#I thought that it was a mindset folks naturally fell into (like me) but it turns out people are just... blatently saying it

[mokeonn]

I'll make a post about it later but I swear the WORST advice I see being passed around in art circles is that art is a popularity contest and the only possible way to make money off of art, especially online, is to get popular first. Like that is BLATANTLY false.

The art community CONSTANTLY has to remind artists how damaging the numbers game is, and I think a huge reason why is because of how common a misconception it is that you have to be popular to make a living. It feels like the second I leave my specifically curated tumblr art community, I am bombarded with this idea.

[jarofstyles]

Haze

Hi bestie babes, here is a best-friends-to-best-friends-with-benefits piece! I am unsure if I'm doing a second part but if I did it'll be later on down the line.

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WC- 8k

warnings- use of marijuana, friends with benefits, biting, daddy kink, soft Dom H hehe

“H? Do you really think I’m pretty?” Y/N’s voice was slightly slurred, a mix of both tired and high as a kite from the joint they’d finished just a bit ago. The cool air flowed in from the window they’d cracked in order for her landlord not to get a call to complain, but she welcomed the chill. She always got a bit hot in her skin when the high hit her. “Don’t lie to me. Give it to me straight.

She loved smoking, sure, but she hated how it made her mind think about things she had purposely been putting off. Like her awful fucking dating life and how stupidly lonely she was.

Harry sat next to her on the sofa, his legs spread in an obnoxious manspread, his fingers messing with the Rubik’s cube. It wasn’t uncommon for them to smoke together- he was her best friend- but she wanted his opinion. The poor man was going to be subject to her insecurity.

Her string of bad dating experiences lately had made it hard to believe it wasn’t a her problem.

"Pretty? Babe, you're beautiful. Come off it." he mumbled, eyes still on the puzzle game. He was in that fluid mindset, neither here nor there. His reassurance felt nice but at the same time, a little vague. Her face contorted in a frown as she looked over at him. He was still baked, so she got it, but still. A little more would be nice.

“You have to say that. You’re my best friend. Tell me honestly, H. What is.. what is wrong with me? Because I don’t know how someone can go on so many bad dates and it not be a them problem.” It had been plaguing her the whole time and harshing the high. The words needed to come out. “I’m the common denominator.”

Finally, he put the Rubik's cube down and turned to face her fully, his gaze locked on hers. Sure, he was dazed from the weed, but he wanted to be sincere with her once he had heard how she had actually been a bit torn up from it. As hard as she tried, it wasn’t easy for her to hide her emotions from him. Even high Harry could see past the playful quips she had made lately. It had only been a matter of time before she had asked him about it and in his opinion, it was bullshit. There was nothing wrong with her at all. Y/N was amazing, but it was only natural to become a little insecure when someone had the string of bad luck like she had.

"Y/N, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you. I'm being completely honest with you, I swear. It's not you, it's them.” He winced knowing how cheesy it sounded but it couldn’t really be helped at the moment. “You're a fuckin’ amazing, smart, beautiful, funny, talented, kind person... I could list off all your good qualities cause there’s loads of ‘em, but m’high and can't think straight enough right now t’give you the fancier words like… exuberant? Pretty sure that one’s right ."

Y/N let out a little laugh. She could hear it in the low tone of his voice and how it seemed to take him longer than normal to say things when he was stoned and trying his absolute hardest to get that out, but it was a little cute. Too bad it wasn’t enough to get her out of her wallowing.

“Then I’m doomed.” She groaned, sinking into the couch. Her hands came up to cover her face, a tired sound leaving her as she tried to reset. “Dude, do you know how entirely and overwhelmingly exhausting it is? And don’t you dare call me dramatic.” Her eye peeped up at him before she fell back into a huff. “I know you get sex on tap but for the rest of us normal folks, it’s like a war zone out there.”

Harry snickefed at her little quip as he watched her sink into the couch. Letting out a sigh as he really thought about it though, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "I understand how you feel, trust me. It's not easy for anyone. Although I have to admit, I can't exactly relate to your dating struggles, not really. I just happen to be lucky enough to have a very dedicated fanbase."

He was joking but… not really. He always teased her about this. The women who tended to hang out around the garage or try to get near him after hours to ride him in the cars that he just fixed… It wasn't hard for him to get what he wanted. Being good looking, tattooed, solid and single, it got you a lot of places, and a lot of ass. If only she could relate.

“Yeah, yeah. Slut.” She grumbled lightheartedly, kicking her foot against his thigh. It wasn’t fair it was as toned as it was. “You’re a mechanic and you’ve got all the rich soccer moms throwing themselves at you for a romp in the backseat while their husbands are at work. That’s nice and all, but the dating pool for us commoners is abysmal at best.”

Shooting him a glare, she grabbed the bag of goldfish shaped crackers and popped some into her mouth. “At this point I’d be fine with a friends-with-benefits sorta thing- but god damn it, I just want someone to love me at some point.” There was a moment of silence before she cleared her throat. They didn’t really discuss their sex lives and stuff often so she took his silence as one of not knowing what to say- which was fair. She was sorta dumping this all on him. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t that insane. Everyone went through shit like this. “Sorry. I don’t mean to actually be dramatic this time.”

Harry shook his head at her remark, giving her a reassuring smile that had his eyes crinkling at the corners. He locked his gaze on her face as he listened to her speak, his expression softening with understanding instead of the smug joking he was giving off before. "Hey, s’alright babe. You're not being dramatic. It's how you feel, and I understand that. Everyone deserves love, and I have no doubt you'll find it."

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. When he spoke again, his voice low and sincere as he knocked his hand against her thigh to get her to look at him.

"Y/N... can I ask you somethin’? And don’t make it weird.” He warned, making her unsure what the hell he could be asking.

Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she turned to look back at him with a questioning look on her face. “Sure. What’s up?”

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure whether he should ask or not. It would most definitely change their dynamic if she was offended or freaked out by it, but regardless he felt like it it was something he knew he had to ask. He shifted on the couch, turning to face her fully, taking a deep breath and letting his gaze lock on hers before speaking.

"Y’know how you were saying how you're open to a friends with benefits thing? And how you're tired of being alone?"

“Yeah…. I literally said it like, two second ago.” She replied, voice slow and drawn out. She knew she was foggy, but damn. Of course she didn’t want to draw conclusions but she had to wonder why he would be bringing that up again. Her heart beat a little harder as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

His gaze remained steady on hers, his expression unreadable. He took a moment before speaking again, his voice low and slightly hoarse. Of course he wanted to be careful with his words, in the off chance this could offend her but he knew that he’d kick himself for not asking if he avoided it. He took a deep breath before asking the question.

"I was wondering... if you'd be interested in having an arrangement like that... with me."

Blinking rapidly, she had to be sure she wasn’t just hearing things. Usually she wasn’t the type to have hallucinations when high, but she didn’t know if he would ever actually suggest that. “Uh.. can you repeat that?”

Harry smiled softly as he saw her surprise. He knew it was a big ask, but he was committed to the idea now.

Leaning forward, his voice was smooth and deliberate as he repeated his question, this time with more confidence considering she hadn’t completely looked disgusted at the idea.

"I was asking if you'd be interested in having a friend's with benefits arrangement with me. No strings attached, just a... way to fulfill certain needs without the commitment. What would you say to something like that?"

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” The nod was casual, as if that hadn’t just completely freaked her out. Not in a bad way! But in a…. What-the-fuck-my-best-friend-just-asked-me to-casually-hook-up-on-the-regular, sort of way.

“Uh… I’m not saying no, but I have to ask why you’d suggest that? I didn’t think you were attracted to me in the slightest.” It had completely come out of left field. The intent behind complaining wasn’t for him to offer but to get genuine advice from him considering he never seemed to struggle in the dating department.

"Who the hell said I wasn't attracted to you? I’ve always thought you were stunning.” It wasn’t supposed to come off defensively but he had to wonder in the moment if maybe it did. Harry had never once thought of her as anything but mind blowingly gorgeous.

“Okay, but you have to say that. You’re my best friend, like I said before. I just….” Hesitance grew on her face, looking over his own for any sign of joking. If he was, her ego really couldn’t handle another blow. “I really don’t want to be a pity fuck. And I also don’t want to like… no offense to you, I don’t want to sleep with someone who isn’t exclusive with me? Not like in the dating sense but like, I’d ask you not to sleep with anyone else for safety and I don’t know how you’d feel about that.” Maybe she was rambling but thoughts were running rampant in her already overcrowded brain. Asking him not to fuck anyone else felt like an overstep for some reason.

As she spoke, Harry nodded along, listening intently. He understood her hesitation and appreciated the honesty; it was one of the things he had always loved about her- But he certainly didn't want her to feel like a “pity-fuck” either. That was the furthest thing she could be. He could respect her wanting a certain degree of exclusivity, especially for safety. He knew he was a bit of a whore and he wasn’t ashamed of it, but he had full ability and sometimes the wish to be monogamous- more than he expressed. Granted, if it were anyone else he’d probably feel a little suffocated in an ask like that but… It didn’t sound so bad when it came to Y/N.

"I get it," he said, nodding in agreement. Reaching out and placing a hand on her knee, his touch warm and gentle, he tried his best to reassure her. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't find you attractive, Y/N. It's not about pity, it's about wanting a connection with someone I know and trust. And it’s not like it isn’t a convenience for me, too. No awkward leaving afterward, no like… ‘here I’ll get you a cab’ or saying no to a sleepover. We’ve slept in the same bed loads of times and you know I love a cuddle..”

Sharpening her gaze on him, she tilted her head. “Is this because you wanna do some crazy kinky stuff? Cause I’m open but I dunno how crazy I’ll get.” She was kind of kidding…. But kinda not. There were her own things she wanted to explore, but she didn’t want to be a lab rat.

Harry's eyebrows raised at her question, slightly taken aback. He couldn't help but laugh lightly at her tone, but there was also a hint of genuine interest in his reply.

"You really think I'm into kink, huh? Some sort of freak in the sheets?” Wiggling his brows, he teased her. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t obvious that he was a bit of a frequent fucker, but he didn’t have much shame in that. It wasn’t a kiss and tell sort of situation, but he wasn’t shy about letting her know he’d had a lovely night the day prior when need be. “Well, maybe. But no, that's not the only reason..." He let out a breath, a smirk on his lips. "But I'd loveeee to find out what you'd be open to, if we did this."

“Nope, you first, casanova.” She bounced in her seat, getting closer. Her nosy tendencies took precedence over everything else, it appeared. Getting to know more about him that was was enticing and she couldn’t hold herself back. “What's the crazy stuff you’re into? C’mon, we never talk about this stuff.”

Harry was open about the fact he had a healthy supply of offers and hookups but she had stopped him a few times from giving details. Mostly for her sake, so she didn’t see him as some sort of deviant- even if he was. Now, though, knowing she was potentially someone who could experience said things? Her curiosity was killing the cat. Her cat. Metaphorically speaking.

The man’s lips curled into a small smile as he saw her eager expression. He leaned back on the sofa, his arm stretched out behind her. He was throughly enjoying her nosiness- maybe for the first time- considering it gave him the perfect opportunity to tease her a bit more. "Oh, where do I even start... I have quite a few kinks, darling. But I have a feeling you'd like to hear about a certain one..."

“Okay… so tell me.” She rolled her hand to motion to him to continue. Patience really wasn’t Y/N’s strong suit and it was beginning to show, even if the smoking had initially relaxed her. “Let’s hear it. I want to know what I’d be getting myself into, besides greasy hands and the smell of motor oil.” Though she’d never admit how she’d learned to enjoy it, too.

He couldn’t lie and say he wasn't enjoying how intently she was looking at him, how her gaze was fixed on his every move. He leaned forward just a bit, his voice dropping lower as he continued* "Alright, y’wanted to know, you'll get to know like the princess y’are. But keep in mind, I've got a few of these, not just one." The taunting made her give him that impatient look he was used to, snickering under his breath as she bore her eyes into him.

“Okay. Lay them on me, tell me!” She huffed, knocking his knee. “You’re edging for no reason. I already know that one because you’re gross. Tell me the real stuff.”

Raising a brow at her eagerness, he leaned back again with his arm still draped behind her. He began speaking again, letting his voice drop a bit. "Alright, just a little tiny taste then… See if you can handle it. I've got a thing for power dynamics, darling. Particularly, I like to be in control."

“Mm… I could have guessed that. You’ve got the whole smolder thing, and you do the…” Y/N put her hand behind his neck before pulling it off. “Then you do the neck holding thing when we go out. You like to control where people go. Boss me around. So I had a clue. Give me one I wouldn’t expect.”

The perceptive observations hadn’t been something he expected, but it did amuse him. He reached up to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, his fingers lingering against her skin.

"You know me too well, little dove." He muttered, his eyes sparkling with mischief. This was a conversation he was enjoying. Not one he anticipated tonight, no, but one that had him on the edge of his metaphorical seat. His real seat was leaned against the back of the couch. "Okay then... how about this? I also enjoy a bit of exhibitionism. Kinky enough for you?"

“Oh?” She sat with it for a moment. “Actually… that makes sense too. You’re understated in public but you still get a lot of attention. Behind the scenes you’re an attention whore and stuff, which I know first hand but… yeah.” She huffed. “Damn. Can’t believe I didn’t guess that sorta stuff.” Another question popped into her mind. “Wait… what have you done with that? Are you talking like. Dressing rooms, cars? Or in front of people for real?”

Harry grinned as she continued to analyze his kinks, watching her as she went through it in her head. Had she thought about it before on her own? That wasn’t something he’d mind, in all honest. He chortled at her question and leaned back, his arm wrapped behind her. He didn't want to reveal too much but he was enjoying this back and forth. Maybe a tad bit more than he should be.

"You've got good instincts, darling. Yes, I enjoy exhibitionism. And yeah, both dressing rooms and cars are on the list. But not just that... I like a bit more of an audience sometimes. But that’s a different conversation. I can explain why I like it, though. Since you seem to be so curious.”

“Do tell.” Yes, maybe she was a little nosy but… it was slightly arousing. Harry was interesting to her before but now, with the idea of her being in those scenarios, she felt an elevated desperation to know.

Harry noticed how her eyes darkened with excitement as she listened to him and it made a feeling of satisfaction twist in his gut. Having an effect on her was something he hadn’t realized he’d enjoy so much, but now that he had a taste he wanted to see more of it. He shifted a bit closer, his voice dropping into a low whisper. "I like the thrill of being caught. The danger of it, y’know? I love that it’s risky, that your adrenaline pump and you’ve got t’be quiet. Or you don’t, and you have people see- when it’s appropriate.” That was something he’d experienced a few times. “I’ve had it happen before. Maybe I could arrange that, if that’s something you’d want. People watching, not touching, just watching me touch you... and I’d touch you plenty, darling."

“I think um, I’d like it” It was hard to talk with how her tongue felt tied. “I’ve not done a lot of it but I think I’d be open to seeing and doing more of it.” Her voice weakened, feeling him close to her. His cologne was warm and slightly spiced, his fingertips brushing her arm. Y/N had never experienced the sort of thing he was describing. The most she had done was fuck in a car. “Y-Yeah. I think that’s something we could um… try.” She cleared her throat, trying not to show how affected she actually was. It was hard not to. “What other kinks? Anything I wouldn’t guess?”

Harry saw right through her attempts to seem unbothered and he grinned, his hand continuing to lightly brush against her shoulder. He was enjoying the effect he had on her, the more the minutes passed by. It was a brand new side of her that he hadn’t been privy too prior, but now that he had a chance to? He was going to indulge.

"Glad you're up for trying it, darling. And as for other kinks..." He paused for a moment, his gaze trailing over her body before he spoke again in a deeper voice.

"I'm also into a bit of rope bondage, but that’s for another day too. The typical things you’d expect in kink too, the rougher stuff sometimes, but I really like working you up until you can’t take it anymore. Making you desperate, y’know?"

“Ropes?” She swallowed the shock. “Oh. Hm…” it made sense given the other things but for some reason she hadn’t expected him to be into actual ropes. “I’d have thought maybe more handcuffs but you do like being difficult, don’t you?”

It was a joke but it slightly intimidated her. Nothing she wouldn’t try, though. She trusted him to do that sort of thing with her, if they got to it.

Harry hummed at her surprise and leaned a little closer, his hand coming up to her chin to tilt her face towards him. His eyes locked with hers, his tone serious. It was hard to ignore how beautiful she was now that he was allowed to think that way. It was something he’d tried to limit his brain from indulging in before, but knowing he’d have all the rights to be the one to stare and touch her, he felt like a layer had been peeled back.

"Yeah, darling, I like being difficult. And I like being in control. But we'll take it slow, alright?" He saw the hint of intimidation on her face and the small act of rebellion he liked to see in her. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, her skin hot and soft under his touch. “Nothin’ you don’t want t’do. I’ll make sure you're comfortable. Even if you’re a miserable little brat sometimes.”

“I…” her train of thought was stalled by the tender touch. Harry was… he was being a lot more liberal with his touches. Sometimes he was when he was high in general but this itself had her feeling hot under her skin. There was that intention now that this was slightly more than what friends do. “I can’t lie and say I’m not slightly intimidated by the thought of us doing stuff together. You’ve done a lot more than me.” She admitted meekly.

Harry simpered as he heard her confession and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He appreciated her honesty, understanding her intimidation. It would be the same for him in her position, but luckily he was going to use his advantage for good. "I know I've done more than you, but that's not a good nor a bad thing. Everyone is experienced in their own way, darling. And that's the point of us doing this... to explore each other, to learn what the other likes." He ran his hand down her arm, his fingers lightly tracing her skin, sending chills across her body.

His fingers curled around her wrist, lightly pulling her up and leading her to straddle his lap. This wasn’t at all where she had expected this night to go but… she couldn’t complain. With her nerves aside, Harry was by far one of the most attractive people she had ever met. There was no way she could turn away the opportunity to feel the way he touched someone romantically.

“You’re really okay not sleeping with anyone else in order to do stuff with me?”

Harry gazed up at her as she straddled his lap, his hands sliding up her thighs, pulling her closer against him. He looked up at her with a mix of desire and affection, appreciating her concern for his boundaries. "I'm absolutely fine with it," he assured her, his voice a low rumble. "I don't want anyone else." His hand came up, gently cupping her jaw. "I want to make you feel good, Y/N. I want to give you all the pleasure you deserve, and I want to be the only one doing it."

Y/N let out a weak sound as his lips pressed against the corner of her mouth. Having him so close was making her feel lightheaded, placing her hands on his shoulders as he tugged her closer to him, chest to chest.

