anything! It's a matter of a person's own perception, and I also felt like it was better to use a proper set of pronouns for Death rather than calling them it, which takes some of the human nature out of them. I also didn't want to use she/her or he/him at the time because that might make people automatically gender Death as male or female. They're beyond gender, that's a whole-ass borderline god. - Death uses any/all pronouns, call them whatever you'd like! I do they/them for writing's sake; since switching up actively might confuse people. - Johnny usually uses she/her for Death, it's mostly the mother issues. In this AU his mother's the one who 'killed' him, hence his meeting Death.

Also, even though that post said Johnny’s perception changes, would his be the most accurate? Does that potentially mean Johnny sees Death how they desire to be perceived?

- You could argue that Johnny holds the most accurate perception of Death, yes, as the first time they appeared to him was the form they specifically chose to appear to him in. (Novva made a comic for it, but Death appeared very motherly to him) - His perception of Death usually abides by that, but sometimes they're more masculine, or sometimes they don't have identifiable features. Sometimes they're just a void of darkness; something that can surround him and provide a sense of security when he really needs it. He sees Death in his dreams on occasion, so there are multiple instances where she'll change.

Moving on to similar dots, Paul’s ancestor, the curse creator, would they not have met death? Wait wait would there have been a discussion? Cause like Death, big powerful, and this witch just made big curse? Is this in relation to why Death is featureless for Paul?????

- You're pretty close!! The Witch did meet Death once, yes; likely at the end of their life. Usually, you only meet Death when you're in limbo, but I think they can choose to change that. There wasn't much discussion; Death absolutely thought the curse was overkill (we discussed the idea that maybe the witches' partner was killed and the curse was set as a kind of revenge, but it's not canon right now) and unnecessarily made things so much more difficult,, but then Death claimed Johnny, and suddenly they knew the lengths a person would go for those they love. - Death is featureless for Paul because he's never truly thought of them as anything; save for the obvious association of butterflies with her. Once he starts to associate Death with Johnny, Death would likey to change to hold some of his features as well; similar to the way that Dally views Death.

[spiritual-nature]

Inner talking (part 2)

"Every stage of man's progress is made by the conscious exercise of his imagination matching his inner speech to his fulfilled desire. Because man does not perfectly match them, the results are uncertain, while they might be perfectly certain. Persistent assumption of the wish fulfilled is the means of fulfilling the intention. As we control our inner talking, matching it to our fulfilled desires, we can lay aside all other processes. Then we simply act by clear imagination and intention. We imagine the wish fulfilled and carry on mental conversations from that premise. Through controlled inner talking from premises of fulfilled desire, seeming miracles are performed. The future becomes the present and reveals itself in our inner speech. To be held by the inner speech of fulfilled desire is to be safely anchored in life. Our lives may seem to be broken by events, but they are never broken so long as we retain the inner speech of fulfilled desire. All happiness depends on the active voluntary use of imagination to construct and inwardly affirm that we are what we want to be. We match ourselves to our ideals by constantly remembering our aim and identifying ourselves with it. We fuse with our aims by frequently occupying the feeling of our wish fulfilled. It is the frequency, the habitual occupancy, that is the secret of success. The oftener we do it, the more natural it is. Fancy assembles. Continuous imagination fuses. It is possible to resolve every situation by the proper use of imagination. Our task is to get the right sentence, the one which implies that our desire is realized, and fire the imagination with it. All this is intimately connected with the mystery of “the still small voice”. Inner talking reveals the activities of imagination, activities which are the causes of the circumstances of life. As a rule, man is totally unaware of his inner talking and therefore sees himself not as the cause but the victim of circumstance. To consciously create circumstance, man must consciously direct his inner speech, matching “the still small voice” to his fulfilled desires." "Right inner speech is essential. It is the greatest of the arts. It is the way out of limitation into freedom. Ignorance of this art has made the world a battlefield and penitentiary where blood and sweat alone are expected, when it should be a place of marveling and wondering.” Right inner talking is the first step to becoming what you want to be." "It is only what is done now that counts. The present moment does not recede into the past. It advances into the future to confront us, spent or invested. Thought is the coin of heaven. Money is its earthly symbol. Every moment must be invested, and our inner talking reveals whether we are spending or investing. Be more interested in what you are inwardly “saying now” than what you “have said” by choosing wisely what you think and what you feel now. Any time we feel misunderstood, misused, neglected, suspicious, afraid, we are spending our thoughts and wasting our time. Whenever we assume the feeling of being what we want to be, we are investing. We cannot abandon the moment to negative inner talking and expect to retain command of life. Before us go the results of all that seemingly is behind. Not gone is the last moment – but oncoming." -Neville Goddard

(from his book "awakened imagination" chapter "the coin of heaven", by the way , I'm not copying this in order, I'm just posting quotes from the book that I like and find helpful to read some things are skipped in copying although I've read all his books already and just like going back to them sometimes)

[awesomedurraworld]

hi, I am about to speak my opinion about the most classic FMA patterns in fics.

Hello again, if you don't know me, I am sweet, I have been writing FMA since April 2022, and I have so far published 47 fics of this fandom, I am dusweet @ Ao3.

I’ve been in this fandom since late 2021 and finished Brotherhood in February 2022- ON ED’S BIRTHDAY WHICH I THINK ITS COOL.

Okay now we know basic dates, you can guess that I read too many FMA fics, and that means that I have been seeing a pattern in them. And It doesn't matter if the fic was published in 2002 or in 2023- they all share similar themes- or like, I would say headcanons??

so now I think it is time for me to talk about the things that are often written and I don't like, and One them I just reblogged a few hours ago and that's:

Roy Mustang and his paperwork.

Hold on, let's just think about it a little together. Roy Mustang, and a state alchemist, freaking Colonel at 26, Bridigal general at 30- the man is basically planning his own suicide- are you telling me THIS MAN WHO IS A SCIENTIST slacks in his job?

Like, the man wants to be Furher. The man has guilt complex, the man hates himself and is working to help his people.

It just doesn't add up in my opinion. It's funny sometimes, yes. But I just don't like how Riza keeps threatening him with a gun because he isn't doing his work when he is secretly doing it but acts as if he isn't because of the reputation he built.

You get what I mean, right?

Which brings me to point 2:

Riza Hawkeye and her gun.

Oftentimes, Riza is written in a way that she keeps threatening Roy or treating him less- again, funny at times- but the fact remains:

Riza is in this army because of Roy, and she loves him to the point that is clear if she shot him, she will shoot herself. I would say it is a case “ the man is the boss.” here because the fact is Roy is the boss. Not Riza ( even tho she is a girlboss.)

Roy is her commanding officer, she waits for his orders. Simple as that.

Again, I do see her threatening the boys with her gun, after all, she is the right-hand of Mustang, and the third higher rank on the team ( Ed being few ranks higher then her.)

Riza is a smart woman, and she chooses to follow a man she loves into hell. It's a huge thing. She is SMART. And I don't this she would have agreed to work under Roy if he was as slaking as people write him.

Point 3:

Edward Elric and the small nicknames.

I will say it and you will hate me for it- but that is called BULLYING.

“ oh but sweet- they joke with Hi-” no. No. No. No.

If they were joking with him- he wouldn't get angry after every time someone calls him small or short. Edward has a hard time as is, the stress and the guilt and the responsibility are too much, and to think someone ( like on Team Mustang who knows about his life.) goes on and dares to bully him- it freaking hurts.

Every time I see someone calling Ed “ shrimp” I get angry for him. I’ve been a victim of bullying myself, and it hurts when you get picked up over something you might be insecure about.

I called him once shrimp- in my first ever fic- and again, maybe funny at times, but after it hit me one day that Ed yelling means that he is angry. And if he gets angry and expresses that he doesn't want to be called short and people still call him that it means that they bully him. After that, I try to never do it again.

✨ headcanon here, Ed is short like that because as a kid, he didn't receive enough nutritions and enough food. Although it is known that Ed eats for himself and Al- I think even on post-promise day Ed will keep eating that way ( maybe less but the same way, because it is the way his body is surviving. Since it thinks it might go for a while without food so it wants to eat as much as it could.)

I like to think that Ed was Al’s parent and therefore he used to give Al his food since they were poor and did not have enough money or food.

Since I mentioned this headcanon, let me follow it by this:

Point 4:

Edward Elric is the one who raised Alphonse Elric and not the other way around.

I think that a lot of people go with the “ Al is more mature, Ed is childish.” mindset, which angers me.

As the oldest child, I relate to Edward in so many aspects ( besides the long hair in a braid deal.) For more than half of my day, I am in charge of my youngest siblings- feeding them, playing with them, teaching them, you get the idea. and according to my mom I started acting like a mother haha

Now that same thing should be applied to Edward. From just watching how they act and how they talk, many will judge right away and Say that Ed is the child one because he is impolite, loud and angry for nothing, and many would say that “Why can't you be just like your brother.”

i likes to think that Edward is loud and angry for these reasons:

He is protecting himself and Al from being abandoned all over again, he wants to be unloved in order not to get attached. He gets angry because anger to him is such an easy emotion to portray and be.

When he gets angry and frustrated and acts out- he is looking for attention. And that has been apparent ever since he was a child. Like, when he hits Al with the book on his head? Why? Because he wants his mother to yell at him. He tries to grasp her attention and time by acting out.

And that same tactic that he uses with Roy. If he was acting like he should be, Roy might see him for five minutes a day. But with acting out, he gets to have Roy’s attention as he yells at him.

Mature levels are different between the brothers, and it is clear how Ed has an understanding of things around them and works hard, I am not saying that Al isn't mature. It just... Ed raised Al. I think that explains everything.

Point 5:

Jean Havoc and how people write him as an idiot.

Listen, I love me some good Uncle Jean action. And I love how people write him like that- the uncle/older brother dynamic.

I think on the team he is the third oldest- Vato being the older one, then Roy, and then Jean, and so on- so say he is like, 27 (?) IT MEANS THAT HE IS A GROWN MAN, K? PEOPLE NEED TO STOP WRITING HIM AS A HORNY TEEN.

I also want to point out, that maybe Jean is looking for a woman and going out on dates as much as he could so he can find a WIFE so he can settle down with and marry and have kids.

But the fact is, Jean is smarter than he gives himself credit, and we can see that across the anime and the manga. Also, I am not sure if this fact is Canon- but one of my favorite things about this man is that he is the medic of the team.

✨My headcanon is that he was a paramedic before he joined the Army or something. I just think it suits him.

Also, if he was not smart or mature enough, Roy wouldn't have made him “ team’s officer “

I just adore him, maybe more than Hughes-

AND Speaking of Hughes

Here is Point 6:

Maes Hughes and his family obsession.

I know I know he just loves taking photos and talking about his wife and daughter- because he is just a proud man, and I love him for that. What I dislike is when someone writes him as if that is the only thing he does??

Like, have we forgotten that he is a detective? And the head of the inspection department? He has fun when he can but also he has his head leveled when needed, let's not forget that.

Think about Meas as if he is Superman ( Clark Kent.) because these two have so many similar traits.

