#does mean we tend to be more aware of the privilege we have living here

[lgbtlunaverse]

I think a lot of people's perception of "US centrism" on this site is "americans assuming us-specific problems are universal" but i've found it just as often if not more often manifests as the opposite. Usamericans thinking a problem people deal with worldwide (food deserts, late stage capitalism, bigotry) or a problem that did start primarily in the US but has been exported worldwide via cultural imperialism (this particular example is not the us but canada, but I sure did looooove having trucker protests in my country after they got 'inspired' by those in north america /s) are things only they have to deal with. I regularly get tags on this post that say something like 'blame the puritans for ruining american society' or will straight up go '#usa #fuck this country #i bet the rest of the world doesn't have this problem' I am from the Netherlands and have never set foot on the american continent.

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Like most of us, I tend to whine about my misfortune. I buy scratch offs and lottery tickets but have lost far more than I've won. Far more. Every time, I have a dream and its never realized except for the short term fun I have when the dream materializes before I lose once again.

Imagine the universe as an enormous lottery machine, where the tickets are the myriad possibilities of existence. From the birth of stars to the evolution of life on distant planets, every cosmic event is a ticket being drawn in the lottery of existence. Now, winning this lottery does not necessarily mean wealth or fame on Earth; rather, it signifies the awe-inspiring opportunity to experience consciousness, self-awareness, and the wonders of the universe.

The journey begins with the improbable odds of being born at all. In a universe teeming with potential, the chances of any specific individual coming into existence are astronomically low. The convergence of specific circumstances, from the formation of life-sustaining planets to the evolution of intelligent beings, is an extraordinary feat that begets a sense of winning the first cosmic lottery.

As we delve into the fabric of our own existence, we find ourselves on a tiny planet, orbiting an average star, nestled in the outskirts of an average galaxy. Yet, this seemingly ordinary corner of the cosmos is the stage for an extraordinary spectacle. The cosmic lottery winners, also known as humans, possess the ability to ponder the nature of their own existence, explore the mysteries of the universe, and create art, science, and culture.

Yup. This is what I'm tawkin' about.

We won, reader. What are we whining about. We're winners not whiners although a little bit of wine never hurts and sometimes its use help us stumble upon what might be regarded as "truth".

Not only are we alive but also we have the potential to shape the future through communication like we are doing right now as I write this and you read it. Hooray for us. With consciousness comes the power to influence the course of events, to make choices that echo through time and space. It is a precious privilege to be a participant in the ongoing cosmic narrative, where every action contributes to the unfolding story of the universe.

Now just cause we're winning big time doesn't mean the game is over although no matter what happens, we've already won. Still we've got to make our way through uncertainty and impermanence which we do through learning, experience, growth, pain, disappointment, and finally appreciation.

Let's try to remember that we won the lottery and have the opportunity to tango through the cosmos and rock our way through the delicate balance of life on Earth.We are the beneficiaries of a cosmic lottery that has granted us the chance to dance through the cosmos, to witness the grandeur of nebulae, the splendor of galaxies, and the delicate balance of life on Earth.

Let's celebrate...celebrate. Let's dance to the music that fills our lives with gratitude, curiosity and wonder.

In the grand sweep of the cosmic lottery, we are not merely passive observers but active participants. Each breath, each thought, and each choice is a celebration of the remarkable odds that brought us into being. So, let us cherish the cosmic lottery win and embrace the journey with gratitude, curiosity, and a sense of wonder as we traverse the vast expanse of the cosmos.

You

What are the odds of an individual sperm becoming a fetusChatGPT

ChatGPT

The odds of a specific individual sperm successfully fertilizing an egg and resulting in a viable fetus are incredibly low, making the journey from conception to a fully developed fetus a remarkable series of events. Here's a brief overview:

Production of Sperm: On average, a healthy adult male produces millions of sperm per day. This process, known as spermatogenesis, occurs continuously in the testes.

Release of Sperm: During ejaculation, a large number of sperm are released into the female reproductive system. However, the vast majority of them do not survive the journey.

Journey to the Egg: Sperm must navigate through the female reproductive tract, overcoming various obstacles and challenges, including the acidic environment of the vagina. Many sperm do not survive this journey.

Egg Availability: The chances of fertilization are also influenced by the presence of a viable egg. A woman typically releases one egg per menstrual cycle during ovulation.

Fertilization: If a sperm successfully reaches the egg, it must then penetrate the egg's protective layer. Only one sperm successfully fertilizes the egg, resulting in the formation of a zygote.

Cell Division: The zygote undergoes multiple rounds of cell division, forming a blastocyst. As the blastocyst travels down the fallopian tube, it begins the process of implantation in the uterus lining.

Implantation: Successful implantation is another critical step. Not all blastocysts that reach the uterus will implant, leading to many potential pregnancies being naturally terminated at this stage.

Embryonic Development: If implantation is successful, the blastocyst develops into an embryo, and embryonic development begins.

Fetal Development: Over the next weeks and months, the embryo develops into a fetus through various stages of growth, differentiation, and organ formation.

Considering these factors, the odds of a single sperm resulting in a full-term, healthy pregnancy are estimated to be extremely low. Many factors contribute to the complexity of the process, and various natural barriers exist to ensure the survival of the fittest sperm and the development of a healthy fetus.

You

one in a billion?ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's challenging to assign a specific numerical probability to the entire process, as the actual odds are influenced by numerous factors and can vary from one conception event to another. However, using the "one in a billion" figure as a broad estimate could convey the idea that the likelihood of a specific sperm successfully fertilizing an egg and resulting in a full-term, healthy pregnancy is exceptionally low.

The complexity of human reproduction involves numerous variables, including the number of sperm produced, the conditions of the reproductive tract, the timing of ovulation, and the viability of both the sperm and egg. Each of these factors contributes to the overall odds, making it a unique and intricate biological process with a substantial element of chance.

You

one in a trillion?ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Assigning an exact numerical probability to the entire process of conception and successful pregnancy is challenging due to the multitude of variables involved. However, describing the odds as "one in a trillion" would emphasize the extreme rarity of a specific sperm fertilizing an egg and resulting in a full-term, healthy pregnancy.

It's important to note that these figures are rough estimates used for illustrative purposes rather than precise calculations. The actual probabilities can vary based on factors such as the health of the reproductive systems, the timing of ovulation, the number and quality of sperm, and other biological variables.

In summary, while the concept of "one in a trillion" underscores the remarkable odds involved in the journey from conception to a healthy pregnancy, it's essential to recognize that these numbers are approximate and may not precisely reflect the complexity of human reproduction.

You

The odds of being on a planet that supports lifeChatGPT

ChatGPT

Estimating the odds of being on a planet that supports life involves various factors, and it's challenging to provide a precise numerical value. However, we can consider some key elements:

Habitable Zone: Planets need to be within the habitable zone of their star, where conditions are suitable for liquid water to exist. This zone is often referred to as the "Goldilocks zone." The planet shouldn't be too close or too far from its star to maintain temperatures suitable for life.

Stable Environment: The planet must have a stable environment over geological timescales. This stability is essential for the development and sustenance of complex life forms.

Chemical Composition: The planet needs to have the right chemical composition, including elements such as carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and others essential for life as we know it.

Presence of Water: Liquid water is crucial for life as we understand it. While life could potentially exist in different forms, water has unique properties that make it an excellent medium for biochemical processes.

Adequate Atmosphere: An atmosphere with the right composition and pressure is essential for regulating temperatures and supporting life.

Protection from Harmful Radiation: A planet's atmosphere and magnetic field should provide protection from harmful cosmic and solar radiation.

Considering these factors, scientists have identified potentially habitable exoplanets in the Milky Way galaxy, and estimates suggest there could be billions of such planets. However, the actual probability of a planet supporting life depends on factors that are not fully understood, including the emergence of life from non-living matter.

In summary, while the odds of being on a planet that supports life might be relatively high within the vastness of the universe, the exact probability is uncertain and subject to ongoing scientific investigation and discovery. Earth, with its unique combination of conditions, stands as a remarkable example of a planet that has fostered and sustained diverse forms of life.

You

What percentage of humans write a bookChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's challenging to provide an exact percentage of humans who write a book, as this statistic would depend on various factors such as cultural, educational, and socioeconomic influences. Additionally, the definition of "writing a book" can vary—some may consider publishing a traditional print book, while others may include self-published works or digital formats.

As of my last knowledge update in January 2022, precise statistics on the percentage of humans who have written a book were not readily available. However, it's generally understood that writing a book is a relatively uncommon accomplishment, given the time, effort, and skill required.

Many people have aspirations to write a book, but not everyone follows through with the entire process of conceptualizing, drafting, revising, and publishing a book. The barriers to entry, including access to publishing platforms and resources, can also influence these numbers.

If you're interested in more recent and specific statistics, you may want to check with publishing industry reports, writing organizations, or surveys related to authorship. Keep in mind that these figures might vary over time and across different regions.

You

what happens to sperm that doesn't fertilize where does it go?ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Sperm that doesn't fertilize an egg typically undergoes a natural process of elimination and expulsion from the female reproductive system. After ejaculation, the sperm travel through the female reproductive tract. Here's what generally happens:

Vaginal Expulsion: A significant number of sperm may be lost in the vagina due to factors like gravity and the natural acidic environment. The vagina is not a favorable environment for sperm survival, and many do not progress beyond this stage.

Cervical Passage: Some sperm manage to enter the cervix, the lower part of the uterus. The cervix acts as a barrier, and only a small percentage of sperm navigate through its complex structure.

Uterine Journey: The surviving sperm continue their journey through the uterus, propelled by the contractions of the uterine muscles.

Fallopian Tube Hurdle: The final destination for the sperm is the fallopian tube, where the egg awaits fertilization. However, only a few sperm out of the millions initially released during ejaculation reach this point.

Natural Elimination: Sperm that do not successfully fertilize the egg or participate in the fertilization process are naturally eliminated from the female reproductive system. This elimination can occur through various mechanisms, including being expelled from the reproductive tract, undergoing cellular breakdown, or being absorbed by the woman's body.

Menstrual Cycle: In the absence of fertilization, the lining of the uterus (endometrium) is shed during the woman's menstrual cycle. This process, known as menstruation, expels the unfertilized egg, along with any remaining sperm and cellular debris.

It's important to note that the male body continually produces new sperm, and the process repeats with each ejaculation. The vast majority of sperm released during ejaculation do not reach the egg, and only a small fraction has the opportunity to participate in the fertilization process. The natural elimination of sperm that do not fertilize is part of the complex and selective journey of reproduction.

You

what are the odds of one person meeting another personChatGPT

ChatGPT

The odds of one person meeting another person depend on a multitude of factors, making it challenging to provide a precise numerical probability. The likelihood of two individuals crossing paths is influenced by various variables, including:

Geographic Location: The physical proximity of individuals significantly affects the likelihood of them meeting. People who live in the same city, neighborhood, or community are more likely to encounter each other.

Social Circles: Shared social circles, common activities, or mutual friends increase the chances of individuals meeting. People who frequent similar places or events are more likely to come across each other.

Chance Events: Serendipitous events and chance encounters also play a role. Spontaneous situations, such as being in the same place at the same time or attending the same event, can lead to unexpected meetings.

Technology and Communication: In the modern era, technology and communication tools, such as social media, online platforms, and dating apps, have altered the dynamics of how people connect and increased the chances of virtual and in-person meetings.

Travel and Mobility: Individuals who travel or move frequently may have increased opportunities to meet a diverse range of people. Conversely, those who stay in one location may have a more limited pool of potential encounters.

Population Density: The population density of an area can influence the likelihood of chance encounters. In densely populated areas, the probability of running into someone is higher than in sparsely populated regions.

Given the complexity of these factors, it's challenging to quantify the odds accurately. The probability of two specific individuals meeting is highly subjective and depends on the unique circumstances of their lives, activities, and interactions. It's important to recognize that while chance plays a role, human agency, choices, and shared interests also contribute to the likelihood of people meeting each other.

You

one in a billion?ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Assigning specific numerical odds to the chance of two individuals meeting is challenging due to the numerous variables involved. However, using "one in a billion" as a broad estimate could convey the idea that the odds of any particular pair of individuals meeting under certain circumstances are quite rare and dependent on a combination of factors.

This figure is not based on rigorous statistical analysis but rather serves as a way to express the idea that chance encounters between specific individuals are uncommon in the grand scheme of human interactions. The actual probability can vary significantly depending on factors such as geography, social circles, lifestyle, and chance events.

[transmisogyny-explained]

I have some pretty mixed feelings about this article, making me somewhat hesitant to share it here, but I still think it has a lot of important things to say, and accurately but concisely covers a wide range of relevant topics. The majority of this article could easily be a great resource for TME allies looking to learn more, but I have a few (albeit minor) criticisms...

I’ve mentioned before how I don’t really think the idea of “trans male privilege” holds substantial weight, but I wouldn’t dismiss someone’s arguments on the basis of using the terminology. However, I feel like the author of this article explains the framework of male privilege which they’re working from in overly-binary terms, and they generally don’t speak enough on how TME nonbinary people fit into this framework. The rest of the article speaks about TME privilege rather broadly, so it doesn’t entirely fall into the trap of understating the privilege TME nonbinaries have over TMAs by putting too much emphasis on trans men in particular. However, I still feel like the whole section dedicated to explaining this conception of trans male privilege overstates the significance of it being male privilege by not elaborating on how TME nonbinary people are meant to relate to this (basically answering whether or not they’re also oppressed by trans men), and therefore not adequately distinguishing this type of privilege from general trans TME privilege.

On a similar note, I also feel that the author somewhat downplays just how much transphobia (or transantagonism, as they call it) impacts and affects the lives of TME trans people, and it honestly makes me just a bit uncomfortable. On the one hand, I completely get it when transfems become frustrated with TMEs (who try to use their oppression as reason for why they can’t be transmisogynistic) and end up saying something that sounds like they’re dismissing transphobia outright, when what they mean is “transfems experience transphobia on top of transmisogyny.” They aren’t trying to say that TME trans people aren’t oppressed or that transphobia isn’t real, but that’s how TMEs tend to interpret it when we explain how being TMA amplifies the transphobia we experience.

That said, personally, I feel like an article that is so otherwise thorough and well-reasoned should at least try to take a more nuanced and measured approach (this article doesn’t have a particularly frustrated tone overall, imo). Not for the purpose of coddling TMEs or to avoid upsetting them, but just to illustrate that, despite what a lot of trans TMEs will say, transfems are actually well aware of what transphobia entails and how TME trans people are affected by it. Some people genuinely don’t understand how our experiences with transmisogyny can be unique to us while other trans people’s experiences with transphobia aren’t wholly specific to them, and I think that needs to be addressed (especially when we’re explaining the fundamentals of how transmisogyny works as a separate axis of oppression from transphobia).

(The author also implicitly conflates “trans TME” with AFAB, which I find a bit aggravating, but they’re far from the only person who does this. Masc-of-center AMAB nonbinaries are extremely underrepresented in these conversations, but that of course cannot be blamed on any one individual.)

Still, I think it’s worth a read. Let me know what you think if you do decide to check it out, and also have a look at the author’s other work. They have some really interesting articles over topics like transmedicalism and bioessentialism from a TMA perspective that are most definitely worth a read.

https://purecatharsis.medium.com/on-transmisogyny-exempt-privilege-dynamics-874f3969ae1d

[a-froger-epic]

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

J

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

J

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm a Chinese, nationally and racially. Racial projection seems to be a common practice in western fandom, doesn't it? I find it a bit... weird to witness the drama ignited upon shipping individuals with different races, or the tendency to separate characters into different "colors" even though the world setting doesn't divide races like that. Such practice isn't a thing here. Mind explaining a bit on this phenomenon?

--

Sure, I can try. But of course, fish aren’t very good at explaining the water they swim in.

Americans aren’t good at detecting our own Americanness, and a lot of what you’re seeing is very much culturally American rather than Western in general. (In much of Europe, “race” is a concept used by racists, or so I’m told, unlike in the US where it’s seen more neutrally.) Majority group members (i.e. me, a white girl) aren’t usually the savviest about minority issues, but I’ll give it a shot.

The big picture is that most US race stuff boils down to our attempts to justify and maintain slavery and that dynamic being applied, awkwardly, to everyone else too, even years after we abolished slavery.

There’s a concept called the “one drop rule” where a person is “black” if they have even one drop of black blood.

We used to outlaw “interracial” marriage until quite recently. (That meant marriage between black people and white people with Asians and Hispanic people and others wedged in awkwardly.) Here’s the Wikipedia article on this, which contains the following map showing when we legalized interracial marriage. The red states are 1967.

That’s within living memory for a ton of people! Yellow is 1948 to 1967. This is just not very long ago at all. (Hell, we only fully banned slavery in 1865, which is also just not that long ago when it comes to human culture.)

Why did we have this bananas-crazy set of laws and this idiotic notion that one remote ancestor defines who you are? It boils down to slavery requiring a constant reaffirming that black people are all the same (and subhuman) while white people are all this completely separate category. The minute you start intermarrying, all of that breaks down. This was particularly important in our history because our system of slavery involved the kids of slaves being slaves and nobody really buying their way out. Globally, historically, there are other systems of slavery where there was more mobility or where enslaved people were debtors with a similar background to owners, and thus the people in power were less threatened by ambiguity in identity.

Post-slavery, this shit hung around because it was in the interests of the people in power to maintain a similar status quo where black people are fundamentally Other.

A lot of our obsession with who counts as what is simply a legacy of our racist past that produced our racist present.

--

The other big factor in American concepts of identity is that we see ourselves as a nation of immigrants (ignoring our indigenous peoples, as usual). A lot of people’s families arrived here relatively recently, and we often don’t have good records of exactly where they were from, even aside from enslaved people who obviously wouldn’t have those records. Plenty of people still identify with a general nationality (”Italian-American” and such), but the nuance the family might once have had (specific region of Italy, specific hometown) is often lost. Yeah, I know every place has immigrants, and lots of people don’t have good records, but the US is one of those countries where families have on average moved around a lot more and a lot more recently than some, and it affects our concepts of identity. I think some of the willingness to buy into the idea of “races” rather than “ethnicities” has to do with this flattening of identity.

New immigrant groups were often seen as Other and lesser, but over time, the ones who could manage it got added to our concept of “whiteness”, which gave them access to those same social and economic privileges.

Skin color is a big part of this. In a system that is founded on there being two categories, white owners and black slaves, skin color is obviously going to be about that rather than being more of a class marker like it is in a lot of the world.

But it’s not all about skin color since we have plenty of Europeans with somewhat darker skin who are seen as generically white here, while very pale Asians are not. I’m not super familiar with all of the history of anti-Asian racism in the US, but I think this persistent Otherness probably boils down to Western powers trying to justify colonial activities in Asia plus a bunch of religious bullshit about predominantly Christian nations vs. ones that are predominantly Buddhist or some other religion.

In fact, a lot of racist archetypes in English can be traced back to England’s earliest colonial efforts in Ireland. Justifying colonizing Those People because they’re subhuman and/or ignorant and in need of paternalistic rulers or religious conversion is at the bottom of a lot of racist notions. Ironic that we now see Irish people as clearly “white”.

--

There are a lot of racist porn tropes and racist cultural baggage here around the idea of black people being animalistic. Racist white people think black men want to rape/steal white women from white men. Black women get seen as hypersexual and aggressive. If this sounds like white people projecting in order to justify murder and rape... well, it is.

Similar tropes get applied to a lot of groups, often including Hispanic and Middle Eastern people, though East Asians come in more for creepy fantasies about endlessly submissive and promiscuous women. This nonsense already existed, but it was certainly not helped by WWII servicemen from here and their experiences in Asia. Again, it’s a projection to justify shitty behavior as what the party with less power was “asking for”.

In porn and even romance novels, this tends to turn up as a white character the audience is supposed to identify with paired with an exotic, mysterious Other or an animalistic sexy rapist Other.

A lot of fandoms are based on US media, so all of our racist bullshit does apply to the casting and writing of those, whether or not the fic is by Americans or replicating our racist porn tropes.