“What do you want to do tonight?” She mumbled, eyes dropping to his lips back up to his eyes. “We don’t have to do like, everything and stuff but… I dunno.” The weed definitely made her aroused.

Harry chuckled softly, his lips just barely grazing the corner of her mouth, teasing her again. Feeling her body against his, her hands on his shoulders, it sent a wave of heat through his body. He doubted she knew that he’d started getting aroused when she started talking about what he’d be into.

"You're cute when you're bashful, darling. And high." He teased, his lips curving into a smirk as he spoke against her skin. "As for what I want to do... I just want to enjoy this moment. Maybe smoke a bit more, later. But mostly I just want to touch you."

“O-okay. You can touch me however you want.” Giving him that opening was bold, but she also knew she needed to just let him take charge. He said he liked to dom, so he would take care of her. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt soft presses of his lips over her cheek, down to her jaw.

“You smell really good.”

Harry could feel himself holding back the pleased noise. The little compliment was a welcomed one, but he didn’t get them often from her. It was a new part of their dynamic but he couldn’t find himself upset with it. In fact, he was going to do everything he could to get some more out of her. He glanced at her, enjoying the way her eyes closed in response to his touch. Running his nose down the column of her neck, he took a little inhale of her scent. Sugary Sweet. Just like her.

"So do you, darling." He spoke against her skin.

In a test of how she’d react, he let his hands slid under her shirt, his fingers tracing along her bare skin. There was no stiffening, so he continued slowly moving closer to the hem of her bra. His lips continued their path down, leaving behind a trail of tingling sensations and wet marks on her skin.

The shaky exhale was louder than she had wanted, his hot fingertips burning a trail over her skin. He took the permission to heart, tracing the bottom of her bra as his lips moved down her collarbone.

Her breathing hitched as she felt his teeth sink into the skin lightly, a firm sucking making her fingers grip his shoulders tightly and nails dig into him just a bit. “Oh, shit… why does that feel good?”

Harry giggled against her skin as he felt her nails digging into his shoulders, enjoying the fact he was already getting a reaction out of her. He continued to kiss and bite her skin, occasionally sucking on the sensitive parts, marking his territory and drawing out more sounds from her.

"Cause I know what I'm doing, darling." He murmured against her skin before biting her collarbone again, this time a bit rougher.

“Oh my god.” She keened, head falling back as her hand came up to cup the back of his head. Fingers curled in his hair, feeling his mouth mark her up while his hand went under her bra, cupping her in his palms. “Fuck.”

Y/N felt the pulsing between her slick thighs, her sleep shorts riding up as she shuffled closer and pressed his mouth harder against her skin. It had been a while since she’d gotten laid but it was a little embarrassing how quickly he managed to get her to feel completely insane.

The sounds of her keening and breathing and the feeling of her arching into his touch was making his own need for her grow. His lips continued to work her her skin, marking and kissing and doing all the things he wanted because it felt like heaven to have this on tap. He could only imagine how much better their smoking sessions would be, how much more fun sleepovers would be if he got to love her up like this without a second thought.

“H…” she whimpered. Rocking her hips slightly, she rubbed against his bulge she could feel clearly between her thighs. “You’re h-hard already?”

Harry hummed quietly, feeling a thrill as she rubbed against him. His lips curled into a smirk against her skin before he lifted his head up, looking at her with darkened eyes. "Yeah, 'course I am, darling. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

Moving his hands back down to her hips, he gripped them tightly to grind himself against her. Give her a taste of just how hard his cock got for her. There was no reason for her to doubt. “You did this, sweet girl. S’all your fault.”

“Oh, shit.” She groaned, giggling at the end as she felt his mouth fall onto her chest. Wet, sloppy kisses were placed on the tender skin as she felt him guide her back and forth, setting a pace for the friction. “I can’t tell if it’s been a long time or if uh… if you’re just really good at this.”

Both. It was absolutely both.

Harry chuckled against her chest, his breath hot against her skin before his smirk widened.

"Mm, I would like to think it's because I'm really good at this," his hands guided her hips, setting a slow, torturous pace. "But maybe also a bit of both. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “9 months.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her response and tilted his head to the side.

"Nine months? Damn, babe." He murmured, his hands going under her shirt, his fingers tracing up her sides, making her shiver. Getting the reactions from her felt almost as good as her rubbing over his cock. "That's a long time."

“Just didn’t find anyone good enough to let in my bed.” She retorted, using her grip on his head to guide him back to her chest. “Take my shirt off.”

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He quickly pulled her shirt off, throwing it over his shoulder, before his hands came back up to her body, slowly tracing up her stomach, his fingers brushing over her skin. The thought had been there quite a few times over what she’d look like bare, but this was a brand new vision for him. One he absolutely adored.

"Beautiful." He murmured, his gaze wandering over her chest as he took in the sight of her bare skin, his breathing growing a bit heavier.

Her voice interrupted his inspection of her body. “Bra, too, please. Have to bite the bullet.” Despite her nerves that maybe he wouldn’t like what he saw, she felt comfortable with him. Harry wouldn’t ever make her feel bad. That much she knew for certain.

Plus… she wanted to feel more of his mouth.

Harry chuckled softly and nodded, his gaze locking with hers for a moment as he ran his fingers over the straps of her bra, pulling them down over her shoulders.

"You're so beautiful, darling. Don't ever feel nervous around me," his reassurance grounded her, his voice gentle but firm.

He reached behind her back, quickly unclasping her bra and pulling it off, tossing it away. Taking a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, his eyes lit with desire. “God. You don’t even understand how phenomenal you are, do you? M’a lucky son of a bitch that you’re letting me touch you at all.”

Y/N continued to rub herself against him, feeling flushed at the praise. It was embarrassing that she had a pretty good idea that her sleep shorts were getting soaked, but she was swollen and wet and the motions itself of him between her legs were getting her embarrassing close.

Feeling his mouth kiss over the naked skin, she let out a moan that she hadn’t expected to. He was delicate but demanding, taking what he wanted.

Harry groaned as he felt her rubbing herself harder against him, his hands gripping her hips tightly to guide her movements. He couldn't resist the need building up inside him, the need to make her moan and whimper and squirm beneath him.

"You sound so pretty, darling," The compliment murmured against her skin, his lips traveling down her chest, stopping every so often to leave wet kisses, claiming every inch of skin he could. Selfish, possessive, needy. He wouldn’t deny any three of those allegations should she so choose to label him.

“It’s gonna feel so good when you’re inside of me.” She whispered, almost in awe. He was thick and long and she could feel every inch under her. It was almost intimidating to feel it and know that was going to be inside of her at some point. “But I… we have to wait for that. Wanna do that when we aren’t all… you know.” High. At least the first time they fucked, she wanted to be sober completely. “I think I could get off just like this, though. I feel so good right now.”

Harry nodded, his lips continuing to leave wet kisses on her skin, his hands roaming up her sides as he continued to grind himself against her.

"Impatient, aren't you, darling?" He teased, nipping at her neck before moving his mouth to her ear, whispering in it. "You'll just have to wait for that, though. But...there's always other ways to get us both off, hm?"

“Which way?” She breathed, eager to hear any and all suggestions he had.

Harry held her gaze, his eyes dark and full of desire as he spoke in a low, husky tone.

"Let me show you."

He gently pushed her back until she was laying down, his hands running down her thighs, pushing them apart slowly. Shifting his position, he hovered over her, his body fitting perfectly between her legs. His weight rested on his forearms as he looked down at her, she felt her world right itself from how it had been tipped over.

Y/N hadn’t expected the shift of direction but she liked it. Feeling him on top of her, she felt… delicate. Protected. Even if his gaze was predatory and hot, she knew he was good hands to be in.

She also hadn’t expected his hands to grab her shorts, pulling them off and tossing them to the side- but as soon as her panties were exposed, he settled back between her thighs. It was less of a barrier between them.

Harry hummed in approval as he got a glimpse of her panties, taking a moment to admire the sight before him. "You're so fucking wet, darling. Made a mess of those useless shorts. Panties aren’t much better." He murmured, his eyes roaming over her body before they went back up to her face. "And I fuckin’ love that you're all mine right now."

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. Grabbing his face, she pulled it back up to her own and kissed him. Taking matters into her own hands, she felt him reciprocate immediately. And god, could the man fucking kiss.

Harry let out a soft curse at her sudden action but didn't hesitate to kiss her back through it all, his lips moving against hers hungrily. He pressed his body closer against hers, trapping her beneath him as his tongue delved into her mouth, greedily tasting and claiming her like he had been teasing the whole time.

“I wish you could fuck me right now.” She whimpered, feeling him rock against her. His cock perfectly pressed against her cunt and their mouths lapping against one another’s, it was heated and desperate. They couldn’t, not right now, but the idea of it had her slick and throbbing. It was unfair how her body was so primed and ready for him but she had to do the right thing. He’d feel so perfect inside of her and she’d be so full and they both knew it. “I wish you were inside me.”

Harry groaned at her words, the sound almost like a growl as he buried his face against her neck, his breathing getting heavier as he heard her whimper. He rocked his hips against her, his own need growing stronger with every second that passed.

"You have no idea how badly I want that, darling. But we can't...not yet." He whispered against her skin, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “I’m plenty patient, though. I’ll wait for you to want it, and then…” the pause was heavy. “Then I’ll give you every fucking thing you’ve ever wanted out of a fuck. Can promise you that.”

“I know. I know.” There was no doubt that he was fully and utterly capable. She swallowed back her desperation, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull them closer. “You just feel so good against me. I never expected this…” she whispered against his mouth. “But I’m so happy you decided to be horny and suggest it.”

Harry laughed, leaning down to press his lips against her neck again, licking at the skin as he continued to move his hips against hers, his body hot and heavy against hers. He lifted his head up slightly, looking down at her with darkened eyes as he took in how she had started to look a little blissed out. Just how he wanted her.

"I didn't expect it either, darling. But... I'm glad I did." He murmured, his fingers caressing her skin as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Rubbing back and forth, rocking his clothed cock into the sticky heat of her ruined panties, he knew her scent would be on them and that just sort of did something to him. Her own mark left on him.

Y/N felt the bubbling pleasure in her tummy. Feeling him rutting against her, the softness of his tongue as it brushed against her own, his hand curled around the back of her neck in such a possessive and firm grip, she felt controlled in the best way. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him grind harder against her.

“Fuck, Daddy. That feels so fucking good, feeling you against my cunt.” She purred, keeping herself glued to him. There was a pause of moment but she could feel him twitch against her, the sharp intake of breath as he tried to catch himself. It had been a shot in the dark, but one that hit the bullseye. “You like when I call you that? Does it make you feel good too?”

The reaction was visible. The man liked it more than she could even seem but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to play into it to see just how far it went. “Daddy… daddy…. Dadddy.” She taunted, whispering it against his skin. “You’ll make me cum like this. Just keep grinding into me…. Just like this.”

Harry groaned at her response, his lips moving down to her neck, leaving biting kisses in his path. The honorific had him weak, even more worked up than he had thought he could be in this scenario. Little Y/N was getting bolder by the minute and he fucking adored it. It made him wonder what else he could get out of her.

"You're gonna get it, darling. Jus’ be patient and let me make you feel nice, the way you’ve been wantin’ too." he murmured against her skin, his hips continuing to move against hers, keeping a steady pace. His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him, his eyes dark and intense as he looked down at her. "Daddy's gonna take such good care of you, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt it."

Harry was hot to the touch, her fingers guiding his face back to kiss her as he ground his cock into her. She could feel how it twitched against her, her legs keeping him close so they could stay glued together. “That feels…” she babbled. “S’good. So good, H. I feel so hot and I’m so fucking wet and I wish there wasn’t anything between us but we gotta be good. So good.” She rambled. It was hard to control what left her mouth. She would call it temporary insanity if he brought it up again outside of their arrangement, but the simple movements were making her lose her goddamn head.

Harry's breathing was getting heavier by the minute, his heart pounding against his chest like they wanted to escape his ribcage as he continued to rock his hips against hers. He felt hot and needy, every fiber of his being screaming to be closer to her, but he held himself back, knowing that they had to at least try to be good. He’d get to sink his cock into that hot cunt another day, make her cum around it and squeeze and milk every drop from his balls into her. That was something he was going to look forward to. But for right now they were testing the waters, and he liked it way more than he thought he would.

"Y’feel so good, darling. So, so fuckin’ good, can barely stand it." He murmured against her lips, letting the praise flow easily off his tongue. It’s what the woman deserved. All these shitty hookups and no one knew how to get to those little itches she couldn’t scratch- but he could read her so easily. Harry knew what she needed. "You're doing so well for me, being so good. Daddy's proud of you."

The last sentence made her whine out loud. Pleasure flowed through her at his praise, wanting more of it. All of it. It had been so long since she had been touched by someone else, and while the last person she had expected to do it was her best friend, she had also never felt this level of desperation.

Harry could feel her body responding to his words, her whimpers and whines making his own desire for her grow even more. He loved knowing that his praise was making her feel good, that she needed to hear his words. He continued to murmur sweet, filthy things in her ear as his body moved against hers, his need for her growing more and more intense with every second.

"That’s my girl, sweetheart. You're doing so well for me, letting me take care of you like this."

He knew it had been a long time for her, felt it in how she kissed. Selfishly he would be glad to be the one she got to take care of her. No one else really deserved it. Maybe he didn’t either, but he cared for her genuinely. He liked her and he wanted the best for her- so that’s what he was going to do.

“M’gonna cum, daddy.” She whispered. “I feel it. You’re getting my clit so perfect each time you move… god, s’so embarrassing to cum dry humping but I forgot how good it feels.” Or maybe it just hadn’t ever felt this good with anyone else. It had been a while, sure, but she hadn’t actually had dry sex with someone since she was sneaking around with her boyfriends back home. Something about it made her know that it had to be a Harry thing, though. That he’s the reason it felt this fucking good and why she was desperate for it.

Harry could feel her words shooting straight to his core, his body growing hotter in response. He could tell that she was close before she had even said so, by the way her body trembled against him, by the way her words got breathier and more desperate. Hearing her say so only made him more eager to get there.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let daddy make you feel good, darling." Harry murmured in her ear, his hands gripping her tighter, his body moving against hers more frantically now as he chased his own release alongside hers. She was going to cum, she was going to cum because of him and fuck if that wasn’t the sweetest reward he could think of- he wasn’t sure what was. "You're doing so perfect for me. Just let go for me. You can do it. I've got you, sweet girl."

Y/N felt it approach quicker than she had wanted. It was no wonder, though. Harry was giving her everything she didn’t know she needed in the simplest way, and he wasn’t even inside of her yet. She felt safe and appreciated as his fingers held her and his lips cooed encouragement to her, the rhythmic back and forth of his cock rutting against her poor, soaked panties, the heat boiling over.

“I’m gonna- m’cumming, m’cumming, I’m cumming Daddy- Harry.” She babbled as her eyes welled up with pleasured tears, nails digging into his skin as she came.

Harry's breathing hitched as he felt her grip on him, her hands digging into his skin and her body trembling against his as she came. “There you go baby, there you fuckin’ go. Yes.” He gasped, feeling himself tip over the edge. His name leaving her lips in a strangled whimper had been the final straw, his own release hitting him like a wave, his body shuddering against hers as he followed her over the edge. Shooting right into his briefs, he felt the hot and sticky load and momentarily mourned the loss of it not being inside of her, but it was quickly passed over as the orgasm washed over him.

"God, darling," the man groaned, his voice low and rough as he buried his face against her neck. Mouthing over the skin as he tried to gather his bearings, he mumbled sweetness into her. "You did so well for me, sweetheart. You're so perfect. So good for me. Sweetest fuckin’ peach."

The loud groan that followed her own had caught her off guard, the sharp thrusts of his hips making her cry out in overstimulation but she did little to stop it, keeping her legs around his hips. “What the fuck was that?” She laughed, head falling back on the sofa with her eyes blurry and wet. It was hard to think.

Harry couldn’t say anything, his own brain fuzzy and his body in overload after that climax. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his forehead resting on her shoulder. His curls brushed her skin, scalp slightly damp as her fingers settled in the mess of hair and brushed through it without a second thought.

"Bloody fuckin’ hell, babe." Harry finally managed to say, his voice a bit shaky. "That was… incredible." He lifted his head up, looking down at her disheveled and flushed form, his eyes roaming over her.

It was just dry sex, but it had been better than some of the full on stuff he’d had. Maybe it was just their connection, their vibe, maybe even being high, but he knew it felt impeccable. This was something he wanted to revisit- and he would, especially when he was all alone with his hand on his cock.

“If it feels good like that, what the hell are we gonna do when we do the real thing?” Y/N blinked up at him, the flush of her orgasm glowing on her skin. She felt her body shivering slightly, her poor panties a complete mess she’d need to change into, but there was no regret so far. It took her by surprise considering she had been anticipating a bit of awkwardness between the both of them but there was no hint of it as they recovered, a light kiss pressed over her cheek as his hazy eyes looked down at her.

Harry let out a half-laugh, his body still feeling heavy and spent after that intense release- one that had been a welcomed surprise. There had been no prior indication that would be happening tonight but for as insane as it was that it happened, he was more than happy that it did. Getting to experience this side of Y/N had been something he liked far more than he could have ever anticipated.

Leaning down, his forearms rested on either side of her head as his eyes locked with hers while he spoke. "I have a feeling that the real thing will be earth-shattering." He said, his voice low and slightly hoarse. "The wait might kill me, though."

[herrscherofmagic]

IMO, the current story arc in HI3rd might just be my favorite one so far. i've got a lot of thoughts to share on it, so I present to you this post! But first, a preamble :)

This is a really long post, I think I used the right tags for this? idk

I'm basically just copying over a post that I made for Reddit, so idk if this is way too long for tumblr or what. I've got a habit of writing pointlessly-long things on Reddit and idk if the Tumblr folks appreciate this or not x-x

but without further ado! my thoughts on the whole "city of salt and sand" story we've got going on right now.

P.S., this is mostly spoiler-free; I don't make any specific references to events in the story, except for Susannah's feelings but even that is really vague so it shouldn't reveal any plot twists or anything like that.

I remember how confusing and awkward it was when I first started playing HI3rd.

I didn't have a clue who any of these characters were, some parts of the story seemed weird, or convoluted, or had no explanation. Over time I caught up through reading the manga and catching up with the story; I looked through past events to figure out the story of the Captainverse; and I've been thinking plenty about the story of HI3rd and the other Hoyo games, trying to piece together different ideas and themes.

With all that in mind, I feel like this story arc has been probably one of the strongest pieces of storytelling in all of HI3rd, and maybe even across all the Hoyo games (that I've played, at least).