Point 7:

Winry Rockbell and her anger issues.

I again, dislike how abusive people write winry. Abusive might be the wrong word to use here, but when someone keeps hitting you with her wrench because your prosthetic broke against your will and it gets to the point that you try to fix it instead of going to her to help you fix it-

I just think it isn't healthy. Not to mention that Winry is always written as if she does not understand the hardships that Ed and Al go through. And that might be the case - she is just a girl who sees the man she loves get injuries and she doesn't understand the whys. And I think that is why she acts the way she does. Personally, I adore Winry. I like her and her and she and Ed are cute and they are right for each other.

I just dislike how she is always written as if Ed getting injured is his fault, Y’know?

Point 8:

Izumi and how much she does not understand the things that the boys go through.

she is a wonderful woman, strong, and loves kids and her husband- my problem is how much she doesn't seem to understand Ed and Al's post they committed the taboo. She always comes at Ed and Al for joining the military without seeing the reason behind it.

That is why I found myself hating every time she comes in fics after Ed gets injured or something because she will always yell at him and acts as if it was his fault.

I only truly liked Izumi in one fic I read, which had her being Roy’s older sister- and I liked that. She was understanding while having her normal personality.

And yea, I think these are it! I just expressed my personal opinion towards things and I do have a few other ideas but these are what come to mind right now. I do enjoy reading fics even if these things were present in them- but the chances of me writing things like this are very minimal.

Tell me what you think. Do you agree or disagree with these and why? I would love to chat ❤️

[depvotee]

A closer look to Transandrophobia

TL;DR: I think that it is GOOD as trans mascs to talk about our specific struggles that we face when taking, choosing and talking about masculinity and transness BUT I think there should be more nuance and careful as to how we approach the topic as not to fall into misogynistic patterns and other pitfalls. 

On one hand I understand the grievances inherited with begin a trans masculine person and having a cis woman try to enact transphobic abuse against you, especially if done behind the veil of femininity (seen as submissive) and you begin a masculine person (seen as inherently violent): Most of the transphobia I faced was exactly like that, try to use femininity as an excuse to abuse me, sometimes even as something to try and control me with, a monstrous masculine "other-me" that could only be tamed if I could try to be more, well, woman-y. I was just begin openly me: which is masculine. 

It's also important to point out that a lot of the blogs to first coined the term we're POC trans men, that was no coincidence, a lot of femininity, a white one to be more specific was used against MOC, it was a way to keep control over them as an insidiously evolved form of racism, that pointed at gender roles, instead of race. That’s why trans men of color we’re the first to point out the problem on certain spaces, we already knew the tactic, in this case a form of transphobia that was camouflaged to pass around more progressive circles but especially targeted trans men. 

Although I understand the issue transandrophia tries to point out (Which is transphobia but just directed at trans mascs specifically.) I also cannot get 100% behind the term because yes, we talk a lot about cis women doing the harm, again, due to deeply ingrained gender roles that even the oppressed now feels the need to correct to another oppressed group. I've also seen the glaring empty spot for cis men in the discussion, we already take them for granted to be transphobic, almost as if the abuse we get from women is worst due to already having it taken for granted that they we're going to ally with us. In a way its giving cis men more of a leeway, perpetuating the cycle of patriarchal control into the micro cosmos that is progressive spaces. We should hold other men accountable, god, we should, we all bark but no bite.

There is an inherent danger on this discussion which is again to fall into the same patterns of old; as masculine people thinking we are owed something from our feminine contra parts, companions, friends, family, etc. And the resentment begin solely that a debt not paid, instead of the actual harm which is transphobia.

The danger is attracting actual misogynist trans mascs to use the term as not a way to describe a particular instance of transphobia but to use it as leverage towards fems and not any fems, trans women would be the first affected by this, instead of the cis women (and by this I mean a group of them, not cis women as a whole, god no.) that want to perpetuate gender roles for their own gain. Younger trans mascs, trans men in particular, could fall into these bad faith actors, we already seen it with transmedicalism and of things created by POC that then are coined by white people for wildly different means. 

My conclusion is: The point is to break these cycles of abuse, we should talk about our issues, of course! But we also we should be on the lookout as not to recent our fem counterparts, cis, trans, in the middle, damn even more feminine leaning trans mascs. Just because of a few decided to use their gender as a way to enact harm towards you, that doesn’t mean it’s a rule of thumb: It might surprise you how trans positive some people turn out to be but also how misogynistic some trans mascs turn out to be.

It’s all about looking into ourselves and confront our own bias, to heal our own traumas, as much as that means a bruised ego to keep in check as not to grieve for a subconscious privilege that was promised but loosed from the patriarchy but for the actual harm that is done: Abuse, transphobia and denial of our basic right of begin ourselves. 

[ghnosis]

songs that mean something @ IU Bloomington 2/29/24

notes from my talk at Black Metal is for Everyone. yes I know LI is not black metal. I also don't care! get off my dick :)

IF THE POISON WON’T TAKE YOU MY DOGS WILL 

Condensing everything I love about Kristin Hayter into 5 minutes. 

Quotes by Kristin Hayter herself come from 4 interviews – 1 following the release of All Bitches Die (2017), 2 following CALIGULA (2019) and a Reddit AMA after Sinner Get Ready (2020); Hayter refers to these works as a trilogy, and I’m thinking of all three while I talk about this song off CALIGULA. Hayter has since completed the Lingua Ignota project and now makes music under her given name. 

What’s important to me about Lingua Ignota/Kristen Hayter are her ideas of female ecstatic/religious speech/glossolalia (speaking in tongues) paired with what she has to say about “darkness,” trauma, and extreme music.  

Hayter describes the idea that “there is something intrinsically feminine about oracular or ecstatic experience.” My academic work has to do with ways that the marginalized interject themselves into unwelcome space, sometimes through invoking Satan or dark powers; I see female mystics in a similar vein, but on the side of lightness. 

Lingua Ignota means “unconstructed/unknown language,” an alphabet attributed to medieval mystic/composer/oracle Hildegaard von Bingen, one of Hayter’s influences. 

“Poison” is “meant to evoke the ambience of the Jonestown death tapes,” Hayter is directly quoting Jim Jones in the line “I am the best friend you’ll ever have” – this is something she does throughout her work. On Sinner Get Ready she quotes Jimmy Swaggart, a televangelical involved in some public sex scandals and defrocked. 

Aileen Wuornos was “one of the world-building motifs” of Hayter’s work. Although she is commonly referred to as one of the only female “serial killers,” Wuornos herself alleged that her actions were self-defense; the men she murdered had raped or attempted to rape her. Hayter's choice to sample Wuornos on her first album All Bitches Die was a reaction to male extreme metal musicians sampling [male] serial killers as a signpost for “evilness;” Hayter feels that this is overused in the genre to the point of banality. Further, these men are playacting in Hayter’s opinion; they aren’t actually familiar with human cruelty in a real sense. She is interested in “flipping the paradigm” of extreme music, to instead make heavy music for people “upon whom dark shit has actually been visited” - people who, like Wuornos, might have considered homicide as a survival mechanism.  

“Poison” opens with “Kyrie eleison,” literally, “Lord, have mercy.” One of the notable times this phrase appears in the Bible is in the story of the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15:21); she asks Jesus for mercy and he is so moved by her faith that he heals her possessed daughter. The mercy of Jesus/God for the faithful and specifically female divine retribution appears throughout Hayter’s work; I had a hard time choosing between this song and “I Who Bend the Tall Grasses,” which is a song in which Hayter herself demands God kill her abuser, hissing “I’m not asking.” 

Kyrie eleison is also often the first sung prayer of the traditional Latin Catholic Mass; Hayter referred to CALIGULA as “golden Catholic bullshit” - Sinner Get Ready is more Appalachian evangelical, experimenting with Christian/Catholic faith in its varied forms. 

“Abandon your body/make worthless your body” I’m really interested in the idea of rebellion through deliberate warning symbolism or deliberate ugliness – like Britney Spears shaving her head in 2007, what we as the traumatized can do to take power back or break rules, transcending your body as a definition of yourself, making your body “worthless” to those who might use it to hurt (or define) you. 

Hayter describes going “from situations where I was being totally controlled to total autonomy, and it seems crazy but thinking about stuff like — what colors do I like? What clothes can I wear? Has been pretty huge for me." - ideas of self-reclamation, making one’s body worthless to anyone but the person inhabiting it. 

[gardenoftransexuals]

i've finished s1 of midnight burger and man, i have some thoughts (so long i had to put a readmore on them).

what is caspar's whole deal with the diner? everyone has a story on how they found it (leif while spacehopping, gloria discovering on Craigslist [which is interesting but i'll get to that later] ava discovering it, presumably, while sciencing). going back, i don't think caspar ever really talks about how he found it, or even why he decided to stay (although i believe effie warns him that he might be running from something, which might be why he stayed). when ava goes through the time warp, she only hears a few moments of caspar's first day before it skips to leif's first day at the diner. at that point, caspar still doesn't know much about the diner but he seems far more comfortable in interacting in it (he slips into being a waiter immediately). and of course, from what we've heard, effie and zebulon don't seem to quite know how the diner works either. this makes me wonder if the diner is newer than originally thought, and perhaps caspar is actually the first employee. of course that couldn't exactly fit because iirc, effie and zebulon cannot see outside the diner so how would they know they were travelling through time and space? i guess that would mean that the diner is old enough to have had employees, who somehow disappeared before caspar arrived who might have been able to pass their knowledge onto effie and zebulon? but that would mean effie and zebulon would probably know more than they do, so maybe the radio is possibly a new installment to the diner (left by previous employees?)

are the radio and the diner even the same thing? the radio and the diner are somehow linked together, obviously, but effie and zebulon seem to have no control over where or when the diner goes, only that without them things would start falling apart (see: blackhole incident). it makes me wonder if despite being linked the diner has more sway in things. it's also always consistent that the diner shows up in a place where people need it (sometimes as a source of food, sometimes just to help problems). additionally, the diner seems to be able to seek out potential employees and draw them towards the diner (gloria). everyone was surprised when gloria showed up claiming that she saw their advert for a job interview, even though it was quite clear that none of them (including, iirc, zebulon & effie) ever put it up in the first place. i don't think it's a coincidence that leif showed up when he was looking for someplace new with Earth-people, or ava found the diner after she quit because she was trying to prove her scientific theories. i wonder if the diner is looking for a common quality in them and that's how it chooses its employees.

lastly: what's the deal with the radio? the vibes i'm getting are the effie & zebulon are just completely normal religious arkansas people, and that it's just the radio in the diner that's completely off-the-walls weird. originally i was thinking that effie & zebulon were like. preserved memories of people trapped inside a radio (maybe they were preserved before effie & zebulon ever had children, if the timewarp tunnel that ava had with the other arkansas people wasn't a completely different universe). but that's off the record now because i'm pretty sure memories can't get sick like effie did. which makes me wonder if effie & zebulon are in a pocket dimension of sorts? their time is like 1920s arkansas or whatever, which is moving at a much much slower pace than midnight burger. it'd explain how effie got sick (because their time is not static), plus how they don't have children, even though, in regular-world-time they definitely do have descendants (daniel & willow). and it'd explain why they think all science is witchcraft. if you were living in the 1920s, then the medical technology we have now would definitely seem to be witchcraft. the only thing i can't quite work out is the weird interference they had throughout season one, as well as how effie was able to locate leif. the first could be that whenever the diner radio lost connection with the pocket dimension effie & zebulon were in tried to fill their words with what the diner knew (which is why they would start quoting the book of the dead). i guess the diner being an entity of sorts could also explain how effie & zebulon managed to get into contact with leif when he was abducted, although what throws me off there is that if they're just normal people and the diner radio is actually controlling everything, then how would they have known about leif's radio? maybe the diner is capable of influencing them somewhat, or even maybe directing them a bit, but cannot outright control/tell anything to them. which makes me realize i am once again circling right back to religion: you know that one meme where it's like a guy who's being given divine information but because it's not in a language that they understand/can comprehend they circle right back around to being normal again? maybe that's the relationship that the diner, effie & zebulon have.