(Obviously, things get pretty hilarious and infuriating once Americans get into c-dramas and try to apply the exact same ideas unchanged to mainstream media about the majority group made by a huge and powerful country.)

--

Politically, within the US, white people have had most of the power most of the time. We also make up a big chunk of the population. (This is starting to change in some areas, which has assholes scared shitless.) This means that other groups tend to band together to accomplish shared political goals. They’re minorities here, so they get lumped together.

A lot of Americans become used to seeing the world in terms of “white people” who are powerful oppressors and “people of color” who are oppressed minorities. They’re trying to be progressive and help people with less power, and that’s good, but it obviously becomes awkward when it’s over-applied to looking at, say, China.

--

Now... fandom...

I find that fandom, in general, has a bad habit of holding things to double standards: queer things must be Good Representation™ even when they’re not being produced for that purpose. Same for ethnic minorities or any other minority. US-influenced parts of fandom (which includes a lot of English-speaking fandom) tend to not be very good at accepting that things are just fantasy. This has gotten worse in recent years.

As fandom has gotten more mainstream here, general media criticism about better representation (both in terms of number of characters and in terms of how they’re portrayed) has turned into fanfic criticism (not enough fics about ship X, too many about ship Y, problematic tropes that should not be applied to ship X, etc.). I find this extremely misguided considering the smaller reach of fandom but, more importantly, the lack of barriers to entry. If you think my AO3 fic sucks, you can make an account and post other fic that will be just as findable. You don’t need money or industry connections or to pass any particular hurdle to get your work out there too.

People also (understandably) tend to be hypersensitive to anything that looks like a racist porn trope. My feeling is that many of these are general porn tropes and people are reaching. There are specific tropes where black guys are given a huge dick as part of showing that they’re animalistic and hypersexual, but big dicks are really common in porn in general. The latter doesn’t automatically mean you’re doing the former unless there are other elements present. A/B/O or dubcon doesn’t mean it’s this racist trope either, not unless certain cliched elements are present. OTOH, it’s not hard for a/b/o tropes to feel close to “animalistic guy is rapey”, so I can see why it often bothers people.

A huge, huge, huge proportion of wank is “all rape fantasies are bad” crap too, which muddies the waters. I think a lot of people use “it’s racist” as an easy way to force others to agree with their incorrect claims that dubcon, noncon, a/b/o, etc. are fundamentally bad. Many fans, especially white fans, feel like they don’t know enough to refute claims of racism, so they cave to such arguments even when they’re transparently disingenuous.

--

Not everyone here thinks this way. I know plenty of people offline, particularly a lot of nonwhite people, who think fandom discourse is idiotic and that the people “protecting” people or characters of color are far more racist than the people writing “bad” fic or shipping the wrong thing.

But in general, I’d say that the stuff above is why a lot of us see the world as white people in power vs. everyone else as oppressed victims, interracial relationships as fraught, and porn about them as suspect. Basically, it’s people trying to be more progressive and aware but sometimes causing more harm than good when those attempts go awry.

[preemshots]

johnny + the nomads lore

alright, i know this is a screenshots blog but i'm going to go ahead and start dropping some juicy lore tidbits as i dig them up. part of what i'm doing outside of just photo diarying is shard hunting, and BOY is there a lot the game likes to hide in those little shards for idiots like me who like to read so we can write unnecessarily accurate fanfiction! 

full disclosure, i know jack shit about the TTRPG/cyberpunk 2020 rulebook except what i read in the wikis. 

so here’s my lore roundup so far of everything i know about johnny joining the nomads

we know johnny likes to narrate v’s quest objectives. here’s the first mention where he says it himself: 

during the voodoo boys quest "transmission" there's a shard in the maglev tunnels beside the ice bath, presumably from brigitte's research into johnny in the first place:

okay, so the timeline is this: johnny joins the nomads after trying and failing to rescue alt. johnny hides out in the badlands for some years. then he and rogue come back to night city and nuke arasaka tower help alt escape the arasaka subnet by uploading liberator to their network once and for all.

this ultimately makes sense. in alt’s flashback, we meet santiago, who is a nomad/connected to nomads, joins rogue and johnny when they're trying to get alt back, and eventually becomes the leader of the aldecaldos. 

part of santiago’s TTRPG lore is that he, johnny, and rogue have to lay low in the badlands with nomads after they storm arasaka headquarters (i am aware the game takes many liberties with the original lore so who knows the full accuracy of anything from the original rulebooks)

ENDING spoilers: in the rogue+johnny storming AHQ ending, it's revealed that rogue has a son while they're prepping for the job. if you eavesdrop on her calling him while you're at the afterlife, you hear her tell her son to (paraphrasing here) "pull over and look at the stars", which immediately made my brain go to: nomad, badlands, santiago = dad? maybe. (santiago also canonically has a son according to the TTRPG lore)

this immediately reminded me of another interesting shard that i believe you can find in multiple locations around night city: “"what REALLY happened in arasaka tower?“

i love this dang shard. at first i thought it was just a cute conspiracy with some juicy gossip (and i love how 99% of the shards that mention johnny in this game are reminding us that he's not a real rebel, he's a poser) but it brings some interesting shit together

one: it tells us where johnny got his hands on the nukes! he and the nomads jumped a militech convoy and jacked some bombs! 

which is never directly explained, even as saburo arasaka is interrogating him shortly before using soulkiller. very nice of johnny to protect his homies like that. 

...or maybe he didn’t. saburo emphasizes that the dead don’t lie like the living do, and we don’t know what exactly arasaka did to johnny’s construct in mikoshi. 

it also explains why the obvious media narrative is that militech nuked arasaka, a nice neat political bow to the end of the fourth corpo wars, which is an entire section of the TTRPG lore that makes my eyes cross when i read it. 

it also makes the star/nomads ending extremely interesting, because i originally believed it was the ending where V’s journey deviates the most from rewalking johnny’s path... which also has weird implications if the johnny’s nomad era is being kept from v. 

(this also leads into my belief that the star ending/the devil ending are narratively two sides of the same coin, but that’s a WHOLE ANOTHER POST for another day.)

TWO, just straight up the fact that they turned the raid where they actually obtained the nukes into an action flick BD that pretty much ANYONE could watch. who the hell was doing that?? 

well, who else other than the guy who johnny (optionally) punched the shit out of for filming alt's death: thompson, media guy, and according to rogue, “bad luck”. because you know, recording your crimes is straight up evidence that can be used against you.

during the alt flashback we meet thompson, and just after that in cyberspace before meeting alt, johnny tells v that he has no idea what happened to him and that they never worked together again. 

oh, johnny, you lying bastard man

this is blatantly untrue, and if V even had two braincells and better memory than a goldfish they'd know this--in the first flashback sequence where johnny and rogue nuke arasaka tower, thompson is on the comms as they ride the AV towards AHQ, questioning their plans and use of violence. 

which leaves me with some questions, like where the fuck is thompson, why does johnny keep lying about this, why doesn't johnny say almost anything about how you interact with the aldecaldo clan nonstop throughout the game when he himself may have been a member of the family for some time?? is he continuing to protect the nomad clan that saved his ass? we know that a lot of his flashbacks are unreliable at best, that johnny changes shit up as desired when presenting V with his memories.

in 2077, you can also find that there’s a remake of “badlands raid” in the shard “new release braindances” that is pretty much everywhere. that shard doesn’t add much, but does mention something along the lines of “many people don’t know the ending of the original” which probably means johnny punched thompson out for filming again, or something. 

my running theories: rogue ditched santiago and the aldecaldos with johnny and thompson to nuke arasaka tower, and when johnny died she was stuck looking for (heavily implied by johnny here:) corpo sellout ways to survive.

adam smasher obviously has something to do with this since johnny/rogue's vendetta against the guy isn't entirely clear beyond the smokescreen of "he killed johnny and he sucks". i have done 0 research into this though i'm tired of typing okay

i obviously cannot be certain i have found everything related to this in the game as i’m not even done with this playthrough where i’m trying to pay attention, but i hope this is fun for someone else to dig into. 

enjoy, fellow silverhand freaks

EDIT: additional findings

ALRIGHT I HAVE DONE MORE DIGGING AND I AM BACK WITH MORE NOMAD/JOHNNY FINDINGS. these ones are kind of a bummer but VERY interesting.

there’s a shard called “excerpts from a history of the nomads by bb pires” that goes into detail about how nomads came to be

there’s an interesting quote in it: It's hard to imagine a group less inclined to wandering than farmers, but in fact they were the ones who sparked the age of nomads. Natural catastrophes, crops ravaged by bioplagues, armed conflicts and martial law allowing corporations to speculate and privatize land - all this forced them into a life on the road.

when you ask johnny why he wants to take down arasaka, he begins by referencing this himself!!

it’s a little awkward to imagine a nomad V doesn’t also know what he’s referencing, but hey, V is the fool because we are as players and that’s only one life path... so sure.

johnny also has unique dialogue during this scene about a nomad origin V, telling them that he’s been trying to understand how V thinks, and came to the conclusion that “their family was a crutch” and essentially made them stupid because they always had a safety net (lmao johnny calling v privileged basically)

BUT this also may reference why johnny would find it confusing as hell that V doesn’t immediately share the views he does when nomads, in terms of values, seem to be more aligned with johnny than V is. but once again V is the fool for a reason and this is all my own speculation so YOU KNOW.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, at the end of chippin’ in, when you ask johnny what he meant by letting down his friends... santiago is named directly

i thought this was interesting since the only glimpse of their relationship that we get is seeing johnny meeting santiago via the alt flashback for the first time.

so now it’s obvious that while johnny and rogue were with the nomads their friendship developed, and johnny went on to disappoint santiago in some way by being his normal dickhead self

but HOW? how did he disappoint santiago? is santiago even still alive?? did smasher kill santiago and is this why rogue mentions during chippin’ in that she wants smasher to “settle a score” moreso than avenge johnny??

the only additional hints i have are from this shard, which you can find at the aldecaldos camp: “nomads at ground zero”

i’m just gonna transcribe here and bold for emphasis:

It was no secret that Night Corp offered generous pay and, in some cases, free cyberware and biomonitor upgrades to anyone willing to help clean up the crater of radioactive rubble at AHQ ground zero. Some firsthand accounts recall the incessant ticking of Geiger counters, like the loud buzz of cicadas in summer. In retrospect, we can only guess how many "crater cleaners" lost their lives to radiation sickness shortly thereafter. Both the city government and Night Corp have claimed casualties were kept to a minimum, while providing no official statistics to substantiate the claim. That being said, they have never been under pressure to release such figures. After all, most rescue, engineering, and rubble cleanup teams were not local Night Citizens, but nomads. Surprised you didn't know? Don't be. It is a fact many history courses tend to overlook. The city employed hundreds of nomad mercenaries, primarily from clans in Aldecaldo nation. These nomads were hungry for gainful work and the city needed experts who were not only experienced but brave enough to knowingly put their lives on the line - all so Arasaka could one day erect another tower in its place. But history is not without its sense of irony. These nomads, who so deliberately live outside our so-called "system," came to its very rescue. Not for the first time. And not for the last.

a main theme we find in this game is the idea that the system of corps and exploitation cannot be stopped by grandiose rebellious gestures--no amount of samurai songs, assassinating mayors, or even planting nukes in towers will change things. yet johnny, his friends and mercs at atlantis in the 2020s, including rogue, chose to rebel any way they could, thinking it better than not. johnny criticizes her lack of rebellious spirit CONSTANTLY in 2077.

but ultimately, johnny, trapped in mikoshi, didn’t get to see the outcome of what detonating the AHQ nukes did to night city’s fragile ecosystem. rogue, however, did--and likely watched their former allies, the aldecaldos, be forced to take dangerous work at AHQ’s ground zero (from lack of other opportunities as detailed in this shard), then die from radiation sickness throughout the following decades, all as a result of what she and johnny did to try and fight the system. and she also watched all the former mercenaries of atlantis be hunted down by arasaka.

so rogue sees firsthand what the cost of rebellion is and johnny doesn’t. and nomads, considered the most free of any of the factions we encounter in the game, are the cost.

[minjoonalist]

Buzzkill | Ksj. 18+

Pairing: Boss!Seokjin x Driver!Reader

Rating: Mature

Genre: Request, PWP

Word: 6k

Discription: In which your boss has a consistent streak of being the biggest wet blanket.

Warnings: soft dom!Jin, sub!reader, penetration, fingering, unprotected sex they have sex on a stolen car, cursing, explicit wording, slight degradation, Quickie 

A/N: so this is request I received and decided to turn it into a mini fic for a cute little bean, I’m sorry took a second but I do hope you enjoy it sweetie! 😘

———

———

There was nothing more thrilling than the violent purr of the engine surrounding your senses, the harsh wind whipping through your hair, the exhilarating sound of power that brought you and your crew mates through the dark silent streets of an unknown neighborhood and especially the pride that came with knowing everyone would end up praising you for your extraordinary skills as a getaway driver. You’d only known them for about three weeks, but that was plenty of enough time to showcase your abilities and impress them. They would compliment you, lifting your ego for the complicated turns and cheering you on for the risky maneuvers that allowed all of you to get off scot free with more than five hundred thousand dollars...you loved it, every single part of it.

It was moments like this where Jimin snaps his hands to applaud your fearless energy, Hoseok, the personified can of sunshine boosts you for whipping the fast car in front of a massive truck as a means to shake the three police cars chasing you down the highway. The kid, known as Jungkook- widening his eyes in amazement and slight fear once that same truck misses all of you by a hair as you exited fast lane.

It was a thrill and one you found yourself living off of recently.

The adrenaline and rush of everything you had done, bringing life to the boring, mundane one you’d use to live before. How you were just some pretty accountant by day, kissing the asses of rich old men with too much privilege on their hands- but only to turn around and take care of it for them by night time...in other words you were robbing them blind and just the thought alone always had you grinning ear to ear, even while you turned the unharmed vehicle into the hidden garage that your crew mates owned. It was fun, yet rewarding every time and nothing anyone did could ever ruin that-

“That was dumb.”

“Excuse me?”You balk.

All too quickly, the rush of your misdeed had drained away from your body and suddenly the air had gone incredibly still. The three men currently residing in the back of the car, pauses just as perplexed as you were in the driver’s seat- your eyes glued to the platinum blonde male staring you down in the passenger.

Arms crossed, his pearly teeth nibbling on a silver lip ring- Jin, otherwise known as Kim Seokjin and your boss, meets you with an unimpressed gaze “You heard what I said, that was stupid and reckless.” He continues, voice devoid of any kindness as well as having irritation enter those black irises.

You shake your head, blinking a couple of times just to make sure you’re understanding him and maybe you weren’t in some dream. “I’m confused...what are you talking about?” your voice lifts slightly with outrage while you turned the key in the ignition to shut the car off.

Jin’s face only hardens “Don’t make me repeat myself, that bull crap stunt you pulled back there could’ve nearly killed us. We were lucky that truck driver only hesitated from hearing the police sirens just before that exit...like I said, dumb.” The tense outburst between all of you, was enough to throw the entire atmosphere and stun you all into silence.

Well all except Hoseok, as the optimistic member, he suddenly reaches forward to pat Jin on the shoulder from the back “Hey man, She was great back there- Lighten up.”

“Yeah Hyung, the important thing is that we’re all alive and we each have a hundred thousand dollars in our pockets without anyone catching on.” Jungkook decides to chime in as well, peering around for confirmation- which he does receive. “There's no telling what could have happened if she didn’t.”

You on the other hand didn’t reply to the hurtful insult of the soured male beside you and neither did Jimin, Too busy trying to cope with the foreign reaction of your driving skills and that you were being scolded for actually doing your Job. As you sat there listening to the both of them defend your honor, you’d hoped some of it might have gotten to the quiet grouch raining in on your thrill, but instead it only increased his anger. Which only caused Seokjin to turn his attention to the three men in the back.

He sends an expectant look to Hoseok “I’m sorry...do you and Jimin not have money in the back of this car to go count?” He presses harshly “Instead of worrying about the brat, I suggest you tend to your duties.” Seokjin snaps his fingers, causing the dark haired male to flinch and send you all a beaten look before backing down. Within the next few seconds Hoseok opens his back seat door, getting out grumpily and causing a chain for Jimin to follow him. They both walk around to the back of the car, both of them coming into your vision on the rearview mirror. You catch sight of Jimin, a short wink coming from him with two hits to the closed trunk signaling you to pop it open.

Immediately, you oblige.

Meanwhile Jin turns around to Jungkook, the poor kid’s Adam Apple bobbing up and down as your boss looks at him sternly. “Well?”

“Um, I-I should probably help them?” He says a bit unsure, his pitiful posture within the middle seat, making your soft spot for him ache.

His knees knocked together, rough hands rubbing nervously across his muscular thighs- which makes you wonder how he could possibly be so wrecked from one man and yet keep a calm composure when facing the lethal obstacles of obtaining glorious amounts of money. Nonetheless, you don't have much time to process before the kid is scurrying out of his seat, doing the same as his friends and opening the back seat’s door to let himself out-leaving the both of you inside with silence.

“...Well that was uncalled for.” You finally mumble after a few seconds go by.

From beside you, Seokjin Sighs tiredly- almost ruefully before completely ignoring you. The skip in your heart beat from the situation only serves to remind you of how much adrenaline you still had running through your system.

Just like that, Seokjin had immediately ruined the mood like always and if that weren't enough to have you fuming from the buzzkill, then what he said next did him no Justice. “Aw the brat can’t handle criticism all of a sudden?”

Your face turns sour “I can when that person isn’t being a dick.”

“It's never stopped you before.”He scoffs “ Pointing out a selfish move like that doesn’t make me the bad guy Kiddo, unfortunately for you, you have a hard time seeing that fault.”

Your anger spikes, watching as he rests his head back. Even more now that the adrenaline in you had become noticeable and part of you wondered if he was riling you up on purpose.

It wouldn't be the first time…Seokjin had pissed you off plenty of times before in-fact the man had been giving you a hard time since the first day you began. You couldn’t recall a single memory where you and your boss had a pleasant conversation with each other, not when you brought him the damaged and stolen vehicle of your ex to his garage and especially not when you had to explain the wreckage it’d received after you crashed it in an impromptu street race after your break up.

Now that you were thinking about it, you remembered how you even managed to land the job in the first place…Right, because maybe it didn’t help that your ex happened to be very good customer of the garage owner and that if it weren’t for him- you’d be facing a few years behind bars at the moment. Agreeing to never tell the poor soul the whereabouts of his precious child unless you agreed to work a few jobs for him.

Before then, he’d already been aware of your talent, hearing about it constantly from his babbling friend and always dreading the long convos of another man bragging about his girlfriend, who ‘knows how to drive a stick shift in more ways than one’. You grimaced from the crude comment when Jin had mentioned it to you and it’d been a pleasure knowing he wouldn't be able to say it anymore, Although the man himself had no problem bringing it up just to toy with you on the matter.

So yeah you kind of owed it to him, especially when he’d taken the liberty to fix the car up for you...but still...It doesn’t mean he gets to be an ass right now.

“You’re right Jin, It's not like I'm risking my life too,” The man rolls his eyes as soon as you speak “-Or that I managed to lose three police cars and a helicopter that nearly caught us from a misdirection you gave prior.” You huff out from your nose, your face turning so red Seokjin could've sworn he’d seen steam coming from your ears.

He then hears it before he sees it, the sound of an opening car door and shuffling coming from his side, only to see you clamber out of your seat angrily and turn his way. “You know what, forget it, we got the money... If you think what I did was selfish, fine, but I’m done, I did what you asked and I got us the hell out of there. So do us all a favor and take that damn stick out of your ass for once.” You snap at the older man, not giving him a chance to reply before slamming the car door in his face and also not noticing the way he shamelessly eyes you from his seat.

From behind the car, all three men freeze from your sudden outburst- their shocked expressions morphing while seeing someone so calm suddenly go-off on the most intimidating person here. You clear your throat from the awkward air surrounding you…maybe now would be a good time to leave. You think to yourself, your feeting shifting to turn away until one final sound of a slammed car door stops you as well.