I'll make the obligatory disclaimer that yes, sometimes the technobabble gets a bit confusing. Thankfully I can understand a fair bit of it because of some exposure I've had to math and science, but I can't pretend to be at Schrodinger's level.

But I think this chapter did a great job at presenting some of these ideas in a way that felt natural to the progression of the story, while also making it understandable. We might get a statement that makes 0 sense, but you can usually figure out what's going on through context clues, as well as the analogies that some characters have been making.

I think the cast chosen for this arc has also been a huge help. This is probably the single most diverse cast we've had, in terms of personality, behavior, and mindset. Whether it's Kira repressing her "dislike" of Misteln, or the banter between Senti and Seele, there's been a lot of fun moments where these characters aren't all thinking on the same wavelength. Instead they need to find ways to understand each other. It really feels like there's an effort being made by these people to understand the situation they're in, and every step forward or misstep backwards feels meaningful. It's that variety in beliefs and personality that really spices things up and makes it feel so much more lively to me!

Building on that, I've also really enjoyed some of the themes being presented here.

Especially Susannah... oh boy do I have a lot to say here!

I think Susannah's development has been phenomenal (though it's absolutely criminal that a lot of it is limited-time events... THREE events now). In fact, while this isn't quite as serious of a situation, I'd go so far as to say that it's vaguely comparable to Kiana's experience in Arc City.

Yes, the severity is different.

But the thing that made me love Honkai was how we saw Kiana grow very slowly. It was an imperfect journey and it took tremendous effort on her part, but she was able to keep moving forward. Sometimes it felt like Kiana made progress (such as her training with Fu Hua), but this progress masked deeper problems that she couldn't run from (her sacrificial nature). This led to that emotional back-and-forth, where Kiana had real victories and real defeats over time. It wasn't just "The power of friendship!" saving the day in one fell swoop, but instead it felt like a much more realistic take on how difficult it can be to recover from trauma.

Susannah doesn't have to deal with the freakin' Herrscher of the Void inside of her, but her own mind puts up a big fight nonetheless. The more I see Susannah move forward and stumble back time and again, the more I feel a stronger connection with her as a character. For crying out loud, just in the last week or two I've lost count of how many times I've felt like I've been making great strides in my art one day while being a complete emotional train-wreck the next day.

Seeing Susannah breaking down but picking herself back up and moving forward nonetheless... That is why I put so much of my energy towards the idea of storytelling. It's why I play games and obsess over stories and analyze characters and dissect settings and come up with theories and headcanons and fanon and more. Being able to see these characters go through these struggles and seeing how that can relate to my own experience in life is something that has genuinely made me a better person over the years, and might have even saved my life in a way. I want nothing more than to be able to tell stories just like this someday, so that perhaps others might be able to learn and grow from my own stories that I conjure up.

While Susannah is the one I personally relate to the most, I've still been able to appreciate the rest of the cast, too. It's enjoyable to see the way they interact with each other, but I also feel invested in every single person here. There's even a particular someone I've especially grown to love here, but there's leaks and spoilers a-plenty out here in the internet right now so I don't really want to push that subject.

For the sake of keeping this spoiler-free I've been avoiding specifics, but honestly there's just too much for me to talk about even if I wanted to dive right into it. From the setting and stage design, to the character interactions, the development of the plot, the conflicts and resolutions we've had so far, it all just feels so satisfying to me.

I guarantee that there are some objective flaws somewhere in this story arc, and I wouldn't be surprised if others were to start pointing out those flaws. But I'm still enjoying the story, so even if I can't say "This is an objectively great story", I can still say "This is a story I love", and that's good enough for me~ ^_^

[dwellerinroots]

What is it about birds that you enjoy :)

Thank you, my friend; this is such a good question..? Since I'm going to talk a bit, those uninterested in the sum total of the birdposting tag can roll their eyes and avoid this one, ahaha. Conversation about how great flora, fauna, and especially birds are under the cut!

First, some mood music.

Topsy already knows some of my predilections, here, but unless people peek at my tags, I suppose it'd be easy to say 'oh, this fellow just casually likes birds.' And in a way, that's true; I like pretty much all creatures, real or fictional. I tend to like natural things more then I like people, which I don't think is entirely uncommon among writers, nor does it excuse behaving cruelly to other people (something that is easily forgotten). But first and foremost, I've got a bit of a connection to them. My parents raised me on a steady diet of fiction, classical religion and mythology, and folk tales. A lot of these were 'world' tales, which meant whatever they thought was cool at the time, because my parents were hippies and I love them for that! But just as much was from our culture, which means bird. Lots and lots of bird. Slavic culture has tonnes of mythological bird-ery in it, just as much as mushrooms. I could make the statement that it's more about birds then bears or anything else people want to associate with it, but I think many people would - disagree with that, ahaha. A famous writer (who a lot of people do not care for and I understand that) went by the pen-name Sirin. Who's Sirin? Good question.

But there's tonnes of cool mysterious bird entities over yonder; Alkonost, Gamayun, sometimes even Maiden Midday is depicted as a bird or bird-like. Naturally, some bird or another on fire is important, too. We just - really like birds. But why, though, and why me? Well... I think it's pretty obvious from how I talk and some of my stories that I've travelled a lot and lived a lot of places. One of the few constants is that I've watched the travel of wings, and wondered at that freedom; moving often feels fatalistic, especially when you're young. I don't really have a place or people I consider 'home.' Not an unusual feeling, but... Actually, since I can be as personal as I want this far down, I often disassociate a bit from feeling human. Part of that is the usual stuff a lot of us go through, but part of it is unique to me. I can't tell you how many times, in how many places, I spent watching distant forms lazily drift overhead, wishing I could do nature sketches, but quite content to simply exist, with no greater goal in mind. One of the places I miss most, though, that I think of most as 'home' if I could choose where 'home' is are the moorlands of a certain island nation, rich with heather. I could paint those landscapes from my mind's eye, if you asked me to, also if I could paint. Bahahaha! Brings us nicely to the next point which is that I stumbled unto a very unlikely piece of media and fell in love with a hawk. That's just how these things go; if I cry a lot about a very big bird lady, that's why. Finally, a good friend whom I only occasionally interact with is the second-or-third-best-bird in my life, he's the best*. But these are all personal; the backstory, as you will. In general, outside of my personal reasons - the fact that I like them for how unencumbered they are, their habits, what they mean to me - I like birds a lot because they're pretty! From the most colourful sparkling dainty lads to the tones of feathers that are almost steel. The wingspans of birds unfurling is kind of magical; I don't know if it's some primal sprout mindset that thinks birds == dinosaurs == very cool, or simply that I find the textile sense of wingspan unfolding Reall Cool, but again, I wish I could do scientific sketches or similar. I love how hygienic they are, by and large, and how incredibly goofy most birds are when they've ascertained you are not there to interfere in any way and are just watching. Because all animals are goofballs, but birds are goofy in their own unique way. The many differences in how birds treat each other, how weird and alien some nests look (for nestbuilders), what birds choose to steal everything not nailed down, and which ones are very picky. I just think they're neat! And there are lots of animals I love; I love bees, social insects, asocial solitary pollinators... I love cats and dogs, obviously, I love domesticated animals and weird wild critters, danger noodles and - really I just love nature in general, as mentioned above. But if I was going to choose one (1) kind of animal to watch for, it'd be birds. They're heartening, beautiful, and a bit melancholic.

Thanks for reading this far; here are some magpies being silly. Hopefully this was at least a little interesting to read, and see you around..!

[mittensmorgul]

Can’t everyone use tumblr how they want?

YES!

This site is exactly what people make of it for themselves. That was the exact point of that post. The fact that people reacted negatively to it at all proves my point. Seriously.

I have a number of other anons that are clearly from people who don't actually follow me, and are only here in a reactionary fashion having seen it on someone else's reblog, or else heard about it in passing and decided the best reaction to an ultimately harmless and rather bumbling post was to take personal offense and bring anonymous hate to a stranger on the internet. (and at least one not-anonymous "go kill yourself" type comment on the post itself)

THAT was the point of making that post.

For people who might be new to this fandom or new to tumblr in general (or even for people who have been here for years), your experience here is exactly what you make of it. I haven't seen that sort of vitriolic kneejerk reaction to anything I've written or posted in years. That post touched nerves. So it was a bit of an experiment, and I'm sorry to everyone who experienced any of that negativity second-hand. NOBODY should be made to feel like shit when engaging with something that is supposed to be fun. But I've learned over the years that that's exactly what some people consider fun.

There are new people to this fandom since the absolute free for all of the weeks after November 5th. We all reveled in those weeks before the show collapsed in on itself two weeks later. It was like 15 years worth of Hiatus Blogging followed by... well... some of the worst genuine hurt and disillusionment I've ever experienced or witnessed inflicted on a fandom by a piece of media.

There have to be at least a few people who floated into this fandom during that emotional roller coaster who want to make sense of it all, who were at least curious enough about how a show could've brought the characters to that emotional moment in 15.18 before effectively ignoring it all and burning the entire 15 year narrative to nothing just two episodes later.

Some folks stuck around to dig through the ashes of fandom in search of carrion, and that's fine. Some have zero desire to ever engage with the show or the fandom beyond mocking it for ever having existed at all, and that is also fine! But some folks? They might be wondering why anyone ever saw anything in this narrative to begin with, and they might be interested in knowing that there is this vast collection of information available to them (funny that none of my self-righteous anons even mentioned those, outside of one pointing out that my phrasing introducing that section of links was easily interpreted as condescending... which... yeah... again that was the point, and no I will not edit that language. none of us are free from sin).

Tumblr hasn't "changed." It was always this way. This site is not a monolith. Fandom is not a monolith. Even smaller groups within fandom aren't monoliths. Things that are considered "tumblr standard etiquette" do not exist across this entire website. And even within the supernatural fandom, and even within the tumblr-destiel-portion of the fandom there aren't "rules" dictating how you interact with anyone. Well, the one specific rule we should all be able to agree on is that you don't bring hate to real actual human beings, and yet...

There has ALWAYS been the option to engage with fandom here on whatever level an individual chooses. And that hasn't really changed since the finale aired. Anyone who thinks that Tumblr or the fandom has "evolved" or "changed" has likely just fallen in with a different fandom bubble then they'd existed within before. None of the bubbles have actually popped or disappeared. But which one you experience is entirely your own choice. You curate your experience here.

That was the point, illustrated by the vast array of comments I actually got on that post, structured with a little bit of everything including "tumblr mom from 2014." Everything pisses some people off, you know? Even the perception that some stranger on the internet might dare to lay down an arbitrary "rule" that zero people actually have to follow. See what I mean?

Because if any of the people who kneejerked at it actually followed me, or knew me at all, they wouldn't have kneejerked. They would've seen the point.

So your experience is what you make of it here. There are resources for people actually interested in engaging with the narrative or the fandom or the history of it. People mock "tumblr moms" or "fandom moms" all the time, but there wouldn't ~be~ a fandom without the people who actually build those resources. I.e. adults with the time, money, and personal investment in actually sustaining the fandom, instead of running around with torches trying to burn it down at every new whiff of perceived ~drama~ to latch on to.

For example, all of the scripts we've been acquiring and sharing with the entire fandom free of charge. I know that the fandom bubbles who seize on those scripts like hungry vultures to cough back up out of context "gotcha" posts postulating whatever theory of the differences between script and screen will dredge up the most drama or outrage in their fandom bubble... they haven't even considered how those scripts were acquired and made available to them. To them, they are "leaks." They are gifts that fell out of the sky and landed in their laps. There isn't even the barest curiosity about their origins or relevance beyond whatever social nourishment they derive by making up stuff and spouting it out with unearned authority. It's sad. But if that's how they enjoy the fandom, it's nice to remind them that none of the fandom they cannibalize would exist without the rest of us, too.

Yes, even the people you disagree with. Even the people who ship the things you find disgusting or repulsive. Even people who have an entirely different experience to your own. Even the people who are only here for those gotcha posts.

Fandom is not by nature a nihilistic shitshow, or no fandom would survive the amount of drama the 1% try to bring to it. Here have a fanlore article about this phenomenon. Right now, in Supernatural fandom, it feels like more than 1%, but I promise it really is only 1%. They're just really loud. There's actually other avenues to participatory fandom available to anyone who chooses to find them. Parts of this vast fandom that aren't focused on that 1% of reactionary leg-chewing at every turn. None of them are (as the linked article confirms) truly 100% free of unnecessary drama or bad behavior (including ME, I mean I MADE THAT POST!), but on tumblr you can curate your own experience. Fandom actually can be fun without burning down the thing you claim to be a fan of, or attacking other real human people for having the audacity to exist on the internet in a way you might believe is out of touch or pathetic. Seriously, nobody deserves to experience that from anyone over a fucking television show. Like seriously, take a step back and examine your life and your choices at that point.

Tumblr was exactly the same as a fandom community when I joined as it is now. Throughout my entire time here, I've curated my own personal experience to exactly what I derive the most personal satisfaction from. During that time I have had numerous friends and mutuals lament that their personal experience had become so toxic, but they were afraid to trim those blogs from their dash for fear of having no content left to engage with at all. For years there have been follow lists and blog recs and people desperate to find a more "peaceful and fun" fandom experience. People grow exhausted and embittered when their entire experience of fandom is an emotionally draining drama train. It's like pandemic doom scrolling, but for the thing that should be a respite from that sort of mindset, something that's supposed to be entertainment. The show did enough to us all, we don't have to turn around and re-inflict it on each other day in and day out on tumblr dot com.

So if even one person saw my post and thought well shit maybe I actually want to engage with a wider swath of fandom and see what's there, after seven months of post-finale drama, this whole other region of fandom is still here, still being the curators of the archives, the creators of stories and art and meta and gifs and videos and actually caring about it all that will keep this fandom going long after the current round of exhausting drama inevitably plays itself out.

The amount of in-group language in the negative replies I got was unsurprising. It's like folks are living in an alternate universe that doesn't mesh at all with what I experience on this exact same hellsite. Almost like we exist in entirely different bubbles of fandom, with entirely different purposes for existing at all. Everyone on this hellsite gets to pick which bubble (or bubbles) to take up residence in. Some people simply forget that their personal bubble isn't the universal defining experience of this site. Unfortunately, I doubt my little disruption to their bubbles will actually make any of them see that, but you anon... I think you did.

You are highly encouraged to engage with fandom EXACTLY THE WAY YOU CHOOSE. You have the ultimate power in controlling your entire experience here. Tumblr and Supernatural Fandom on tumblr is not Just One Thing that everyone who wants to participate in must conform to one specific code of ethics or behavior to be part of. And that NOBODY has the right to tell anyone else they're doing it wrong (including ME! I am 100% including myself in this!).

It's not MY job to dictate how anyone else experiences this fandom, as much as it was not the job of the people who reblogged my post (which I did not personally shove into their eyeballs with a demand for compliance... how did any of those people even *find* my post?) solely to tell me how *I* need to change how I experience the fandom, you see? Don'tcha love hypocrisy!

But the point was made for those who care, and a lot of people got to update their block lists (I still don't block anyone, as I said I curated my fandom space here and generally don't follow folks that don't personally make me happy and enrich my life by engaging with their content. However other people choose to engage with *my* content (any of it, going back nearly 50k posts over the last decade) is their business entirely. Sometimes I just feel the need to draw out people who are all too eager to expose their own whole asses in public. Mission accomplished.

[dragimal]

I’m gonna be a joyless commie for a minute, but idk how to articulate my problem here, so I’m just gonna start talking

capitalistic ideas like, “stealing is wrong under any and every circumstance and you’re a bad person for stealing,” and, “you must work to earn your right to live,” are EXTREMELY prevalent in animated media and I don’t think we like, talk abt it enough? 

like even some rly RLY good stories like FMA fall heavy into that mindset, like Arakawa straight-up said in one of her notes in the manga that she enforces the idea of, “you don’t work, you don’t eat,” in FMA (and it’s hard to miss that message in the text of the manga/anime all on its own). at least w/ FMA there’s the nuance of that message coming from the worker’s perspective, and there’s real appreciation of labor and community, and the fact that labor is what keeps these folks alive and thriving, so I can see why she has that perspective given her background. but I feel like it’s still worth acknowledging that like, folks shouldn’t have to live under that kinda stress of death/ruin if they don’t work, and how harmful that message is for folks who can’t provide labor/services. but I’ve rly never seen anyone bring it up

though one of the absolute worst cases of this mindset is in Ratatouille, which is actually another of my fave pieces of media, despite it. poor Remi is literally starving at several points throughout the first chunk of the movie, and at every point he tries to snag a little morsel, SOMEBODY essentially guilts him w/ the idea of, “stealing is bad!” whether it’s his own stressed subconscious, or Linguini. the first time it was a teeny chunk of bread from a dinner party that the folks there prolly wouldn’t have even noticed missing (and prolly threw out by the end of the night b/c it was so small!!), and the second was a few herb leaves Remi swiped from a nearby restaurant that the humans there also likely didn’t even notice or miss. like get off Remi’s back, Linguini, the lil dude’s STARVING and he even took the time to cook u something nice before eating himself!

and that’s not even to MENTION all the times Remi makes the stupid argument that rats are bad for stealing from the garbage, and when his dad makes the completely fair point that humans are throwing it out, Remi’s just like, “why are we STEALING it then??” I’m gonna let my inner ecologist jump out for just a minute here, but the idea of “trash” in and of itself is a very capitalist idea (not to mention the fact that the creation of materials that simply can’t be reused/reduced within a comprehensible timeline is a p damn recent development). in reality, all things are just materials, and in nature every piece of material is useful to some part of the various nutrient/material cycles, INCLUDING food webs! like I get that Remi’s affection for human ways/ideas is a p big crux of the film’s whole concept, but it’s still v strange to me that Remi has actively removed himself from the food web he and his ilk are a VERY important part of, and decided that the material they consume is not only useless, but a sign of their low standards/society. and in terms of the social repercussions of that mindset, this just again reinforces the idea that there are certain kinds of people whose life/lifestyle designates them useless to society, thus undeserving to live unless they conform (look, I get that Remi’s arc ended w/ him choosing his own path, but his rat family was also shown to have been “civilized” by Remi, eating “properly” at a lil rat restaurant, so I can’t help but wonder 🤔 )

something else I hate abt this mindset in media is that when it isn’t actively villainizing poverty, it’s just turning it all into a joke! like I watched Brand New Animal recently, and there was this whole subplot abt this baseball team living in the slums. u’d think, given BNA’s (weak) thesis abt everyone being respected no matter their circumstances, that maybe there’d be some commentary abt class/poverty, or at the very least a heartwarming plot abt the team getting out of poverty. if the writers were RLY clever, they could’ve even used the main character, Michiru, to comment on how fucked it is to be lectured by somebody from a place of clear privilege abt what’s right and wrong under dire circumstances. but no like, the team stays in the slums, and the stealing/cheating they do to literally survive (it’s emphasized multiple times the team is on the razor’s edge of starvation all the time) is always met w/ this kinda, “tsk tsk stealing is bad!!” finger-waggling from Michiru, but no significant moves on her part to help them out or provide other options. and it’s all framed in this slapstick comedic way like, “oh look the poor character is excited over finding a 10 yen coin! oh look the poor character fell for a get-rich-quick scheme! oh look the poor character doesn’t realize bread comes with white part in the middle b/c they’ve only ever eaten the crust from the trash! ain’t that just wacky and hilarious?? well time to move on!” like what the fuck. I’m gonna start throwing bricks through the windows of every rich fuck that thought that was ok

[incarnateirony]

I’ve talked about changes in the show over time, such as complexity of storytelling (x) but I think another point missed in our show’s growth path, and why some people struggle in different eras, comes down to episodic versus serial format.