[iztarshi]

Prompt: Killing in self-defense

Fandom: tmnt 1987

Notes: Gun violence. Death, although not character death. Serious injury to a turtle.

-

“The state of the victims makes it look like the work of the Globfather, or another member of his species,” says Leonardo. “And it’s happened to six people so far, which means we can’t afford to wait until nightfall.”

“Uh, fearless leader, you got any plans that don’t get us killed before we even find the Globfather?” Raphael asks.

Leonardo thinks of the half-dead amoeboid husks and glares at him. “Raphael, this is serious.”

Raphael glares back. ��You think I’m not?”

“Raphael does have a point,” Donatello adds. “The Globfather’s actions have stirred up the fear of aliens caused by Dregg’s reveal as a criminal to the point it’s spilled over onto mutants again. Something like this will have people ready to riot against anything that isn’t human.”

It’s true. Anti-mutant sentiment fell after Dregg was first revealed, after all he was the one who had been stirring it up. But it never went away, the things people had started to think had stayed at the bottom of their hearts, and now instead of choosing an alien over a mutant they’re ready to destroy aliens and mutants together. “It’s not all of them,” Leonardo says. “Most humans are just trying to get by. The fact that some of them hate us doesn’t mean we can let innocent ones fall to a monster like the Globfather.

Raphael looks away and Leonardo takes that as a win for now.

“We will need disguises, though,” Leonardo continues. “Proper ones, not just ones that work from a distance. Michelangelo, do you know where those halloween masks are? At least then we won’t look like turtles.

“No, we’ll just look like we already got got by an amoeba monster,” Raphael mutters.

Michelangelo pushes past him roughly on the way to the disguise room, “Will you stop complainin’? If we listened to you we’d never do anything for anyone.”

“Why not? No one does anything for us,” Raphael calls after him.

“Dude, you know that’s not true,” Michelangelo turns around, beak to beak with Raphael. “April, Casey, Carter…”

Leonardo hastily gets between them and pushes them both back with a hand on their plastron. “Guys, stop fighting. Michelangelo, just get the masks. Raphael, do you want to stay behind?”

For a moment Leonardo thinks Raphael’s going to say “yes”. He wonders whether it would be a relief if he did. Then Raphael shakes his head. “Might as well go down with the ship,” he says.

“That would be Leonardo. He’s the captain,” Donatello says.

“Come on. Time to get ready,” Leonardo tells them.

None of them really like clothes, although Raphael sometimes enjoys the way they look when he’s in the mood to enjoy anything. Clothes are often scratchy, never tailored for turtles, and they tend to pull over the shell. It’s why they usually throw them off as soon as a fight breaks out, there’s not much point in maintaining a disguise but getting stabbed because you weren’t moving fluidly. The halloween masks are worse, they push the beak inwards and give a turtle a headache after a while.

“Everyone stay in disguise,” Donatello says. “Unless you really have to take something off. Raphael’s right, we’re in danger from everyone up there.”

“We all know that,” Leonardo says, because that’s not what he was arguing with Raphael about. The point isn’t that humanity won’t hurt them, the point is that they have to save people anyway. “Turtles, move out.”

They don’t take the turtle van or the blimp. Donatello is a turtle who is good at many, many things and subtlety is not one of them.

They take the rooftops, despite their disguises it’s still quicker than the streets for now and gives them more of an overview of the city. Raphael grumbles about having disguises on for no reason but when it’s only something like this it’s easy to tune him out.

An ambulance shoots down the steet beneath them, sirens blaring, two police cars following in its wake. It might be nothing, or, not nothing, but not what they’re here for. Still, Leonardo has a feeling.

“Follow that ambulance!” he calls, taking off in pursuit.

The thing being taken into the ambulance looks more like their halloween masks do when empty than like a human being. It’s what they’re looking for and it’s sickening.

“Still want to sit this one out and let humans end up like that, Raphael?” Leonardo asks.

“I nearly ended up like that protecting them and I don’t want to do that again either,” Raphael mutters, but he won’t look at Leonardo.

Leonardo sighs. Raphael’s reluctance never really lasts past seeing someone in danger, but Leonardo’s getting sick of his perpetual bad mood. Especially when it can spread to Donatello who, while less cynical in general, is much more likely to stick with a conclusion he reaches. Those two have split the team before, Leonardo doesn’t want it to happen again.

Right now, though, Donatello is hanging from a windowsill and waving some strange piece of equipment over the scene below. His tongue pokes between the lips of his halloween mask and then he suddenly flips back up to them.

“I’ve got it,” he says. “Now I’ve tuned it, this should track either further victims or the orignal amoeboid. It doesn’t have much range from down here, though, it’s being blocked by the houses.”

“So we’re gonna need the blimp after all?” asks Michelangelo.

“That’s not exactly keeping a low profile,” Raphael says.

“It should be fine,” Donatello says, eyes still on his device. “The government understands we were on their side now, so we aren’t in danger from the army. Civilians aren’t going to be able to shoot down a blimp.”

“There might be some misunderstandings, but no one’s gearing up to shoot us down,” Leonardo says, hastily. Maybe when Dregg’s propoganda was at its worst, yes, but right now they’re just unpopular. Their blimp showing in the sky is likely to cause anxiety and bad feelings among humans, not get them shot down.

“Oh, aren’t they?” Raphael mutters.

“No, dude, they’re not,” Michelangelo retorts. “Yeah, people don’t like us a whole lot right now, but that’s not new. Being mean doesn’t mean they want to hurt us.”

“Yeah? Have you seen the stuff they’re saying on TV now that April doesn’t feel like defending us?”

“Don’t say it like that! April’s not got a job anymore, she can’t just say what she likes. The dudes at the top won’t run it.”

“So she’s avoiding us completely now that stories about us won’t run unless she gets nasty. Guess we’re lucky she hasn’t chosen getting nasty yet.”

“We know the villain is in this area,” Leonardo says loudly, cutting the two of them off. “Donatello’s device might give us an important lead, but we should also search this area. Two of us need to go back for the blimp while the other two go down to street level and start searching.” The question is, how to divide the team for this one? Donatello obviously needs to go back for the blimp. Sending Raphael with him when he’s this mood is out of the question, Donatello’s too likely to agree with him. Sending Michelangelo would be fine, but that would leave Leonardo to stay with Raphael and it’s not fair but he really, really doesn’t want to. As long as it’s not Raphael with Donatello any split is as good as any other, he tells himself, and Leonardo’s the most tactically minded of them so it might be useful for him to see things from above. “Michelangelo, Raphael, you stay here. Take a look around but be careful. If you see any sign of the Globfather, call us.”

Walking through a crowd in disguise is lonely. It’s not the first time Michelangelo has felt that; he likes people and, just ‘cause he’s green and has a shell, a lot of the time people don’t like him. It feels worse when it could be violence, not just rejection, but he really doesn’t think it would be violence. Or maybe he doesn’t want to think it would be violence.

Raphael’s presence only makes him feel lonelier. Raphael takes everything so seriously now and that’s meant to be a good thing, but it just means he’s wound so tight he’s constantly snapping. Michelangelo misses the times when they were the ones who could go with the flow.

Michelangelo looks around and Raphael is gone. For a moment he can’t tell which person in the crowd might be him, then he sees a familiar trench coat and jogs to catch up.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks.

Raphael shrugs. “You’re the one who was staring into space. We’ll go faster if we split up, anyway.”

“Go where faster? We’re just here in case something happens.” It’s not like poking around at street level is gonna find anything. If the glob dude’s gone, he’s gone, if he comes back they’ll see him.

“So much for getting this over with,” Raphael mutters.

“It’ll be over when the dudes get back, no matter what we did while they were gone. Relax a bit, wouldja?”

“In this city?”

“You use’ta know how to relax.” Michelangelo tugs on Raphael’s arm, trying to pull him over to a junk shop window. Something fun to look at. “I know it feels gnarly right now, but it’s not so different from when we first came above ground…”

“…and an old lady immediately tried to shoot us. Yes, I’m seeing the resemblance.”

“Yeah, some people were rough, and it mondo sucked how willing they were to believe bad stuff about us. But a lotta people just, y’know, even if they didn’t love us, they had better things to do than hate us. Our disguises were, like, sunglasses and they let us be.”

“And now we don’t dare show a hint of green.”

“Ninety percent of ‘em still wouldn’t care,” Michelangelo insists. “We’re being careful, but they’re still just guys doing their stuff. It’s not like the world’s out to get you.

“Us, Michelangelo. The world’s out to get us,” Raphael sing-songs.

“It’s not!” Michelangelo snaps, his voice pitching louder than he means it to.

“Uh-uh. Don’t draw attention. We’re being careful, remember?”

“Forget it, dude.” This time it’s Michelangelo who stomps off and Raphael makes no attempt to follow.

Michelangelo stops to look in a shop window, not even registering what it’s selling this time. All he’s seeing is his own reflection, rounded and slightly hunched in a trenchcoat, a rubbery face with too round, staring eyes. How the heck do these masks make them less scary? The first time he saw one he jumped into Leonardo’s arms and familiarity has not improved them. His reflection is a pretty sad imitation of a human. People seeing this have gotta know something’s up. Maybe even that they’re looking at a mutant and, just like before, they don’t care all that much as long as a turtle doesn’t try to talk to them.

Michelangelo rubs his beak through the rubber and then drops his hand to toy with the edge of the mask at his collar-bone. With sudden decision he pulls the mask off and shoves it in his pocket, putting his hat back on afterwards. Raphael would have a fit but Michelangelo has had it up to here with Raphael’s paranoia.

The giddy, guilty, triumphant feeling of doing something he probably shouldn’t lasts even when a few people do catch sight of him and quickly put their heads down and hurry away. Yeah, people are feeling a bit paranoid of them right now, but they’re feeling a bit paranoid of people so that’s fair. Both sides have to get used to each other again, that’s all. Most people don’t want to hurt anyone.

A stone hits Michelangelo’s shoulder and he retracts his head halfway into his shell while turning around. It’s a big guy standing there, the kind who can probably get somewhere by getting aggressive when he’s scared. Michelangelo holds out his hands placatingly.