Seokjin steps out, his own aura turning for the worst, but he doesn't plan to take it out on the others. No in-fact even as the three quickly move into action from seeing him appear as well, he doesn’t spare them glance when his eyes ignite on fire from your words. Seokjin’s nostrils flare, inked arms flexing at his sides under a light pink button down and the back of his neck gone completely red, bringing the tiniest bit of fear in you, that you’d gone too far.

Oh and you did.

“Jungkook.” The air practically vibrates with the bass of Seokjin’s voice. The younger stops in between Hoseok and Jimin, eyes widened with curiosity of hearing his name.

“Y-Yes?” he answers quickly.

Seokjin glances at him, an honest emotion written on his face- giving you whiplash from the sudden change of character. “Go home. It's late and the last thing I need is for your older brother to jump down my throat about where you’ve been. Tell Namjoon I’ll be making your drop Tomorrow morning.” He says with finalty. Namjoon...That name itself was enough to punch you in the gut and had it not been for the crippling rush plaguing your body- you’d be feeling quite nauseous at the mention of your ex-boyfriend.

At first Jungkook makes no effort to move completely bewildered by the sudden order “I...but-”

Jimin gives him a light shove to break his trance. “Go, before you piss him off even more -we got it from here.” he whispers but not low enough that you couldn’t catch it from your side of the car.

Jungkook, looks around to all of you for the last time tonight, muttering a silent confirmation before slowly backing off and heading in the opposite direction. No doubt heading out to his own car. After that is done Seokjin barks the simple orders to the two others “Count and leave.” Insisting how late it is for them as well and if he saw them again tonight- they’ll have more to worry about than whether or not they make it home.

Unlike Jungkook, the both of them agree with no hesitation, grabbing what was left in the trunk and heading off somewhere deeper into the garage without so much as glancing your way or saying goodnight. A strange way to act, considering they were always the first ones to do so and with that- you couldn’t stop the sinking foreboding in the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

Finally Seokjin comes back to you, expression blank and yet you could still feel the cold chill draping down your spine from the look- A strange mix of adrenaline with the beginnings of a newfound lust rising in your abdomen from the wolfish gaze he sends your way. Across from his side of the car, He snaps his fingers once again and points to you. “Come here.” He doesn’t question and neither do you, your body on autopilot as your slow footsteps reaches his ears. Each step felt non-existent as if you were walking into a trap and it was too late to turn back. You swallow, frowning up at the tense man staring at you while you walk around the car. Once close enough, you stop a few feet away from him, the butterflies in your stomach sending alarms to your head that you had found yourself in this situation with Seokjin.

Strange how it quickly turned to excitement.

He gives you a once over, narrowed eyes zoning in specifically on how far you’d allowed yourself space. He suddenly meets your eyes “Do you like pissing me off?” The male could only ask, crossing his arms together- your own eyes flickering to the tattooed biceps bulging out from the action.

You swallow in your very dry throat. “I could ask you the same thing, you’ve grown quite the record.”

He arches a brow, face hardening from the reply and he suddenly takes a step forward, beginning to circle opposite of the car and towards you. “ I’m not trying to be an ass, y/n.” He starts cautiously.

“You’ve been an ass since the first day we met,” You sputter in disbelief watching him take another slow step. “admit it you don’t like me because you think I broke your friend’s heart. Good news, it's the other way around.” You point out wearily, subconsciously taking a step back of your own towards the hood of the car.

It was no secret how bad of a break up you and your ex had and if anyone knew, it was definitely Jungkook. The constant bickering and fighting between you and his older brother, the poor thing had to have heard every horrible word you both spat at each other within their home and there was no surprise that even he wanted you to end it. Truth be told, you both were wrong, a bad match to put it lightly and the biggest problem seemed to be how easy it was for Namjoon to wear his heart on his sleeve. He was too jealous, too demanding, too sensitive and It's probably why anyone would think you were the one who hurt him, that definitely wasn’t the case.

Seokjin’s Features turn down in confusion, before a sly grin breaks across his face, a reaction you weren't expecting and his brows furrowing in as if the words you were speaking are absolute gibberish. “Is that what you think? That's... Interesting.” he ponders out loud, amusement clear as ever in his voice. “I mean you’re wrong, but you’re right I don’t like you.”

Your face goes flat, from where you stand Seokjin has gotten significantly closer- your entire body on high alert as your boss begins to tower over you. He tilts his head, your instincts screaming at you to run away and yet you don’t move a single inch- your heart pounding in your chest. “Your mouth and narcissistic tendencies piss me off to no end, but you can drive so Namjoon was right about that and If I actually gave a shit about your past relationship- I wouldn’t constantly find myself wanting to fuck a brat against his car at this moment.” He shrugs while bringing himself even closer, those sinful eyes swirling with a much darker intention.

“I-I what?”

Your entire nervous system jolts from the confession, the electrifying mixture of arousal strumming through you more than ever as the visual had gone to your head. It’s not like you’ve never thought of it before, After all you’d be lying to say you weren’t attracted to him- he was insanely gorgeous. However the problem came whenever Seokjin would go out of his way to comment negatively to you or for instance dismiss your every attempt whenever you tried to have a decent conversation with him.

But now that was different, So much that part of you couldn’t comprehend the sudden force of his lips crashing down on yours. A surprised yelp leaving your body from the soft plush fiercely molding against your mouth, accompanied with the searing cold of his silver lip ring. The kiss is completely unexpected and yet for some reason hot licks of arousal pool around within your stomach easily. You breathe deeply into him, two long arms coming to wrap tightly within the curve of your waist and Seokjin’s hand snakes slightly under the warmth of your shirt, resting at the small of your back.

All over, the butterflies you were feeling had gone completely haywire, your body being pressed firmly into his hard chest and on instinct your own hands had braced themselves onto his broad shoulders.

He groans, a startling vibration that has you rubbing your thighs together, managing to catch his attention in the process and Seokjin can’t help but to run his tongue across the bottom seam of your lips. It feels as if your body had naturally melted into him, the dominance in his kiss leaving you breathless and your head had begun to spin as he moves to suck on your bottom lip- wanting entry so bad he had even sank his teeth to elicit a moan from your end.

“Damn I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” His husky chuckle has you keening into him, the hands on your back roaming up further, when he lifts you more into him. By now Seokjin had managed to slip in completely, the wet muscle maneuvering in every way it pleased, taking over completely and tasting you to the fullest.

At some point you’d managed to get completely lost in Seokjin, all your previous thoughts vanishing within his embrace and slowly you could feel your panties dampening from his touch- a violent shiver racking down your spine once his cold fingertips grazes all the way up on your heating skin. Your back arches, the thick bulge of his erection digging into your abdomen and you nearly grow goosebumps everywhere. Without noticing, your boss had managed to back you up against the car, a muscular thigh parting itself between your legs and rutting up into you, causing you to shiver pleasurably into his hold.

With his lips continuing their attack on yours, you’re still reminded of the silver ring digging into you, your own impulse to latch onto it, teeth tugging slightly to push a faint gasp from him. He feels an immediate twitch in his pants, his own arousal getting to his head and He suddenly parts- “Fuck okay.” You hear him breath, panting as the air finally makes its way back into your lungs and it doesn’t dawn on you what exactly just happened. Perhaps it could have been from the adrenaline running through your system or maybe that it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone except Namjoon- but slowly you felt yourself slipping away, your fucked out gaze meeting Seokjin’s feral one and you held no ounce of regret.

“Lets try not tugging on that.” He suddenly gives a dry laugh, but there's no denying the deep lust residing in it.

“S-Sorry, we probably should have stopped sooner.” he hears you breathe in response, your eyes clouded with a long gone emotion and there was nothing more he wanted than to bend you over and fuck you mercilessly.

He’s wanted that for a while now, often finding himself wondering what it would be like to have the prideful little vixen rendered helpless under his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t like you, but damn if you didn’t turn the man on beyond what would even make sense. To him, you were infuriating and at the same time a forbidden fruit to be eaten. How you’d come to the conclusion he disliked you because of Namjoon he wouldn’t understand, but what he does know is that you were a wild card and one his friend thought could be tamed. He was wrong, and Seokjin could tell the second you brought in the poor scrapped vehicle without an ounce of guilt.

“You’re not sorry.” he whispers lower than ever, catching you by surprise. “If anything you’re the opposite...you’re practically grinding yourself on me.”

Your hands dig nervously into the cloth of his shirt, an untamable throbbing striking you between your thighs proving the truth behind his statement. As if completely drawn to him, all you do was wish his lips were back on yours- your eyes switching repeatedly to stare up at him and that's when you feel it, a movement so slow and torturous it nearly had your knees buckling.

Somehow without being noticed, His hand had begun to move from behind your back, coming around between the both of you and landing at the front of your jeans. He suddenly pops the button open, your zipper being tugged down afterwards and Seokjin watches you cautiously as he slips his hand in and over your clothed heat. His lips part at the feel, your slick wetness drenching the frail material on his hand. “And quite frankly, you’re a terrible liar...aren’t you kiddo?”

You whimper pitifully rutting yourself down onto his hand, enjoying the pressure of his fingers gliding over your slit and rubbing teasing circles around your clit.

“...please.” you find yourself saying to him, your hands clutching him tighter.

“Please? That's new, but I don’t know what you’re asking for.” He frowns, applying more pressure between your folds and then switching to pull your underwear aside. You gasp at the new pleasure, your pussy becoming more and more sensitive to his touch and it was foreign to suddenly feel this way for him, at this point you didn’t care.

“Jin just fuck me already.” You groan, two of his fingers sliding downwards and deeper into your folds, stopping right at your entrance before one sinks in and then the other. Your body tenses, pressing yourself closer to him and he smirks wickedly-wanting to hear exactly those words coming from your mouth.

Seokjin suddenly leans down, bringing his lips close against your ear “That's no way to speak to your boss- If you really want my cock, you’re gonna have to be nicer about it...So let's try again hm?” You gasp, feeling the slow thrusts of his slender digits before he curls them inside. He hums slowly, soft lips caressing over your earlobe and trailing down more to place a soft kiss on your neck. “What are you asking for y/n?” Seokjin tries once more, licking and nibbling on the soft flesh while fucking his fingers a little harder into you.

This time your knees really do buckle, a soft mewl coming deep from within your chest and you don’t hesitate to breathe out what you wanted. “Jin please I need you to fuck me.”

He hums out again, this time as if to think more on the decision...as if he was actually going to change his mind. “Now?”

“ Y-Yes.” He hears your reply, so soft and desperate almost able to rub off on him in the process.

“Right here?” By now you could hear the smile on his lips, which was strange since you’d actually never seen one on him. The idea makes you roll your eyes while muttering another yes, but you bite your lip immediately afterwards- your stomach swirling with warmth from the new action.

It doesn’t last long however, in the next second Seokjin was slipping his hand away from you, placing one last kiss at the bottom of your neck before pulling back with hunger swirling fierce in his eyes. “You know, you sound a lot hotter when you beg.” He teases watching your face screw up into one of your famous glares.

“Fuck o-” You’re being moved before you could finish. He grabs your waist, twisting it with enough force to have you turning away from him and presses your front towards the car.

“Bend.” He grunts when you take too long to catch on.

You yelp in again in surprise, a huge palm pushing towards the middle of your back and suddenly you’re doing just as he says- bending forward over the warm hood of the car. Your ass pushed back towards his front and unable to see anything he was doing. Your body trembles from the new position, feeling Seokjin’s hands run soothingly down your sides towards the back of your ass- giving it a harsh squeeze. “Good little brat.”

Bent away from him, you silently await the moment his fingers would then latch onto the band of your pants and undies. You bite your lip, the cold air rushing around the heated flesh of your ass, his knuckles grazing your hips as he tugs them down to the middle of your thighs. Your pussy clenches to the praise he gives you, wetness seeping out and down your exposed core while also making Seokjin groan out from the sight. He takes in another breath- mouth watering to your drenched core and wanting so badly to taste you in the moment, but there just wasn’t enough time.

“Jin hurry.” you whimper, feeling a single finger glide up your slit once again- taking the opportunity to sway your ass in front him, inviting him.

“Fuck, ” He swallows, his own hands flying for his zipper and you can hear as he undoes himself behind you.

Part of you wondered just for a second if he’d happened to have any protection on him- realizing how you both were out in the open and-“O-Oh.” You suddenly hiss into the silent air.

Seokjin, grips himself at the base of his dick and presses into one side of your cheek to spread you out for him. Thank god he’d prepped you before, your heart racing in your chest as the warm mushroom tip presses into you, gliding up and down your bare core. Eventually when it’s coated enough he stops just outside your entrance, pressing himself in and begins to sink himself slowly into your tight walls.

Hissing again, you gasp at the unbelievable stretch of his girth, your pussy slowly taking him in and molding around him almost to a point where it was slightly uncomfortable- however despite his nature, Seokjin is gentle about it. He rocks himself in, giving you time to adjust to the size of him and there was no denying the gradually growing pleasure that was beginning to take over your body.

“Yes…” you gasp out breathlessly, hands bracing under your body once you feel him reach deep inside you, able to touch the special area of nerves that made up your g-spot...you start to become restless.

“Fuck you’re so tight, I need to move.” His voice comes out strained, grip on your hips tightening a bit more, you simply whimper in return while pushing yourself back onto him fully. In unison, the both of you groan out in pleasure, his slow rocking stuttering from the action.

Seokjin, Takes in a breath- pulling himself slowly out of your heat and snaps his hips back into you. He does this again, pulling back and thrusting into you a bit harder before setting a comfortable pace. With another cry coming from you, it almost takes everything in him not to lose control, his slower thrusts giving you enough to get off and still you need more.

Oh yeah it's definitely the adrenaline.

You whimper, voice cracking as his length hits your g-spot over again. “More...p-please” you try biting your lip.

Seokjin hears you, the untamable emotion riding in his chest fluttering from the request. His hand leaves your hip to bury itself in the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to pull you up to him. You cry out, his grip twisting in your hair to turn your face towards him. When you do, your breathing stops, dark eyes lit with so passion in them you nearly melt right there.

“Do you want me to fuck you harder brat? Is that what you’re asking?” His deep and breathless voice vibrates on your back. Without thinking you’re nodding your head frantically, a desperate need is filling your eyes that has Seokjin’s will to hold back snapping in half.

Immediately he slams his lips back onto yours, the grip in your hair becoming painful as he pulls out to ram himself back into you. Your hands reach back, managing to latch onto his thighs and you can't help loud cries you set free into his kiss. Seokjin moans too, loving the feel of your body shaking under him and he slowly feels his own resolve. He suddenly breaks the kiss, knowing he wouldn’t be able to last much longer and Seokjin lets you fall forward again, suddenly taking a rougher turn to make you reach your release.

With a deeper snap of his hips, the delicious stretch of his cock begins to turn your legs to jelly, a louder moan falling past your lips and into the night air as another one of his powerful thrusts jerks your body forward. Your torso falls even more, the warmth from the hood caressing your chest and easily you were met with your fucked out reflection. Teary eyes, wild hair and a sweaty face twisted into ecstasy- you shut your eyes before the predicament could truly set in.

How the hell did you get here? Letting Seokjin fuck your brains out in such an open space and loving the thrill of it. His fingers deep within your hair, pulling and tugging you back towards him as he drills himself in and out of you repeatedly, bringing your awaiting orgasm closer and faster than ever, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Such a good little slut, Who would've thought you’d be so whipped for my dick.” You hear him growl from behind you, a large hand connecting harshly with the soft skin of your ass. A tiny shriek is ripped from your throat and you then let out a tiny sob as your walls quivered around him from the action. He chuckles darkly, gripping harder onto your hips as he picks up the pace and begins to pound harder into you- loving every sexy ass moan that leaves your mouth every time he thrusts into you. “Oh the brat likes that? Do you like when I talk to you like a cock loving slut? You don’t want me to call you princess or baby girl?”

Your mouth parts in protest “I-...f-fuck Seokjin shut u-up, yes!” You cry out, As your nerves begin to prickle with the beginnings of your release- your sweaty hands squeaking up against the hood as they try to grab anything to anchor you down and before you know it- he's pressing down harder into your back, his other hand leaving your hair to come and rub frenzied circles around your clit.

“Oh shit, fuck you just gushed around me. I bet you’re going cum.” He pants, thrusts becoming relentless and overwhelming. “ Fuck, fuck yes- keep taking me just like that...wanna cum in this tight little pussy. Do you want to cum on my dick? W-wanna be a good little slut and let me cum in whats mine?”

“Yes J-Jin, Fuck yes!” By now you felt as if your body was going limp, your loud cries turning into drawled out moans and it could be accompanied by his grunts of pleasure as well as the connecting of his hips to your sore ass.

He swallows a fevered moan of his own “Then cum, show me who this pussy belongs to.”

You grow more butterflies in your stomach, hearing him call you his so suddenly when the guy had barely acknowledged you before. It was confusing to say the least, but all the while so fucking hot and you didn’t have the time to truly comprehend it- instead you allowed the pleasure to consume you. The strong feeling of intense warmth abruptly overtaking your body, your toes curling inside your shoes, a sharp squeak escaping your lips and Seokjin could feel your body stiffen under him as your legs shook sporadically from your powerful orgasm.

Seokjin growls out a guttural moan, His sloppy thrusts tipping him over once he feels your walls clenched tightly around him- bringing his orgasm on so suddenly, the next thing he knew, Seokjin was suddenly collapsing heavily over your back with a curse. “Shit!”

You pant trying to ride out your high, hips continuing to rock against him even as his cock swells in you. Sudden spurts of hot cum drench your walls and manages to trigger the aftershocks of your own release.

“Um wow.” You breath out, after staying in your position for a few minutes, both of you trying to catch your breath. Seokjin’s chest could be felt rising and falling heavily onto your back, his length softening within you and it was then then that you finally heard him speak.

“He was right.” Jin mumbles out into the now silent garage, making you frown in confusion.

“Who was?”

Seokjin presses his forehead into your back, his mouth twitching to hide a smile even though you couldn’t see him and his silence probably should have been a red flag for you, however you don’t press any further. Its until the small vibrations of his chuckles and the feel of his chest shaking behind you has you curious as why the man would say such a random statement after sex.

“Namjoon…” Seokjin is full on laughing and before you know it, he's lifting off of you and sliding himself out while making you hiss. Once the joke registers, you find yourself rolling your eyes and you're lifting yourself up as well, wincing from the stickiness between your thighs and that you would need to hurry home fast so you could clean up.

Watching him put himself together, you start to do the same- reaching for your pants to pull them up and you’re sending him a disgusted look while fastening your button “Don't Seokjin, please don’t say it.” You say as you then run your hand up to fix your hair.

Already done, he steps closer to you - sending you a devilish grin that you’d never seen before, the look shocking you in the process and you don’t understand why you were still feeling the strange flutter in your stomach, your adrenaline long gone. Suddenly he pulls you closer, a hand tipping under your chin to have you look up at him and then...

“you really do know how to drive a stick shift in more ways than one.” He whispers dreamily before cackling in an unattractive manner and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to punch someone more.

“I regret having sex with you.”