I know there’s people that would argue SPN has always been serialized, but realistically... like, no.

Let’s reflect to season 1. Season 1, beyond a launched premise and finale, the plot was: Oh look a ghost, where’s dad. At any point in the season while this aired in the early 2000s where it could be hard to catch up, you could pretty much catch the beat of what’s going on. Oh look a ghost, where’s dad. And then, plot twist-- they FIND DAD! 

Season 2? The demon has plans for me. Start and end with the demon, all things are self standing episodes about the demon adventures. Season 3? Dean’s dying and there’s no way to stop it. 

All of these points are beaten into people’s skulls with a sledgehammer almost every single episode with a reminder that, in binge watch form, almost gets annoying like, YES, DUDES, WE GET IT, THE DEMON HAS PLANS FOR SAM OKAY? But that was written for the time. A time when DVRs were shiny premium features.

Yet again from the linked post I reach to season 4+, which is when storytelling started getting a bit more intricate. We still had the recurring It’s The Apocalypse lines, but the plotline proactively shifted beyond the premiere and finale, episodes started having to chain together. The characters didn’t remain relatively in stasis through the season. Season 5 continued this. 

Arguably, even season 6 did. And 6 actually held its viewership fairly well for being shoved into the death slot. It had its problems or whatever, but ultimately, we didn’t go back to this early form episodical until season... 7.

Oh shit, I missed what’s going on. Oh what is it? Still Dick Jokes and Leviathans. The plot twists were how to kill it and actually killing it. That’s about it really. What’d I miss? Dick Jokes. I’m good. The mytharc was essentially a monster of the week and, beyond other elements I’ve commented on about why it failed -- it lacked at least the overcurrent of “Where’s the Colt” that bounced around the first few seasons. If anything, the concept of “The Colt” was maybe the serialized element, but such a fundamentally simple concept that anyone tuning in could pick up on it.

But season 7 experienced a crash. Loss of serial storytelling. Loss of compelling monsters. Loss of Castiel. The attempt to revert it back to the old seasons was so much more than “removing Castiel.” It was setting back to simple days, where people didn’t have to follow closely.

But season 8 came, show ownership transitioned. Carver’s chance to save SPN came hand in hand with it uploading to Netflix where people were binge watching through. That annoying HEY--LOL WHERESDADTHEDEMONHASPLANSFORMEDEANSDYINGDICKJOKES loop just screams out at you when you’re watching something like that. Appealing to the serialization crowd was key. And Carver did so, swimmingly.

The difference between Carver and Dabb’s SPN is that Carver remained fairly linear and forward-moving in his storytelling; callbacks happened, as I’ve said, but they tended to be fairly, well, self-standing and straightforward. Dabb works in subtle spiral storytelling where most folks don’t even detect the callbacks until they put a literal audio track haunting it, making a spinning vortex of past story elements and lessons coming to a head. Neither of these is necessarily better than the other, though I would argue that Dabb’s is more fitting for an ending era.

*I also hold that S12 was a mess but don’t particularly blame Dabb since he kinda got bussed and thrown new kids but that’s a whole other story

But when it comes down to this VIOLENT disconnect of people that not only seem to prefer seasons 1, 2, 3, 7 -- but even adamantly deny any sort of deeper connections between the episodes, and storytelling, or get confused -- beyond the obvious reason of “tinhats that hate Misha Collins”, there’s a different section: people who just prefer episodic storytelling, which is like, almost extinct in the day and age of everything being written to binge watch on Netflix.

Back then, SPN *didn’t* take thinking about it much. You tuned it in, watched an episode with a vague premise in the theme of the season, and then tried to tune in at the end of the season to see how that premise worked out. By Carver and more loudly, Dabb’s SPN, if you aren’t not only watching episodes in sequence but trying to figure out how they bind together, where the subtle interplay is, where the unreliable narrator is, or the lying characters are, or the lowkey elements of authentic narrative subtext are -- you can’t just treat it like clicking in and watching an episode or two and bouncing around anymore. It isn’t built for that. It’s built for a Netflix run. 

Loyalists from binge watching may tune in live, but it’s even now in a digital era where it leads on the app and general digital, and the world is leaning that way, so if you wanna watch a few episodes in a burst there to catch up, you can, and it’s ez-bre-z. This isn’t high end DVR anymore, this is anyone with an internet connection, which is... uh... *checks* Just about the entire US. And most of the world.

Episodes do have contained lessons and morals -- a habit the authors said they picked up in season 2 -- but now they’re also spread around differently. It’s not just for the inevitable Dean’s Dying lessons, it’s for any number of nuanced elements the characters are dealing with, or may even deal with next season, or in remembrance of last season, because the seasons themselves -- 13-14 especially -- are heavily bonded. 

And there are some people that miss the simplicity of a show with minimal serial storytelling and the freedom to bebop around however they want without having to think about it much, and I mean, I guess that’s fair, and the old seasons are there when you want them. But there’s a whole list of reasons the show will never go back to that: proven importance of Misha Collins, the inherent digital audience of SPN and the connected nature of serialization to it, whatever it is-- even if SPN wasn’t ending in season 15, even if it went to season 25, that wasn’t going to go in reverse.

But it also has heavy overlap with people who refuse to understand the inherent differences in this storytelling and try to invalidate those that do. The “it’s not that deep” crowd, the “it would just be cooler if” crowd, they were literally here for an SPN they didn’t really have to think about or pay attention to beyond glossing what was put on a pedestal to them again and again, and I mean, that’s fair, that’s how the show started. But it hasn’t been that for a long-assed time, and they’re still trying to treat the show like it was then, and it’s just not working out. 

They refuse to understand or see more because they don’t want more, they forcefully, choosingly watch the show with a great deal of reductionism when they do watch, and try to apply the same logic.

The same way that I wouldn’t apply the same meta analysis to Dabb as I would to Carver, I wouldn’t to Gamble, or to Kripke, or even chapters of their time between, because these things changed, the story delivery shifted. The show grew up. It fell down for a bit, but it got back up.

It’s fine to not want complicated story or to have to think about your TV, but if I had a ring of infinite wishes, I’d wish that the people with this mindset would realize the nature of their mindset and instead of bugging fans that prefer the modern nature of the show or hassling the crew they would go on to something that makes them happy in the same vein. 

Ironically, you’re gonna have a hard time finding that on the CW, which is geared digital. Check other networks. Like, if this is you, if this describes you, look on other networks that are less about digital marketing. You may find something you actually enjoy that way.

Honestly those not incest/tinhat invested that hate Misha may honestly have just strapped their frustration at this change that he was the first known advent of to it alongside the bulk of other hate, this wouldn’t surprise me at all. Misha added tremendously to the complexity of the serialized storytelling and it would be easy to seed a grudge.

And that’s the thought of the day.

[solest]

I don’t know what happened but I wrote something again. Just thought about Crowley and Aziraphale remembering the influence they had on some artists in the renaissance (well, actually it’s most about Aziraphale’s influence on a certain work of Michelangelo). Thanks to folks in the /r GO discord server for helping me out at some point and a big thanks to @seraph5​ for letting me using the bit about Crowley and the statue at the end (it was her idea while I babbled on about this) and for always reading the shit I write XD.

It is 4 am right now and I’m not a native englishspeaker, so I bet there are some mistakes along the way

Here you go:

It was a lovely afternoon for a visit of the museum. The weather was not so much for a walk in the park, so this was a nice way to get out on a little date and reminisce about things one or both of them had a hand in.

Today there was an exhibition about the art of the Renaissance and both, Aziraphale and Crowley remembered one or two things about a lot of it.

Aziraphale came to a halt in front of a prototype of a pietá that was accompanied by a photoset of Michelangelo’s work. The smallish statue showed the depiction of Mary, holding the dead Jesus in her arms. On the right side of Mary’s feet you could see the rest of something that looked suspiciously like a little cherub looking creature but the head was missing and only one wing was still intact.

Crowley stopped when Aziraphale did and eyed him from the side, seeing the fond expression forming on the angel’s face.

“You were involved in this too?”

Aziraphale didn’t look at him when he answered, his gaze still on the statuette. “Ah, I guess you could say that. I just encouraged him to do what he wanted to anyways.”

“That’s a cupid there, isn’t it? And I always thought that Mary looked quite young and not very - you know- motherly.”

Aziraphale chuckled and turned to Crowley, still a smile on his face. “You’re right. But like I said, I only encouraged him. I remember visiting him on a particular evening when he was in one of his foul moods. He wasn’t very happy about me laying eyes on this draft, given that I was just presenting myself as someone from the clerical staff and all…”

He was interrupted by a snort from the demon and Aziraphale frowned at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“One of his foul moods. As far as I remember, he was a walking mood swing. No fun at all.”

“Not everyone could be as flashy as Leonardo. And you know,” Aziraphale raised one eyebrow at the demon, “I guess I have a thing for moody people, my dear.”

Crowley opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn’t moody at all, but Aziraphale turned back to the exhibit and just offered, a smidge smugly “you want to hear the story or not?”

Well, Crowley was curious by nature, so he just let that pass (for now) and Aziraphale remembered.

  Michelangelo’s Workshop 1497, Rome

“Oh, what’s that? Is this a draft for Cardinal Jean Bilhères de Lagraulas’s commission? You were quite fast with that my friend”

Aziraphale wanted to take a closer look at the statue on the work bench, but the young artist took a step to block out the view.

“It’s only draft, as you say. It’s not ready to be inspected yet”. Michelangelo’s voice was strained, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if this came from his already not so good mood or the fact that he had seen the unfinished statue. In most cases, it wasn’t much of a problem for Michelangelo to show his progress to the friendly priest, he actually shared them quite readily with him. So it must have been something about the statue itself that made him so nervous.

“You know that you don’t have to hide anything from me, dear boy. I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want to hear my opinion, I swear.” Aziraphale tried to give this a bit more weight with a reassuring smile.

Michelangelo scrunched up his face at that but more in a thinking manner than distaste, the marble dust on his face giving him deeper lines than a young man in his mid-twenties should have.

Aziraphale waited, knowing the process behind the artists thinking now for a while and was rewarded with a deep sigh, followed by a “All right, but no word to anybody Aziraphale! Swear it!”

 Well, it must have been something really important if he was asked to do that, but he did it to ease his companions mind. “I swear by everything that’s holy to me. Enough for you?”

Michelangelo nodded and stepped aside, giving Aziraphale the opportunity to watch his work closely. It was a depiction of Mary, holding the dying Jesus in her arms tenderly, quite more so than he had seen on other depictions of that particular scene. The details were breathtaking as always, even though this was only a mere draft for the project; Michelangelo was a perfectionist after all. Mary’s face was fair and young, showing a delicate sadness.

It wasn’t uncommon to interpret the holy mother as young and fair, but something about this one seemed to be a different. The way she was holding the body, draped over her lap had an intimacy to it that was not meant for a mother and her son. Aziraphale’s noticed something on the right side of Mary’s feet and his eyes widened as he realized it was a little cupid, a sign for lovers.

Michelangelo watched Aziraphale closely, wringing his hands nervously and waiting for the priest to say something. “That’s gorgeous, as always, but…I assume that this is not the mother of Christ you’re showing here. It’s Mary Magdalene, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale was saying this just matter of fact way, no judgment or anything suspicious in his voice. Why should he be, he had known that woman, quite a nice young lady. Michelangelo seemed to be in a mix of relived and confused, still tense and brows furrowed.

“Y…yes… I know it’s blasphemous to do such a thing, I won’t do it for the actual statue but…I heard things, Aziraphale, back in Florence, and I just can’t make them unheard!” he nearly whispered this, like he was concerned to get caught at something forbidden. Well, it actually was, for the humans at the Vatican anyways.

Aziraphale had heard about that too, the thesis that Jesus had actually loved and married Mary Magdalene, which would have made him more of a human and less of the holy son of God, untouchable and above the human desires. The angel sighed at the thought of that and smiled fondly at his young friend, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to fear anything Michelangelo; I’m not going to tell anyone about this. I’ve heard that too and who said that there’s no truth in that? Well, beside the pope and all, but as a scholar I have to say that rumors always hold a spark of truth within”.

He knew that terrible things had happened to people with that mindset, so he tried to sooth the young man as good as possible.

Michelangelo’s eyes grew wide as moons, hearing that from an actual priest of the Vatican and he grabbed Aziraphale’s other hand in both of his. “You did? Oh tell me, tell me what you’ve read!”

Aziraphale was a bit startled by that outburst but he was relieved that the young man was just showing unbound curiosity now instead of that dreadful anxiety and bad mood.

He suggested to sit down and have drink, while Aziraphale told him about the son of god and Magdalene as if he had read about it somewhere.

He remembered them talking intensely, sitting close to each other and growing closer and closer over the time they spend together. Never once Magdalene forgot who that young man from Nazareth was, but Aziraphale could tell that there was something more. He remembered one conversation with her on a brief meeting, talking about love. She simply said that Jesus loved everybody equally, but Aziraphale could tell from those stolen glances between the two and the waves of a more personal love that he felt that time. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but in the far back of his mind a small voice was telling him, that he sported some similar glances whenever meeting a certain demon.

Michelangelo hung on his lips while he spun that tail, not saying anything to interrupt the priest, which was very unlikely for him. Eventually Aziraphale came to an end.

 “And you know, in the end there was something greater than them, I think they both knew. You can’t be selfish when you’re the messiah and all; he had a destiny to fulfill, and she knew that too.” He looked up from his cup, still having all of Michelangelo’s focus on him who had absorbed every word.

Silence fell over them for a moment before the young man spoke again. “That…that sounds very romantic _actually. Where have you read that again?” _

Aziraphale looked back into his cup, trying to come up with something. “Oh a very old scroll. I don’t think that it’s still in the library, something scandalous like this and all. But I hope that this ensures you that your secret is well kept. I wouldn’t recommend the cupid on the actual commission though”

He grinned and Michelangelo answered it with one of his own. After that evening they became actual friends; the young man was always eager to see Aziraphale and complain about that damn bastard da Vinci or he showed him his sketches and drafts. Sometimes he seemed to blush and at one occasion he even asked if he could sketch Aziraphale. But as it always were with the fleeting live of humans and Aziraphale’s duty as an Angel he couldn’t keep that friendship up for too long and they paths separated eventually.

 Back to London, present day.

Crowley actually listened to all of this without interrupting. It was quite a nice little story and he remembered his days with Leonardo vividly, also his complaints about this youngsters who behaved like he was walking around with a stick in his arse.

They kept on walking after Aziraphale had finished, when another presumably work of Michelangelo let Crowley stop this time. It was an unfinished statue, not too big but out of the white carrara marble as all the other serious works. Crowley knew why he was drawn to it when he took a better look, growing a grin on his face that showed more teeth than necessary. “I think you left quite the expression, Angel.”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and looked at Crowley, quite confused. “What do you mean? We were good friends I…oh…oh no”

He looked at not quite finished statue of a man that could be some depiction of a saint or an antique figure from roman mythology for how he was shown, but Aziraphale was staring back at his own face, adorned with a soft smile, a scroll in hand and draped in a tunic.

“Well…that is a bit embarrassing. He sketched me once, but I thought that was just for a study and he never told me that he was actually doing, well, this.”

  Crowley just laughed at this, thinking of Michelangelo looking longingly at Aziraphale while the angel was oblivious. Well, Crowley got the Mona Lisa so why not an unnamed statue for his angel.

Aziraphale looked at the statue of himself a last time, smiling fondly and moved on then. Crowley just stayed a moment longer, taking in all the details and the love that must have been involved in the process of making this. The artist must have had quite the crush back then. Crowley laughed to himself, muttering a “Me too Michelangelo, me too…” before catching up to Aziraphale.

They stayed in the museum for a little longer, even holding hands at some point and on their way to the Bentley.

Shortly before they reached the car Crowley stopped.

“Ah…I know it was much later, but do you remember Bernini, angel?”

“I do. What are you up to Crowley…?”

“You do know the Statue ‘ecstasy of Saint Teresa’? I may have drunken a bit too much with the guy responsible and I may have told him a little story about you and the good old Teresa…”

He grinned again, all teeth, while Aziraphale was going through pictures of statues in his mind. He watched in delight as the angel found what he mentioned and looked up at him in a mix of shock and embarrassment.

“Crowley! I told you about that in private and it was a very awkward situation. I never looked like…like that while doing it!”

Crowley opened the door on the passenger side for Aziraphale while laughing and they kept on arguing about this all the way back to the bookshop. He had not forgotten that commentary about the mood swings.

[racefortheironthrone]

Thoughts on House of X#2

I fell way behind on writing these even as I devoured each issue, so I thought I might as well knock these off as the HoX/PoX miniseries come to an end and the “Dawn of X” looms over the horizon. (Also I did a re-read recently and it got my mind buzzing.) 

So let’s get into it!

Moira’s Ten Lives:

It turns out that, like everyone else, I was sort of right/wrong about time travel shenanigans. It’s technically a semi-stable time loop, but I’m not about to quibble. (Incidentally, on a re-read one of the things that’s been really impressive to see with the benefit of hindsight is the way in which Hickman et al. top each issue with the newest high concept or reveal, like some mad plate-spinning act.)

Here’s how the individual lives break down:

Life 1: 

Because everything in this life takes place prior to the activation of her mutant gene (which, talk about a hell of an additive retcon), Moira’s first life is a romanticized, bucolic portrait of innocence not corrupted by worldly knowledge. The emphasis is strongly on family and nature (note the tree motif, which isn’t as prominent as the tower motif but still) as opposed to scientific pursuits.

On the other hand, you definitely get the sense that the perfect nature of this life is a distortion caused by nostalgia, as we’ll see in the next life.