“It’s okay, dude, I’m just going.”

“Yeah?” The guy says, swaggering closer. “You the one that hurt that poor guy? On your way to do that to someone else?”

“No way!” Michelangelo says. People are pressing in, now that someone else is in front of them. Most people don’t want to go out of their way to hurt mutants, but aggression spreads fast. They’ve got his shell up against the wall as they form a loose half-circle around him. “Come on, I’m a teenage mutant ninja turtle. You know us.”

“No one really knows mutants.” The rumble of agreement from the crowd feels like approaching thunder.

Michelangelo raises his hands higher, showing he’s unarmed to the people at the back of the gathering crowd. He can’t leave without pushing them aside and if he hurts anyone the thick, ozone feel in the air will come together like a bolt of lightning.

Another stone hits Michelangelo’s shell.

<hr>

Raphael pays no attention to the gathering crowd at first. If they’d found whatever was turning people into skin puddles they’d be running screaming, so it’s probably just a street performer or a fight or something else irrelevent. Then he hears Michelangelo’s voice, sees the green hands raised at the centre. Sees the stones.

Raphael tears his disguise off and throws himself through the crowd, sending humans tumbling in his wake. Sticks and handbags fall on his shell but the trick to keeping his feet under him is moving fast, falling forward into the next step. He skids to a stop with one hand thrown up to avoid hitting the wall, then twists around to face the crowd. He wraps one hand around Michelangelo’s wrist, the other already grabbing a sai from his belt. Michelangelo’s hand wraps around his wrist in turn, linking them together.

He hardly needs to pull them into motion, Michelangelo is already following, running for the path Raphael cut through the crowd. They nearly stumble over a young woman he knocked down before and another, taller and darker, throws herself at him from the side. Only Michelangelo’s grip keeps him upright. She pushes him again, standing between him and her friend with snarling defensive aggression that he matches, showing his teeth and shoving his sai in her face.

Michelangelo jerks him back. “We’re not gonna hurt your friend,” he says, fast and urgent, already trying to push through the crowd a different way. “We’re not gonna hurt any of you! Just let us leave!”

The crowd pushes in around them, from all sides now that there’s not even a wall at their back. How are there so many humans? Raphael can’t get the momentum to bowl through them the way he did before, especially with Michelangelo hesitating, not wanting to knock them over. When Raphael hits out it’s with his sai flipped, spikes lying over his wrist so it’s the hilt he’s lashing out with, but no one seems to care that he’s going easy on them. A middle-aged man with dark hair smacks a piece of drain pipe down over his wrist sending pain vibrating up it like the chime of a bell. Michelangelo kicks someone in the chest and pulls Raphael forward again.

The snap of a shot makes Raphael throw his head up, as if even the sound is painful, cold washing through him from his head to his toes.

“Dude, don’t shoot in a crowd!” Michelangelo yells.

“Y-yeah, it would be terrible if they hit someone who wasn’t us,” Raphael mutters. He’s scanning the crowd frantically, everything seeming to slow down so he can take it in. The old man being helped to his feet by two blond girls. The college kids trying to push their way out, because, yeah, someone shot a gun in a crowd. The guy in a neon safety vest passing out tools from his toolbox, including a really heavy looking spanner. The gleam of light on the muzzle of a gun in the hands of a sandy-haired guy in his thirties.

Raphael lets go of Michelangelo’s wrist, pulling free of Michelangelo’s own grip, and leaps. Landing, he wraps both hands around the gun and wrenches it upwards as it fires again. Humans leap in, trying to prise Raphael’s hands free even though this guy is the idiot who’s shooting. Michelangelo arrives next to him just as Raphael kicks the guy hard in the chest and pulls the gun against his plastron, shielding it from anyone who might try to take it away.

The gun feels solid in his hand. Powerful.

Michelangelo’s hand closes around the back of Raphael’s shell, like there’s somewhere he could drag him.

Raphael points the gun at the crowd. “Move aside.” There’s no need to make an effort to sound hoarse and menacing, his voice comes out as a croak.

No one listens. Instead they close in and try to get the gun away from him again. Do they think they’re heroes, here? Are they trying to die? Or do they know that he’s not… that he won’t… that he doesn’t want to…

He just wants to get out of here alive.

“Why won’t they move?” he whispers.

“They’re scared,” Michelangelo answers, putting himself shell to shell with Raphael so they don’t have anyone behind them. “They’re trying to protect each -”

“They’re not scared enough,” Raphael snaps as Michelangelo’s voice breaks off into a yelp.

The shot he fires is far above the heads of the crowd. He just wants to convince them he’s serious, get them to move. If he’s a monster to them they should stop provoking him!

There’s the answering crack of a rifle from the crowd.

There’s a stinging line on Raphael’s shoulder, a light pain almost like a papercut, and then it burns with a pain that spreads like fire. A space opens at his back as Michelangelo falls, the warmth and wetness of his own blood mingled with his brother’s runs down his arm. When he turns, Michelangelo is on the ground, lying on his plastron, his trenchcoat hiding everything but the tear in it where the bullet exited and a massive, spreading stain. The blood running down Michelangelo’s arm from under his trenchcoat has shards of shell in it, like a smashed egg.

Raphael drops to his knees, touching his hand to Michelangelo’s beak to feel the laboured puff of breath. There’s blood around his nostrils but he’s not dead. Not yet. Raphael lifts his hand to the bloodstain on Michelangelo’s back, fingers hovering before reluctantly dipping down to touch. Under the fabric he feels the sharp edges of broken shell and, worse, a gap, a hole where there should be solid carapace, a void that feels like it could swallow him whole.

A stone hits the back of his head and he looks up, for the first time aware that the crowd is still there, that the world hasn’t stopped. They’re pleased, excited, to see a turtle down. Pressing in like feral dogs around a cat. How could they do this to Michelangelo?

Raphael leans across Michelangelo’s body, tucking that wounded carapace under his own shell. One hand rests on the ground for support, the other lifts the rifle still clutched in it and aims it at the crowd.

“You’re not going to get a chance to finish him off,” Raphael tells them and when the next stone comes anyway he squeezes the trigger.

Someone shoots at him, the bullet pinging against the ground by his foot, so he pulls the trigger a second time. A third. Someone goes down in a spray of blood, but he won’t let himself focus on them. They’re a puppet, a loose shape with long flailing limbs. There are no more bullets in the gun.

Raphael tucks his head into his shell, wraps his arms and legs around Michelangelo, and holds on.

<hr>

“It looks like our villain came back,” Leonardo says grimly.

Donatello smacks the sensor in his hand, ignoring the wail of sirens below him. “He can’t have, I’m not getting any kind of reading.”

“Someone’s dead,” Leonardo tells him.

Donatello leans over the edge of the blimp platform. There’s a body, doll-like from this far away, being dragged towards an ambulance that’s just parked. Beside it is a seething crowd, both angry and panicking.

“Well, that’s not good,” Donatello says. “They can’t take on the Globfather themselves.”

“Then we’d better help!” Leonardo steers the blimp lower, planning to get as close as he can before detaching the glider.

Donatello stares downward, trying to analyse the situation. The glimpse of green at the centre of the crowd suggests it is an alien lifeform they’ve caught, but whatever it is it seems oddly helpless against a pummelling. An amoeboid who spreads by touch ought to be winning. Whatever this is, it’s smaller. More solid. A familiar shade of green.

“Leonardo. It’s them. Our turtles.” The words rip out of him.

“It can’t be.”

“It is, it…” Donatello takes a deep breath. “Don’t detach the glider, if we lose the blimp we’ll just be in the same situation. Drop a ladder, I’ll grab them and we can get out of here.”

The shadow of the blimp scatters the ragged edges of the crowd. People throw their hands over their heads and run for shelter like they expect the turtles to drop bombs. Others yell insults, or become more frenzied in their attack on Raphael and Michelangelo, like the humans are trying to finish them off before Donatello can reach them.

As soon as the ladder is dropped Donatello slides down it, bo already out, hitting the humans like the bomb they were afraid of. If Leonardo was here he would be trying to push them back without hurting them. Donatello is mostly not aiming for the heads.

“Turtle Power!” he yells, smacking a drainpipe out of a teenager’s hand.

Raphael looks up. His face is bloody and tear-stained but his hollow eyes spark with something like life at the sight of Donatello. As soon as Donatello drives people back a little way he’s scrambling to his feet dragging Michelangelo across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry even as Michelangelo’s blood runs down them both.

“What happened?” Donatello demands. “How did you even get into this kind of mess? Where’s your disguise? Where’s Michelangelo’s mask?”

There’s no answer, all of Raphael’s energy is going into climbing the ladder with Michelangelo still slung across his shoulder. As soon as he’s far enough up Donatello grabs a rung himself and yells, “Leonardo, go!”

The blimp rises as Donatello kicks and pokes the grasping hands of the mob away.

It seems to take forever to climb the swaying ladder. Donatello has one hand on the ladder, one on the base of Raphael’s shell to push him upwards. For a moment as Raphael reaches the top the blimp starts drifting, and then Donatello finds Leonardo reaching down to drag him aboard a wing of the glider platform. He balances quickly as Leonardo takes control again and starts them moving for home.

On the opposite wing Raphael is laying Michelangelo down gently. “Donatello?” he calls pleadingly.

Donatello jumps across the middle of the glider to land next to the two injured turtles. When the glider starts to tilt in their direction Raphael hastily scrambles to the side Donatello just vacated.

Michelangelo is a mess. Bloody nose, bloody mouth, broken shell. Should Donatello try to take the trenchcoat off him? It’s probably holding pieces of his shell in place. It’s bad to let fabric get into wounds, but taking it off would make him bleed more and all Donatello’s really sure of is that the blood should stay inside Michelangelo. Donatello’s the turtle that fixes things, that’s his job, that’s what he’s for, but serious injuries are tended by Splinter while the rest of them pace anxiously around the lair.

“We need to get him home,” Donatello says. Then, “Leonardo, hand me our trenchcoats.”

Leonardo does as he’s asked and says, “The blimp’s not fast, but I’m heading home as directly as I can. When we’re close enough, can we risk using the glider?”

“I don’t think it could hurt,” Donatello answers. He folds one trenchcoat into a wad and pushes it under Michelangelo’s plastron. Then he folds the other over the carapace and tries to press hard enough to stop the bleeding but not hard enough to make those bits of shell push inwards. He can feel them grating against each other. Could they pierce a lung? Should he have opened the trenchcoat and pulled them away?

“What happened?” Leonardo asks. “How did Michelangelo get injured?”

“They shot him.” Raphael’s voice is hollow. When Donatello looks over at him he’s curled up, beak pressed against his knees, one arm over his eyes and one hand loosely gripping the glider.

Leonardo takes a deep breath. “Did you shoot them?”

There’s a long silence and then Raphael says, “….did you see?”

“We saw that someone was dead,” Leonardo answers.

“Can you blame him?” asks Donatello. “After what they did to Michelangelo?”