[ssa-sapphic-inactive]

                              (PLEASE READ)

i promised myself i wouldn’t share political posts on this blog or talk about certain issues because i wanted this to be a safe space where i can get away from the negativity of my real life. however, given all the recent blm related topics and news going around, as a poc i feel as though i really need to call attention to this. and just a disclaimer, this post is not meant to call anybody out or offend someone. it’s not even about a specific person. this is just my way to educate those who aren’t poc, and even some who are poc themselves.

the difference between performative activism and real activism, as well as being a performative ally and a real ally, is actually quite simple. when someone refers to you as one of the performative titles, most of the time it’s not because they think you don’t support anti-racial matters. it’s usually just because you’re going about it in the wrong ways and/or you’re calling unnecessary attention rather than necessary awareness. for example, having “black lives matter” present in your bio without actually doing anything to support the movement does nothing but give off the facade that all you want to be recognized for is just not being racist. but how does that benefit us poc’s? how does that help get petitions signed and donations raised?

another form of being a performative ally, is using social media as your “voice” and as an opportunity to let everyone know that you yourself are not racist. here’s what i mean by that. if you look up and do research on what the signs of being a performative ally are, one of the top points is when non-poc’s publicly lash out or call out someone at the first sign of what they deem is racism. “it almost always expresses itself as outrage, disbelief, or anger at the injustice. but your outrage isn’t useful—if anything, it’s a marker of your privilege, that to you racism is still surprising. trust me when i say this is not so for black, indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) for whom racism is an everyday reality.” don’t get me wrong, we appreciate you supporting us, but we don’t need you to speak for us and be our voice, you know?

it was brought to my attention that sometimes (not all the time) performative allies often seek some sort of validation, because they don't get the type of validation they want offline, so they latch onto whatever they can find (politics, perceived racism, perceived ableism etc) and use their social platform in order to achieve it.

as i was doing more research on this matter, i came across an article with accurate data that stated the following: “highly educated whites tend to be more ‘woke’ on racial issues than the average black or hispanic; they tend to perceive much more racism against minorities than most minorities, themselves; —in their eagerness to present themselves as advocates for people of color and the cause of anti racism, they neglect to actually listen to ordinary black or brown folk about what they find offensive, or what their racial priorities are.”

if you recognize yourself in some of these descriptions, know that this doesn’t mean i’m saying you don’t care, or that you’re a bad person, or a racist. just that you’ve fallen into the trap of thinking that your activism can begin and end with a hashtag or an anti-racist rant on social media. “marginalized folks want you to stand beside, or better yet, behind them. if you’re in front, you’re a performer and you need to take a step back. if you’re holding the mic, you need to pass it to a person who is part of the marginalized group. the work of an ally is to amplify the voices of the marginalized, not speak for them.”

[five-rivers]

Goals

Hey!  @puns-are-great-and-so-is-danny!  Here is your gift fic!  It got a little out of hand, and it doesn’t have a super solid ending, but I hope you like it.  :)  

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Dear Albus,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I know these are trying and troubling times, both here and in Britain, and part of me hesitates to ask this of you for exactly that reason. But, as ever, circumstances leave us with few viable options.

News of what happened to Amity Park this Spring has spread far and wide at this point, so I won’t waste your time repeating what you already know.  What is not common knowledge, however, is that after the dust settled, the Aurors assigned to the case encountered several irregularities, not the least of which was a disturbingly high number of completely untrained young witches and wizards.  

Once news of them gets out, I have no doubt the official line will be that they simply fell through the cracks, that, unfortunately, our spells for finding young magically-gifted persons are imperfect, that the nature of Amity Park obscured them from view.  This, I fear, is a lie.  

I have no proof, but I believe they were deliberately removed from MACUSA files on account of their heritage.  Albus, they are descended from Scourers.  

Perhaps that should be obvious, perhaps you had already guessed, considering the so-called reasoning behind the attack on Amity Park, the ideals those murderers professed, but I want to make myself and my own reasoning clear.  Though it shames me deeply to say it, those children will not be safe at Ilvermorny, nor, I believe, will they be at any other school on this continent.  For all the time that has passed, the Barebones Incident and its repercussions are too fresh in the minds of the people.  

There are seven of them.  Well, seven that are of concern to me.  The others have found or are seeking alternate arrangements.  They have been staying at the school, for the time being.  My colleagues and I have been attempting to give them a good grounding in magical basics. They would not come to you without foundations.

Albus, I am begging you, accept these students into Hogwarts.  I know this is a poor time.  I have heard rumors, horrible, horrible rumors, about what is happening in Britain, about what happened at Hogwarts last year, but I fear for these children’s future, for their spirits, should they be forced into a place where they will be hated simply because of who their ancestors were.  

I know that even in Hogwarts they would be unable to escape that, but it would be less.  Britain does not have the same history with Scourers that we do.  More, for some of them, they would not be forced to walk in the same halls as the kin of their parents’ murderers.

I will understand if you refuse, but I am relying on your compassion.  

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Agilbert Fontaine

Headmaster of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

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Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at the letter from his old friend and colleague and sighed, his heart heavy. Agilbert was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  Albus knew more about the situation in Amity Park than Agilbert assumed and likely was aware of things that Agilbert himself was not.  

For example, while the bulk of the group that had devastated and decimated Amity Park were indeed Magical Separatists and those looking for generations-late revenge on Scourers, their core leadership included American Death Eaters.  

He was also aware of the children Agilbert had mentioned.  Most of the truly astonishing number of magically inclined children and adults in Amity Park had chosen to find private tutors, go through correspondence or summer courses, or attend one of several small schools in North America that had quickly shuffled to make accommodations for them, on the condition that they hide their origins.  

The seven mentioned…  Well.  They didn’t really have those options.  Either their names were too infamous, or they had no one to stay with while they puzzled through correspondence courses.  Or both.

And the names.  Even here, some of them were well known.

Albus could understand why Agilbert had asked for his help.

But was it responsible to drag these children here while Voldemort was lurking in the shadows, building up his power base once again? To offer them safety he could not give?

For those students already attending Hogwarts, it was one thing, they were already involved, simply by virtue of where they were born and where they lived.  But those seven, in America, they would be—

Well.  Not safe, perhaps, not with their parents killed and their home ravaged by hostile magic. But… farther away from the direct line of fire.  

But would they be?  Beyond simply spreading fear and hate, was there another reason for the attack on Amity Park?

Albus heaved another sigh.  

At times he enjoyed making decisions like this.  Enjoyed power, knowledge, experience, those things people tended to mistake for wisdom, even though he had made more mistakes than anyone else he knew, and all the privileges and responsibilities that came with it, all the control over other peoples’ lives.  This was a failing, a flaw, he knew, and time and time again it had come back to bite him.  Karmic vengeance for being an old man who kept too many secrets.  

But times like these…  In times like these, he despised the choices he was forced to make.  

“What troubles you, Albus?  I can hear you sighing from the other room.”

Albus did not flinch or startle at the ghost’s approach and gently chiding tone.  He looked up and smiled thinly at his former and present colleague.  It seemed Cuthbert was having a good day.  It was a pity so few students saw him at his best, and regarded his lessons as utterly boring, but Albus could never find the heart to replace him.  Nor, sadly, the budget.  Damn the board of directors.

In answer, Albus turned the letter to face him.  Cuthbert Binns was not a member of the Order, either, but he, like every other member of the Hogwarts staff, had been informed of what had transpired at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  He would understand Albus’s dilemma.  

“Amity Park?” murmured Cuthbert, tapping the second paragraph.  “That sounds… familiar.  That—” Cuthbert broke off.  

If Albus had not spent significant portions of his life surrounded by ghosts, he would not have caught the subtle change in Cuthbert’s silvery complexion.  

“Perhaps you heard about the tragedy that happened there recently.”  Which would be a first, even alive, Cuthbert had never really cared about anything that happened more recently than a hundred years ago, but not impossible.

“Tragedy?  No.” Cuthbert shook his head.  “Amity Park it’s—It is…”  He trailed off, looking down at the letter, disturbed.  “Albus, I have known you for many years.  You have been here for many years, with all us ghosts, and…  You know there are things the dead do not speak of to the living.”

Albus did know.  “Are you saying Amity Park is related to one of those things?”  Could this be another attempt on Voldemort’s part to defeat death? His suspicion regarding horcruxes was bad enough, what that could mean for Harry…  But if that man had yet another way to stave off death…

Cuthbert dithered, and Albus wished fiercely that he could trust him enough to tell him about the Order, about Voldemort’s plans, to impress upon him how important this was, how vital that Albus know.  

But he couldn’t.  It would just take one bad day, and one misplaced question from a student related to someone unfortunate, and everything would come tumbling down.  

No.  Albus could not push him.  

“I—I must go,” said Cuthbert, halfway through the wall. “I have to look into something. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was not.

.

Albus had still not made a decision on Agilbert’s letter the next night.  He had consulted Minerva, Severus, and the other teachers who were also in the Order on the matter, and had distracted himself with other, arguably more important, matters.  

(The eyes on Number Four Privet Drive, the movements in and out of the Malfoy residence, the horribly dangerous games Severus was playing, the master schedule for the next school year, the still-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts post, extra protections on Hogwarts’ boundaries, how to keep the Order safe…)

But he shouldn’t put something like this off for much longer.

It would be much easier to deny Agilbert’s request.  As tragic as the seven students’ circumstances were, they weren’t his responsibility, and he had so many.  

Would you feel the same if the attackers had been Gellert’s people?

They’re children.  Like your students.  Like Adri—

Albus closed his eyes and forced the tiny and vicious voice away, out of his mind.

“Sir Nicholas wants to speak to you,” said one of the portraits.  

Surprised, Albus turned his head to face the image of his predecessor.  “Of course. Could you tell him he can come in?”

A few minutes later, the Gryffindor ghost floated through the wall.  “Hello, Albus,” he said, the outlines of his figure crisper than they usually were, and continued before Albus could greet him, “I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but is it true?  Seven students from Amity Park?”

“Cuthbert told you?”

“He told all of us,” said Sir Nicholas, shrugging in a way that made his head roll unsettlingly.  “You should accept them.”

Albus raised his eyebrows.  

“There is a certain element of risk involved,” the ghost’s voice was careful, “but if they come to Hogwarts, there is a possibility that you may gain a powerful ally, and that…”  Here, Sir Nicholas hesitated.  “Certain ancient wrongs might be righted.”

“I suppose it is that second the ghosts are interested in?” asked Albus, both curious and, despite himself, amused.  

Sir Nicholas gave him a gentle smile.  “Do not imagine that we are careless of your struggles, Albus, but many of us were long dead before you were born.  We care, but… sometimes the picture in front of our eyes is not the same as the one before yours.”

That was reasonable.  

However.

“Can you give me any more detail?” asked Albus, hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” said the ghost, drifting backwards.

.

The next letter from Agilbert was much thicker and contained the records of seven new Hogwarts students.  

.

The wand turning in his fingers was made of pear wood.  Not that Danny could tell, just by looking, but the wandmaker, who had accompanied her wares to Ilvermorny, had been very talkative, even when Danny had… not.  

Pear wood, cut from a tree that had grown up through a chain-link fence on the wandmaker’s property.  She had meant to cut it out, she said, but by the time she had gotten around to doing so, there had been bowtruckles in it, and she wasn’t about to cut down a good wand wood tree.

Danny still wasn’t entirely sure what bowtruckles were to be honest.  

The wood of the wand was normal.  The core, apparently, was not.  It was hair from a magical creature, which most wand cores were, but the wandmaker had cheerfully admitted to having no idea what the hair was from. It had shown up in her workshop one day, in a little box, black and white, in neat little bundles.  

Danny had suspicions about where it had come from.  

Suspicions that had been exacerbated by the fact that both Sam and Tucker had been ‘chosen’ by wands with the same core.  

Anyway, Danny had liked the wandmaker, even if he thought she was a bit weird, for using components that just showed up out of nowhere in her work.  

(She reminded him a bit of Mom.)

Danny wasn’t sure why he was thinking of her.  It had been months since then.  But he was feeling lonely, even though his friends were just in the next room, and Jazz was here, and maybe she was the closest he would let his mind get to…

To…

“If you keep doing that,” said Jazz, “you’re going to put your eye out.”  

Danny glanced over at her.  There was an east-facing window behind her, and the sun was shining through her shoulder, lighting her up like stained glass.  

“If they catch you in color, they’re going to have questions.”

Jazz rolled her golden eyes, but the color drained out of her, leaving her ‘properly’ silver and gray.  “If they actually listened, instead of dismissing everything weird in Amity as untrained magic acting up, then they wouldn’t need to have questions.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t, and I don’t think they’re going to. So, considering what we have to do…”

“We need all our advantages.  You don’t have to tell me again,” said Jazz.  She pulled a face.  “Well, you did, actually, I guess.  I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” muttered Danny.  “You only died a couple months ago.  It takes time to recalibrate.”

“Mm,” said Jazz, sticking her head through the windowpanes and looking down.  She pulled back.  “Your escort’s coming up.”

“Oh?  Yeah?”

“Or at least someone.  It’s hard to tell who, what with the hats and all…”

It was time to go, then.  Danny gathered his things and joined the others in the common area.

.

Hours later, as the sun was setting, nine Americans stepped out of a fireplace in the Ministry of Magic.  Seven were students.  One was a very haggard chaperon.  The last was a ghost whom aurors and representatives from the Department of Spectral Affairs hadn’t quite been able to dissuade from haunting her brother.  

Such was life.  Such was death.  

“Alright, kids,” said the chaperon, chivying them towards a central area.  “We just have to go through customs, and then we can find a place to relax until the representatives from Hogwarts get here.”

“I thought we already went through customs,” protested Dash.

“Yeah,” said Paulina.  “The American side.  To make sure we weren’t smuggling anything out.  Now we have to go through the British side, to make sure we aren’t smuggling anything in.”

“Smuggling isn’t really the main issue,” said the chaperon, “but, yes.  MACUSA knows you aren’t in the states anymore, and we have to make sure the Ministry over here knows you are, so you can comply with their laws and such.  Oh, and so you can get the Trace, but that isn’t important.”

“The Trace?” asked Sam, doubling her word count for the day. Ever since the attack, she had been rather taciturn.  

“It’s how they keep track of underage magic over here,” explained the chaperon.  “MACUSA phased it out a few years ago.  It isn’t very reliable, and besides, recent studies show that magical persons of any age can use magic accidentally, and there’s no good way to tell if there is a magical adult nearby, so…”  She gave herself a little shake.  “But it’s the law here, and it doesn’t matter.  You’ll be at Hogwarts the whole time, anyway.”

“You mean they’ll be tracking us?” asked Danny, trying to keep the alarm from his voice.  That could be… problematic.  Considering what he was really here for, and all.  

“Not you in particular,” said the chaperon, snagging Tucker by the back of his shirt before he could make a detour to investigate a guarded cart of ominously sparking electronics.  She pulled him back.  “It’s my understanding that every child with the trace on them shows up as a dot on a map, and the dot changes color if magic is performed near them.  Some of the more sophisticated versions can determine what kind of magic, but, well… it isn’t like they ever know which dot belongs to which person, so unless you’re living with all no-maj family members—They call them muggles, here, I think—in a particular house, it is very difficult for them to determine who did what.  I’d tell you more, but this isn’t my area of expertise.  Perhaps the customs agents will know more?  You should ask when we go through…”

Danny began to tune her out.  He caught Sam’s eye, then Tucker’s, and they all nodded at each other a little bit.  Not that they had a plan or anything, but sometimes it helped to know that other people also found a situation to be sucky.  

Where would the Minister of Magic be in all this mess, anyway? Danny let his eyes rove over the hall. There was no guarantee that he was even here today, and Danny wasn’t to the point where he wanted to reveal himself. He had been given lots of instructions, but one of them had been to keep himself safe.  Clockwork had even said it was a priority.  

Best to stick to letters, for now.  Even if none of them had been answered, yet.

They reached the long, winding line that was customs, had their luggage gone through yet again.  Tucker lost another PDA, and Danny had to wonder how many more he had hidden.  The American side of customs had done a pretty good job of finding them.  Sam got taken aside for questioning, because some of her goth paraphernalia had a passing resemblance to ‘Dark’ objects.  Star had to explain her medications.  Valerie set off some sort of magical metal detector, and the customs agents started arguing about what had caused it.  No one had found out about her suit yet.

Meanwhile, Danny was sent to another table, to fill out forms for Jazz.  Again. Because, for reasons Danny didn’t fully understand, even with everything Clockwork and the other Ancients told him, wizards thought they could control and regulate what ghosts did and where they went.  

Danny did not particularly care for wizards, as a group. The paperwork—The stupid, pointless paperwork, because Jazz was going to do what she wanted and no one would stop her, he’d make sure of it—made him angry.  A lot of things made him angry, lately, when they didn’t just make him depressed or sullen.  

“Breathe, Danny,” said Jazz, leaning down, next to his ear. “The language in this is stupid, but I don’t mind being called names.  We both know they’re wrong, and what they think isn’t important anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, forcing his muscles to relax.  He finished the paperwork.  

They passed through the last customs barrier together, and soon found themselves in a large atrium with a large, extremely gaudy, gold fountain in the center.  

Now, Danny had to admit, he had only the briefest of encounters with house elves and goblins, and none at all with centaurs, but he couldn’t imagine that the look of adoration on their faces was at all accurate. At least not for the species as a whole.

He tried to imagine the statue with a ghost in it, with a half-ghost in it, and he just—

Yeah.  No.

Wizards.  

Or, at least, these wizards.  Whatever.  

They found a bench off to one side, to wait for the Hogwarts representatives.  Danny had to wonder how they’d find them.  Would they hold signs?  Seemed probable.  Everything in the ‘wizarding world’ seemed to be stuck fifty years back in time, if not more.

Or, maybe, the chaperon knew who they were meeting and would wave at them.  Like she was doing now.  

Okay, so, Danny had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t coming up with random prejudices.  Ancients.  If his first encounter with the supernatural had been those people in cloaks showing up out of thin air and starting to kill people, he’d probably never be able to pull himself out of that mindset.  

Not all wizards were terrible.  Like the wandmaker.  She was okay.

He took the time to assess the two witches who had come to pick them up.  They were opposites of each other, at least in appearance.  One was tall, thin, and severe, almost sharp.  The other was short and round and sort of soft around the edges.  The only areas in which they demonstrated similarity were their age and apparent gender.

“Alright, kids.  This is Professor McGonagall,” she gestured to the taller woman, “and this is Professor Sprout.  They’re the heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively.  Minerva, Pomona, these are Dash Baxter, Daniel Fenton, Tucker Foley, Valerie Grey, Samantha Manson, Paulina Sanchez, and Star Thunder.”

“And Jazz,” said Danny, annoyed that his sister had, once again, been left out.

“Hey,” said Jazz.  “Nice to meet you.”

Professor McGonagall nodded.  “We will be taking you to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies for the year before we go to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” said Star, eyes tracking a flock of apparently animate paper airplanes, “we know.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment. “Do you want to come with us, Cerise?”

“No, I have a few other things to do on this side of the Atlantic.  That’s why they sent me.  Have a good time in Diagon Alley, kids, it’s a historic place!”

.

Danny had to wonder about goblins.  Did they just… really like banks, or were they forbidden from holding jobs elsewhere?  Or effectively forbidden by prejudice?  Because, thus far, he had only seen goblins when changing currency.  ‘No-maj’ money to the denominations used by American wizards, and now from that to the infinitely more confusing British ‘galleons.’

It would probably be rude to ask.  

Maybe he could find a book…

But were these people self-aware enough to write about stuff like that?  He shook his head.  Prejudice, prejudice…  He barely knew anything about any of these people, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions prematurely.  

Not that he didn’t already know several unsavory things about their system of governance, thanks to the Ancients.  And their not-so-little terrorist problem.  And the fact that they thought erasing people’s memories with a spell that could cause long-term brain damage was A-Okay.

Yeah.  But that didn’t mean all of them were bad.  Just that their government sucked.  Which was true for almost all governments, so it didn’t mean anything.

McGonagall and Sprout were very efficient as they went through the shops, giving the impression that they had done this, or something like this, many times before.  They did not allow detours, despite the many, many distracting things on display on the street and in the windows.  Professor Sprout, however, kept up a running commentary on what things were, so it wasn’t too frustrating.  

About halfway through the shopping trip, they stopped at the place that sold uniforms.  Sprout stayed with them, while McGonagall left to go get other supplies.  It was an experience.  Other than his jumpsuit, Danny had never had any clothing fitted specifically for him before.  

The fitting made him… nervous.  

The tape measures and needles flew close to his skin.  The seamstress who had been assigned to him also kept touching him, which was part of her job, and it wasn’t invasive or anything, but still.  Also, there were a lot of other teens, and even some preteen kids, in the store, getting their uniforms, and they were all staring.