Life 2:

Moira reincarnates for the first time with full knowledge of her previous life, which for all that HoX/PoX has been analyzed through the lens of both Christian and Jewish theology, can’t help but draw from Hindu and Buddhist thought.

One key aspect of her power is that Moira is given an enormous developmental leg up, being born with all of the skills of a grown adult. Suprisingly, we don’t actually get to see Moira make much use of some of the broader implications of her mutant power.

As a good scientist, Moira uses observation and experimentation to prove to herself that her memories are real and that she can change the future through her actions, two critical pieces of information.

Speaking of Buddhism, Moira’s “curse” concept is tied to the Second Noble Truth, that suffering comes from attachment. In this case, Moira’s problem is an attachment to her memories of her idealized first life: when she meets Kenneth Cowan for the second time, the emotional connection isn’t there because her foreknowledge of her first life changes her perceptions.  

At the same time, I wonder how much of her reaction to this upheaval is due to her realizing that her first life wasn’t as perfect as she thought it was (the flaws she focuses on), or that she herself has changed and isn’t content to live and die as a rural schoolteacher.

In this timeline, Charles decides to come out of the closet as a mutant on national television, which is a different tack to how he’s approached pro-mutant activism in the past, although there is a common theme of putting his faith in public debate. Sadly a faith that will be broken. 

Despite her misgivings about her own mutant gifts, Moira decides to fly to America to meet Charles...and dies in a plane crash. I wonder how much of her heel turn in life 3 is due to the Kenneth Cowan issue and how much of it comes from her experiencing violent death for the first time?

Life 3:

In Moira’s third life, she turns sharply away from Charles (nicely symbolized by her turning away on a pub stool) to try to cure the mutant gene, which brings her face-to-mask with Destiny, who is the closest thing that this issue has to an antagonist (at least in the sense an outside force acting on Moira and changing her behavior).

The conversation between them is split in two: in the first, Destiny does a good job of laying out why narrative of individual choice/consumerism don’t really work with regard to mutant cures, because of pre-existing structures of power and inequality that will turn an option into a mandate. Something that Whedon’s “Gifted” arc and X3 should have maybe mentioned. 

(Incidentally, even before we got the later infographic from Powers of X #4 about mutant genocides, I thought this didn’t bode well for Wanda Maximoff.)

After setting up a Prisoner’s Dilemma situation - if you don’t change your behavior, this scenario will keep recurring - Destiny then gives us the next big reveal of the issue. Moira’s powers of resurrection only give her ten or eleven lives, that there is a way out of the cycle of endless rebirth if she makes the “right choice.” (Word is still out on the other aspects of the Eightfold Path.) I don’t know what the eleventh signifies - after House of X #5, I saw a lot of people suggesting pod-rebirth as her eleventh life, but I dunno. 

However, I did spot something this time: Destiny “see[s] ten lives...eleven if you make the right choice at the end.” This may be me reaching, but it suggests that Destiny knows already that Moira isn’t going to get it right in lives four through nine, but isn’t telling her. Which, given the immense potential involved in combining their powers, suggests that it’s not just about Rube Goldberging her way to the Good Ending but rather that Moira has to experience her defeats personally in order to grow into the person who would make the right choice. 

Life 4:

Having received a fiery “swift spiritual kick to the head,” Moira makes two changes in her life. First, she begins to approach the question of mutancy from a systems perspective - although I have some significant issues with Hickman’s evolutionary biology. Second, she looks deeper past Charles Xavier’s “confidence...arrogance,” to see the real Charles beneath, and the two fall in love (which makes the second time in her lives).

The result seems to be the 616, breaking down into the Gifted Years (the Kirby/Lee years), the Time of Hate and Fear (the All-New X-Men given to us by Claremont et al.), and “the lost decade,” which given the associated panel is a pretty clear slam on the last ten years of X-Men storytelling, most pointedly Avengers vs. X-Men. 

This page (p. 17) has made me somewhat out of step with a lot of folks who’ve been arguing online that Moira’s sixth life must be the 616 - a trend we’re going to see repeating.

Regardless, this timeline is the first to end with Sentinel genocide, resulting in Moira for the first time seeing the dystopian dilemma. Much of what follows is a series of unsuccessful iterative attempts to solve this dilemma.

Life 5:

In her first go, Moira decides to see if accelerating the process will work, showing Charles what happened to his dream in her past lives. Hickman’s use of the term “radicalized” is key here to understanding what’s going on with Krakoa in X^1, because as Moira learns (and Charles will learn), separatism alone will not do the trick. Mutants got an 11-year head start to build up their defenses, and the Sentinels came anyway.

Life 6:

Because this life remains completely redacted, the fandom has gone absolutely nuts in speculation. One common speculation I’ve seen is that the X^3 timeline is Life 6, which I find quite puzzling. The reveal in Powers of X #1 that Cylobel is stuck in Nimrod’s femtofluid database is strongly suggestive that X^3 is Life 9, unless we’re going to say that in alternate timelines in which so many variables change, there’s always going to be a black brain hound mutant who looks identical to Cylobel and who dies in the exact same way. Which strikes me as falling afoul of Occam’s Razor.

Life 7:

Here’s where we really start zeroing in on the dystopic dliemma, as Moira tries to forestall the inevitable by eliminating the Trask bloodline. It doesn’t work because of the whole idea that AI is a discovery not an invention, and as a result Sentinels will always come about and the only thing that can be changed is the name of the person who’ll discover them.

Here is where Hickman’s obsession with mechanical vs. biological transhumanism (and/or singularities) really come into play. If you’ve read his book Transhuman (which I don’t necessarily recommend, as it comes with some rather nasty sophomoric undercurrents that have aged very badly in the last ten years), you’ll know that Hickman considers biological transhumanism to be superior to the alternative. Something to keep in mind when thinking about mutants vs. the man-machine supremacy, mutants vs. the technarchy, etc. 

Interestingly, we never learn what happened to Xavier or the X-Men in this life.

Once again, Moira is “radicalized” by the seeming inevitability of robotic genocide, although it’s noticeable that her focus is shifting from humans to their creations.

Life 8:

Her solution is to go to Octopusheim and ally with Magneto, presumably because the Master of Magnetism is her first bet to go up against the mutants.

Magneto reacts to “the good news” with thermonuclear war, and gets curb-stomped by a combination of the Avengers, Fantastic Four, and X-Men.

Important note that by this point, Moira dismisses the idea of any great good beyond that only of mutants, and we go for another round of radicalization.

Life 9:

At this point, Moira decides to ally with Apocalypse out of desperation, presumably because Apocalypse is a revolutionary who can’t be killed as easily as Magneto can. 

Although we didn’t know it at the time, this is X^2 (and I think X^3) as well, and while Apocalypse’s power levels allow him to prosecute a war “without end,” it doesn’t solve the strategic stalemate.

Life 10:

I don’t know what the two black panels suggest; it’s quite possible that they’re just pauses for emphasis. 

In her tenth life, Moira takes a step back and focuses instead on “all the old ways of thinking.” Here, I think we see a preview of the Krakoan solution: mutant unity will unlock synergies of cooperation that were not possible while working with limited mindsets and only a part of mutankind. 

Notably, we don’t know when Moira or anyone else found out about the possibilities of Krakoa and mutant biotechnology - we know some of it existed in Life 9 because we see Krakoan flowers being used, but we don’t know if Moira encountered it earlier or whether the higher order stuff was in use. I somehow doubt the resurrection system was intact, because it would seem to make Mister Sinister’s breeding program largely irrelevant.  

Once more, we return to Powers of X #1, as we now know what Xavier learned from Moira’s mind.

Infographics:

The whole circle wrap-around thing is very evocative of other signs we’ve seen (on Cerebro when Xavier uses it for various higher-order stuff, on the Librarian’s face, etc.), but it actively makes the map harder to read, which I think is the point. 

(Also, while I’m complaining: Comixology is not well set up for these large-scale infographics, because it keeps crashing on me when I try to zoom in. Very annoying.)

Note: earlier lives are more leisurely, things more spaced out, and then the pace accelerates as things get more intense.

One interesting difference between Life 4 and 616 canon: Moira and Xavier marry when she’s 23 and establish the Xavier School 12 years later. 

Life 5 is interesting, because we’re seeing repeated themes of Moira in comas, even when it might not be necessary. For example, what’s the dramatic purpose of having the two Sentinel attacks?

In Life 7, I noticed that Larry Trask isn’t killed with the rest of his family. Is it because he turned out to be a mutant?

Life 8 is the first instance where I think the initial panelling let us down. The original one-two punch heavily implied that Magneto was defeated on his first attack on Washington D.C, but here we learn that he ruled America for eight years before being defeated and killed. (Incidentally, this suggests that the visions he’ll have of his failures don’t include this life).

As other people have noted about Life 9, Xavier and Magneto are killed in Years 19 and 21 respectively, which makes it easy to rule out their appearances as happening in Life 9. Also, it’s significant that the first horsemen aren’t on earth (almost certainly on Arakko/No-Place).

Life 10 including Moira’s marriage to Joseph McTaggert despite presumably knowing from earlier lives that he would be abusive suggests that Moira may well have gone into the marriage because she needed Proteus to form the Five. Not sure how I feel about that. Finally, I’m a bit puzzled about what the schism was and whether it was genuine vs. feigned (after all, Moira is faking her death, so there’s plenty of skullduggery going on). 

[thebookbud]

The Last Horror Novel in the History of the World

A BookBud Review

By Brian Allen Carr

Finished 04-15-2020

Genre: Horror

Basic Plot: Residents of a small town find themselves met with some very strange folk lore becoming a reality. 

Notable Quote(s): 

“The black magic of bad living only looks hideous to honest eyes.”

Overall Rating:  ⭐⭐

Readability: 2/5

Plot Interest: 1/5

Creativity: 2/5

Photo Credits

An excerpt from the introduction by Tom Williams, “His sentences soar, his action entices. His sharks scare more than Spielberg’s, while his characterizations help you know every-damn-body in the book as well as a best friend.” Well, with this in the intro I was expecting sharp writing, well crafted characters and strong plot. What I received however, was very different. With a reviewer mindset, this book does carry something within its pages. This author does give readers deep analogies and characterizations about humanity, ideals of right and wrong, and what makes up character just to name some of it’s beneficial qualities. That, alone, is the reason this earned more than one star from me. I have to give credit when due. The message was fine enough, if not a little overplayed in horror, and a little broad as well. But as for a fiction work, this fell extremely flat for me. As a reader, I expect to be dragged through the events of a novel with it’s characters while reading works of fiction. Instead I found myself wanting as much distance from this story as humanly possible. The writing had no natural pace or smoothness so it wound up feeling like reading an outline. There was no feeling of depth in here, it felt like a literary paper that was meant to hit on certain extremely complicated literary techniques. Like I said, the checklist was met, but there was no heart in this. I never felt attached, I never felt anything. I just read.

I gave it only 2 out of 5 for these reasons. Every author we love deeply is due to style, creations, explanations, and combinations of many other attributes. When an author feels as if they are detached, we sense it as readers. I did not feel this author in his writing. I did not glean any new thought provoking standings, no new perspectives, no real takeaway whatsoever. I think this author has a lot of potential but in this it just came off as trying to meet certain standards without worrying about the actual style. As a side note, I did find this to be an ironic twist considering the titling for many reasons. Whether the author did this on purpose or not, I don’t know but due to his sheer intelligence about use of literary tools, I believe it is and I did find that enjoyable.  

[tibbinswrites]

Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Prompt requested by @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff​ (sorry I’m retagging you for the same story but the ‘keep reading’ link no longer worked so I thought it would be best to repost. I’ve also edited it a bit because it needed doing).

Prompts are open. I’ve got a few lists to choose from in the ‘Prompts’ section of my blog or feel free to send me an ask or a message if there’s a specific one you’d like ^_^

Dean/Castiel

Prompt #5 from this list: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Castiel flashed his badge and a smile to the janitor as he opened his front door.

“Mr Faukes? FBI Agent Moore, and this is my partner, Agent Mathers. We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the incident you reported last night.”

Dean held up his own badge with a faint tightening of his eyes at the alias. It had been one of Cas’ spare sets of badges in the glove compartment of the continental, Sam had taken the impala to the next town over, where a possibly related case had also popped up. Dean hadn’t been happy about it, but he had conceded that point that seeing as he had a fully powered angel with him, it was best Sam take the vast majority of their weapons, just in case.

Faukes, after throwing a cursory glance at Dean, looked back to Castiel with a shy smile of his own. He was a tall man, late 30s, with strong arms and rugged features. His clothes looked to be a patchwork of different autumn-coloured fabrics but they blended together well and looked soft and comfortable. His light brown hair was neatly combed and he had kind brown eyes that Castiel found himself trusting.

“Sure thing,” he said, stepping back to let them in with the slightly awkward movements of someone who didn’t get a lot of visitors. His voice had a gravelly tone to it that matched the slight German accent. Castiel liked the sound. They walked past him into the small apartment. It smelled pleasantly of lemongrass and was sparsely decorated with an overflowing bookshelf, a sofa squashed beside it and a rickety desk that looked more like storage space than a place of work. A kitchenette was in one corner with a square table and a single chair for meals. The dish rack next to the sink was stuffed with crockery and there was a small sewing machine on another table, along with a couple of rolls of fabric leaning against the wall. A small electric heater clunked slightly as it fought against the morning chill. It was a messy home but meticulously clean. Faukes gestured them to the sofa and spun the dining chair around to face it before sitting himself on the plush cushion tied to the slats with ribbon, “And you can call me Matt. What do you need to know?”

“Your report said you found a jar of eyes in your boss’ office?” Dean cut in as Castiel opened his mouth. His tone was sharp, accusatory, as though Matt was their prime suspect when in reality he was just a witness. Matt looked a little unsettled at the heavy scowl Dean was levelling his way and Castiel couldn’t blame him, he shot Dean a look to take it easy, which was ignored.

“Um… yeah,” Matt said, dragging his eyes from Dean back to Castiel, who nodded encouragingly. Matt cleared his throat, fiddling with a stray thread on the hem of his shirt and began to speak, “So, I was cleaning up after we closed and I noticed the door to Mr Hitching’s office was open. I thought it was strange because even when he’s in he keeps it shut, and he’s supposed to be on holiday for the next two weeks. I figured his one of the other owners might have needed some papers or something and called up his secretary to come and fetch them so I thought I might as well just pop in to vacuum and empty the trash. But I saw it as soon as I turned the light on. It was just… sat on the desk. Like a paperweight, like it wasn’t something important enough to even hide. Five eyes. I remember thinking how weird that was, why five? That’s not even three people… That’s horrible, right? I shouldn’t have thought that.”

“Not at all.” Castiel assured him, leaning forwards intently, “When faced with trauma, the human brain—if it doesn’t reject the trauma entirely—might try to focus on certain details to distract from the trauma itself. You’d be surprised at some of the things people notice when faced with things of this nature. Sometimes their observations are vital to solving the case.”

Matt smiled again, smaller this time, but grateful. It was nice, Castiel decided, making this man smile.

“I bet you’ve got a load of stories like this, huh?” Matt said, shifting forward slightly too, sounding awed and impressed at the idea, “Job like yours. God, I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, we can’t all be janitors.” Dean muttered. The comment was innocuous enough, and Castiel would have ignored it if it hadn’t been for Dean’s tone, practically dripping with venom. Matt’s face immediately fell and Castiel shifted on the couch to glare his ‘partner’.

“Agent Mathers, that was incredibly rude. I think you owe Mr Faukes an apology.”

Dean flushed, an angry red tinge creeping up the back of his neck. He stared at Castiel and the angel saw a kaleidoscope of emotions flash across his face, too fast to catch any of them, but after a moment he relented and turned back to Matt.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, “my partner’s right. I was out of line.”

“It’s alright,” Matt said, looking more confused than offended now, “but thank you.”

Castiel took over the questioning from there, gently prying for all the details Matt could remember. Castiel found himself intrigued by the man, it was clear he was very self-conscious, about his job, his home, himself, but there was also a confidence to him born of self-reliance that Castiel couldn’t help but respect. He also seemed grateful to talk. From what he told them, he didn’t have many friends in the community.

“It’s a small town,” he said, when Castiel asked him why that was, “around here, everyone knows everything about everyone, and they’re pretty quick to judge. Most of them are heavy church-goers. And not the kind that preach love and acceptance, if you get my meaning.”

“That must be difficult.”

Matt shrugged, “It is what it is,” he said, his head tilting slightly to the side as he met Castiel’s eyes, “but it’s nice to talk to some folks with a different mindset for a change.”

Castiel nodded, trying his best to ignore the click of Dean’s jaw and the tension oozing from the seat next to him, “I understand,” he said, “I too find it difficult to ‘branch out’ when it comes to socialising.”

That was an understatement. Excluding other angels, who were less likely to want to catch up than they were to want to bury an angel blade in his chest, most the social interaction Castiel had experienced was through the Winchesters. Sam and Dean were the best men he knew, and their chosen family was a good one, but that didn’t stop Castiel from thinking that it might be nice to have people to talk to without the weight of world-shattering consequences as a constant looming presence in every conversation.

“Anyway, thank you for your time,” he continued, standing and indicating that Dean should follow suit, “you’ve been very helpful.” He produced a card and handed it to Matt while Dean made a beeline for the door. “Here’s my number. If you remember something else, or if you just need to talk to someone with a different mindset, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely call.” Matt said with a wink. “Agent Moore, would it be terribly inappropriate if I were to ask you on a date?”

Dean froze, his hand on the doorknob.

“I- it would,” Castiel stuttered, heat rushing to his face, “but I think I would like that. Perhaps once this case is over?”

“Keep me updated.” Matt grinned.

Dean yanked open the door and strode off down the hall, not even waiting for Castiel to catch up. The angel rolled his eyes and glanced at Matt, who snickered and held up his card.

“Good luck with the case.”

Xxx

“I can’t believe you, Cas. First of all, you made me a rapper, what the hell? Second of all, how do you go into a freaking suspect’s house and come out with a date?”

“Nothing’s been arranged,” Castiel said calmly, watching from the end of one of the twin beds as Dean wore a path in the already threadbare carpet of their motel room, “besides, Matt isn’t a suspect, he’s a witness.”

“Until we can prove he’s not the one carving out eyes, he’s both.” Dean insisted. “I just… I don’t get it, man, I thought you liked chicks anyway?”

“I’m indifferent to gender.” Castiel said, frowning. “I’ve never understood why it matters so much to humans what pronouns their partners use. I liked him. He was interesting and kind and I would like to get to know him better, what’s wrong with that?”