“We can’t shoot people,” Leonardo snaps.

“Not even to protect each other?” says Donatello.

“I didn’t,” Raphael says softly. “I wanted to protect him but… nothing I did helped at all.”

Silence falls over them. Donatello holds his pad of material in place and tries not to cry.

“Hold on, I’m detaching the glider,” Leonardo says. “Raphael. I can’t detach until you hold something properly.”

The glider falls away with a clunk and then a swoop, set free from the slow balloon. Donatello might not be great at first aid, but at least his invention is getting them home fast. He pulls Michelangelo’s head onto his knees, holds his uninjured shoulder down, does everything he can to soften the inevitable jar of landing. He’s still rewarded with blood bubbling from Michelangelo’s nose.

“I’ve got us as close as I can,” Leonardo says.

Donatello nods. “Get the manhole cover up and help me lift him. Don’t let him touch the water in there.” The runoff from New York streets could contain any number of pathogens.

Leonardo puts Michelangelo in a fireman’s carry again to get him down the ladder. It’s not the best idea, but it’s better than any other idea they have.

Donatello looks back and Raphael hasn’t moved from where he sits on the glider.

“Raphael, get over here,” he says.

Raphael shakes his head. “I’m not coming.”

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

“Master Splinter isn’t going to want me in his house after this.” Raphael’s voice seems to be fading, getting quieter with every sentence.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re his student,” Donatello says. Never mind that they officially graduated from that, they’ll always be Splinter’s students.

“So was Shredder,” Raphael whispers.

“Donatello! I need you!” Leoanardo yells.

“You should go. It’s going to take two of you to carry Michelangelo home and you need to be quick,” Raphael says, voice almost lost beneath Leonardo shouting again.

Michelangelo might be dying down there, they need to get him home safely. Donatello has no choice but to go.

“Just…” he falters, about to ask whether Raphael has his turtle comm, tell him to keep it on so Donatello can call him later, and then fearing that if he mentions it Raphael will immediately discard it. “Just be safe.”

He turns his back on Raphael and jumps down the manhole cover, barely touching the ladder as he slides to the bottom. “I’m here,” he says, taking Michelangelo’s feet. “Let’s go.”

If Raphael keeps his turtle comm then Donatello can track him. If Michelangelo doesn’t bleed out before they get him home then Splinter will heal him. It’s not too late to fix this.

It can’t possibly be too late.

[pancakejikook]

So, I used to pretty active here, some of you might remember me. I'm not an army anymore but I still have a soft spot for jikook so I occasionally check on what they've been up to, but I don't delve deep at all and miss a lot of stuff. In the past few days however I was overcome by a sudden jikook-missing wave and started going through some of my tags from when my blog was active which made me miss them even more (and also made me realize that the overwhelming majority of the blogs I used to reblog from have since deactivated or just stopped posting/turned their blogs into something else, which was a bit sad). So I went to the jikook tag and started browsing a bit to see what was going on in the shipdom. I was a bit surprised to see how little activity there is in the tag compared to a few years ago, and there seems to be quite a mess going on: extremely polarized views compared to before, dubious amounts of delulu theories, and especially a lot of jikookers dropping the ship for one reason or another, although most or the reasons given make little sense to me (yes, I did see THAT post and all I'm gonna say is.. yikes). And like, you do you. We don't have to agree on everything. You know more than I do anyway lol, since I don't follow jikook closely. But there was one specific thing that kinda baffled me. The JM tattoo discourse. I'm late to the party, I know. I'm sure a lot was said at the time, but I wasn't around back then checking the tag. I was vaguely aware that jk talked about his tattoos in a live, and claimed the ARMY tattoo on his hand referred to armys (duh) and the J referred to Jungkook (makes sense). I literally didn't think anything of it at all at the time, I just thought it was nice of him to explain the meaning of his tats. But while scrolling through the jikook tag these past few days I realized that quite a lot of people considered that to be some sort of "debunking" that the JM stands for Jimin, sometimes to the point of dropping the ship because of it, or considering it the ultimate proof that jikookers have lost it if they still believe it stands for jimin and are now moving like teakookers or whatever. And I'm just, confused. I was like where is the debunking. Now. I'm not one for delulu theories. I think they can be fun sometimes, and I used to reblog some of them from time to time but for the most part I just thought they were cringe and always preferred to focus on jikook's actual actions and words (I never really actually cared if they were "real" or not, I just love their relationship and have enough reasons to believe they have feelings for each other and are attracted to each other, but how they deal with these feelings and attraction isn't really any of my business). However, the JM thing. I wasn't even aware it was considered a theory. For me it's just.. there. His ring finger literally spells out JM. Not a theory, it's a fact. Jk knows that JM is frequently used to refer to jimin, we literally have abundant proof of it. Jimin knows it. Armys know it. So unless you think Jungkook is a complete idiot who has somewhat never realized how that's gonna be perceived (which is possible I guess, but very unlikely), it was obviously deliberate. However, I never, ever, ever for a second thought that Jungkook would ever "confirm" it verbally one day. I see it as a statement on its own, that doesn't require an explanation and will never get one because it doesn't need one. It's just there, it speaks for itself, you can just choose whether you wanna see it or ignore it. So I was just puzzled to see people think there was any "debunking" going on. He didn't lie. Of course the M is part of ARMY. Of course the J is for Jungkook. But the JM is still for Jimin. He's not gonna say it because there is no need for him to. In a way, it's comparable to gcft. It's all there for everyone to see, and he knows it, but he's never gonna spell it out. He's never gonna say this is my love declaration for Jimin in video format. He doesn't need to, you'll see it on your own if you're open to it.

I really mean no offense but I feel that sometimes some people go so hard with the whole "I am SKEPTICAL because I'm smart and not a delulu shipper like you and I don't wanna be associated with you clowns" that it ends up circling back to being delusional except in the opposite direction. Apparently some of you genuinely think he just happened to put the J above the M, on his ring finger, and it just HAPPENS to read JM vertically. He also concidentally happens to never cover up the J with rings, and regularly gets the JM touched up but not the other letters (and I DID think jikookers were being delusional about this at first, but it kept happening and became undeniable so what was the point of denying it, I thought). All a coincidence. It doesn't mean anything, because Jungkook pointed out the obviousness of ARMY meaning his fandom and J meaning Jungkook. Did I miss something huge here?

[lesboylycan]

How did SzPD and ASPD influence how you split? Also, as a plural werewolf do you find plurality helps you manage shifting easier?

Hi thank you for the ask!!

So, I'm going to answer the second question first since that's a little simpler: it doesn't really affect it very much? Shifts are very much involuntary, although we've sussed out a few rules and we know how to trigger them if we want to be a beast for any reason. Not that we get to choose what we become but y'know lmao. Some are definitely less enthused about the whole thing than others, but that just means that if they're fronting and we start shifting, they get someone who'd actually like to be in front for it (provided we still have the mind for it, that is--beast brain isn't exactly capable of using words very well lmao).

(Note: While writing this, wei realized that it was actually ASPD specifically that causes it, not SzPD, since wei decided to go more in-depth on the reasons Why wei split which led to figuring out the specific cause. So thank you lmao! (Although, because we figured out in the middle of explaining, some earlier wordings might seem a little weird oops))

For the first question, I should clarify: for the collective in general, we don't really split, we form independent of one another. Or, in the case of many of our introjects (which, to be fair, make up 85% of the collective), they stumble through a portal somewhere--usually while on the run--and fall into here. The portals are unstable and only one-way, so they usually close after one or two headmates drop in, but sometimes there's situations like the Plainsmen where *checks notes* six people all fall in at once.

Anyways, that whole thing makes the way Wolf splits pretty unique compared to the rest of the collective. And it all started a little over a year ago, back in 2023, when we made our side blog, back when this blog was still a fandom blog for [special interest book series].

What happened was Oakley ended up forming a specific mask for @local-lovey-wolfboy, thanks to trying to avoid being found out and risking the integrity of the persona we'd portrayed on this blog. This mask was a lot colder and harsher than Oakley actually was--and is--when talking to people it knows (and when talking here, back when 'here' was a fandom blog). Slowly, though, that mask became more and more differentiated from Oakley itself... until the mask was no longer Oakley, and started becoming its own consciousness: Matty.

Okay. Try again. This time, both Oakley and Matty run the blog, although it's still Oakley... with yet another mask. Well, actually, with another two masks, technically: one of them colder for the side blog, the other a lot warmer and more excitable for this blog.

And the warmer and more excitable mask slowly became more... and more... differentiated... until the mask became Dave. Sigh. Clearly this isn't working. (Thankfully for us, we'd soon leave the fandom and make the blog into what it is today--which means less need to avoid vulnerability and foster separation between the blogs, which means less differentiation between the masks and Oakley. Yippee!)

"But um. Oakley, Matty, and Dave aren't the only parts of Wolf," I hear you saying. And you're right!

- Inti was the next one. What happened with it was, Oakley got a little too vulnerable and scared, and the vulnerable-and-scared fraction got shunted off of Oakley and became Inti. This one is less of a mask, and more related to ASPD fear of vulnerability. Inti still isn't super separated from Oakley, but neither of them mind too much; unless it specifically fronts for some reason, it usually ends up fronting to be the "mask" that shows the vulnerability and fear so Oakley doesn't have to.

- Then it was Junie. With Junie, we started getting paranoid around November that Oakley would no longer be the default; we were already struggling a lot with change, and we'd noticed a pattern of hosts and defaults only lasting a year max, and always getting switched out of the role in December. Junie, a calm mask, got separated from Oakley, who remained paranoid and scared of the idea of being forced away (but is still here!! yippee :3)--similar to Inti, it's also not the most separated from Oakley and still functions as a mask in some ways.

- And the latest one is Twitch. We won't talk about why he split off, but he is also very specifically ASPD related, specifically in the "i don't care, fuck everyone, i don't need anyone and everyone who tries to 'help' is secretly dangerous and not to be trusted" kind of way. He's also less differentiated from Oakley--enough that when he first split off, we thought he and Oakley might be a median subsystem of their own. They're not, but that's just the level of non-differentiation that's been maintained, largely because Twitch is still having to function as an uncaring, impenetrable mask instead of as his own person pretty much every time he fronts, which means he hasn't really gotten much of a chance to actually flesh himself out outside of being that mask for Oakley.

Those last three folks are the main reason why wei consider myurselves to be a disordered system via ASPD; because of the way they tend to function as masks instead of people, even when in possession of their own personhood, wei aren't always the most... functional? Wei guess? Myur problem is that wei aren't really separated enough to function, and all of them basically formed because of Oakley's inability to be vulnerable and desperation to keep itself safe from perceived threats--threats to its ego, its self-perception, its carefully-manicured outward appearance, its status and stability... you get the point. And all of meus represent a facet of one or multiple of these in some way. For meus, healing or recovering from the specific way in which wei're disordered would mean separating from each other more, combined with treating the underlying cause and thought patterns that leads to these masks being created--thought patterns directly caused by ASPD (and the trauma that led to myur ASPD developing in the first place).