What they were staring at wasn’t the same from person to person, Paulina and Jazz seemed to be the biggest targets for whatever reason, but it was still staring.  The parents waiting with their kids were staring as well, and Danny started to fidget. Which meant that he got stabbed by the needle a few times.  Which wasn’t fun.  

But eventually that was over, and they were on their way to Hogwarts.  

.

Considering that Agilbert had tried to compress years’ worth of magical education into the space of a few months for these students, the results were remarkable.  True, with one notable exception, none of them were on a fifth-year level in Transfiguration, but Minerva didn’t feel the need to put them all in first-year or remedial classes, either.  

She could only hope they did as well in their assessments in other subjects.  They would have a hard enough time figuring out schedules for these seven, without having to account for them bouncing across year levels.  

She picked up the written assessment from the one student she would be accepting into fifth-year Transfiguration.  His penmanship was shaky, none of them had quite mastered writing with quills, and his grasp of the theory behind the spells was incomplete, but it was better than some.  She tried not to roll her eyes as she thought of Crabbe and Goyle.  

As a teacher, she should be above that.  Alas.  

Mr. Fenton did have some insights in his essay questions that were truly extraordinary for a person who didn’t even know magic existed at the beginning of the year.  Perhaps they had another Hermione on their hands, although he didn’t give off the same air as she did.  Or he had spent the summer focusing only on Transfiguration.  Or Mr. Fenton had a singular talent in Transfiguration. Regardless, gifted and motivated students were always a pleasure to teach.  

Minerva gathered her papers and left to meet Filius, who had tested the students before her.  She was tempted to go look in on them now and see how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was handling her first teaching experience but suppressed the urge.  She would see them, and, sadly, Delores Umbridge, at lunch in only an hour.

Which was why she was so surprised to find the children in a hall so far away from Delores’ room.  

Then she reminded herself that, appearances aside, these were not fifth-year students.  They had no experience navigating the castle.  

“Are you lost?” she asked.

The students exchanged glances.  “Uh, sort of?” said Miss Sanchez, twirling a curl of hair around her fingers.  “We weren’t sure if we should try to find Mr. Snape, or if we should go to the lunch hall.”

“Professor Snape,” corrected Minerva, mildly.  “Did you already finish Professor Umbridge’s assessment?”

“She didn’t give us an assessment,” said Miss Manson, angrily.  

Minerva’s eyebrows went up.  “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” said Mr. Fenton.  “She basically said that she was doing the same curriculum for everyone, so she didn’t need to.  So, we were wondering if we should move on to, um, potions?  Potions.  Or if we should go to lunch, or just hang out, or what.”  

“Professor Snape is unlikely to be expecting you at this point,” said Minerva, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes.  What was Delores thinking?  The same curriculum for all years?  For eleven-year-olds and eighteen-year-olds?  There would be riots.  Or at least hexes.  “I can take you to the Great Hall.”

“Thanks, Ms. McGonagall,” said Mr. Foley.  And what was that he was hiding in his robes?  How many cursed muggle machines had he smuggled in?

Minerva sighed.  Honestly, it was probably harmless, though she possibly should speak to Charity about it.  “Professor McGonagall.”

“Sorry,” said Mr. Fenton.  “It’s just… hard to adjust.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  

“I suppose it is,” she said.  “This way, children.”

.

Jazz floated through a wall, carefully avoiding the paintings.  Their inhabitants weren’t quite ghosts, from what she and Danny could tell, but they also weren’t not ghosts.  

It hadn’t taken her long last night to find the actual wizarding ghosts.  They’d been expecting her, in more ways than one.  But they had been weird.  Empty. They didn’t have any ectoplasm in them, and the intensity that was a part of every other ghost Jazz had ever met, Danny included, was absent.  

Clockwork and the Lady had warned them about that, before sending Danny, and by extension Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, off on his mission. Jazz just hadn’t quite believed it.  

Wizarding ghosts weren’t made of passion, need, want, duty, or even stubbornness.  They were made of fear.  Fear, by itself, didn’t hold ectoplasm well, especially not fear of death.  Wizarding ghosts might as well be mere imprints for all the power they had.

From the beginning, Jazz had been less than enthusiastic about pretending to be one of them.  Now, she was even less so.

It wasn’t their fault, though.  At least, it wasn’t entirely their fault.  None of the ghosts here were around back when the Ancients and the wizards of the day came together and put their names to the Tenebris Carta, and they were trying to make amends.  It sounded like they hoped the old treaty could be renegotiated, or that they hoped Danny and Jazz could get them an exception.  

Jazz didn’t hate them.  Didn’t dislike them or anything, and Danny would probably try to help them, so long as they didn’t turn evil or anything.  That was just the kind of person Danny was.  

She just needed more time to… adjust to them.  And the paintings.  Because wow.  

“Ah, Miss Fenton!”  

Jazz twisted herself over, mid-air.  “You can call me Jazz, if you want, Sir Nicholas.”

The silvery ghost smiled.  “If you insist.  We’re going down to the Great Hall, to introduce ourselves to your companions over lunch.  I was wondering if you would like to join us.”

“Sure,” said Jazz, descending to float by the other ghost. “But who do you mean by ‘we?’”

“All the castle ghosts,” said Sir Nicholas, “and possibly Peeves, though he won’t be invited.”

“Peeves?”

“The poltergeist.  He isn’t really a ghost.  At least…  he’s not a ghost like us.”

“Mhm,” said Jazz.  “Should I look forward to meeting him, or should I be very afraid?”

“Ah, neither, I suppose?  He tends to play pranks, but he never does anything terribly dangerous, and he couldn’t hurt you if he tried.”

“Well,” said Jazz, “as long as he doesn’t mess with my brother, we’ll probably get along just fine.”  She flexed her hands to disperse the pale green flames that had started to creep up her fingers.  “If he does, I’ll tear him apart.”

“Speaking of your brother, do you have any guesses as to which house he will be joining?”

“I wasn’t under the impression it was a choice,” said Jazz.

“It isn’t, exactly.  Students are sorted into the houses with, well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but houses are selected based on a student’s personality, aptitudes, and values.  Normally, if they came in as first-years, they would be sorted on the first, but given the circumstances, they’ll be sorted tonight.  I’m rather hoping to have a few new students for my house.”

Jazz grinned, detecting a note of competition.  “And what does your house look for?  Gryffindor, right?”

“Bravery,” said Sir Nicholas, proudly.  “Considering your brother’s accomplishments, I’m looking forward to seeing him join.”

“He is the bravest person I know,” said Jazz.  

.

Several dozen ghosts phasing through the walls didn’t just set off Danny’s fight-or-flight response.  Sam readied her wrist-lasers, while Tucker grabbed Danny’s wrist and started hunting for a place to hide Danny so his transformation wouldn’t be noticeable.  Dash and Star took cover under one of the tables.  Paulina pulled out her wand.  Valerie materialized a hand blaster.  

It wasn’t entirely clear what weapon went off first, but it didn’t really matter.  The end result was chaos.

“Oops,” said Jazz.  

.

“I am so, so, sorry,” said Jazz, hovering over Danny. Literally.  

“It’s fine,” said Danny.  “Really.”

“No, it isn’t.  I should have realized how everyone would react.  I should have told them to stop it, or something.”

“They were already on their way through the walls when you got there, weren’t you?” asked Tucker, swinging his legs back and forth as he sat on the end of the hospital bed.  

No one had been seriously injured, but a few tables had been exploded before the teachers had calmed everyone down and confiscated the ‘bizarre muggle weapons.’  On the other hand, everyone had a number of inconvenient scrapes and bruises that Madam Pomfrey insisted on taking a look at.

“Still,” said Jazz.  “I know all of you have PTSD from repeated ghost attacks and those people, I should have known what that would look like to you.”

“Er,” said Dash.  “It really is fine.”

“Yeah,” grunted Valerie, which was surprising.  

Outside of ‘Team Phantom,’ none of the others interacted with Jazz very much.  They didn’t seem to know how.  Valerie, however, outright avoided Jazz most of the time.  

Which, well.  Danny wasn’t about to call her behavior reasonable, but it was definitely in-character. This seemed like a good sign, though.

“Yes, dear,” agreed Madam Pomfrey.  “It isn’t your fault.  We adults should have said something before things got out of hand like that.”  She waved her wand back and forth over Star’s prominent black eye, and the bruise just… vanished.  Like Star had never been hurt.  

Danny inhaled slowly.  It wasn’t the first time he had seen magical healing—The aurors who had arrived a few hours after the attack on Amity Park had done a great deal—but if there was anything of magic that Danny wanted to learn, it was that.  And anything protective.  

“Is there a class for that?” he asked.  

“For what?”

“Healing.”

“Yes, it’s an elective,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “Though it does have a few required courses. Perhaps you will be able to take it next year?”

Danny swallowed down envy and nodded.  “Yeah, I guess we aren’t going to have time for electives, for the most part.”

“You may be surprised.  Now, I think you’re all set, unless you’re hiding something from me?”

The students shook their heads.  

“Good.  I believe Professor Snape is expecting you?”

.

“Did that seem… weirdly easy to you?” asked Sam.  

Danny thought about it for a second.  “Not the ‘what does this plant or animal part do’ questions,” he said, finally, “but the practical part of it?  Yeah.  It was just… cooking.  Really fiddly cooking, but still cooking.”

“Speaking of,” said Tucker, “how did you get by the parts where you had to use animal body parts.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Sam.  “I just skipped those.  I’m pretty sure I failed, judging by the look on Professor Snape’s face.  My end result was pretty nasty-looking.  It smelled bad, too.”

“You’re the reason we were stuck in an unventilated basement breathing in burnt hair fumes?” asked Paulina.

“Yeah.  I mean, it didn’t smell like burnt hair to me, but probably.”

Paulina sighed.  “I have to hand it to you, girl, you stand by your convictions.”

“I don’t think it’s unventilated,” said Star, contemplatively. “I wasn’t really paying attention, but there was definitely movement in all the, uh, vapors, or whatever. Professor Snape totally needs a better teacher face, though.  Like, does he just have the one expression, or what?”

“No, no,” said Sam.  “The look he gave me when I turned in my disaster was way more pronounced.”

“Still needs more than disdain and mega-disdain,” said Tucker. “Even Lancer had a wider range.”

“Come on, guys,” said Danny, “he can’t be much more than, what, thirty?  He has time to develop more emotions.”

“Yeah,” said Valerie, flatly.  “Give it a couple more years, and maybe he’ll nail down hyper-disdain.”

This surprised a snicker out of everyone.  Almost everyone.

“Uh, guys?” said Dash.  “I think I might have been the one who made it smell like burnt hair.  What was it supposed to smell like?”

“I’m so glad I don’t need to breathe,” said Jazz.  

“Oh my gosh, Jazz, that’s way too soon.”

.

“What do you think?” asked the hat.  

The hat.  

Danny could understand the paintings.  He could almost understand how the paintings worked, even.  They had the shapes of people who had once lived, their image, their likeness, and had by virtue of magic snagged a piece of their soul as they left this world.

But a hat.  Who would try to give a hat sentience?  And how?  Was the thing possessed by an extraordinarily unfortunate ghost?

“Um,” said Danny, shaking off the shock.  “I liked it!”

“Sorry,” said Star, “I’m just a little surprised.   Are you really a… a hat?”

“Yes, I am the Sorting Hat!  It is my job to divine which of our four houses each of you should belong to.  Weren’t you listening?”

“We were,” assured Star, “it’s just…”

“You’re a hat,” finished Tucker.  “Did you used to be a wizard or something?”

“Goodness, no, I was Godric Gryffindor’s hat!  He enchanted me.”

“So, are you like a computer program?” continued Tucker. “Are you an AI?”

“No Skynet,” muttered Sam.  

“Why do you guys keep thinking I’m going to make Skynet?”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.  The other teachers were all present, except for the headmaster and Professor Umbridge.  Their absences had not been explained.  

“When you hear your name,” said McGonagall, “please come up and put the Sorting Hat on.  It also usually helps if you sit down on the stool.  Once the hat has determined your house, take it off, and put it down for the next person to use.”

Alright.  That sounded easy enough.  Danny wasn’t quite sure why such a big production was being made of this.  A few comments from the teachers and the ghosts—not that Danny had talked to them very much, this was the first full day they’d been at the school—suggested there was some kind of rivalry between the houses, but it couldn’t be that bad.  It was school.  

Except Casper High had its nasty cliques, too, and he could just imagine how school-sanctioned cliques would work out. Especially if they were backed up by centuries of history and a magic personality test.  

Fun.  

Not.

He hoped he, Sam, and Tucker would all be in the same house. And that Dash wouldn’t revert to being a bully as soon as other students were added to the mix.  And that…  Oh, he hoped a lot of things, but he would be thankful if the ‘school’ part of this whole ordeal was as easy and drama-free as possible.

After all, he had other things to worry about.

“Baxter, Dash,” said McGonagall, evenly.  

“Good luck, man,” said Tucker, holding up his thumbs. Everyone mirrored him.  

Dash looked very strange, sitting on that small stool, but he wasn’t on it for more than a second before the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was very loud.  Dash returned to the bench with a confused expression on his face.

“Fenton, Daniel.”

Danny stood up slowly.  He had expected something more like a conversation.  Was this a mind reading hat?  Was the ‘take a peek inside your head’ bit literal?  

Ugh, this was going to be a pain.  Good thing he had a lot of practice in compartmentalizing.  

“Ah, a burgeoning occlumens!” said the hat in its warm voice. “How unusual.”

“I have no idea what that means,” said Danny, mildly.  

“Oh, I’m sure your teachers will explain it to you.  I won’t take the pleasure from them.”  

The voice was, Danny decided, more than half in his head, which was…  Unsettling. Voices in his head usually either meant mind control, some jerk with telepathy, or someone trying to overshadow him. He didn’t like this.  He really didn’t like this.  

“No need to be so nervous,” said the hat.  “I keep everything strictly confidential.”

“Forgive me if I’m not reassured,” said Danny.  

“Hmf.  In any case, you have traits that would do you well in any of the houses.  Perhaps not Ravenclaw, though.  As clever as you are, you are behind academically.  You need a more nurturing environment, I imagine. As for the others… You are brave. You love your friends.  You’d do anything for them?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

“And there’s… something else you need to do?”

Danny was silent.  

“I can’t see it very clearly, but it is an important task?”

Danny shrugged.  

“A goal.”

“Sure.”

“I think, then, the choice is between the badger and the snake,” said the hat.  “But I believe the decisive phrase here is ‘do anything.’  Therefore, you will be SLYTHERIN!”

Wow.  Even bracing himself, that had been loud.

Danny stood up and carefully deposited the hat back on the stool.  He noticed on his way back to the bench that more than one teacher looked flabbergasted, and several spectating ghosts looked disappointed.  Almost crushed.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Yes, he was a celebrity among the undead, no he couldn’t be in two houses at once. They should have prepared themselves.

Not to mention that, as important as education was, it was somewhat secondary to his true goals here.  Which the ghosts partially knew about.  

“Foley, Tucker.”

.

“I can’t believe it,” said Filius later that evening when all the teachers (sans Umbridge) gathered for a drink.  

“I did say you would find the results surprising,” said Sybill, smugly.  

“Two muggle-born American transfer students in Slytherin,” said Filius, wonderingly.  “I didn’t expect to get any of them for Ravenclaw, but Slytherin?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t denigrate my house, Filius,” said Severus.  

The diminutive teacher waved his hand.  “Oh, that’s not my intention.  But you have to admit, it seems like a strange choice.”

“They aren’t really muggle-born, though, are they?” asked Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, opting for tea instead of wine.  “I’m not sure about the Sanchezes, but the Fentons were quite prominent, back in the day, weren’t they?  At least, one of their ancestors wrote the first English book on new world magical creatures.”

“Muggle-borns and half-bloods are chosen for Slytherin all the time,” said Severus, annoyance clearly increasing.  “Not, perhaps, as often as for the other houses, but it does happen regularly.  You don’t have to be so shocked.”

“It’s nothing against Slytherin,” assured Pomona.  “We were just expecting them to get split between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.  American stereotypes in play, I suppose.”

“Mm,” said Septima, who was doodling equations on the back of her wrist.  “On my end, my thought process was more that they wouldn’t do well trying to play catchup in Ravenclaw, and they wouldn’t have the ambition and drive to hold their own in Slytherin.  The Sorting Hat disagreed.”

“Evidently,” said Severus.  He didn’t look especially pleased, but then he never did.  

“Better you than me,” said Filius, after a few minutes.  “I can’t imagine it will be easy integrating them.”

Minerva, who had three of the students, laughed, “You aren’t getting out of it that easy, Filius.  They still have charms.  How did they do, by the way?  We never really got around to discussing it.”

“None of them were brilliant,” said Filius.  “But they have promise.  I was wondering what you all thought about doing an accelerated class for some of them, to get them to a higher year-level.”

.

Being on the Hogwarts Express without Ron at his side felt wrong.  Sure, he wasn’t entirely alone, Ginny was with him, and Hegwig, but it felt different. He felt exposed.  

Although, that might have had something to do with all the people staring and pointing at him.  

The Daily Prophet had spent most of the summer convincing everyone he was a lying show-off.  The only things that had really competed with the ‘Harry Potter is delusional’ articles were the ‘haha, America is going to hell in a handbasket, aren’t we glad we aren’t them?’ articles.  

(Harry wouldn’t have even cast a glance at the second, except that he and the others had overheard some of the Order members mention Death Eaters had been behind the attack on the muggle town.  Even so, reading them made him feel grimy.)

They had to go all the way to the end of the train to get away from the unfriendly eyes, and that’s where they found Neville.  

“Hi, Harry,” he said, out of breath.  “Hi, Ginny…  Everywhere’s full… I can’t find a seat…”

Ginny squeezed past him to look at the compartments behind him.  “What are you talking about?  There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here—”

“I don’t want to disturb her—”

“Don’t be silly, she’s alright.”  She slid the door open and pulled her trunk in.  “Hi, Luna.  Is it okay if we take these seats?”

It took a couple minutes to get situated in the compartment, during which time Harry tried not to stare at Luna Lovegood very much.  The blonde girl was surrounded by an aura of almost impenetrable oddness.  

“Have a good summer, Luna?” asked Ginny.  

Luna opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning. “No, actually.  My father had some friends in Amity Park.  The town in America, you know.”  She turned her head slightly.  “You’re Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” said Harry.  

The four of them then proceeded to have a fairly enjoyable conversation, right up until Neville’s mimbulus mimbletonia sprayed them all with rancid sap and Cho Chang opened the compartment door.  

Cho Chang who he had a crush on.

Yeah.

Harry had a strong desire to curl up and die.  

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for over an hour, by which time the food trolley had come and gone, and most of the bounty acquired from it had been eaten.  

“Oh, you have food.  Brilliant,” said Ron, taking a Chocolate frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him.  “You won’t believe what happened.”

“Malfoy’s Slytherin prefect?” asked Harry.  The fear had been buzzing in the back of his head ever since Ron and Hermione had gotten their badges.  

“Well, yeah,” said Ron.  

“And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione.  

“But that’s not the real surprise,” said Ron, oddly dismissive. “You remember all those articles in the Prophet?  Not the ones about you.  About that town, in America?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, some of kids who survived were wizards.”

“And witches,” added Hermione.  She pulled Crookshanks into her lap.  

“Well, apparently their ministry didn’t think they’d be safe over there, so they sent them here.  Seven of ‘em.”

“What?  They think it’s safe here?” In Hogwarts, maybe it was, except Harry had been snatched away even with all eyes on him, in the middle of a heavily attended competition.  “With Voldemort on the loose?”

Everyone flinched.  

“Well, that isn’t exactly being publicized,” said Hermione. “Not—Not in the right way.  Besides, none of them knew about magic before this summer.  They’re all our age, though.  It must have been a shock.  Especially after losing their families like that.”  She shuddered.  “We’ve been asked to help them acclimate.  That’s why the meeting ran so long.”  

“Are they in Gryffindor, then?” asked Luna.  

“They’re sort of spread out,” said Hermione.  “They’re in all the houses but Ravenclaw.”