“We’re in the middle of a case, Cas, you can’t afford to get… you know, distracted.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, “and how many bartenders and waitresses and almost-victims have you gotten ‘distracted’ with, Dean?”

“That’s different!”

“How?” Castiel demanded, truly irritated now. Dean had many wonderful traits that Castiel admired but his hypocrisy was not one of them. He supposed it stemmed from being the older sibling, more often left in charge than not, ‘do as I say, not as I do’ was practically etched into his bones.

“Because...” Dean spluttered, “because they’re just a bit of fun, alright? They knew the drill, we’re not exactly planning to settle down, and were never go out on dates.” He spat the word like something filthy, “What kind of future do you expect you can have with this guy, huh? Are you gonna tell him what we do? Bring him home and introduce him to your half-archangel son and all the people we yanked from another world? The guy was squeamish about a jar of eyes, how do you think he’d handle literally any of the crap we go through?”

“A first date is not a marriage proposal, Dean. What’s the harm in dinner and a movie?”

“You don’t eat.”

“I can, I just don’t need to.” Castiel shot back, “Random sexual conquests don’t appeal to me. I would rather find a person I have a connection with, and I felt I had a connection with Matt. Why are you so angry? The last time I had a date you were happy for me. Is it really because he’s a man?”

“No!” Dean yelled, a little too loudly, he winced as the sound bounced back to him from the cheap cinderblock walls and lowered his voice to a hiss, his arms folded tightly across his chest and he finally stopped pacing, “It’s because I think you’re being irresponsible. We don’t know that we’re not gonna have to gut that guy before the week is out. And what are you talking about a connection? You spoke for half an hour, you don’t build a connection in half an hour.”

“You’re not angry-” Castiel realised, squinting at the man in front of him. His hands were tucked up into his armpits and his shoulders were slightly rounded, almost as though he was trying to curl into himself, “you’re hurt. Wait a minute, are you jealous?”

“What?!” Dean exclaimed, “Jealous? No, I’m not jealous. Of what? I didn’t like that guy.”

Castiel tilted his head, “Then what?” he asked, his voice low and even, “You don’t like that I like him? You don’t like that I could possibly show interest in anyone other than you?”

Dean took a step back like Castiel had hit him. All the blood drained from his face.

“What are you talking about?” He said, which is what Dean always said when confronted with something he didn’t want to admit to.

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel said impatiently, “you’re not stupid and subtlety isn’t my strong suit. You know how I feel about you, you’ve known it for years. So you don’t want it but you don’t want anyone else to want it either?”

“That’s… that’s not-” Dean choked out, looking sick now, “I didn’t mean-”

“Then what?” Castiel cried, finally standing to be on even ground with Dean. He was frustrated, he was angry, he was overwhelmed, “Explain it to me, because I don’t understand.”

Instead of speaking, Dean’s jaw snapped shut and for a moment, Castiel was sure he was going to bolt from the room. Instead he strode forward two steps and cupped Castiel’s face with his hands before bringing their lips together, effectively shorting out his brain.

“I’ve always wanted you.” Dean murmured against his mouth, “Since Purgatory I’ve let myself want you. But if I had you, I could lose you. And I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

They stayed that way for a while, breathing each other’s air, foreheads pressed together, lips barely brushing. Dean’s hands were warm and calloused and gentle against his skin, Castiel’s hands gripped at the fabric of Dean’s shirt, though he didn’t remember moving.

“It’s worth it for this,” Castiel whispered back, half-lost in the feeling of Dean so close, “isn’t it?”

“Losing you sucked bad, Cas.” Dean said shaking his head and pulling back slightly, just enough that they could lock eyes, “I gave up.”

Castiel sighed and pulled away completely, stepping back, feeling cold as Dean’s hands left him. “I understand,” he said, “but I disagree. Neither of us can guarantee forever and it’s not fair for you to try and keep me from seeking elsewhere something that you aren’t willing to give me.”

“I know,” Dean said, but he reached out to take his hand and slot their fingers together, “So this is me realising that I’m willing, I guess.”

Castiel squeezed his hand and quirked a small smile, “Finally.”

[diwatang-sirena]

Food For Thought: Is it possible that Daenerys' storyline is going to go a similar route to Darth Vader's?

Now before you guys protest, especially the die-hard Dany stans, just hear me out on this. I’m a fan of both Vader and Dany, and as much as I wish that Dany will not turn into an antagonist, let’s not discount the possibility and try to look at her story in a different perspective. Okay? Then keep reading.

If you’re not familiar with Vader’s story in Star Wars (but how tho??), protagonist Anakin Skywalker started out as a poor, innocent slave boy who happened to have a very strong connection with the force. He’s even assumed to be the “Chosen One” from the prophecies that would balance the Dark and the Light sides of the Force. So he ends up training to become a Jedi with the hopes of freeing his slave mother whom he left behind in Tattooine, his home planet.

Eventually Anakin grows up to be a good but slightly arrogant teenager who is manipulated further by Emperor Palpatine (who’s posing as a good guy in the Senate). And because he’s fully aware of his natural talent, he’s even pushed further by the fact that the Jedi Council does not fully acknowledge his merits when he deserves them. One of the key moments in his transition is when he finds his mother murdered, which led him to his first act of madness when he massacred the tribe that stole her away.

But the final straw was when he dreamt that his secret wife, Padme, might possibly die through childbirth. This made him seek even more power to save his wife and unborn child, of which he was unable to do with his mother, and it eventually blinded him from seeing the good that his comrades and loved ones were trying to do to help him. 

At this point, he concluded that by being the most powerful, most fearsome Jedi on earth, he can prevent every terrible fate that could happen to the ones he loved. So he helped the Emperor massacre the whole Jedi Council, including the innocent children, in order to be stronger using the dark side of the Force. And you know the rest, his wife died in childbirth, indirectly because of his actions, and thinking that his mentor and brotherly figure Obi-Wan betrayed him and left him to die, he eventually became reborn as Darth Vader, now completely overwhelmed by hatred. 

And it’s not until the last minute when Luke, his son with Padme, helped bring him back to the Light when Vader chose to protect his son with his life instead of letting Palpatine kill him, ultimately fulfilling his prophecy as the Chosen One.

See the pattern here? Daenerys seems to be following quite a similar path, with her initially being a poor, helpless girl with a very tough upbringing who eventually gained power to protect the common folk. Not only that, but she also has something to do with the “Azor Ahai” Prophecy about the “Prince/Princess that was Promised”, although whether or not this means her, Jon, or their future child is yet to be seen.

Unfortunately, just like Anakin, Daenerys has been shown to have lingered in between the light and dark at times, such as burning her enemies or using fear to bend people to her will when her patience runs out. Of course I won’t deny that some of these actions are considered necessary considering that some of her enemies don’t do well with peace pacts or respectful discussions, most especially when they go through lengths to disrespect her as a woman.

But as much as I love Dany, I can’t deny that some of her actions, regardless of where she came from and how she came to be, are not doing her any favors with the Westerosi. Like Anakin, she has been slowly losing sight of what has been her main goal in the beginning of her pursuit; to save the people who suffered like she did and to find a place to truly call home. Now most of her focus is gaining her right to the Iron Throne, while slowly losing bits of emotion here and there especially when betrayal hits her at one front to another.

That is, until dear honorable Jon Snow came along.

Just like how Anakin and Padme’s forbidden love story ended up changing the Jedi forever, Jon and Dany’s love story seems to be a must in breaking the wheel of the current world, not just in politics, but the fate of the world itself. After all, Melisandre has prophesied that both of them have a very important role to play in the Azor Ahai prophecy in stopping the Night King.

Whether you ship them or not, you can’t deny that these two were bound to have a special connection thanks to their parallel journeys and their secret Targaryen relation. It’s interesting to note that in the beginning, all that Jon ever wanted was to become acknowledged as a Stark, arrogantly thinking that he had it worse than everyone else. Now that he’s constantly given all these burdens and high positions, he’s become more humble and doesn’t enjoy being the leader that people turn to.

Dany, on the other hand, was a meek and afraid little girl, having no idea in the beginning that she was capable of becoming more, no thanks to Viserys’ abuse. But as time went by, she began to grow as her own person and became more and more powerful, which unfortunately led her to become quite arrogant at times. 

While Jon’s been shown to have a harder time killing more and more people out of duty, especially when he began to realize that not everything is in black and white, Dany has been shown to be having an easier time disposing people who defy her, even the ones who used to be on her side. It’s not to say she hasn’t tried doing things the gentler way, but a lot of if not all the peace talks she’s attempted with her adversaries have never really gone smoothly. Not to mention, most of the people she had placed her trust in in the beginning have either betrayed or left her at some point.

To be fair, we can’t have two exact copies of “Jon Snow” in the GOT world. That wouldn’t make much of an interesting story now can it?

With that said, it seems possible that Jon’s role in GOT is quite similar to Luke’s trope as the reluctant hero of the story, the one who saves the whole world by saving their loved one from being completely immersed into the Dark Side.

Of course, we haven’t seen Dany turn completely mad just yet, and I personally hope it would never happen. But the first two episodes of Season 8 has compelled me to imagine the uncomfortable possibility of what it would be like if Daenerys does end up becoming a villain. Her thirst for the crown has been focused on too many times to deny in the first two episodes of the final season, and it seems that not even her love for Jon would let her set aside her quest for the crown completely, at least not yet.

But there’s also a possibility that their future child, if the constant foreshadowing in Season 7 comes to fruition, might also be a strong factor in changing her mindset, just like how Vader’s love for Padme and his children compelled him to eventually turn away from the Dark Side. Most importantly, their child might also have a huge role in stopping the second Long Night from happening, however possible that is, if he/she/they have something to do with the prophecy.

Another interesting possibility that’s been pointed out by some fans is that the only person other than Jon that might stop Dany from her road to Mad Queen status is the woman who currently checks up all the boxes of said status.

Cersei may not have the pure intentions that Dany has, but they do have a common factor of wanting to gain and remain in power no thanks to their past experiences of having their father/brother control most of their lives in the early parts of the series (Tywin with Cersei, and Viserys with Dany). I’d personally wager that Dany is still far from Cersei’s “Mad Queen” level, because at the very least Dany still has a few good and true comrades to help keep her feet on the ground. As Tyrion told Cersei, at least Dany has enough brains and empathy to listen to their advice at times, whereas Cersei would never do so unless it benefits only her.

This Cersei-Dany parallel would be a pretty similar situation with, again, Darth Vader and Luke. Just when Luke battles with his father and was almost on the verge of killing him, he stops when he sees his father’s robotic hand, realizing how similar they actually are and how much the Dark Side has affected Vader in the worst ways, which he himself almost fell into if he didn’t see the truth with his own eyes.

After the Battle of Winterfell is over, and Daenerys sees the remnants of the Night King's power while also coming to terms with Jon’s status as the rightful heir, perhaps Dany might reconsider and reflect on her true purpose in attaining the Seven Kingdoms. True there's also a huge possibility that she'll turn even darker than before, especially if her close comrades die/leave her, leaving her feeling more alone and out of place. But perhaps after seeing Cersei the way she is, with no true friends, no family, and no love left in her except the crown on her head, this might lead Dany to see the hard truth; The Iron Throne isn’t worth her humanity.

With that said, whether or not Dany turns into a true antagonist is yet to be seen. Contrary to some fans' predictions of her dying in the end, I actually believe that she'll survive, but not without huge consequences of course, which is carrying the guilt with her for the rest of her life. For some people, continuing to find the will to live can be much harder than dying a quick death. 

Having her killed off easily as a villain without redemption or in childbirth for me is a very big disservice to those who have watched/read her whole journey since Season 1 and the 1st book. I doubt that George R.R. Martin created Dany only to make her a Cersei 2.0 in the end. It would be the such an injustice for the series to conclude with Dany’s faults completely overshadowing the many good things she has done for the ones without power, especially during her time in Essos.

We have yet to see how low Dany would go to seize power as Vader would, and I’m extremely worried about how much it would affect everyone’s view of her till the very end, especially as a character that was so beloved for the whole 7 seasons, only to have her hated by most without proper redemption at the final season. Yes, as a GOT fan I’m glad that Dany’s being given a wakeup call that her idea of ruling has its flaws and does not suit everybody. But if she is really meant to betray Jon and the rest, I seriously wish that whatever payoff the writers have for Dany will be worth it in the end. Especially when there’re only a handful of episodes left.

And if people really think that Jon would easily leave Dany just like that, then boy, have they not been paying attention to Jon’s character development. Jon has already chosen duty over love several times, with one of those choices leading indirectly to his first love’s death. I highly doubt that Jon would ever leave Dany alone like that, even with all her faults, especially if she’s with child and if they do get married even if out of duty.

Just like how Padme never stopped believing that there is good in Anakin till her dying breath, it’s in Jon’s persona that he would do everything in his power to keep Daenerys from falling completely into the dark and feeling alone. I won’t be surprised if Jon would choose to take the fall for/with Daenerys if she is to be punished for whatever wrongdoing she’s about to do. That’s just the type of guy he is.

With that said, we have no choice but to wait until Episode 3 and 4 to really see where Daenerys’ morality will be going. As with every season, with every new episode that comes out, anything is possible. I still hold onto the hope that the writers know exactly what they’re doing with Daenerys and that it’ll be true to what George R.R. Martin really intended for her, although I’m already a bit wary at how they’re currently handling her responses. If her path is to go the same way as Vader’s like I guessed, I can only hope that they can do enough justice to make her memory worthwhile.

If not... there’s always hope for the books. And fanfiction.

[cutepacabra]

Understanding my own queerness, and my mestizaje in the South

I’m not really sure what this work is, it’s a bit of ramble from my stream of consciousness, a mea culpa for the people I’ve hurt and a coming out letter in some inane clusterfuck. Each subsection is headed with the title of an LP I’ve found particularly profound during that moment in my life.

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Blacksburg Va, The Turn of the 10’s

    I had made it. I’d shed the label of the new kid and was finally free to just be some kid people didn’t know, I’d found friends and developed a distance from my past 3 years in copy paster’s guide to neighborhoods. Most of all I had yet develop a real sense of self by that point. I had the luxury of my criollo (phenotypically and by wealth) existence shielding me from having to really wrestle with what it meant to be apart from the group, I got to indulge the luxury of white anonymity; no one asked me “what are you” until they saw my name and even then my response of “Mexican” or “Mexicano” was met with a “well prove it”. Looking back I’m more than a little shocked at the arrogance on display with such assertions, certainly warranting more than my tepid “no” or capitulation. Advancement into middle school of course came with all the requisite increases in outward displays of stupidity, cruelty and insensitivity that the white mindset brings with it (typically characterized as “no one has ever hurt me by talking about my whiteness so why would it hurt anyone else” in a naivete that too oft lasts until death), including but not limited too the whole arsenal of racial slurs that a group of 11 or 12 year olds can pull or cook up, made all too easy by our ready access to the internet. We would throw the hard r a.k.a. The Papa John around with reckless abandon; pouring endless more effort into research for new ways to degrade people of colour than we would our school work, even finding the esotericists the region brought along with it, finding nothing less than delight to find out that the term “moon cricket” or “fruit picker” could be used to degrade a group of people effectively invisible in such a preeminently white space. As with all 12 year old children we were not without our share of homophobia as well, a wide smile across some of their faces as they spoke about how they’d “beat the shit out of” and then “rape” any “faggot” that dared cross them. Of course this put me in a bit of a pickle, being that I myself was a budding young “faggot” and I now had to show my mettle as much as possible in order to avoid social flaying at a level of cruelty almost unique to that age. I had to up the ante, take on that mask and assume those traits that now had become linked with being masculine and fitting in: racism, homophobia, misogyny in addition to a generally callous misanthropy.

    The ultimate manifestation of my closet persona can be summed up by all the memories conjured by a simple phrase “Do it or you’re not real” (depending on the particular boy this could be appended with a hard r or a “faggot”). I made myself a fool in boys clothing many a time at the utterance, almost like an activated manchurian candidate, from opening the emergency exit door on a bus moving at least 50 miles per hour down the highway and having to be pulled back in a Looney Toons esque fashion to the sexual harassment of women simply for the comedy of the reaction to the other boys (particularly the women the other boys realized I had a romantic interest in). I had become nothing less than a monster, caught up in the worst of reaction, white enough to be let in on the fun and games with nothing more than the occasional “border jumper” or “mexinigger” comment. Of course it’s difficult to camo hide the things that cannot be hidden and my descent into an internet supported madness borne of cognitive dissonance, memes, image boards, forums and more stimuli than you can shake a stick at, in short exactly who you think would be listening to ska punk in 2010, I would oft hear a phrase that has stuck with me. “You’re pretty weird”, the intonation would vary, sometimes being a derision laced with venom, sometimes a realization built on uncertainty and sometimes the soft smile from someone who found a compatriot in not fitting in somehow. It was undeniable that at some level me being off white or just off perturbed them. I had become a simulacra of whiteness, the dissonance between my hyper real whiteness and the true blue thing they’d known all their life was in that moment there and not; an oscillation that existed at the boundaries of the rigid modernist reality set forth by the racial framing ideology that ruled the way they thought about people. If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck and says the n word like a duck is it a duck? The answer here was simultaneously yes and no; I had through effort overcome my innate nature within the social structure but had  only achieved a consciousness of whiteness (and heterosexuality) that allowed me to become that simulacra; a fake that was in some ways even more real than the real thing since I had to try and maintain that identity continually, this in particular was profoundly perturbing to some of my classmates. “If someone didn’t know you they’d think you were white” and comments in that ilk always carried that worry, that uneasiness that someone from an “out group” could slip “in”, nicknames like “the infiltrator” or “undercover” further cemented this feeling.  

    This dissonance started to create a toxic pit of self loathing and internalized pathologies aimed against all the things I knew all too well I was and towards all the things I so desperately wanted to be. I hated the rise in my chest a few of my male friends would provoke; I hated my late night google dives into crossdressing paraphernalia and picture sets, desperately framed as yet another “haha look at these weirdos” “joke”; I hated knowing I was on the outside no matter how hard I tried to fit in; I hated myself. The only hate from this era which has yet to set its sun, shining overhead to this day, blinding my path.

    That’s not to say that this time didn’t have its share of counterframing towards equality and justice, I ended up adopting the typical reactionary white liberal view of the world but not without a fight put up by my mother’s strong views on human justice borne of her socially orphaned social democrat political views imported from Mexico. As well as the Priest of the local Roman Catholic Church Father Prinelli who was incredibly cool with my generalized disillusionment with organized religion and just asked me to kind to my fellow folk. It would be an unfortunately long time before I would heed their words.