[phoenix-positivity]

February 16 2024

I was about to type here that I am having lunch in this triggering place without a single fear and feeling utterly relaxed. Which was entirely true. I felt so at peace and calm. As soon as I typed out the date above in this post.. my abuser appeared, ha! What are the odds. (Quite high to be fair, which is why this location is triggering and I do exposure at it) I have chosen to sit differently today to challenge myself for more exposure which means I am facing the direction he is about to be seated. This will be interesting.

I am nervous and shaking. Breathing faster. I'm going to face this moment head on though. I will attempt to sit here until I approach a more relaxed state of mind. I must say I am afraid to look up now since I am looking down at my phone to type this. I am quite terrified to make eye contact with him.

I just looked up and he has chosen to sit with his back facing me. This is a nice development. Does this indicate he is also afraid to be confronted with me staring at him? Does he not want me to see him? He did choose a seat near me though. Perhaps he wants to be close yet stealthily. I could see him approach the building because I have a window seat and in my peripheral vision I noticed he stopped to look at me before entering the building. I wonder if he was deciding whether or not to still have lunch here.

I am starting to slowly shake less. I really don't want him to see me shaking. I want to appear completely unaffected by his presence. Like he means nothing to me at all. As if I have forgotten him and don't even know who he is. As if I would have to say: 'excuse me, I don't know who you are? Have we met before?' I want him to feel insignificant in my life.

To be honest it is quite weird to be seated in a lunch room in close proximity to a person who has attempted to completely destroy your life. I did EMDR about this person yesterday. How strange that they can just be seated there. It's almost laughable. Monsters really just walk among us don't they. I just noticed my shirt has an angry dog on it who is holding a knife in its mouth, haha. It shows not to mess with me I guess.

I take joy from the fact he is seated alone. He might be thinking the same in reverse. If only he could see me sitting here with a friend. Although being seated here alone shows my bravery and strength. I am glad he is not sitting there with another potential victim. I don't trust him to treat anyone right.

I take small glimpses at him sometimes but I am avoiding looking up from my phone. It scares me to think of him looking around into my eyes. His eyes scare me a lot I think. Having eye contact also means acknowledging each others presence. Right now I can just pretend to not be aware he is even here. I like to keep pretending. I also feel pretty much physically unable to make my head face his direction. This must just be the fear. I am breathing more calm and shaking even less. Yet I feel frozen to keep looking down at my phone. I want to challenge myself and look his direction but it's hard. It brings a lot of fear.

I looked. I'm proud of myself. It was scary so my heartbeat went up again. I like how this is real time live blogging my exposure. I just feel it would be very interesting for me to read back in the future.

It is also my goal to calm down enough to feel at peace right now. Even with him in close proximity. I want my body to know that his presence is not dangerous in this public setting. He can't hurt me because there is too many people around.

My fear is still pretty high. I'm not shaking as much though. I wonder if I can make myself look again. I did. Apparently in this meantime he has put on a beanie, lol. I wonder if he is as distressed as me. I'd almost want to stare at him and observe him. I have the upper hand in terms of being able to observe him from behind. Him turning around is too frightening of a prospect though.

I might just leave. I don't want to get a parking ticket, lol. I'll have to walk right past him to get to the exit. I hope I don't drop my plate with nerves, hahaha. Fear is for sure rising at the thought of passing him by but he can't do shit. He is just a pathetic guy. Sitting at a lunch table. He can't hurt me now. I must believe in this.

Let's go

part 2, written same day once home

I was able to leave the place feeling pretty strong. He followed me out which is weird cause he also did that last time. I wonder if it's truly coincidence or if he waited for it (I'm very much thinking the latter, but who knows). I didn't feel afraid of it though because I felt he was weak. I took a diversion which made it so I was behind him instead and then went to my car. He didn't follow me there so all was good.

Part of me wonders if he enjoys being able to sit in my proximity and have a look at me. Especially considering his previous stalking behaviour. I am curious whether he thinks I notice him or not. I don't care if he enjoys it tbh. I am just using these opportunities to realize he isn't dangerous in public settings and I can freely do as I please without him harassing me.

[roamwithahungryheart]

Ted Lasso 3x12 - An Honest Review

I completely understand the amount of dissatisfaction with the finale. I had my own reservations and admittedly didn't like a few little things about it, but it didn't ruin the episode as a whole for me.

Thinking back to when the season three trailer dropped, they warned us about what to expect with the song choice - you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you find you get what you need.

We might not have all got what we wanted, but the characters we've loved for three years got what they needed. Not necessarily forever, but for now.

Nate came back to Richmond and patched things up with Ted. Roy finally started therapy. Keeley chose herself. Sam got to play for the Nigerian team. Jamie worked through his issues with self-confidence. Rebecca got her little moment of gezellig. Ted got to make up for lost time with his son.

The key thing to keep in mind here is that this is what the characters needed in that moment. And at this point in time, we don't know whether this is truly the end for Ted Lasso. There's enough wiggle room for us to potentially pick up where the finale left off sometime in the future. There are things left unsaid, moments left unseen, that have the potential to be explored further down the line. If we don't get that, then at least we got to witness a bittersweet ending for a beloved show.

Now, it wouldn't truly be a trademark Lauren Review™ without me finding at least one parallel between Ted Lasso and the work of David Lynch - so here it is.

The mixed reactions to the pacing of the show and the direction of certain storylines reminded me of the reaction to Twin Peaks season two, when David Lynch left to pursue other projects and Mark Frost handled the show all by himself. In the case of Ted Lasso, Bill Lawrence wasn't present for all of it, which is where some of the perceived problems come in. On top of that, the longer episodes made it more of a struggle for some people to engage with the show (which is true in both cases).

In the second season of Twin Peaks, in what was perhaps the first big 'shipping war' of modern television, Audrey & Cooper didn't get the happy ending the fans wanted (although their relationship would have been problematic if it had become a romantic pairing) - they remained friends. Both Coop & Audrey were given last-minute love interests that arrived in Twin Peaks to sweep them off their feet and completely detach any sort of meaning from their connection. Annie Blackburn was a cardboard cut-out of a woman who fit everything Coop needed at the time. John Justice Wheeler was Audrey's rich, preppy Mills & Boone hero with a private jet to whisk her away on any adventure she desired. One could argue that in the third and final season of Ted Lasso, Michelle was Ted's Annie, and Matthjis was Rebecca's John Justice Wheeler. The difference is, Audrey didn't get on the plane. She knew that whatever was waiting for her with JJW was too good to be true. That leaves us to wonder, what if Ted hadn't stayed on the plane? What if Rebecca's relationship with the flying Dutchman didn't develop? Where would it leave them?

The cast have waxed poetic about the beauty of platonic love and the concept of soulmates and cosmic connections, but for a show that lived by the rules of rom-com royalty Nora Ephron, there was no romantic payoff for any of its main pairings. That's not to say platonic soulmates can't be as meaningful and important as romantic soulmates - they absolutely can - but for all the expectations they subverted, choosing to duck out of putting the show's leads together by opening the episode with a fake-out, after all the groundwork they built for them, felt like kind of a cheap shot. I will admit, though, it was kind of funny. And let's be honest, they gave the TedBecca gang a few crumbs to work with in future fanfics. We have to at least be thankful for that.

As a qualified screenwriter, do I feel this episode - and the season as a whole - hit all the right marks? No. But it wasn't a complete disaster either. Sometimes jokes didn't land. Sometimes a scene really was too long. But it was long enough for them to tell the story they wanted to tell.

I think one of the main reasons there was trouble in terms of giving the story enough space to be told was that we're living in the generation of binge-watching and streaming. The Ted Lasso writers are old school. They've been playing the long game within a short format, and only managed to break out of that restrictive mold in the third and final season.

Do I wish Apple had pulled a Showtime and extended Ted Lasso season three for eighteen episodes instead of twelve? Yes. I think it would have given them just enough space to tie up a few loose ends. But at the moment, we don't know if this is truly the end - there's a chance we might get to see how things turn out. I know, it's the hope that kills you, but I'm still going to hold on to that hope. Because that's what rom-communism teaches you - there's always hope in despair.

[donnerpartyofone]

This morning I left a long comment on a Facebook post by my dead friend's mom where she said she isn't ready to arrange a life celebration yet, and she urges people to keep sharing her daughter's memory. I had been meaning to do this for a month, but I often find Facebook too annoying to use just in UI/UX terms, and I had developed some sort of ridiculous paranoia that people would find out that I might have been the last person to speak to my friend, and that I was standing outside her apartment expecting her to let me in while she was dying. I fantasized that I would have to account for that somehow, to comb through details that I'm sure wouldn't be useful to anyone, and explain why I didn't do more when she strangely didn't come to the door or answer my texts. I still don't know what happened to her.

I reached out to the only acquaintance we shared in common, who was one of her roommates when we were neighbors. He regarded her as his best friend and has been completely shattered by this, especially as it came a year after the death of his ex-girlfriend, who who acted as their kind-of third musketeer. Privately I got a pretty good impression that he drove my dead friend nuts, but I wouldn't know if that was just a part of their "old married couple" dynamic or if they had a truly one-sided relationship. I guess you just don't always get to know how your dearest loved ones really think of you, and in fact maybe you shouldn't. He was the person I had asked to check up on her the day that she died, and he was the only person I could think to ask what happened to her, although I was afraid to. He texted me a detailed download of all the sad things that have happened to him since she died in September, and then he said he would have to wait until his day off to answer my question. I haven't heard from him and I don't think I'm going to. I'm sort of sorry I asked.

Tangentially: It struck me recently that cause of death has become the final frontier of privacy. This is fascinating to me, considering the constant state of overexposure in which most of us live. I've had several experiences in the past few years of someone dying--a casual acquaintance, a friend more than 3 degrees of separation away, a minor celebrity with a cult following in which I participate--and I just had no way of finding out what happened. These have been rare cases in which Google had nothing, not even a rumor; in the present case I was able to unearth the record of an arrest I had never heard about, but nothing about the death. Obviously if you're Michael Jackson or Prince or something then all bets are off, but below that line, if the bereaved don't choose to broadcast the cause or manner of death, then you'll just never find out what those things could have been. I'm thinking right now of another friend of mine who, we all tended to agree, had committed suicide, which was absolutely in-character for her as far as I was concerned...but at the same time, there were compounding factors that made her true level of deliberation ambiguous. I sometimes wish I could talk to someone about it, but I'm afraid it would just hurt her survivors pointlessly to hash it out. In her case, I just have to choose what I want to believe.

Anyway.

My plan that day had been to get a quick haircut before I went to London to record a commentary track for a new release of THE AMITYVILLE HORROR, based on my research into the creation of its mythology. This opportunity had come by way of a strange coincidence, and it seemed to justify the grueling self-directed project I had made out of it for the past several years. As I was preparing for my trip, which felt like the climax of a long journey with this subject, I started to feel silly about never having gone to Amityville to see the house. It's not an easy thing to justify; I'd basically be traveling for a total of 5 hours just to stand in front of the house long enough to annoy whoever lives there. But it felt like something I ought to do, as part of my devotion to the topic, so my plan was to see my friend for a quick trim, get on the Long Island Rail Road to do the thing, then return as fast as possible to pack in time to leave the house at 4am the following day. When my friend didn't let me in, only an hour and a half after we'd texted, and I waited around for 25 minutes in the boiling heat in case she had stepped out for coffee or something, before finally coming to terms with the fact that she flaked on me while I was preparing for a stressful international trip, I got all agitated and couldn't bring myself to do the rest of my plan. I've still never seen the Amityville house.