“And I’m still not sure how they got put into Slytherin if they’re muggleborn,” said Ron, who had tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.  “It doesn’t make sense,” he complained.

“Merlin was muggleborn,” said Luna.  “He was a Slytherin.  I’m sure there were others.”

Ron pulled a face.  

(Harry thought about Voldemort—About Tom Riddle and his muggle father.)

“Anyway,” said Hermione.  “We have three of them.  Hufflepuff and Slytherin each have two.”

First Death Eaters in America, and now Slytherins from there?  Harry shook himself internally.  No, it probably didn’t mean anything.  

“We probably won’t see much of them,” said Ron.  “They’re taking mostly remedial classes.  First and second year stuff.”

“Say,” said Luna, “do you know who the prefects are for the other houses?”

“Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,” said Hermione.  

“And Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff,” added Ron.  “You know, other than helping keep track of the younger kids and patrolling corridors every so often, there’s not really much we’re supposed to do as prefects.  From how Percy talked about it, I always sort of thought there’d be more.”  Then he grinned.  “We can give punishments out if people are misbehaving.  I can’t wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…”

Predictably, this set off Hermione.

.

“There’s nothing else about the Americans?” asked Draco, frowning. “I’m not sure how we’re expected to ‘help them acclimate’ with so little information.”

The Head Girl rolled her eyes.  “You’re expected to talk to them,” she said.  “Considering that they’re real human beings and all. They’ve been through a lot, apparently, and I can appreciate them not wanting to have it spread around.”

Unspoken was the ‘do you?’ at the end of her sentence.  Draco let his lip curl.  People from other houses were always so eager to think the worst of Slytherin when all they were trying to be was logical.  

“I’ll do that, then,” said Draco, stepping out of the prefects’ carriage.  He needed to find Crabbe and Goyle.  Annoying. As much as he was their leader, and he watched them, they were also there to watch him and—

(Draco chose not to think of the people who had arrived at Malfoy Manor over the Summer, of the things he’d seen.)

(When he was quite young, he’d read a book about muggle Germany during the time of Grindelwald, and how Grindelwald had subtly influenced things in that country.  He’d always been struck by the use of informants, of how everyone had been convinced to watch one another and report those who stepped out of line.  He found he could appreciate it even more now that he was inside a similar trap.)

But the Americans.  It was so odd.  They couldn’t have any lineage to speak of.  Not if they were living like muggles in some backwater town.  

… some backwater town the Dark Lord had seen fit to destroy.

… ‘Fenton’ sounded vaguely familiar.  

… Perhaps ‘Sanchez’ was from a Spanish pureblood line.

Draco would have to do research.  He was good at that.  But whatever he found, he’d have to keep an eye on the Americans.  

If nothing else, it would be good to have friends overseas.

.

“We’ll be in different dorms after this,” said Danny, vaguely depressed.  “Different classes, too, most of the time.”

“We can still see each other during the day,” said Sam.  “I think the only meal that’s segregated by house is dinner, anyway.  We should be able to hang out at all the other times.”

Danny sighed.  He had yet to have much success in his missions.  

He’d felt something wrong on the seventh floor, but he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it.  He’d found a giant inaccessible dungeon full of snake statues, a snake skeleton, and a number of other somewhat questionable things underneath the school. There had been an echo of something there, but whatever it was had been long gone by the time Danny got there. He also had the faint sense of a ghost—a real ghost—beginning to form there, and he hoped he hadn’t messed it up by spreading his ectoplasm around.  

On the second front, he hadn’t heard anything from any of the leaders of the wizarding world.  Unless he counted a reply from a secretary who thought he was disturbed.  

But there was one bright spot.  They’d met the Headmaster yesterday, and Danny was certain the man’s wand was one of the two subjects of his third quest.  Which was hilarious.  Out of everything, he’d thought the Hallows would be the hardest to find.  

Not that he could just take it.  Not now.  Not yet. Not with everything else still so uncertain and Clockwork’s quiet assurance that he would find most of what he needed to at Hogwarts.  

(Clockwork and the Lady had made a deal with him, bound in old magic and ghost law.  Three tasks. Three nearly impossible quests, but at the end of them, the one who had destroyed half of his world, who had harmed his people, would be gone, and in the meantime Amity Park would be protected. Danny knew he had gotten the better half of the deal, with Clockwork practically on his side.  Even with the… other requirements.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged.)

So, he’d stay, and wait, and keep a careful eye on the Headmaster, and try to find the thing on the seventh floor, and figure out what spells worked on ghosts and if he could circumvent them, and figure out how to intercept at least one magical head of state, and, and, and…

Ugh.  

“If we aren’t too busy,” said Danny.  

“You know we’re here to help,” said Tucker, prodding Danny’s side.  “And even if the rest of them don’t know about, you know, I think they’d be willing to help, too.”

“Within reason,” said Sam.  

It was true.  Surviving near-death experiences together tended to make people—well.  Not necessarily friends, but something more than mere acquaintances.  Allies, at the very least.

(Especially if a lot of other people had died at the same time, and the survivors were holding on to the relationships they still had with all their strength.)

“I know,” said Danny.  He bit his lip.  “There’s something on the seventh floor, I think.  Need more time to figure out what, though.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” promised Sam.  

“And an ear, too,” said Tucker, tapping his.  “I’m sure there’ll be lots of rumors and legends in a place like this.”

“Me too.  Jazz has been interrogating the paintings, you know.”  He frowned.  “They’re so weird.”

“Everything about this is weird,” said Sam.  “Can’t believe we thought ghosts were the whole extent of the supernatural.  It seems so dumb, now.”

“Not really,” said Danny.  “I mean, ghosts were all that we saw, and they didn’t really mention anything else.”  He sighed. “Guess we should get ready for the feast or whatever?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, standing.  “Good luck meeting your classmates.  Housemates?  How are we even supposed to say that?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  He sighed.  “At least we each have at least one person from Casper with us.”

“That’s true,” said Tucker.  “Can’t say I feel like I have much in common with Star, though. Other than,” he gestured, vaguely, “all the Amity Park stuff.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.  “And you think I have a lot in common with Dash?”

“You have a lot in common with Valerie,” offered Tucker.

Sam shrugged.  “We do both fight ghosts.”

Tucker’s grin turned slightly wicked.  “And have a crush on the same guy.”

“Take a walk off a

Danny let himself smile.  It had been a while since the three of them had gotten some good banter in. It was hard to verbally spar when you were depressed.  

.

Sitting next to Paulina at an otherwise empty table felt strange.  But it would feel even stranger to sit not next to Paulina at the very large empty table.  Danny let his eyes drift over to the other three house tables.  It seemed that the others were of the same opinion, sitting together in little, painfully awkward clusters.  

All the close friend groups had been pulled apart, after all.

“Danny,” said Paulina.  Her voice wavered at the end.

“Yeah?”

“The wizard kids will have cliques.”

“I mean, yeah, they’re still human, right?”  And even ghosts formed groups.  

Paulina nodded and clenched her jaw.  “We’re going to get into one,” she said, firmly.  “We’ll have to find the best one, and fast, otherwise we’ll wind up at the bottom of the pecking order.  You know how much that sucks.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, his eyebrows raised.  He was a little surprised to be included.  

“The wizards we’ve met so far are pretty weird.  You know how to deal with weird.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Is this a strategy thing?  Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”

“It’s never too late to salvage social standing, and we haven’t even started,” said Paulina.  “Anyway, you’re the backup plan, in case they’re aliens who don’t fall for my charm.”  She put a hand to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Should we even use charm like that here?  I mean, since it’s a class, now.”

“Hmf.  I’m good at that, too.”  She examined her fingernails.  “We’ll probably attract a bunch of people, just because we’re here and visible and new.  We just need to make sure that people stay interested in us.”

“I’m not sure I want attention, Paulina.”

“Then pay attention and follow my lead.  If you’re in the right clique, you can fade into the background.  Like Star. No one notices the stuff she gets up to. They’re all too focused on yours truly. As they should be.”

This was true, actually.  People didn’t really pay any attention to Star, except in her person as Paulina’s satellite.  Even Danny, before becoming Phantom and gaining a new perspective on life and the people in it, hadn’t.  

“Besides,” continued Paulina, “now that we, well.” She didn’t quite blush.  “You guys don’t suck as much as I thought you did.”

“Uh, thanks.  You, too?”

Wow.  That was quite possibly the worst response he could have had.  

Paulina sighed heavily.  

However, she was distracted from whatever she might have said to him by the first of the Hogwarts students coming in.  Paulina turned her attention away, her eyes flicking from one set of green and silver highlights to the next.  Whenever a student looked their way she smiled and waved, pouring on the charm.  

Danny didn’t know how she did it.  Social engineering was never going to be his strong point.

(Perhaps he could set Paulina and Star on the Minister of Magic’s trail.  They might have more luck.)

Before he could follow the train of thought, they were surrounded.  In a simply physical sense.  There was no malice and very little aggression from the students that sat near them, more than one of whom had prefects badges.  Still, Danny did have to fight down a knee-jerk reaction.  He saw Paulina shift uncomfortably as well, and he gave her robe what he hoped was a steadying tug.  

She returned it with a tight smile.  

There wasn’t much time to talk before Professor McGonagall stood up with the hat and started calling names.  Everyone went very quiet during the sorting, except for the cheer that rose with the hat’s every shout.  

Then there was food.  A lot of food.  Most of it was recognizable, but some of it was sort of weird.  Many things were pumpkin flavored.  There was even something Danny was fairly certain was pumpkin juice.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Paulina took the time to engage in social engineering. Danny took the time to watch.  They were both watched back, of course, but Paulina naturally drew more attention.  

However, there was one boy who kept staring at Danny. He was about their age and had pale blonde hair.  Really pale blonde hair.  

(Danny had thought Star and Dash were blonde.)

“You’re Daniel Fenton, correct?” asked the boy.  

“Um.  Yes. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy.  I’m the fifth-year prefect.”

“Oh, Draco like the constellation?”

Draco blinked.  “Yes.”

“Did your parents like astronomy a lot, then?”

“Astrology,” corrected Draco.  “Astronomy is what muggles do.”

Danny carefully forced down the white-hot rage he felt at that statement.  Yeah, he had more than a normal admiration for astronomy, and, therefore, a more intense than normal reaction to astronomy and astrology being confused, but magic was real, apparently, so maybe astrology wasn’t useless.  Right.  Yeah.  And they were both about stars, planets, and space. Nothing to get mad at.

“It’s been a tradition in my mother’s family for generations,” Draco was saying, “although we occasionally make some allowances for other traditions.  My mother’s name is Narcissa, for example.  Is there anything similar in your family?”

“Dad’s side does ‘J’ names for the first born.  Jazz got stuck with that.”

The boy’s eyebrows went up.  “You have a sister?  She isn’t magical?”

“Magical enough to haunt me,” said Danny.  

“Pardon?”

“She died.  She’s around here somewhere, though.”  He gestured vaguely.  “Didn’t want to be around big crowds.  I think she said she was going to hang out with Myrtle?”

“Myrtle?  Do you mean Moaning Myrtle?  Who haunts the bathrooms?”

This time, the reaction Danny suppressed was a cringe, the emotion embarrassment on behalf of the young witch ghost.  “She just introduced herself as Myrtle.  Well, Myrtle Warren, but…  Yeah.  It’s kind of rude to describe someone as moaning, isn’t it?”

The boy puffed up, slightly, clearly offended.  

Oh, dear.  

.

The Americans were… interesting, Harry thought.  

Ron and Hermione had sat near them as part of their ‘prefect duties,’ with Harry and therefore Ginny and Neville following after.  

Well.  That may have had more to do with curiosity than anything else.  

They introduced themselves by their first names only. Dash, Valerie, and Sam.  Dash was… well.  Harry had encountered people like him both before and after coming to Hogwarts.  For example, McClaggen.  Harry hadn’t ever interacted much with McClaggen, even if they were in the same house, but Dash definitely gave off the same feeling.  Meanwhile, Valerie just sort of glared at everyone, resisting all attempts at conversation while tearing at her food with extreme aggression.  Sam had managed to engage Hermione and Katie Bell in a conversation about dark magic that was getting Hermione progressively more flustered.  

Harry couldn’t tell if it was because of the misconceptions Sam had about magic in general, or because Sam seemed to think some kinds of dark magic should be legal.  

He was starting to get a very bad feeling about these Americans.

.

“Hey,” whispered Tucker, while the students around them were distracted by something a rather round ghost was saying.  

“What?” whispered Star.

“Is it just me, or is everyone here sort of depressed? Like, I can understand us being depressed, but…”

“No, no it’s not just you.  Wasn’t there something about a student death?  Some kind of freak accident.”

“Oh,” said the student sitting across from them.  “You heard about Cedric.”

.

Danny wondered if he could get to the Minister of Magic through Dolores Umbridge.  He hadn’t gotten a good read on her during their very brief encounters the previous week, but now...  She gave off the impression of having some kind of political power.  His understanding was that the headmaster had a lot of influence among the wizards and witches of this country, so for her to be interrupting him like that…

Or maybe he was like Danny and weak against social awkwardness.

Also, her speech seemed to have a deeper meaning he couldn’t decode.  He didn’t understand wizarding culture or their political climate enough, despite his research.

Eh.  He’d have to get a better grasp of her personality and position.  Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too hard.  He did have a class with her.  

.

“The events of last spring have left a mark on the whole school,” said Severus Snape into the muffled quiet of the Slytherin common room, his voice just barely more emotive than during the placement test he had given the Casper High students, “and no doubt on many of your home lives as well. I want you to know that if you have any… concerns… regarding the behaviors of fellow students or… more sensitive topics, you can come to me.”

The man blinked slowly at them.  

“That is all,” he said, finally, and with an overly dramatic swish of his cloak he departed.  

The room quickly filled with light chatter, students breaking off into little cliques, some of them slipping away down shadowy corridors.

Paulina tugged him towards one of those groups.  

“Hi, Pansy,” she said, giving the girl a little wave, “hi, Draco.  We were wondering if you guys could show us around?  We were told our stuff would be moved here, but…”  She trailed off, shrugging elegantly.  

Danny tried to echo the movement.  

He most likely did not succeed.

(It wasn’t like he could tell.  His superpowers did not include seeing himself from the outside—Or maybe they did.  There could be a spell for that, he supposed.)

He had to admit, as the prefects made a (just slightly supercilious) show of presenting the Slytherin dormitories to them, that he rather liked the space.  It was surprisingly well-ventilated and warm, but there was still a general air of closeness, of security of bone-deep chill that spoke so well to his ghost half.  

Of course, a lot of that would probably evaporate once Danny tried to sleep in a room with half a dozen strangers, but, well, he’d deal with that when he got there.

.

Magic was great and all, but Tucker would trade it all away in a second if only to get his PDA to work properly.  

In the tent formed by his bedsheet and his body, Tucker hissed and rapped on the staticky screen, hoping an impact adjustment would do… something.  He didn’t know what.  The last three hadn’t done anything.  

The way the metal casing was heating up under his hand was disturbing.  Quickly, he thumbed the power button.  He didn’t have a lot of these left, and he wanted to be able to use them to communicate with Danny and Sam.  He missed their late-night Doom sessions.  

(Along with everything else about his life in Amity Park. He at least had the power to make talking to his friends possible.  The rest? Not so much.)

He groaned into his pillow.  He’d been working on this off and on all week.  Another night wouldn’t matter in the long run.  

Maybe one of his classes would help him understand what he was doing wrong.

.

Sam had sort of enjoyed needling Hermione (the girl reminded her a lot of Jazz), even if she knew she shouldn’t, but the nasty fight between some of the fifth year boys in the common room had really ruined the mood. Hermione’s friend, Harry, was apparently some sort of celebrity.  Like, in the same way Phantom had been a celebrity following Walker’s invasion.  

So.  Not really a great thing for him.  

Ugh.  Sympathy. Feelings.  She sighed and stared up at the red and gold ceiling.  If the color scheme didn’t do her in…

.

Danny met Jazz in the air over the school.  

“I didn’t see you much today,” he said, twisting hands that he is keeping carefully transparent.

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  “I’m just…  I’m still adjusting.  I think you’ll like Myrtle, by the way.  She’s lonely, but fun.  I think there might actually be a bit of ectoplasm in her, believe it or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  She can flood the toilets, apparently.  Although… I’m not sure if she meant the toilets themselves, or just the room in general.”  She frowned. “Because she said something about sinks…”  She shook her head.  “Not important.  Want to hear what she told me about the secret underground room and the giant snake skeleton?  Not to mention all the other ridiculous stuff that’s happened here.  If this is ‘safer,’ I don’t want to know what the rest of the wizarding world is like.”

“Like what happened in Amity, I guess,” said Danny. “But!  Yes.  Please tell me what you found out.”

.

Breakfast was nice.  Especially when Sam, Danny, and Tucker compared schedules and realized that they had more classes together than they expected.  Not with all three of them at once, but even just two of them together was better than nothing.  

Yes, they got a lot of strange looks, especially when Jazz joined them.  Evidently, eating breakfast with people from other houses just wasn’t done.  Which was stupid, in Sam’s opinion.  Actually, the whole house system felt increasingly stupid to Sam.  She just didn’t understand the point.  Was it for sports?

It was probably for sports.  Sports were the root of all evil.  Just look at Dash.  He hadn’t had any sports for a whole Summer, and now he was acting like an actual decent human being.  

Okay.  That reasoning was suspect.  Sam would have to come back to this when she was more awake.  Early mornings were the worst.  

Anyway.  She had an acceptable breakfast with her friends and the people she’d grown to tolerate, then she set out to find History.  

Which is how she overheard the conversation between Hermione and her friends.  

“What’s S.P.E.W.?” she asked.

Hermione’s two friends glared at Sam.  Probably for the sin of eating with people from another house. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well,” said Hermione, just slightly hesitant.  “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare…”

(Sam found a new cause to get incandescently angry about. Wizard society sucked.)

.

Harry was surprised to see five of the Americans, the three Gryffindors and the two Slytherins, standing by the door to Defense Against the Dark Arts, quietly talking to each other.  

“What’re they doing, then?” asked Ron, scowling. “Consorting with the enemy?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.  “They aren’t the enemy.  And they’re from the same place.  It must be difficult, being so far away from home.”

Ron grunted and shrugged.  “What d’you think Umbridge’ll be like, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.  

They filed into the classroom, the remainder of the class, including the Slytherins, their green looking horribly out of place amongst all the red trim, following shortly after.  No one knew what Umbridge would be like, regarding punishment, so they didn’t want to immediately get on her bad side.  

“Well,” she said, in a sickly-sweet tone, “good afternoon!”

There was a mumbled response.  

Umbridge said “Tut, tut.”  She actually said tut tut.  Out loud.  “That won’t do, now, will it?  I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’  One more time, please.  Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” said the class, in something approaching unison and the least enthusiastic tone Harry had heard since Ron had tried to convince Hermione to help him with his Divination homework last year.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge.  “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?  Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many of the students exchanged gloomy or exasperated looks. Lessons without wands tended to be uninteresting, with very few exceptions.  

(Instead of quills, the Americans produced pencils and pens from their bookbags.)

Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out her own wand, which was as stubby as she was, and tapped the blackboard.  Words appeared on the board at once:  Defense Against the Dark Arts, A Return to Basic Principles.

Harry couldn’t quite repress a groan.  Luckily, he wasn’t the only one.  

“Well now, your teaching in this subject had been rather disrupted, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge.  She turned to face the class, her eyes briefly lingering on Harry, and then the Americans.  “Or completely nonexistent.  The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however,” she continued, still acting like she was talking to kindergarteners, “that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year.”

Each word Umbridge spoke made Harry’s heart drop farther. How could Dumbledore let this woman teach them?  This year?  When knowing how to fight dark magic was more important than ever?

Umbridge rapped the board again, and new words appeared. Course aims:  1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.  3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.  

Oh.  This year was going to be bad.  As for the day, it got worse when Umbridge assigned a reading from what had to be the dullest book Harry had ever read.  Including that one time—No.  Focus.