Losing Streak

The North DFW ‘Burbs circa the early to mid 2010s

     While my set of friends had not traveled back with me my dips into reaction followed my move back to the same North DFW suburb I had left before landing in the New River Valley. It was around this time that my reactionary mindset found a new target to bully and deny was a part of me: the trans community. While at some level I knew I felt uncomfortable in my gender expression I interpreted this as my failure to “man up” or fulfill my traditionally masculine roles in the face of a lot of decidedly non masculine interests (S/o to ZUN’s Touhou Project series for spurring my appreciation for frilly ridiculous clothing), leading me to decide that I would simply have to be even more “masculine” which at the time meant becoming even more overt of an asshole to gender non conforming folks. I was also stripped of the masculine identity I had built up through sheer rapport with what was actually a pretty large swatch of folks, leaving me to find a new place to cast my dark closeted arts.

    I fell in with a roughly the same set of folks I hung out with during my time there in elementary school but the timbre of who I was became profoundly different. The culture and the social structure was markedly different and the survival strategies I had conceived no longer made the most sense.  On top of all this was the piling on of teenage angst both normal and dysphoria fueled. I had met the natural end of my sins, supreme loneliness, alienated from everyone around me and even the only one I had in solitude. As I gradually clawed myself a place to exist in the localized social structure it would become more and more apparent that only by beginning to shed some of the malice in my heart would lead to a better outcome.

     Better in this case was actually quite good for someone who in retrospect is wholly undeserving, I found myself with an incredibly tight knit group of about 6 people who were tempered by unexpected hardships rarely overcome by the group but almost always partially mitigated. Being as profoundly enthralled in reactionary ideology as I was it would take time for this realization that raw human kindness is what creates strong bonds. These people would layer by layer begin to peel parts of the callous shell I had built with what they had, motivating me to drop some of the most egregious of my beliefs such as homophobia, racism  until I was an even stranger mix of self hatred with external crusades for what I have come to believe are the right things.

     Bubbling beneath the surface for all this of course is the 3178 kilogramme elephant in the room of my gender identity. Being so alienated from what the “normal” male experience was I found myself not thinking that what I would come to realize were leaking feelings were anything out of the ordinary for kids my age. “Of course all guys want to be girls and think about it with regularity” “There’s nothing weird about always being an ambiguous creature or a girl in your dreams” By this point I just pinned these things down to my now personally accepted bisexuality never even having the mental framework to link these thoughts up with my transness.

Twin Fantasy

Caucasian Station, TX; Texas A&M University

    Things kinda fell apart. I was a pretty lonely person for a hot second in my HS years but I at least had the luxury of speaking with someone every single day (whether or not the people I was conversing with or I wished to is another matter) but coming to uni was another level. During the first semester of my fish year I would spend weeks without saying more than a passing set of sentences, too scared, too alienated, too depressed to even leave my dorm for more than runs for sustenance outside. My sanity was barely kept intact by working with cavelier and roguish campus activism collective “TAMU Anti-Racism” as the tensions built on campus with the rising tide of white supremacy in the days before and after the Trump election. This meager sense of purpose I ascribed to being able to “do” anything managed to keep me attached to this mortal coil even if only in the loosest fashion.

    Somehow I had become an impression left by my old husk self lying on the ground, a shadow forgotten by everything. The real inflections came in the wake of what was supposed to be a moment of triumph for me in college, my first hetero and homosexual experiences; instead I would find myself disgusted with myself, not for the acts in question but rather for my reaction to them. I kinda hated it. I started chalking this up to some sort of need for romance in my sexual relationships, this would also prove untrue. Simultaneously my “leaks” of transness were becoming more and more apparent, buying women's clothes on the internet and donning them in the dead of night in my dorm restroom only to become overwhelmed with self hate and guilt at the idea that I could be some kind of pervert because it felt right, because I wanted it. My own hate of my physical form also grew exponentially during this time although I would again simply attribute this to a pathology about being really overweight. On occasion I would even have fits of body hair dysphoria and shave all of my body hair in a panicked burst, hopping in the shower with the sole thought that it all had to go. With the answer to my feelings staring me in the face as the barrel of a gun stares in the face of someone executed in the field I still looked the sights down from the other side and said “I don’t see a gun”. Repression truly induces some incredibly wild states of mind. One of those even happened to be an entertaining of the end, through the purchase of a method before I escaped the malaise temporarily and came to my senses.

    While this may sound like a recipe for academic success the truth is I ended up in a state of failure in two of my courses at the time (physics and calculus, both of which I had long since stopped attending regularly) and I knew I only had the chance to pass 1 of them when finals week came to tower over me. My premonition came to pass and I would get a big fat F in Calculus to accompany generally low grades overall, putting me on Academic probation. By this time I had at the least come to realize that the college of engineering did not house my future academic home although I was too chicken footed to leave the next semester. With the miasma of academic failure lifted from me I would spend the next two semesters attempting to find my place at the department of Sociology and within the same organizations that dominate my time at TAMU today.  

    I also have to give great thanks to these orgs for really helping me develop my sense of latinidad and latino identity when the bloom of the cactus upon my face was oft lost in the shuffle. I’ve become much more comfortable with my ethnic heritage and more understanding of my status and place within the mestizaje as a privileged individual for being white passing, even if it’s the source of a lot of my internal turmoil. I’ve managed to dedicate so much of my time and effort to the community and in turn the community has given me back my sense of self, my sense of purpose. I no longer feel like a chunk of gravel aimlessly being flung around a highway and I owe that to all the incredible role models and friends I’ve made and met working for the betterment of Latinos on campus and in the US writ large. A fairly obvious epiphany came to me sometime in the past year or so that having a reason to live really is pretty good.

    My life would proceed without any major events until I would come face to face with the incongruity between myself and my body in an unexpected fashion the first semester of my sophomore year. During a trip to a nearby city for a conference I found myself at a dangerous level of inebriation, going quite a bit too hard. I stumbled my way into the restroom and felt the alcohol poisoning creep into my body; one by one my senses felt like they were leaving me, leaving my soul suspended in the ether. In that dissociated state I came to realization, I didn’t feel male during this brush with death, in fact I felt rather femme again refusing to believe what was in front of me I would spend hours in the next days attempting to find out if my reaction was simply a normal response to the irresponsible amount of drinks I had ingested that night.   

     A good talking to by a friend over the net that I was exhibiting quite a lot of gender non-conforming behavior finally pushed me over the edge and cracked my egg. It was still relatively early in the day when I came to point where my recession dam broke and the dysphoric waters came flooding in full force. Suddenly and violently I had context for feelings I had held for a long time and was now drowning in their full weight. Among these feelings I had pushed down and stamped upon during my early days was apparently anxiety because although I didn’t know it I was having a full blown panic attack at the time. I would come to realize what was happening only after boarding what felt like an exceedingly crowded Aggie Spirit bus, as my vision, chest and breathing further constricted. The world felt like it was collapsing in on me, my eyes went fish eyed like a sick 90s skate video, my breath grew more and more shallow. After getting off the bus and finding a solitary spot to shed some tears in I called the only people I knew I could rely on, my friends. Particularly 3 folks who I’ll leave anonymous for this letter (if i’m sending this to you, you probably know who you are) spurred me to action and to take the reigns of my life. Just before my 20th birthday in March I made an appointment with a clinic to seek hormone replacement therapy. After about 6 months in september I walked in 3 months after my blood exam with a script for estradiol and spironolactone.

    To the people who’ve supported me I can’t thank you enough. To the people I’ve hurt I can never fully atone for my transgressions against you. To those on the outside looking in, I hope this shows that life isn’t a linear path, that things can take you in directions you never thought and that there’s always a way to get better.

Thanks and Gig em,

    SRJP

[georgia-black-hat-society]

A Primer for the Non-Subscriber: The Conical Hat

"You can choose a ready guide, in some celestial voice.

If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

 You can choose from phantom fears, and kindness that can kill.

I will choose a path that's clear, I will choose free will."

~Neil Peart

 Let us delve into WHY “Black Hat Society” was chosen. 

Come, take a walk with me through the words of history. Our first stop will be short, here is the “why” for color.

 By definition, “black” is the absorption of ALL colors in the visible spectrum. The CONES in our eyes perceive this as “nothing” being reflected or refracted from something. All light is absorbed by that thing (Newton’s). This is perceived as a ONENESS to me. ALL things are absorbed because all things are as one. Furthermore, I do not subscribe to any preconceived notions or prejudices forced upon society over time. With that, I am neither a Theist nor Atheist. I believe there is a little #TRUTH in ALL THINGS. Even something that only exists in thought, “is”. That which is not perceived, or does not exist in thought, “is” too.

 I digress. Let us talk more about the history of this millinery success. This hat has traveled through human existence for thousands of years. The conical black hat has carried with it meanings of power, both positive and negative. Most recently, a hat of this style (conical black felt) was discovered on mummies from around 4,000 years ago with the “Subeshi Witches”, found on the northern Silk Road trade route.  (Although, we now understand that those around the World who were known as “witches” often did not even cover their heads or wore simple scarves instead.)

 Before 1000 BC, also known as the Bronze Age, priests (because this title has ALWAYS referred to “elder” , “one with knowledge” or “wise one”) would wear golden conical hats that stood almost 3 feet tall. These hats were decorated with sun and moon symbols, indicating that their wearers were star-trackers who were able to analyze the sky to study celestial bodies and predict the weather. This is not such a mystery today. Seeing the power these people commanded from others around them by simply paying attention to their environment, dogma was taking notice.

 Did the “Three Wise Men” derive from here? Was a conical hat worn to the birth of this particular messiah? They did follow a star after all.

 None the less, their meteorological ability, misunderstood by many, caused the priests to be referred to as “king-priests” and were thought to have magical powers. It was also believed that they had access to a divine knowledge that enabled them to look into the future. Much of this was simply the ability to follow “cause and effect”. It is from this early use of conical hats that led to the traditional star-spangled wizard’s hat that we recognize in clothing today.

 There was some thought of the Babylonian Jews at this time wearing conical hats themselves by choice. Possibly a conquered people from Iran? Scythian? Their warriors were described as wearing “conical hats” from cuneiform inscriptions found from that time. Regardless, they were forced to then wear them as a form of discrimination from the Islamic groups of Iraq. This “public identification” carried on for thousands of years for anyone connected to this hat.

 Jump forward in time to the “Christ Era”.

 In the 6th to 10th century, also referred to as The Dark Ages (the first half of the Middle Ages from 500 to 1000 AD) not a lot of history was able to be kept. This was a very volatile time during human existence. The Roman Empire fell and a lot of writings and knowledge were lost to the ages. The collapse of the Roman Empire lead to a lack of a kingdom or any political structure. This caused the churches of the time to take control and they became the most powerful institutions in Europe. It was during this time the Church began taking elements of “heathen” culture and Old Religion to appropriate for their agenda of conquer and expand.

 Turning to the 11th century, the conical hat seemed to have been morphed into use as the Mitre, an accessory vestment, by the Church. There is quite a debate about this. You can observe from various timeless Brotherhoods of Xtianity, that the conical hat remained in use. The Spaniards are the main ones that held fast to this piece of attire. Intolerance and its representation of “wrongness” continued for the hat. It began being used for those serving “penance” with the Church.

The Practitioners who walked this Path were called Penitents. Traditionally in Spain, those wearing the conical hat were known as capirotes. It was used during the times of the Spanish Inquisition as a punishment. Bastardized as many things were from the histories of previous peoples, the condemned by that Tribunal were obliged to wear a yellow robe – saco bendito, also known as a blessed robe that covered their chest and back. along with the hat. The hat was a paper-made cone on their heads with different signs on it, alluding to the type of crime they had committed. For instance, those to be executed wore red. The were also green, white and black colors worn.

 The Church’s power began to waiver again and they had to do “something” to bring it back to their grasp. One of their thinkers, whom I believe was connected to the Inquisition, began looking around for ways to do this. In 1214, The Dominican Order was established in the Catholic church. The first group on their radar was the Manicheans. For more than a thousand years, since the Roman Empire was in power, war with the Persian Empire (Middle East) which included the Manichaeans, carried on. The Manichaens were seen as representatives of a foreign power and as dangerous aliens, even though they were but a small section of Persia.  Sound familiar?

The Mani had not been supporters of the Persian Empire's wars with other lands, including Rome, but that was overlooked. The Romans persecuted the Manichaeans, while Jews were also being persecuted.  And without the backing of the brute power of a major state in the Middle East/Persia, Manichaeism would all but disappear in the future. They were considered “outcasts” in their own society. I wonder if they wore “conical hats”? Do you know who the Yazidi are? You should.

 While this was happening, we move further into the 12th century with our hat. The Mongol Queens from the Mongol Empire founded by Genghis Khan in 1206, were wearing these conical hats too. Originating from the Mongol heartland in the Steppe of central Asia. By the late 13th century it spanned from the Pacific Ocean in the east to the Danube River and the shores of the Persian Gulf in the west. Khan’s was a competing empire for world dominance. None the less, there were no real differences in men and women’s clothing for the time but the Mongols needed to be seen from great distances, hence, the tall conical hat. This empire would not last against another… and the hat traveled.

 As the story goes, Marco Polo brought back a sample of this hat to Europe in the 14th Century. The voracity of land grabs had already begun in the World. Mother Nature was being raped and disregarded and “fashion” became more important than meaning or purpose. The women of the time began wearing a conical hat called a hennin, not as Practitioners, but as fashionistas of their time. Very much unlike the willow-withe and felt Boqta (Ku-Ku) of Mongolian Queens. This appropriation became known as “the princess hat” and was worn tilted back on the head and veiled with brightly colored fabrics.

The “witch”, a word now derived from the Old English nouns wicca with an Old English pronunciation: [ˈwɪttʃɑ], meaning 'sorcerer, male witch, warlock' and wicce, the Old English pronunciation: [ˈwɪttʃe] for 'sorceress, female witch', actually becomes murky in meaning and language after this. The “witch” hunts were now well under way.

 Since the beginning of its blighted past, the conical hat has stood to represent those outcast by their society. This seemed more prevalent in the later half its history. Why? The perpetuation of it being “negative” began with the Church.

 It is of my opinion, the wearers of this hat were hold outs of Old Religion, Earth-Minded Folk and others at the turn of “the Christ event”. Because they did not or would not subscribe to what they were being sold, they became outcast from the forward momentum of society at that time. “Those in power”, i.e. Rome and later Europe and North America would not stand for anyone that did not conform to their forward march of greed and exploitation of Earth and “lesser humans”.

 As we slipped into the 15th century, thousands were dying at the hands of those in power. The danger of witches became a widespread public concern. Urbanization and increased trade with foreign lands, along with epidemics of plague and cholera resulting from that trade, the onset of the Little Ice Age, upset feudal and religious hierarchies, ALL gave way to a convoluted mindset. “Something” had to be the cause. The was NO personal accountability. There was a widespread sense that the uncontrollable forces of change were destroying all order and moral tradition and the Church’s control. Persecuting witches redefined society’s moral boundaries and secured who was in control. This shift lent a leg up to allowing, and almost requiring, the demoralization of self if one did not conform or think or act like the majority in society. Differences in people, like those who were LGBTQ, although a part of us for thousands of years, were persecuted by the Church.

 While we are passing through the 15th century, let us also consider the possibility that the witch’s hat is an exaggeration of the tall, conical “dunce’s hat” that was popular in the royal courts of the time as well. Or, let us consider the tall but blunt-topped hats worn by Puritans and the Welsh, who also had separate ideas than the majority. No matter what the fashion, pointed hats were frowned upon by the Church, which now associated points with the horns of the devil to maintain its power and fear-mongered agendas.

 Let us also consider, somewhere along the way, an artist took creative license and added a brim to the timeless conical hat. Why would they do this?

 Brimless, conical hats had long been associated with male wizards, magicians, Jews, Mani and many other societal outcasts. And, it was a male dominated society as the shift was happening. Goya even painted witches with such hats. It is possible that an artist added a brim to make the hats more appropriate for women (according to the fashion “rules” at the time) and to better fit this agenda of forward motion and subservience of others. One theory holds that the stereotypical witch’s hat came into being in Victorian times or around the turn of the century, in illustrations of childrens’ fairy tales. The tall, black, conical hat and the ugly crone became readily identifiable symbols of wickedness, to be feared by children. Hence, more fear-mongering was created in the name of control by the Church.

I do not feel I need to retell the rest of the history of the conical, now brimmed, black hat of the last 500 years. You should all be aware of the many “witch” trials by now. You have walked through history with me. You see where it comes from. You see why Georgia Black Hat Society has the Mission Statement it does. You see, my fellow Practitioner, why I take the stances that I do and want to hold to a belief of ONENESS of all things, just as my kindred folk of the previous thousands of years have done. Not war. Not greed. Not conquering my neighbors’ houses while wearing the now hijacked “black hat” of the social elite.

Harmony. Love. Unity.

THAT is what this all means to me.

 More to come.

 Blessings.

Reverend Richoz, RN

[sinceileftyoublog]

Whitney Rose Interview: The Story Thief

BY JORDAN MAINZER

In our interview conducted a couple months ago and since on Twitter, Austin-via-Canada country singer-songwriter Whitney Rose has joked about the ill timing of an album called We Still Go To Rodeos, released on her own artist/management-run label MCG Recordings back in April. The joke’s on us, though: As is par for the course for Rose, throughout the record, she uses the symbol of the rodeo, and first-person narratives of interpersonal devotion and depression, as metaphors for and tributes to the twists and turns of the human condition rather than literal autobiography. A woman ruins her life for a man on rollicking, jangly opener “Just Circumstance”; a different woman ruins a man’s car after he cheats on her on “Believe Me, Angela”. Someone ironically uses the excuse of a breakup to finally get a king-sized bed on “Through The Cracks”. There are songs devoted to life’s simple pleasures--companionship and sex on the breezy “Home With You”, snow cones on the harmonica-laden, swaying title track. We’re not going anywhere, but we need stories more than ever.

Read my interview with Rose below, during which we talk about the writing and recording of the record, Forensic Files, live streams, and how she saved a baby blue jay during quarantine.

Since I Left You: Do you feel especially fortunate to have been able to release We Still Go To Rodeos, given the current economic climate, on your own label?

Whitney Rose: Yeah, absolutely. The biggest reason for that is I didn’t have to have a conversation with anybody. It was completely up to me. I have friends on record labels who for various reasons ended up having to have very long discussions slash arguments figuring out whether or not to release it on the date and when to release it. We don’t know when we’re gonna have the green light to get back on the road, which all of my musician friends are dying to do, myself included. Not knowing how long this is gonna go on, and why not give people new music right now? Hopefully, let it marinate, and it’s not too old by the time we’re able to get back on the road again. At this point, because this is so unprecedented, I have no idea whether it was a good decision or a bad decision, but I don’t regret it.