But later, after I found out what had happened, I was glad I didn't go. I imagined the alternative timeline: I went to my friend's apartment for a trim, couldn't make contact with her, went to see the legendary house where six people were brutally murdered and where, according to countless books and movies and podcasts etc, demonic possession took hold--and then I came home to discover that my friend had suddenly and mysteriously died. It would have been impossible for me not to connect these things. Not that I'm so eager to believe in curses; in fact my work has mostly focused on why belief in the supernatural has been easier to achieve than the availability of help for sufferers of mental illness, drug addiction, and domestic violence. But I'm not a hardcore skeptic either, which is exactly why this story has been so meaningful to me. We can't identify true mysteries if we don't train ourselves to analyze real-world events, and the reasons why certain events attract certain monstrous interpretations. For me this kind of training is urgently important, because I'm given to certain strains of magical thinking and I have to be vigilantly aware of what motivates my behavior and convictions. The circumstantial connection between my friend's unexpected death, and my plans for that day, could have proven irresistible to me.

Even now, obviously, I am connecting my plan to visit the cursed house at 112 Ocean Avenue to my friend's abrupt passing. The connection isn't as corrupting as it would be if I had put my feet on Amityville soil that day, but the experience I am currently having tells me exactly how potent this influence could have been at maximum. All my work has been about belief, where beliefs come from, what they do to us personally, even neurologically. I'm haunted by things I used to believe and where those beliefs came from, why I was so vulnerable to them, to the point of complicity in my own destruction. I'm sympathetic to people who believe in things that seem dicey, or in things that offer a seductive reward that outstrips the need to weigh evidence and consequences. But I believe that in many, perhaps most cases, skepticism is just as much of a belief system as faith. Hard evidence always looks that way as long as hard evidence is what you're looking for, an impression that seduces you away from noticing what personal choices you are making in the curation of your worldview. And at the risk of being overly cryptic, I have come to believe that people are only capable of perceiving that which they already believe in, whatever that might consist of. In any case, if you are really paying attention, you begin to notice that you find true proof of things less often than you simply have to prejudicially choose what you believe. These days I have tried to make agnosticism into a discipline, but at the moment I am consciously choosing to believe that my friend did not die in connection with a curse. And I am consciously acknowledging the fact that if that day of my life had gone as originally planned, it could have had a much graver impact on my experience of the death.

[tonydaddingham]

going off your god not being directly involved point, what about when she was directly yelling at Job in that minisode? /genq

hi anon! ✨ a very fair question and fair point along with it! i don't think her talking to job is truly getting involved, personally; its what she is and isn't saying thats important, imo.

if anything, she's literally separating herself from job (and by extension, humanity). she's declaring the ways in which she and job cannot be seen as equals (because, frankly, as an unfathomable and ageless entity... it's just not possible in the literal sense), and as such when he's beseeching to her for answers, her response can arguably be seen as 'sometimes there are no answers' - or at the very least 'there will be times where you will never receive answers to what you seek'... and that it's what you choose to do in response that matters.

job has gone to her to ask why this suffering is being heaped upon him, and what he has done to deserve it, when his faith has never faltered. had she answered truthfully - as far as we understand the truth to be (ie. the bet) - would that have changed job's actions and outlook? yes, quite possibly; let's say god tells him about the bet, and that to keep his faith in defiance of this adversity, would mean he is rewarded. if she had done that, he would have likely known that all he has to do is remain faithful, in order to have the happy ending that he wants (and, by all accounts, deserves).

instead, by refusing to answer and instead reinforcing the position that he is not in a position to demand answers of her (however dickish this comes across... which is to say; very), it instead puts upon him a choice, with outcomes that he is not privy to, but the audience is. we know that he potentially stands to lose everything, or have everything rewarded back to him (although, again, the audience knows that this would not necessarily be the great outcome as heaven plans and anticipates it to be). job though? his choice is blind, as with most choices we make; does he denounce his faith, or does he trust in god and keep his faith?

so yeah in summary? whilst she's physically (?) appearing and getting involved in the literal sense - fair point - to my mind she's reinstating the reasons why she will not get involved (either to stop his suffering, nor to explain it) in any meaningful sense, and leaving how job acts in response to his suffering as being of his own free will.*

(where it then gets screwy is how heaven interfere, and arguably too do crowley and aziraphale... not to say what crowley and aziraphale do at the end of the minisode wasn't the right thing to do, but i think - if anything - what the show might have been highlighting is that this dilemma of job's suffering was possibly more a test of their free will (more specifically aziraphale's), moreso than job's... but that's probably a separate conversation!)

*why she chooses this moment to show up at all in the first place, however, is still something that ive been trying to puzzle out... i do wonder i wonder if, as i said, it's less to do with job, and more to do with the two beings watching their interaction... hmm idk how i feel about that, something about it doesn't quite sit right for me.

[luvingmyships]

Kitana Kai has always been the kind of girl too really not care what people thought of her. She’s always been the best at what she did.Academic's, sports, and serving looks, and having a great alluring personality that brought people in, especially all the the boys to the yard but in many of causes it didn’t work out with them.Commitment was the farthest thing from her mind. She liked going out partying/clubbing (possibly illegally)and meeting new guys and always been upfront with her intentions ,and it didn’t change when her dad kinda uprooted her life, and moved her too her homeland of japan where she’ll be collecting another trail of tears.

Hello to all who open up my work. This is one of the first stories I’m attempt to write my best, and I’m very open to critics lets just not be mean about it. In this story the main character is multi-racial, Japanese and Afro-Latina, is identity is what makes her HER. she’s fun, flirty, and also young women that makes a lot mistakes and helps her growth. I haven’t really seen many Haikyuu stories with a black women, and I took my chance to make one, Thank you <3

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Kitana Kai

The thing about me is that I didn’t choose hoe life; it chose me. I wasn’t one to settle down in relationships. I’m young and hot, and I didn't want to limit my options, so in the meantime, I like messing with guys and their emotions. Sure, it might be a little immature, but I’m just giving them a taste of their medicine. Sometimes if they interest me enough, I might give them an inch. I like clubbing and going out and having a good time, and until now.

Some might say me being this way has something to do with both of my parents not being around. It’s not that they're dead; they are absent from my life more than I would like, and this is how I want to feel the void of it. My mom has been excluded from my life for the past fifteen years, and she cheated on my dad with a younger guy. The guy eventually left her, which led her into deep desperation is where my grandparents had to raise me. We had to come back to America from Japan because they thought I should see the other half of my family. My dad always tried to be there for me, but things were always getting in the way, working full-time and being a graduate student in engineering took a toll on him and his ability to care for me. It got better when he got his degree and had an excellent job waiting for him. While I was living with my grandparents for most of my adolescent life, my dad flew me out to see me about thousand times to spend the summer months with him and his new wife; and they also came to see me when they were able to, which made me feel seen as a child. My dad didn't have full guardianship because my grandparents wanted to. I reminded them of my mom, and my dad thought it was the most feasible thing for him to do.

My family is a little different than most because my mom is Afro-Dominican, and my dad is Japanese, not a combination you would see every day. However, they initially tried to raise me in the best of both worlds. Unlike most black biracial people, I had darker skin than most, which I had gotten from my mother. Born in Japan, having darker skin than the majority was the easiest; the only thing my father passed down to me was his eyes, where people could tell I was of Asian descent. I spent the first six years of my life in Japan, consumed by its culture; it became my first language. However, I'm still pretty proficient in Spanish and English, which made my dad think I was a prodigy to transition through them, which boosted my ego into the bad bitch I am today.

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The plane was closer to landing. Although Kitana was already ready to fly out of her seat to get them off, she had enough of the guy sitting next to her “accidentally” bumping and rubbing against her leg with his own. He thought he was so slick, looking at her sheepishly. She was ready to slap the shit out of him but risking the no-fly list was not something she wanted to do. God give her patience. She was on this plane now, landing in Japan because her grandparents thought it was time she got the chance to live with her father before she began college.

When the plane landed, Kitana stood up to get her to carry on, and the guy stood way too close, waiting to get his eyeing her up and down like he was sizing her up to see if she was a challenge.

“Do you need any help getting your luggage down, ma’am?” he asked her, already trying to reach for it, but Kitana had already snatched it down fast before he could intervene.

“No, I’m good,” she said, glaring at him rolling her eyes hard and making it down the pathway of the plane to get off. As if he had a sliver of a chance with her looking like he was fighting his receding hairline, a mortgage, and struggling to provide for his family of five.

When she made it to the airport, Kitana was already getting weird stares from the people in the airport, which she understood. She’s a black person in japan. In this country, most people wouldn't have seen black people in real life if it wasn't for television and the internet. Also, she looked confusing to most people in Japan. She had a prominent Asian feature with her eyes, but her brown skin, textured hair in a vast pineapple puff on top of her head, full lips, and slim, thick fat ass made people do a double-take, which the majority in japan does not have. Japanese beauty standards tend toward light, flawless skin, a slim, petite figure, slender legs, and a quiet personality, which Kitana did not possess when she had to speak her mind.

She tried to scavenge her dad in the sea of people that filled the airport; it didn't help that she was only five-four, so that didn't help the cause of trying to see over people's heads, so she just called her dad instead while grabbing her suitcase from baggage claim.

“Dad, where are you? I landed, and I don't see you?” Kitana said, pulling her heavy-ass luggage towards the escalator to a lower level, her piercing over the sea of people.

“ Baby, I’m on the lower level. I think I see you and your pineapple hair,” Kitana's father, Haru, said, laughing in her ear like he said the funniest thing ever. “Daddy, what did I tell you? It's called a puff; you've been with a black woman and got a black daughter and still don't know what a whole puff is with that big brain,” she said, finally getting off the escalator.

“Sweetie, you know I’m only playing with you,” Haru said, still chuckling while surprising her from behind and shocking her with a hug.

“Dad, I missed you so much; it's been too long, you know, not to sneak up on black people like that,” she said, laughing into the hug and squeezing him tight, not wanting to go because he was always there to confront the person. They started walking out of the entrance of the airport.

“I missed you too, Koibito. I’m glad we can finally be together as a whole family now; Aika and the kids are very excited to see you again, he said, to which Kitana wasn’t very surprised. Her step-mom Aika loved as if she was her daughter and would send goodies over the sea to America, and they talked on the phone almost twice a week more than she did with her father. Her little brothers also made sure their presence was known every week with FaceTime calls which she loved though it was a bit excessive. They were middle schoolers, so it's not like they had many people to call though it was appreciated.

“I’m excited to see them too, and I can’t wait to eat okaasan food. I know how she likes to make a feast every time I come around.”