He massaged his temples and wondered if he needed to get a new prescription for his glasses.  The words on the page refused to stay sharp.  

Harry looked up when the Americans started to whisper among themselves and caught sight of one of the most shocking things he had ever witnessed: Hermione not reading.  

Soon, everyone was staring either at Hermione or the Americans, who had left off whispering after some pointed glaring from Umbridge but had replaced the whispers with passionate gesturing at something in the back of the book.  Those, too, died down after a while, in favor of looking at Hermione.  

Eventually, Umbridge could no longer ignore the situation.  

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?”

“Not about the chapter, no.”

“Well, we’re reading just now.”  Umbridge smiled.  It wasn’t pleasant.  “If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione, undeterred.  

“And your name is—?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.”  

“Well, I don’t.  There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

“There’s nothing in the book about using spells, either!” said the Slytherin boy, waving his copy angrily.  “There aren’t even any of the, um.”  He paused and looked at Sam for a second.  

“Incantations,” said Sam.  “I mean, that’s what I’d call them?  I don’t know the official term.”

Umbridge inhaled through her teeth.  

“Using defensive spells?” she asked, voice pitched unnaturally high.  “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss—”

“And what about outside of the classroom?” interrupted the Slytherin boy.  

“Like, this is supposed to teach us how to not die, right?” asked the girl next to him, examining her fingernails.  

“You have to practice self-defense to actually get good at it,” agreed Valerie, crossing her arms.  “What’s the point of this class if we’re not going to actually learn how to do stuff?”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione, “surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Students,” gritted Umbridge, “will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class.”

At once, a dozen hands went up.

“Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked, voice dangerous.  

“Isn’t the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells?”

“Miss Granger,” said Umbridge.  “As you are not a Ministry-trained educational expert, you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of this, or any, class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have—”

“I really doubt that,” interjected Ron.  

Umbridge took another deep breath.  “You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—”

“What’s the use of that?” demanded Harry, loudly.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a—”

“Hand, Mr. Potter!”

Predictably, Umbridge turned her back on him as soon as he thrust his fist into the air.  Instead, she called on Dean Thomas.  

(The part of Harry’s brain that wasn’t vibrating in frustration noted that the Americans were passing notes between each other.)

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” he asked, once she had gotten done with interrogating him about his name.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free—”

“Do you expect to be attacked in class?”

Harry was very tempted to say yes, considering that three of his four previous DADA teachers had wound up attacking him.  

… Did Professor Lupin’s werewolf form having a go at him bring the count up to four?

Umbridge talked over Dean.  “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, with the air of someone who was about to do just that, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

The Slytherin boy stood up, chair scraping across the floor. Sam, next to him, had gone pale. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around her wand.  

“Sit down, Mr.-?”

“I’m leaving,” said the boy, not deigning to give Umbridge his name.  He picked up his bag.  “Maybe I can sit in on an actually useful lesson.  I mean, if I can figure out how to make a pineapple tap dance, I can get it to fly into someone’s face.  At least that’s something.”

“Sit down,” repeated Umbridge.  “I do not know what your classmates have told you, but you, all of you,” she said to the class, “have been frightened into believe that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—”

“We haven’t been frightened into believing anything!” exclaimed Dash, also rising from his seat.  “Our entire city was attacked!  We need—"

“Which was a tragedy.  One that is unlikely to be repeated!  Now, sit down.”

The other Americans stood up.  

“We heard about Cedric Diggory, you know,” said the Slytherin girl, coldly.  “And a lot of the people who attacked us were never caught.”

“We also know about the giant murder snake that apparently lived here,” said the boy.  

“I, for one, can’t believe that wizards are less likely to be murders than any other human,” said Valerie.  “If normal people need to take self-defense classes, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to.”

“The government preventing people from learning how to defend themselves is historically a bad sign,” said Sam.  “Of course, slavery is also a bad sign, and you all have been ignoring that for God only knows how long.  There are actual slaves in this school.”

“Wait,” said the Slytherin boy, horrified.  “Are you serious?  Is that what you were talking about before?  Oh my God—"

“Children!” exclaimed Umbridge.  “Your hands are not up.”  

The looks Umbridge got after that outburst were filled with incredulity, not

Parvati Patil raised her hand.  

“Yes?” asked Umbridge.

Harry was beginning to wonder if she was looking for punishment.  

“Isn’t there supposed to be a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to—”

The room exploded into a flurry of objections, spurred on by the Americans.  

“Who exactly do you think is going to attack you?” shouted Umbridge over the ruckus.  

“I don’t know!” shouted Harry back, even though part of him knew this was a bad idea.  “How about Lord Voldemort?”

Silence.  

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter?”

“Points?” whispered Dash.  No one else spoke.  

The Slytherin boy was looking at Harry with something like hunger in his eyes.  

“Now, let me make a few quite plain.  You have been told that a certain Dark wizard had returned from the dead—”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry, “but yeah, he’s returned!”

“Do not make matters worse for yourself, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Umbridge shrilly.  “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.”

“It is NOT a lie!  I saw him! I fought him!”

Glee spread across Umbridge’s toad-like face. “Detention, Mr. Potter.  Tomorrow evening.  Five—  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Um,” said the Slytherin boy, who like the rest of the Americans was halfway to the door.  “Leaving. Like we said?”  He hadn’t stopped walking.

“You will do no such thing!  All five of you will be joining Mr. Potter for detention.”

“Pass.”  His eyes flicked towards Harry again.

“Excuse me?”

“We have better things to do than humor someone who’s refusing to do their job,” said Sam.  

The classroom doors slammed shut right in front of the Slytherin boy’s nose, and he took half a step back.  

“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock, all six of you will join me for detention in my office.  Now.  The rumors of that Dark wizard’s return are lies.  The Ministry guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard.  If you are still worried, if someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, come see me outside of class hours, I would like to hear about it.  I am here to help.  I am your friend.  Now, kindly, continue your reading.  Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”

The Americans slunk back to their seats but pulled a variety of colorful transfiguration textbooks from their bags instead of Defensive Magical Theory.

With an air of triumph, Umbridge sat down behind her desk.

Harry stood up.  

“Harry, no!” whispered Hermione, tugging at his sleeve.

Harry ignored her.  (Which was, in all honesty, a stupid move.  Ignoring Hermione rarely had positive consequences.)

(In his defense, the preceding several minutes had been… stressful.)

“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?”

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accid—”

“Just like Amity Park, huh?”

“A tragic accident,” continued Umbridge, voice full of ice.  

“It was murder.”  Harry was shaking.  He felt like he was under a spotlight, and he wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about this.  “Voldemort killed him, and you know it.”

For a second, Harry thought Umbridge would start screaming, but instead her lips curled up into a parody of a smile.  “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

As Harry walked forward, Umbridge started scribbling on a small, pink, piece of paper, angled so that Harry couldn’t see what she was writing.  Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Harry flinched.  

The…  What were they even doing?  Why were they sitting like that?

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Umbridge, holding out a roll of pink paper.  

Harry took it from her without a word, turned on his heel, threw open the door, and—

Was almost trampled by the Americans all escaping the room at once.  

Dash grabbed him by the upper arm, and soon all six of them were running down the hallway.  It took several seconds for Umbridge to start shrieking, and, by that point, the Slytherin boy had pulled them all into a secret passage that someone who hadn’t been at Hogwarts for even a month shouldn’t know about.  

“Wow,” said Sam.  “You work fast, Danny.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, giving her a thumbs up.  “Got to thank the Bloody Baron, though.”  He paused.  “Still can’t believe that’s his actual name…”

“Sorry about dragging you with us, by the way,” said the Slytherin girl.  “I’m Paulina. This is Danny.  You already know these three, I think?”

“Er,” said Harry, not at all sure how to deal with this situation.  Part of him just wanted to shout.  He was still vibrating with suppressed rage.  

“I didn’t really catch your name in all that, though,” she continued, gesturing behind them.  

“It’s Harry.  Potter.”

It was… interesting, how his name didn’t spark any recognition in them.  At least not at first.  Then Danny stiffened and—

“The poltergeist is coming this way,” he said, mildly.  

“You can tell?” asked Paulina.

“I could always tell.  Why do you think I was always in the bathroom when ghosts were around?”

Valerie scowled, and shot a truly venomous glare at her watch.

“Do you think we can convince him to bug Umbridge?” asked Sam.

Danny shot a look of surprise at her.  Then he smiled.  “Maybe,” he said.  He turned back to Harry.  “It was nice meeting you.  I hope we can talk again sometime.  It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and, well…”  He shrugged.

Harry suddenly remembered that the Americans were here, for the most part, because their families were dead.

“But you should probably track down Professor McGonagall sooner than later.  I’d bet that Umbridge put a timer on that.  If that’s possible.  Is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, suddenly a hundred times more anxious about the paper clenched in his hand.  

“Gosh, imagine if Lancer could do that,” said Dash.

“I’d take Lancer any day,” said Danny.  “He actually tried to teach stuff.  Anyway, I’m going to go head off Peeves.  You might want to go around.  I hear he can be kind of a jerk?”

“Right,” said Harry, walking further down the secret passage, because he had been here for a proper length of time and had learned about it properly.  

… Although he supposed that asking the ghosts was a proper way to go about learning the secret passages.  

No, he had to focus on how to explain getting kicked out of class to Professor McGonagall, not on the weirdest interaction with Slytherins he’d had to date.

[fedonciadale]

I went through your replies to that anon's constant pestering about how "Sansa is an embodiment of white femininity " . In fact there is actually a meta about the same that has gained popular traction in anti Sansa sphere. The argument is that Sansa doesn't challenge men like the way other female characters do and that is the reason why she was awarded by the writers as QitN because she is a conformist to patriarchy yada yada. Moreover, the principal accusation by that writer against Sansa being an "embodiment of white femininity" is that she is "white" and "feminine" 🙄 while forgetting that white feminism is built on the worship of a white woman who benefits from the subjugation of POCs around her and the last time I read the book it was Daenerys and not Sansa, who has benefited from the POCs throughout their arc.

Hi there!

That explains so much! Including why they were so insistent that Sansa is a white feminist. (eye roll)

It sort of fits into what I always say: That we have to be diligent in how we use words and be aware of what they mean.

To be a feminist is to stand for the equality of all genders, regardless of anything else (like race, class etc.).  When feminism started it was not inclusive, but mainly pertained to white women, but nowadays it is understood to be inclusive. If you are not for equality of all genders, you are not a feminist. Therefore white non-inclusive feminism is not “a part of feminism” it is the opposite, because it is not inclusive. And the mindset of white non-inclusive feminism usually includes the promotion of white women on the back of poc. White feminism does not want the abolition of privilege, white feminism wants white women to participate in the privilege of white men - it is not an unusual trap for the mind. People tend to think that the problem will be solved when the privileged are more inclusive.... But that is not the case. The problem will be solved when the privilege is gone. White feminists are actually betrayers of the idea of feminism.

Also feminism =/= feminine. (another eye roll). Everyone can be a feminist. Everyone should be a feminist, because equality is what is right. A feminine white woman can be a feminist in the real sense of the word, her being feminine says NOTHING about her acceptance of patriarchy.

So, Sansa is not a feminist, because feminism does not exist in Westeros. And Dany is not a feminist either. She does however show behaviour that is associated with white, non-incluisve ‘feminism‘, the furthering of her own privilege, empowering herself using racism and classism to come closer to the privilege of men. It should be easy, really. Anyway, Dany is in it to get her own privilege, and by the way she would be totally o.k. if she were the only person who is privileged:

Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.     (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

Thanks for the ask!

[supportivespaceforsurvivors]

is this Devyn's blog?

hey anon, i'm sorry it took me so long to respond to this; between insomnia, work, my birthday, and other personal issues (along with accidentally deleting my initial response in a sleep-deprived lapse of judgement..), i've been pretty low on energy - but hopefully i'll be feeling better soon?

as for your question, it isn't a complete yes or no answer. yes, Devyn is a mod on this blog, and yes, he posts a lot; but nobody 'owns' this blog. all mods are equals; both in the literal sense that we all have to have administrator privileges in order to answer asks, and also that we rely on each other to help with anything we post. we're all human, and as such, we know that we have weaknesses and blindspots; as a team, we talk to each other to help smooth over some of those wrinkles to help y'all the best ways that we can - so even when one specific person's name is put on a post, more often than not, we have all contributed in some way. the reason that Devyn answers things more often than the rest of us is because he simply has a lot more time and energy than the rest of us do, and trying to write a whole response ourselves can be exhausting when you are already low on energy; but conveying our thoughts or opinions to each other for someone else to weave into a post takes a lot less energy. as such, the rest of us on the mod team really appreciate that Devyn is able to answer more often! its not that Devyn is more committed or holds more power than the rest of the mods, just that he's been more available to answer things recently.

and as a side note: we got another ask somewhat along this line of thought, but it mentioned the name of someone who made personal posts on their personal blog - and since i don't want to risk 'calling them out' (for lack of a better term), i don't feel comfortable posting that ask, so i'm adding my response to it here.

i want to start off by saying, we do appreciate when people bring up concerns that they have! giving us feedback on things that might make you uncomfortable or bother you helps us learn how to better help y'all. without feedback, we kinda just assume that we're doing alright - so encourage anyone to give us constructive feedback (i.e., dont just say something like "i dont like [thing] about mod x, fix it" - give us suggestions on how to best fix it!) if something we do bothers you! we wont be upset; you mentioning how we can better help you means that you do care about us, and we would never get upset at y'all for that. and, as such, we do really appreciate that you brought up your issues with us! genuinely our only issue was the fact a specific person was named (which really isnt even an issue - telling us who made the posts helped us find the posts, since we hadnt previously known about them) and we just don't want to inadvertently cause problems for them. we really dont think you had meant to purposefully cause strife, so please dont think we're upset with you!

as for your ask, i get why you would feel that way. Devyn tends to answer a lot and doesn't cushion his answers as much as some of us do, but it isn't due to him not caring or simply wanting the inbox empty - Devyn does care a lot about answering things well, he just prefers to get to the point rather than writing out giant walls of text. rather than try to explain things for Devyn, i'm gonna let him finish up the post by explaining his method for answering asks - i dont want to accidentally say anything that isnt true, but i can guarentee that Devyn does care. if he didn't care, he wouldn't still be here - he does care for all of you, and he does want to help! if he didn't, he wouldn't be putting in the effort that he has been to change how he responds to things in a way that won't upset or trigger people, and he wouldn't put in the effort to try and get input from the rest of us mods. please, do let us know if there's anything else we can do moving forward to help things feel less bad for you. we don't want anyone to feel like they cant be helped or that we dont care for them.

mod berry 💗

---

Hey anon.

I wanted to make sure I also answered this in case you were looking for an answer from me directly.

Originally I had a few paragraphs here essentially echoing what Berry said, but it felt too repetitive and I ended up cutting it out.

We had another ask that we mentioned we're tacking the response to on here. I'm going to copy-paste some of the text from it for context since y'all obviously haven't (and won't) see it, so that my response makes sense:

[...] we wrote in and got a quick response from Devyn whereas previously we got really detailed responses from other mods. It felt like Devyn just sees it as a rush to clear the inbox and not work with other mods. And now this blog feels like his exclusively.

I want to start by saying I understand how how I was pretty much the only one who answered anything during September made you feel like this blog is mine exclusively, but I assure you that's not the case - it just happened to be a particularly shitty month for all the mods here. While those issues haven't disappeared, we should have more availability to answer asks currently.

Secondly, something I think will be helpful is if I walk you through the process of how I answer an ask. I was going to use this one to do that and then proceeded to get distracted and forgot and answered it, so here's a fake example ask. Let's say this ask comes in:

Let's say the question is something any of us can answer easily, like, "How many followers do you have?" That's an easy question and we can all look at our follower count and give you a number. So I click answer.

I always start answering genuine asks with some sort of greeting. Usually "Hey anon," is my go-to. Then the answer. "Oh, we have this many." Then I'll end with a well-wish and my name. Easy enough.

I think part of the issue is that if people ask yes or no questions (like "is my trauma valid?") I'd rather say something short in response, like, "Yes, your trauma is valid regardless of what it is," and sign my name than waste our readers' time and my breath answering with extra words. I just don't see the point in using more words than I need to. I try very hard to make it clear, especially in shorter responses, that I'm not trying to be hostile and am actively aware of my tone. Some answers have more words in them because I always try to make sure to explain what I feel could be misunderstood and that's not always easily done in one or two sentences.

Another thing that might be part of the issue is that Berry, for example, tends to answer asks by grouping paragraphs after which they hit enter only once, and I hit enter twice to start a new paragraph. That doesn't mean Berry's answer has any more actual content in it than mine does, it just might look like that because the format ends up looking more dense in Berry's answer.

Anyway, if someone feels like they want to answer a certain ask but doesn't have the spoons, they can save it with their name to the drafts, which is where a lot of our unpublished asks live. It's like the purgatory of the ask box, because sometimes I put an ask there and sometimes I only think about it. 😬

Asks that go to our drafts aren't ignored, that's just sort of a transition period. If the ask is slightly more complicated, we usually discuss it first in the mod Discord - which you guys obviously can't see. Sometimes if we collaborate on an ask, whoever sees it in the ask box first is the one who ends up answering it, but not always. But we usually just sign those with a single name for sake of ease. If we put all the names of all the mods who contributed any thought to an ask, most of them would have all of our names on them. Also, it's not necessarily accurate to sign my name to an ask if all I'm commenting on is the tone of an ask. Sure, I technically contributed, but I didn't say anything helpful.

If multiple people have thoughts on an ask, usually what we do is one person answers it and the others reblog with their thoughts. This ask is an exception because last time we answered an ask specifically about me that way, it escalated the situation, and we're trying to avoid that.

If none of us know how to answer an ask, we'll usually publish it for our followers' input after a week. I try to follow up about asks that are in drafts pretty often, so usually they don't sit there for a month, but like we've said multiple times, this month has been a bit of an outlier for all of us.

So essentially what I'm saying is that just because you don't see active ask collaboration happening doesn't mean it's not. It all happens in the Discord and, unless you're also a mod in our server, you're not going to see that discussion happening.

Hopefully this helps with the misunderstandings.

Mod Devyn

[popculturebuffet]

Simpsons Review: Simpsons Comics #102 “Uncle Burn$” or Homercore Nudity!

Whelp out of all the commissions Kev has thrown me this one’s kind of a curveball. I mean it makes sense why cover it: It’s a pastiche of Donald Duck Comics done in the pages of the Simpsons long running comics. I cover duck stuff on here, and not only do I love the Simpsons but I tend to reference it for jokes a LOT. I just genuinely never thought of reviewing it till now, likely because earlier on in my new career of reviewing animated shows, I wasn’t really convinced I could do pure comedies. With my regular reviews of Darkwing Duck and as it comes out coverage of the Loud House (I still need to get around to Band Together), that’s no longer a real issue and I should consider doing the show in the future, especially since I have an unabashed love for the first 10 seasons and a few episodes beyond that. 

As you can tell, I love the Simpsons. While I do genuinely wish it would end and have no real intrest in the current seasons, though if you’d like me to take a look i’d be willing to. The show in it’s prime was funny, witty and each episode was crammed with jokes. And refreshingly for an adult cartoon show of it’s time,  the show genuinely wasn’t afraid to mix things up: Milhouse’s parents divorced and stayed that way for so long that them apparently getting back together decades later is itself a huge status quo shake up.  Lisa went Vegetarian which stuck thanks to sir paul mcartney, and then went Buddhist, both of which have never wavered since and both fit her well. Skinner and Krabbable started dating. Barney went sober for a few seasons. Apu got married. These are minor changes but the show does have things happen occasionally and doesn’t just snap everything back and it adds genuine tension to plots knowing they might stay the status quo They usually don’t but the occasional change gives things stakes. I could go on for days, but I couldn’t go on for 8 weeks, point is the Simpsons are awesome, and deserve the praise they get early on I just wish they’d stop as by this point people really have stopped carring and it’s time to pass the torch and Let Bob’s burgers be the wholesome family comedy that runs forever.. and even then that one should stop at 10 seasons. Or if not at least let the kids age dammit.  But that aside, while many of you simpsons fans looking at this probably have at least seen the comics, or a collection of them over the decades, many of you like me are wondering what the hell Bongo Comics is and how they managed to last so long. Bongo was founded by Simpsons Creator Matt Groening in 1993. Matt Groening had noticed that at the time there just weren’t any funny books on the shelves, funny books being comedy based comics primarily targeted for kids, with Archie and Disney being really the only ones left at the time. So he founded Bongo to rectify that, and given Fox naturally liked the sound of more merchandising dollars, the publisher was primarily used to produce simpsons comics, though looking at wikipedia there were one or two that weren’t including, of all things, a Coldplay comic tying into their album. Why did Coldplay publish a comic book at a primarily simpsons comic book company?