SILY: From a listener standpoint, I feel like people are pretty happy to get any kind of new art, whether music or shows or books or films. Not even just as a way to spend time, but if something has something to say, it can definitely be comforting to people right now.

WR: That was my hope. I hope my new record was able to do that for some folks.

SILY: In terms of the songs themselves, throughout the whole album, you seem to be singing from a number of different times in your life or to or about different people, if not from different points of view. Does the album follow a concrete narrative? Are songs about specific people?

WR: The record as a whole is a narrative, but I make fun of myself and call myself a story thief. I’m really close with my family, and I’m really lucky to have a lot of close friends who tell me things about their lives, and I definitely steal their stories. I do enjoy writing in the third person, but writing in first person comes more naturally to me. I draw from my own experiences, too. I tell my own stories. But even if I’m telling someone else’s story, I prefer to tell it in the first person. In terms of there being an overall [narrative], I like to think it’s cohesive enough, but it’s definitely not telling one story.

SILY: Do you find that people often assume you’re singing autobiographically?

WR: 100%, as soon as you say the word “I.” I would even go so far as to say [singing autobiographically is] not usually the case. Sometimes, it is, but definitely, people make that assumption.

SILY: The first track, for instance, is inspired by the different stories you’ve watched on Forensic Files.

WR: Not only that, but I don’t know if you’ve seen Orange Is The New Black, but I got really interested in the criminal justice system, specifically for females. It’s pretty incredible the stuff that goes on. Obviously, not only the female experience...the criminal justice system is pretty fucked.

It’s amazing, because I don’t know how much you travel, but I travel a fair bit, and [Forensic Files] is one of the only constants. I can count on it being on HLN when I get home from a gig or when I get to a hotel after a 15-hour drive. The narrator’s voice has become somewhat of a lullaby for me. Sometimes, I put it on and I’m asleep within 30 seconds. It’s that calming. It’s one of those constants you can depend on.

SILY: Do you think you’ve watched every episode?

WR: I don’t know about that, because they always go on loops. But I can tell you I’ve seen some episodes 4 times. I tend to exaggerate, and I’m trying to do that less, but I would not be surprised if I’ve seen 500 episodes of Forensic Files...but I don’t know how many episodes there are. I should be on Wikipedia right now [looking it up.]

SILY: My girlfriend and I are at the point where we can’t go on Netflix or anywhere it’s streaming and find an episode we haven’t seen. For a long period of time, it was exactly that: something to fall asleep to.

WR: Absolutely. And I only watch it on Netflix when I’ve been trying to sleep for an hour or two and I can’t. It’s that thing that will put me to sleep when it’s important for me to go to sleep. We always need rest when we’re on the road. But at home, when I can’t fall asleep, I go straight to Netflix and put on Forensic Files. It usually works pretty quickly.

SILY: The track “Believe Me Angela”, I’ve read that you started out wanting to write a revenge tale, but it ended up being one where the two women at the bad end of infidelity find solidarity with one another. The song is structured the same way: You think it’s gonna go one way, but on the final verse, the narrator talks it over with her friends and keys the guy’s car instead of the other girl’s. Was that trick intentional, or did it just happen that way?

WR: It absolutely just happened. But not easily, because--[sighs]--I don’t know, that day--you know some days, you’re not angry or enraged about anything, but you’re a little more spunky than normal. I was just in this really awful mood and felt like writing an angry song and calling someone out on their shit. So I thought, “Okay, I’ll write a cheating/revenge tune.” I sat down, and was writing it but I was not feeling it. The more I wrote, the less angry I got. I started feeling compassion for the characters. I got derailed, and it happened.

SILY: Does writing songs in general have that almost therapeutic quality to you?

WR: Absolutely. Even just strumming a guitar. It’s effectively my medication. Even if it’s just three chords over and over and over again for half an hour to an hour. I find it really really soothing. Usually, when I do that, I start thinking of melodies, and that’s how a lot of my song ideas come to me.

SILY: In terms of your lyrical delivery, the one that stands out most to me is “In A Rut”, especially the way you say the title really quickly. Did you do it that way to have it fit within the tempo?

WR: It’s funny; when I wrote that song, it’s probably the best example of what I just described, playing the same three chords over and over again. In this particular instance, I had just come off the road, and I wasn’t feeling the best. This isn’t how I approach every song--I don’t just write when I’m angry, I swear. But it actually started out a lot slower, and picking up my guitar for the first time in a few days, which doesn’t usually happen. Usually, even if for a few minutes, I play every day. But I was in a weird mindset, and I started playing these chords and singing these three words. It was a lot slower. But when we were in the studio, I thought it should be a little bit more of a rocker. I didn’t want to be sad, but a little more frustrated. The most effective way I could do that was try it as a rocker. My band on this album is amazing. They could have done anything--that could have been a ballad and they would have done an incredible job. But when I heard them playing that at a faster tempo, I fell in love with it. We just moved forward with it. We didn’t even go back to the country shuffle.

SILY: It’s almost an anthem, the way it turned out.

WR: Thank you! It’s really fun to play live. It’s one of the only tunes I got to play live with my band before this happened. I always have a lot of fun with it.

SILY: Your band is pretty steady throughout the whole record, but I do love that there’s an overall palate that occasionally introduces something new, like the banjo on “I’d Rather Be Alone” and the harmonica on the title track.

WR: Every musician on the record is so versatile. They can play any style. That’s one of the biggest reasons why they were hired. Matt Hubbard and Rich Brotherton, when they came to the studio, they were involved in the base tracks, with Lisa Pankratz on drums and [Dave Leroy Biller] on guitar and [Brad Fordham] on bass. It was all pretty much within the same week. When the piano and extra guitar player came in, they had a truck full of instruments. When we were helping them load in, we were like, “Holy shit! How many instruments do you have in here?” They didn’t know what we were looking for. Playing around with the extra instruments was so much fun. I’m sure that’s super nerdy. But Matt Hubard on harmonica on the title track, Rich Brotherton on banjo and acoustic guitar on “I’d Rather Be Alone”. Matt Hubbard on the Wurlitzer. Watching Gurf Morlix do his thing on two or three tracks was incredible. One of my favorite guitar players, Nichol Robertson, who is based in Toronto--timing didn’t work out for him to come down here, so I sent him a couple tracks, and he sent back some amazing stuff, like the outro for “I’d Rather Be Alone”. 

When I write, I write alone, so I have to imagine how it’s going to sound in my head. I’m just a strummer. I’m by no means a good guitar player. I enjoy it, and obviously I play guitar a lot, but by no means am I a maestro. Seeing people care about these little songs I’ve written, and having them listen to me and listen to what I want, and having it become a musical conversation. They are maestros, and they know so much more about that world than I do. Seeing what they bring to the table. I wish I could be in the studio all of the time. It’s such a learning experience. It’s so inspiring. The only thing it hasn’t inspired me to do at this point is actually get really good at an instrument.

SILY: The line on “I’d Rather Be Alone” that gives it its title seems to be prescient right now: “I’d rather be alone than lonely.”

WR: There are a lot of things on this record that aren’t the best timing. Everybody in the world right now just wants to be out in public. “I’d Rather Be Alone” is socially responsible, but what people really want is to be able to go out to dinner with their friends, go to a park, go out for coffee, go to a beach, go to a pool. That one is telling a story of a friend of mine who basically said half of the line. I was listening intently, trying to be a good friend and listener, but I couldn’t wait to get off the phone and write that song. [laughs]

SILY: The line on “Through The Cracks” about finally getting a king size bed after becoming alone again differentiates being alone and being lonely, too. You can be lonely, but not be alone. And part of aloneness can be these things that give you comfort.

WR: There is such a difference between alone and lonely, and a lot of people don’t realize that. I don’t think it’s groundbreaking or anything, but it could be helpful for people who hate being alone to have a better understanding of people in their lives who don’t need people around, to the point where they’re uncomfortable having people around. It’s something you can realize within yourself. “I’m alone right now, but holy shit, I’m not lonely, I’m actually really happy.” Vice versa, “I’m lonely right now, but I’m not alone, so what does that say about me.” Understanding people in your life who are different than you.

SILY: What’s the story behind the cover art?

WR: It’s kind of embarrassing, actually. I wanted to do something really simple. In the past, my artwork hasn’t been glamorous, but this time, I wanted to do something a little more natural and simple. My fella and I just went out for a drive one day. He took that photo, and I saw it, and I thought, “Let’s use this. That’s the album art.” My friend Tom Ionescu put the borders on. We worked together to maintain that simplicity with the fonts and how everything appears. I wanted something not really flashy. I have one hand behind my head. It was free. Why not?

SILY: Have you done any live streams?

WR: I haven’t, and it’s not for any reason except it’s gonna be the first time that these songs are for the most part being presented, and I want to present them properly. If I were to live stream just me and my guitar, I feel like it would be sending kids off to preschool but not putting any clothes on them. It doesn’t feel right. I’ve even recorded myself doing a live stream, and I’m not happy with where it is. Also, one of the times I did a test of a live stream, I knocked over my microphone. I couldn’t stop giggling. It feels really, really weird. To execute it really well is really, really difficult. The space in between songs is dead air unless you have something really clever to say. But I don’t want to say anything. I just want to play my songs. Basically, I’m just waiting out the really strict quarantine, and when I have all of the gear and cameras to have my band over to my house and practice distancing and do a live stream that way, instead of doing it just on my own. The best that I can go for with just me and my guitar is endearing, and I want better than that.

Even if it was a different record that I put out, it might make sense for me to do some solo live streaming, but for this record, I’m gonna wait until I can have my band.

[Editor’s note: Since this interview was conducted, Rose has been featured on two SiriusXM channels.]

SILY: In the meantime, is anything else coming up for you? Are you finding yourself writing?

WR: Yeah. I’ve been writing, and I’ve been practicing, and I’ve been doing what everyone else has been doing. And just like everyone else, some days, you wake up really inspired, and you read, and you exercise for a while, and I’ve been practicing French, so I’ll do 4 or 5 French lessons, and make a really nice meal. And then the next day, I’ll be like, “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna watch 5 episodes of The Office.” It ebbs and flows. The other day, a friend of mine said, “This is a really weird time. As long as you’re getting by, great. You don’t have to master that third language. Great if you do, but if you can just get through this, that’s enough.” I really appreciated her saying that. It really spoke to me. I’m sure there are a lot of people out there who feel the pressure to keep being productive. I’m not coming down on that mentality at all because it’s ideal. But for me, I’ll readily admit that it’s not sustainable. 

SILY: Is there anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading during quarantine or before that’s caught your attention, inspired you, or comforted you?

WR: I love the new [Lucinda Williams] record. She released it on the same day as [I released mine]. Two days after she released it, I listened to it 4 times. Right now, I’m reading Becoming by Michelle Obama. I can’t wait to watch the Netflix special. I’m almost done with that book. We rescued a baby blue jay, which took up about a week. The baby fell out of his nest in my yard, and the nest was too high to put him back. He was about to get eaten by a feral cat, so we took him inside. The next morning, we were gonna take him to animal rescue, but we saw his parents in the yard, so we ended up making a makeshift nest for him. By the end of that first day, his parents were coming to visit him and feeding him every 20 minutes. About a week after that, he flew away with his parents and I think one or two siblings as well. That was great. That took up some time.

SILY: Do you have any pets?

WR: I do not, no. I love animals, but with my old lifestyle, spending so much time on the road, it wasn’t really feasible. For a few months of the year, I’d have to find alternate care for a pet. It hasn’t felt right since I started touring full-time. Right now, I would even kill to have Ace back. I’m glad he flew away, and it had a happy ending, but I loved having him around.

We Still Go To Rodeos by Whitney Rose

[weirdwariii]

My Top 20 Albums of 2017, Part 1: 20-11

Alright, let’s do it. 20 albums that I liked more than the rest of this year’s albums. Some are easy to stand behind because they’re just genuinely and technically great, but there are a few albums that just resonated with me a lot - seemingly in ways that didn’t with others? But, whatever, it’s my list and I’ll forget about all of these albums a few weeks into 2018 when I’m just listening to If You’re Feeling Sinister ten times a day.

20. Black Mass - World Eater:  In what will likely be a recurring theme as I talk about albums that were important to me this year, it was hard not to weigh any art (music or otherwise) against the flaming circus-tent of a year it's been for anyone who wasn’t an old white male billionaire. And while I didn’t always seek out music that seemed to directly react to the state of the world, some albums just seemed to fill that role naturally. In any other year, I probably would’ve embraced World Eater’s dark and noisy aesthetic as a good counterpoint to all the lighter power pop I consumed, but this year, World Eater felt more like necessary noise in drowning out the barrage of darkness in our newsfeeds. For an album without any actual intelligible words or lyrics, it's hard to say just how much of a reaction World Eater is to 2017, but it still managed to fill that role perfectly.

19.  Dirty Projectors - Dirty Projectors: It’s like listening to your best friend talk about his recent breakup. And you love your best friend, and he tells a really good story. And in the moment you’re thinking “Man, that sounds like it was really hard.” But later on, after he left your house and your mulling it over, you think: “She might have been too good for him.” Look, I don’t know what happened between Amber and Dave, and I’m not supposed to know either - that’s their business.  But they made some of my favorite albums together, and this album - the first without Amber - simultaneously feels both incomplete and like an evolution in the sound of Dirty Projectors. The last thing I wanted was to feel like I was between two of my friends as they broke up, but at least the fallout sounded beautiful.

18.  Los Campesinos - Sick Scenes: What year did Hold On Now, Youngster… come out? Oh, 2008. Wow, seems surreal it's been almost 10 years, and like, 4...5...6 EPs and LPs since then? I gotta admit, I fell off the wagon for a while. It wasn’t you, Los Campesinos, it was me. But, man, am I glad that I checked back in this year. I dunno what happened. Maybe you were fucking killing it the whole time and I wasn’t paying attention, or maybe I just happened to check back when you made exactly the album I was hoping I’d get a few years/LPs ago. Still twee. Still snarky. Still angsty. It’s the bitter version of Belle & Sebastian we needed right about now.

17. Protomartyr - Relatives in Descent: There’s a lot of archaic sounding rock music anymore, right? I still like it, but to stand out in 2017, a good rock album needs to have something special to say. This album, and the band’s Joe Casey, has a lot to say. It’s hard to describe the band’s sound, and I mean that in the best way possible. The Fall’s chatty lyrics and punk sound is a good starting point, maybe a dash of Titus Andronicus (or maybe I just listened to TA a lot this year, and they were always on my mind when I listened to Protomartyr?). This year’s album by Priests actually felt akin to this album, and vice versa (and we’ll talk about that album more later…). But this album felt wholly original, political, socially aware and personal in a year where all of those things mattered more than usual, and we were all better for it.

16. Ariel Pink - Dedicated to Bobby Jameson: More than ten years after having discovered Ariel Pink, I still feel like there’s no artist or band that sounds like him. His honest-to-goodness songwriting knowhow always seems at odds with his continued embrace of absurdism. Whereas his older material always reminded me of listening to someone’s AM radio through the wall (at midnight,after you had a few drinks), his newer material is more like finally being invited into your neighbor’s apartment, only to find out that the music is coming out of the sink. There’s almost a sense of maturation on this album for Pink, but only in that he seems more comfortable than ever in exploring the niche that he’s made for himself and remains alone in.

15. Everything Everything - A Fever Dream: You know those bands, or albums, that you think you know everything about before you listen to them? That. For the last three albums, I kind of wrote off Everything Everything based on nothing more than a bad hunch. “I think they’re from the UK? They probably have a guy on the synths. I bet NME likes them. Nothing to see here, folks.” I was wrong (and why would any of those things have mattered?). I’m always wrong when I do this (sometime I’ll tell you about the years I was really wrong about The Mountain Goats). This band, and this album in particular, feels so much refined and on point than I ever would’ve imagined. The strength of “Night of the Long Knives” alone, and it being the first track, was like a slap to the face. Who else was I wrong about?

14. Grandaddy - Last Place: I told them not to do it. They probably couldn’t hear me, and I doubt they would’ve listened had they heard me, but I fucking told Grandaddy: “Don’t come back. You’re music is of a time and place, and this isn’t the same world. Nobody’s going to get your slacksadaiscal lo-fi indie-pop. Please, think of me: You’re fan who loves you and who used your music to get through some dark days.” But they went and did it. They came back. And they made an album. And that album sounds exactly like what I would’ve expected from a Grandaddy album 10 years ago. And you know what? They fucking killed it. Welcome back, Grandaddy.

13. Gorillaz - Humanz: Now here’s a doozy. What do you say about an album that, while inherently flawed and less than perfect, is still a blast to listen to? Look, I know, this doesn’t sound much like a Gorillaz album. Even as a mixtape, it's kind of uneven. But, you know, according to Last.FM, this is the album I listened to most this year, and I believe it. A flawed package can’t distract from just how enjoyable most of these songs are. There has never been a time when I’ve heard one of these songs in a playlist or when my library is on random, and I wasn’t excited to hear it. Maybe it lacks the vision and cohesion of every Gorillaz album that came before it, but maybe that's its biggest strength too.

12. New Pornographers - Whiteout Conditions: I know. I knooow. This isn’t the best New Pornographers album, and it probably wasn’t, technically, one of the best albums of the year. AND Dan Bejar isn’t even on this album! Yeah...but I still love this album. Coming off their last album, Brill Bruisers (an album that I firmly believe is one of their best), there is still a thrilling amount of energy left in a band that is pushing almost 20 years together. And, like BB, there’s a continued sense of cohesion here. This sounds less like a bunch of good songs collected on an album, and more like the end result of old friends getting together in a specific mindset and mood. Its an effortlessly charming and smooth power pop album that still sounds manages to demand attention, despite the shadow of their more acclaimed classic albums.

11. Spoon - Hot Thoughts: I dunno, should I just copy and paste the write-up I did for the New Pornographers? I could switch out Brill Bruisers with They Want My Soul, and it’d still be accurate. I could point out that they’re still putting out amazing work this late into their epic career. Maybe the difference here is that while New Pornographers continue to hone and perfect the same sound they’ve always had, Spoon always seems to be stretching itself out a little bit.  Never too far from their core sound, but enough to give each album its own feel. This time out, Spoon leans on some new electronic elements that seem to fit in with their sound perfectly. Britt Daniels continues to seem incapable of writing a bad song, and there are just so many good songs this time around. Like, I predict that I’ll still have “Do I Have To Talk You Into It” in my head when Spoon releases their next album.