“Yeah, I know she already started preparing in the morning, I just wanted to taste a little bit of it, and she hit me; also, we're not going straight home just yet. I know you're tired, but I have to pick up some important documents and items from my school, and you're going along,” Harui said while putting her luggage into his car.

“And here I thought I could just rest after my 13-hour flight,’’ Kitana groaned as she got in the car. “Don't worry, you’ll be able to rest later; it's not too far, and well, definitely make it in time for dinner.”

Kitana and her father made it out of the airport and on the ride to their first destination. They talked about her life back in America. She was at the top of her class in academics. She was a fantastic athlete in volleyball; she took her team to championships twice. She was a very accomplished person for where she was; her uprooting to live in Japan just changed the flow of everything. It's something she has to get used to. Her dad reassured her that she would do excellent even in the new environment; she would thrive.

They pulled up to Shiratorizawa Academy, a private high school in Sendai, the capital of Miyagi Prefecture. Her father teaches a couple of classes throughout the day, besides being an engineering professor at one of the nearby schools' colleges. Since the entrance exam is challenging, most students get accepted by studying hard or through sports scholarships. However, Kitana cannot attend since her father teaches, and since she has yet to take their entrance exam before her first year, it was never going to happen. So instead, she would attend Karasuno High, located in Miyagi Prefecture; it’s a bit farther. But her dad promised her a car when she came here, so it will not be a problem.

Looking out the window, Kitana saw a massive group of boys running in the same uniform, purple practice shirts, white shorts, and a zip-up jacket about half a mile away from the school, piquing her interest. They were all tall, so she guessed either basketball or volleyball for their sport of choice. They all turned to face her as the car was driving by, and she examined them, and they all looked cute to her, but the one that caught Kitana's eyes was in the front leading the run. The number on his back was number one. He was fine and had permission to get in her drawers whenever he wanted. He would tower her by a lot, she was only 5’4, and he looked above 6 feet. He had a nice lean-bulky body that Kitana wouldn't mind climbing. Unlike the rest of his team, He turned to look at her with an automatically resting bitch face that and stoic statured. Kitana stared right back at him and winked directly as they passed him. She had a thing for men like that. It was kind of her toxic trait.

When the school came into her line of sight, she was impressed with how big it was and how the building was structured. It did look like they prioritized sports in their school. There was horseback riding, tennis, and a soccer field outside. They had two separate outside gyms for the girls and boys where basketball and volleyball were practiced and played. She wouldn't have minded attending this school and joining the volleyball team; she saw reports on how both genders of the school dominate the sport of volleyball. It ranked 8th in the whole country. Who wouldn't want to be a part of that? But it's okay because no matter where she goes, she will dominate the team.

Kitana's father parked the car near the school and followed suit out of the car with him, and she was too nosey to explore the school. The sun and warmth felt great on her being outside the cold ass plane.

As Kitana and her father were making it towards the school entrance, the boys finally caught up and gathered at the front of the outside gym building, all trying to catch their breath. Their arrival brought out an older man in a tracksuit replica of their uniform, walking up to the somewhat middle-aged man supporting a buzz cut and glasses. Kitana was trying not to look, mind her business, or get in the building until her dad switched the route they were walking in and thought it was okay to get the older man's attention.

“Hello, coach Washijo is still working my students to the core, I see,” Haru says as he approaches closer to the coach and his team; they all seem too fixated on the person behind him.

“Well, how else do you think the team will get to the championships if they're not pushed to their limits? I'm not here to babysit. I'm here to train winners,” Coach Washijo said, already getting sidetracked on his plans for the team. While that conversation took place, it gave the team a chance to look at Kitana, and they were perplexed by how attractive she was. Her hair was pulled back in very neat flat braids that exposed her beautiful face with moles and freckles scattered, lips perfectly full with gloss coating them. Dressed in a light grey zip-up hoodie and grey-fit seamless athletic shorts that exposed her smooth brown legs glistening in the sun gathered the majority of the attention from the boys and the people passing by. The only gaze Kitana did not mind was the captain, who was much cuter closer up. He had dark olive-brown hair, matching hazel-green eyes, and a stoic expression, which was pretty intimidating. He has a large, muscular yet lean build and is relatively tall. His eyes moved up and down Kitana's body thinking he was slick with his glances until he met Kitana’s, who was already looking at him. She caught his eyes before making sure he knew she was slowly checking him out and gave out a dimpled smile when a blush formed on his face, which caused him to look away.

“Sensi Kai, are you gonna introduce us to the foreigner hottie that's behind you,” a voice said that pulled Kitana out of her trance, and her eye zeroed on the tall red-headed boy thats she could automatically tell had a goofy vibe about him, that just automatically made her laugh; her dad’s face turning completely red didn't help anything.

“ Satori, I would appreciate it if you reframed from using any of those unrefined comments on my daughter,'' Haru said, responding Grimley to Tendo, who also received a solicited glare from his couch.

“Well, daddy is not like he lied about me being hot cause I am most definitely not a foreigner but thank you, though,” Kitana responded in Japanese, which put the team in a state of shock that brought a deep belly laugh from the coach which was a lot more shocking than anything. This was the first time they heard it, and the man barely smiled.

“Kitana,” her dad said, not liking the sound of his daughter expressing how she looked hot, especially to these little foul-mind boys. Kitana looked away for a second to escape the glare her dad was making sure to give her, and the boy that misspoke received the same glare from his coach, to which he automatically apologized.

“And Tendo, one more word out of you, the whole team will be running another extra lap,” the coach said, which had the rest of the team looking at the redhead, daring him to say another word out of pocket.

“No need, it's fine, I'm not offended at all,” Kitana says, trying to get the heat off of him and the attention back to her, on which she succeeded because there the boys go again, checking her out. She didn't, especially from the green-eyed boy that was just carefully observing her with a slightly intimidating reactionless manner about her. Like he was disinterested in this whole ordeal and was wasting time.

“Anyways, this is my daughter Kitana. She just came from America today and will stay with me until she graduates. The funny thing is, my baby is also an amazing volleyball player, with a lot of champions under her belt,’’ Haru said, beaming with an endless amount of pride, causing Kitana to shield herself from the embarrassment of her dad always bringing this topic up in front of people.

“Really, in what position” the old man's coach said, not convinced that a person of Kitana's small-statured was a remotely great player. She didn’t like being doubted by anyone and was already catching an attitude.

“Yes, really, I was captain of my team before the move as a setter, but I was occasionally a spiker, and I can assure you that my dad isn’t wrong; I’m a winner and am the best at what I do,” Kitana said looking at the grumpy old ass old man with her arms crossed in a challenging way.

“Well, in that case, why don't you join us for practice today.”The other younger coach said, intervening before anything else could be said between them. Kitana wanted to decline because she didn’t prove herself to these men, but her dad beat her to a response.

“She’d love to. I have a few things to grab inside from my class anyways so you can join them, hon” Giving her a little forehead kiss and pushing her towards the group before leaving her with a wave.

“Well, I’m joining you guys for a minute. Let's see how great you are,'' Kitana says, turning her attention back to the team and giving them a dimpled smile that made most of them weak in the knees. They all filled into the colossal gym and started getting paired off for warm-ups and passing drills, and Kitana got paired off to number eight on the team. A first-year boy that was kind of adorable. He looked about 5’11 with a medium build, and his most notable attribute was the back bowl cut that he was wearing. He introduced himself with a fit of stutters as she took her jacket off, revealing the grey backless sports bra she was wearing underneath,also revealing the tattoo placed on her spine near her neck were two koi fish in Ying -Yang and going down the spine in Japanese Kanji had the saying “ a montage of love”. Kitana was big on tattoos, other than the one on her back she had a vine of flowers under her left under boob. Two butterfly tattoos on her head that she shared with a friend and the back of her right ear two small tattoos of the sun and the moon with tiny stars.

“I-um,’’ He squeaks when he tries to speak, so he clears his throat before restarting, “Goshiki!” he says so loud, sticking his hand out that all the other boys were snickering because of it, Specially that red-headed one from earlier.

Kitana rolled her eyes at them and shook his hand. “Well, hello, Goshiki, I don’t know if you heard earlier, but I’m Kitana. It’s nice to meet you. Looks like I’m your practice partner for today’’ She says, smiling up at him, causing him to blush. Seeing a pretty girl this up close that smelled amazing and had the potential to be a great volleyball player was the highlight of his week.

He stood there for a second just taking her in without blinking. “ Are you good in there my guy” she says, laughing a little, taking him out of his trance, getting a little closer with the ball in hand.

“Umm- yeah, yes I’m good, I just thought your tattoo is pretty cool. Did it hurt? Wait, did your dad allow you to get that? Are those the only ones you have? I’m sorry I’m asking too many questions.” Goshiki replied nervously, fingers running through his bangs,panicking inside a little, believing that the questions were a little intrusive to her. But he was just curious, no one he knew had a tattoo. Usually the people are very discreet, with keeping there’s hidden. but here’s this girl, not caring, having her back out in display with it, decorating her spine, which all just made her a whole lot more appealing than she already does.

It seems to be that the other players were in agreement with his internal thoughts, with her facing him. He’s able to catch them, with they’re envious sneaking peeks.Tendo, wasn’t even trying to hide it . All a bit shocked by her back exterior. Even the coaches.

“ No, you’re good, I don't mind the questions. Yes, my dad knows, about it he’s the one that paid for it as a birthday present and my overall accomplishments. But since I was 17 getting it, I needed my grandparents permission. I can’t lie,Yes, it hurts a bit. And also yes, I have three other more” she says, giving the ball a little dribble.

“Really?? where are they” He says catching the ball passed to his eyes spreading all over her body to see the different inks.

“Well they’re in secret places, can’t really show unless you want to get really close and personal” she says teasingly this boy was easy. His cheeks started to get red and flustered.

“ It's a joke, what position do you play?”

“I’m a winged spiker, but I will take Ushijima's spot and be the ace of this team,” Goshiki says excitedly, starting the passing drill with the ball where they pass to themselves at first and then backward pass to their partner.

“Winged spiker, okay, we love to see it. I was one alsoe; I still am, actually, but I’m a setter for most of my games. Since you're not the ace, who’s this Ushijma that is' ' Kitana says while hitting her pass backward.

“Shirt # 1, he's the captain of our team. He plays as a wing spiker and is the team's ace. He was the number one ace in Miyagi Prefecture and ranked among the country's top three aces.,” Goshiki says, catching the ball, head nodding towards the direction of the net where there was a three-person practice happening with striking, which involved the talkative red-head who was #5, #10 who seemed to be lecturing him about something, and then # 1 who turned out to be the fine ass stoic guy who she was checking out, now she was continuing to do.

“ We’ll dame he’s pretty hardcore, skill level is amazing too, and kinda cute is he in a relationship” Kitana said not one to beat around the bush when she wants something, and for right now, her eyes were set on the captain.

“Cute??” Goshiki says almost missing the ball, in which he had hit the receive harder than he should have,perplexed by the words that just came out of her mouth, and her boldness.Ironically the ball ending up near the foot of ushijima.