Though most series seem to be either short lived or one shots, there were a few exceptions: Naturally the company put out an annual Treehouse of Horror issue, there was a Bart Simpson ongoing focusing on him and the other kids of Springfield, I had a trade for that one once, and once Futurama premiered it too got a comic book that held through both cancelations. But standing above them all was Simpsons Comics, a 245 issue long runner that ran all the way up to the company’s closing, likely due to a combination of a lack of profits and the then upcoming Disney-Fox merger depriving them of the very heart and soul of the company. 

Naturally being a Simpsons fan I have a connection to these comics having gotten the trades out of the library multiple times as well as the collection of Bartman’s solo series, which was my favorite and I might cover some day. In addition to the Free Comic Book Day issues i also picked up scattered issues over my life since, much like Archie, Simpsons comics were a mainstay of bookstores and super markets and the decline of both comic markets is likely why the Simpsons comics started to peter out in the first place. The quality and memorability of the stories varied but they were a fun thing to have around and it’s sad to see them go, as well as see Disney not even make a remote attempt to bring them back or at the very least republish the vast library they now have access to. Also finally if your wondering yes, there indeed was a Simpsons/Futurama crossover. And no I have not read it.  So with that history, most of which I just learned some of which I already knew, in mind, it is very fitting the comic’s did a tribute to the Uncle Scrooge comics. Though it does feel very weird that I have yet to cover any Donald Duck or Scrooge comics.. yet i’ve already covered one of the Ducktales tie in comics and a Simpsons homage to it. I’m going to have to correct that but until then, join me under the cut as I dive into adventure with the Simpsons. 

This issue was written by Ian Boothby and drawn by John Delaney, I feel mentiong the writers and artists should be important in comic reviews and I kick myself for not having done that or gone into them as much before. Boothby was apparently the Ian Flynn of these comics, writing more simpsons comics than any other writer according to wikipedia and winning an Eisner for his work on the comic if sadly not this issue. He was nominated for an outstanding Canadian Writer award for it though so that’s good. Point is the guy is a decorated vetran of this series and it shows in how good this issue is and I felt he deserved some recognition as most Comic Book Readers, myself included up till now, likely weren’t aware he even existed nor took over the comic in the 2000′s. 

We open with Burns getting attacked by a mummy! Gotta say wasn’t expecting this as where we started out but the simpsons have started with wonkier premises to end up somewhere. I mean there was the time a bag boy strike ended up with them in Africa. Also i’d say Burns should call the police, being the kind of privileged white guy they actually care about protecting and all, but frankly the Springfield Cops don’t have the best track records with Mummies:

But no it’s just Smithers, who dove in heroically to save the company 15 dollars after Homer took a bet to see how many fire crackers he could jam in his computer’s disk drive. Lenny said 20 but he proved him wrong. And yes those are all actual jokes from the comic, this issue is very funny and feels very much like a Golden Age Simpsons episode. They also all gather to sign Smither’s cast.. which naturally is a legally binding contract.  Burns takes his loyal minion to get some quality medical care only to find an arcade because he traded the Medical Bay in for one during an outbreak of Pac Man Fever... again I really can’t top that and there may be a good reason why I haven’t covered the Simpsons till now. But yeah as Buns gives Smithers a roll of Pennies, he wonders who to have replace Smither’s on their annual summer treasure hunt.. which would come out of nowhere but we genuinely don’t know what they do most summers. I assumed Burns just road Smithers like a horse to play cricket while Smithers enjoyed it way too much. But a stray comment from Homer getting a Krusty Doll from a crane machine about being king of the treasure hunters leads to this. 

I mean it’s an easy joke but damn if it didn’t get a laugh out of me. So later at the old Simpsons place, because this comic is fantastic, Marge and Homer talk things over, but Homer insists Burns said he’d split the treasure, and Lisa wishes she could come along. And Marge says he should, especially for his own saftey.. and when Bart complains, says all the kids should go, she already packed their bags, she’s heading to Rancho Relaxo byyyyeeeeeee. Once again, this comic is amazing, and I would say this is out of character for Marge, but frankly that’s the whole point. Plus it really isn’t when she has to deal with 4 children on a regular basis, and her sisters, and a town gone mad.. yeah can’t blame her here. 

The next day at Burns Office, Homer is wearing his navy outfit.. or rather Donald’s Navy outfit. But given I did a quick google and found him having at least 4 different outfits during his time in the Naval Reserves, it’s not a stretch to assume the Simpsons Version of the Navy gave these out too. Seriously Ian Boothby has put more thought into continuity than most writers on the show proper. Also Simpsons Tide, season 9 episode, still very memorable and hilarious and not due to childhood nostalgia. Just looking up this bit had me laughing hard. 

I now  want to watch that episode sometime soon so thanks Kev. Anyway Homer seems to have misplaced his plants. Now I could spare you the image since I don’t do things panel by panel anymore and only use panels from a comic when relevant. Buttttt

This traumatizing of my audience brings me to a point about this issue and why it works. While there are tons of nods to the Donald Duck comics and what their homaging is very clear, the issue doesn’t REQUIRE you know them to enjoy it.  Knowing them I obviously enjoy it more, but most of the jokes aren’t reliant on you knowing anything about the barks comics and even someone with a passing knowledge of  the Original Ducktales can still get the reference if not why Donald is here. It helps this is less of a parody, with the exception of some jokes, and more of an homage, using stylistic elements of those comics while telling i’ts own story as a loving tribute to it’s predecessors. Speaking of one of those jokes poking fun at the source material, Burns is delighted Homer brought child labor, which kept me laughing for a good minute, and when the kids introduce themselves we get this bit. 

Not only am I 100% sure every version of Donald or Della did this to make sure they could tell them apart, very much including the reboot with Donald, but it’s a genuine hilarious bit. Donald’s response as they head off is “there’s somehting hooey Dewey and screwy about this. “ Also I will criticize the fact Bart isn’t the one wearing a blue outfit. For those wondering why, after all Maggie wears blue shouldn’t she get it, who haven’t seen this a LOT of merchandise early on had Bart in a blue shirt, due to early Merch being rushed out pre-show and since he wore one in some earlier concept art, he got to wear blue. He also wore it late into the 90′s. 

Sidebar: I just found this and while it isn’t a bad joke given his character it is  questionable to have a fourth grade boy tell you to buy him. Just saying. But the reason I bring it up is partly because the show itself referenced it at one point. 

As well as it’s sister show Futurama

And you remeber that Bart Simpson solo I mentioned? That one frequently, both in and out of story, had Blue Shirt bart show up for some variety. 

Also why yes each issue does have it’s own fun “Superman’s Pal Jimmy Oleson” Esque subtitle. And I love it so. Point is Blue Bart is part of the series legacy and this very comic company, so it’s VERY weird to not have that here. That being said there were  a few Green Shirt barts apparently as a printing error, so he could just as easily be 80 steps ahead of me. I just don’t know. 

Back at the plot Burns and the Simpsons show up at Frink’s lab, Frink rather obviously filling in for Gyro, with his own version of little bulb named F.L.O. who gladly shakes Lisa’s hand.. and releases a Pterodactyl but hey you can’t win em all. It’s a nice nod, though one only fans of the source matieral will really get, but the pterodactyl bit right after helps distract from it. Frink slotts into the roll well, as Frink has no reall affiliation with anyone and is basically, much like Gyro, there for various characters to go too when the story or joke needs him. Frink has two gadgets for them: Some Scuba suits that can go to any depth and a grappling claw that accidently gets him gripped to the pterodactyl. Also homer accidently switches suits with maggie, so we get an adorable shot of her serenely sleeping in a diving helmet while her daddy chokes to death. 

So the next day it’s out to the open seas where The Simpsons are doing all the work while Burns lounges.. which yeah this is a typical uncle scrooge adventure all right. While the man unlike Burns does work hard and do things for himself, he spent most voyages talking about the destination while putting all the hard work on Donald, in case you thought there was at least one universe where Donald isn’t miserable most of the time. Lisa wonders what he’s doing and we get this lovely bit. 

I just.. can’t stop finding that hilarious or a nice way to get the Uncle Scrooge bit in there while still fitting the Simpsons, and it at least explains what happened to Herb, whose been mentioned all of once in the 30 seasons since he last showed up. I checked. And yes for those unaware, which is fair, or who just now remembered Homer does indeed have a brother, one his dad had out of an affair who showed up twice, once with Homer unintentionally, and largely due to Herb’s own foolishness, ruining his life, the other time with Maggie helping him get back on top and him and Homer reconciling. He’s also voiced by comedic legend and your friend and mine, Danny Devito, whose still making us all laugh to this day and is a wonderful person from all accounts. Rock on Danny, here’s the only way I can think to honor you. 

But yeah it’s a good gag. Burns claims to be watching for a Giant Squid.. and turns out to be right. So it’s up to the simpsons to fight the giant squid, a sentence I genuinely didn’t expect.. I thought like the Griffins they’d just ignore it. 

I miss that show.. oh i’m aware Family Guy is still running but much like the Simpsons the show it USED to be is long gone. Anyways Bart tells a worried homer octopus suck out the innards and drink it first quipping “It’s not like you haven’t been drunk in the morning before homer. Homer chokes bart only for the squid to choke him which is easily the second best “Homer getting choked after Choking bart” gag i’ve seen.. the best being this one I found on youtube. 

Though personally my faviorite part of that whole bit is Bart’s proud “THAT’S BECAUSE I SOAKED HIM IN SLIME!” Anyways Lisa figures out a way to beat the squid, painting the likeness of each of them on it’s tentacles and letting the thing devour itself. Lisa lampshades it making no sense PHysics wise but with that she reluctantly accepts calling Mr. Burns, Uncle Burns and we’re off to our next location.  Next up is Mt. Donrosa, a very clear nod to Uncle Scrooge maestro Keno “Don” Rosa, an avid fan of Barks work who expanded on it and turned it into a solid continuity, most famously, and what got me into the ducks in the first place, with the epic “Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck” which I proudly own and.. well I did say watch this space didn’t I?  Enough hinting at the future as the Simpsons scale the mountain with Homer carrying burns up on a rickshaw. Burns however looses his lucky #1 penny, SUBTLE, and cuts Bart down to get it. We then get the best line of the issue:

Bart thankfully survives and we find out the Penny, much like Scrooge’s Dime is how Burns started his fortune.. for this issue and nowhere else but that’s standard for the Simpsons. Specifically loading it into a gun and threatning to kill Jasper’s grandfather with it during the gold rush, a nice twist. At the top of the mountain they find the fabled key of Strobl, which comes from the Taliaferro tribe.. more refrenes this time though I didn’t know them and had to google. Tony Strobl was an artist on the Duck Comics at one ponit  and Al Taliforino id forgotten about. He did the Donald Duck comic strip which I had heard of and weirdly hasn’t been collected yet despite Fantagraphics covering mickey, as well as reprinting barks and rosa’s respective works. 

The key is suspended in the air by what Lisa suspects to be magnetics, and while Burns plan is naturally “Have Bart swim in it and see if he surivives”, Bart, still pissed from the penny and not wanting to die today, grabs the Penny and uses his slingshot to fire it at the Key. The bad luck from the penny casues an erruption, but Bart once again saves the day and has them surf down, with naturally tons more great jokes.  The family enjoys some steamed Seafood, except Lisa whose eating Seaweed, while Homer enjoys a sting ray “It tastes as good as it stings, Ow, Ow.” ON to Goddfrodson Trench, an odd choice given Floyd Goddfrodson was barks equivalent for the Mickey Mouse Comics and not really a duck writer, but he still deserves the honor regardless.  Under the Sea, no accusations just friendly crustaceans here.. our heroes are close to the treasure but loose the map to the Jailbird Boys, aka Snake and his cousins, who found out due to Lisa’s blog. She didn’t want to loose any more readers to Sheri and Teri’s Olson Twin’s Fan Page.. which.. it’s 2004.. weren’t they dead by this point? Nope still alive? Still are today in fact? Alrighty then. Also this bit, and some of the other references are a bit heavy handed, I will admit that, but the jokes are high quality enough otherwise that it just comes off as a bit of an adorable wink more than laziness. 

Snake and co cut their air with Starfish used as throwing stars. 

The gang tie their air suplies to avoid dying, and Maggie, in a clever bit, talks with the starfish, since they communicate via sucking, to attack the Jailbird Boys. Again.. 

I genuinely don’t know, but our heroes find the fabled vault of Barks Billion.. named after Bark Barks, that polar bear from the sonic games.. no of course it’s named after Disney Duck God Carl Barks, who created the Duck’s share of Donald and Scrooge’s supporting cast: Uncle Scrooge himself, Daisy Duck, a fact I just learned but given he created her first short “Mr Duck Steps Out, shouldn’t of surprised me, The Beagle Boys, Magica DeSpell, Goldie O Gilt, Flintheart Glomgold, Gyro Gearloose, Gladstone Gander, The Junior Woodchucks as a whole, Neighbor Jones, John D. Rockerduck, The Number One Dime, Gus Goose, April, May, June and Whitewater Duck. Just the sheer impact he’s had on the comics on all continents cannot be overstated. He is also the one who refined Huey Dewey and Louie from hellraising little shits to the good little boys they are today.. well okay they were, thankfully the reboot has created much better versions. Point is what a man, what a man what a mighty good man, he is truly missed.  We get two great homer gags in the same page, one where somehow he’s put the giant key on a key ring and still can’t find it.. with Bart helpfully taking it from him, and then we get this, which I missed on my first read through. 

Naturally Burns betrays them, using a Gold Magnet, kay, to suck up all the gold and naturally planning to leave the Simpsons for dead to no one’s surprise. But thanks to Bart teaching Maggie how to use the spittoons, Homer gets one stuck on his head.. and starts getting sucked up with the Simpsons using them to escape. Naturally Lisa’s first instinct is obvious. 

But Burns weasels his way out by promising them free gold after their free lunch. Naturally the next day this turns out ot be a trick as their lunch came from frinks and thus, for now, their weightless.. but Karma gets Burns when he tries swimming in his new gold vault... only for the natural result of what happens when am an who never exercises and who doctors once described as having so many diseases packed into his body at once they tripped each other off and that a strong wind could kill him, trying to do with a similarly aged but still physically fit and well trained at swimming in money man does on a daily basis. 

We then close on a quick gag of weightless homer getting caught on fire and we’re out. 

Final Thoughts:  This was a really excellent comic. It captured the tone of the Simpsons at their best and while stiff in a place here or there, it’s mostly just really funny, entertaining and a nice and warm tribute to Donald and Scrooge’s long comics history, not really mocking it but instead just homaging it, while still throughly feeling like the Simpsons. It honestly feels like the Treehouse of Horor Segement on the shining, a bit that parodies something, but for the most part the jokes still feel firmly rooted in the simpsons and their cast. This was a treat to review and i’m glad Kev comissoned it and I may take a look at more Simpsons in the future. If you guys like this review, you can follow me on patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet, or if  there’s a specific simpsons or ducktales episode or a specific comic you want me to review, you can comission your own review for just five bucks. Just send me a direct message on here through Tumblr, or take a look at my ask box or submit. However you want to do it. I take payments through paypal and until next time: Happy Days are Here Again. 

[harry-sussex]

You're lovely, and I enjoy seeing your blog on my dashboard. I'm sorry this has been such a difficult thing to process. It's always really difficult to rework an image of someone you once thought you knew. However I'd like to just put it out there - sometimes (I think the large majority of the time) news is presented in the most sensationalist way, such that nowadays I make a point of de-sensationalizing any news I read in my head. In the case of the whole Harry's memoir thing- I can sympathize with Harry as a person possibly just wanting to take back some control of the narrative for himself. Not just in the most recent events with family (that I tend to think are less horrifying than the fandom/Twitter sussex squad discusses it anyway), but in all aspects of his life. I do not at all think he's going to put his family on blast. I can easily imagine Meghan reigning that dialogue in; she has the tendency to think before she speaks that he seems to lack. And he loves his family. Similar to The Interview promos, I imagine the publishing house knew to increase the interest by implying it to be a tell all memoir. I think he's just done a lot of growing up that he didn't know he had to do over a short period of time, esp re: implicit bias/racism in the setting of media's blatant attack on someone he loves, and is disappointed by the institution's and his family's response to it. I think he's emerged a more introspective and aware human, albeit a disillusioned one. Yes it breaks my heart to think that Meghan won't get a break from the tabloids any time soon. If I were him I'd counsel him to write it & sit on it for a few yrs. But I don't want to give the media the power to destroy Meghan in my mind, and I pray she & Harry won't either. I think she'll be okay. She's a strong one, and I think he's able to draw that same link for himself and be thoughtful about what he does. No one likes being misunderstood/misinterpreted, and I wouldn't be surprised if Harry's especially triggered by that given his history with the press. Maybe this idea emerged from therapy, idk. I can empathize with that, even if I wouldn't do it myself. I hope and pray Meghan gets the support she needs from him and her loved ones in the meantime. I'm honestly not going to read it. I think the less attention I give the BRF the better off they are, unless they're doing something immoral/illegal (see: Woking pizza alibi). And I think at the end of the day, people will unfairly judge other people, especially public figures that have tragic pasts and are publically fighting with the media. A lot of it is going to be noise and I'm not going to give my energy into figuring it out. I like to think I've got a good sense of who they are as people - flawed but ultimately well meaning and earnest. I'm a huge admirer of Meghan and think Harry got really lucky with this one and I'm proud of him for choosing her in more ways than one. I believe Harry and Meghan are lovely people, and I 100% believe their interview. I believe that there are people in the palace with a lot of unchecked power who deliberately uncovered her and Archie from BRF protection for reasons of believed superiority over Meg & Arch. And they're figuring out how to deal with that as a couple and a family. And it's none of my business past that imo. I pray for them and hope it'll eventually end in peace for them all. Just wanted to add another perspective, and hopefully some levity. xx M

Hi, dear. First thing’s first, I really appreciate that this is off anon lol. I love it when people own their opinions, and it says a lot that you did. So thank you for that.

Second of all, I really appreciate the nuance and perspective that is in this message. I agree that the news is sensationalist, and my initial reaction was based off of that. I did watch the promotional clips of the interview and I believe it did sour my expectations going into it when I watched it nearly a week after it aired. I did my best to stay away from Tumblr because I didn’t want that to hinder my view, but it was impossible to separate the promotions that presented the information one way from what it actually was, and thank you for bringing that up with respect to the memoir because I hadn’t considered it. I will say that my knee jerk reaction is pretty on par with the way I still feel about it 24 hours later, especially since I got the news directly, not from Tumblr or Twitter or anywhere else, but you’re right that it could have soured my view from the very start.

I appreciate that he wants to take back some of the narrative but I think that ship has sailed, tbh. He did that with the interview and now I just think it feels like information overload. At some point, people are going to get tired of hearing the wealthy, privileged, powerful Prince complain about his life while more than 4 million people have died due to a global pandemic in less than 2 years. Not to say that he doesn’t struggle - in the words of Roxane Gay, there is no oppression Olympics (and that can be extended to struggle Olympics) - but people view it that way and will get tired of it, if they haven’t already.

I also agree that Harry’s past with the press has tarnished the way he has handled the media and the public post-exit, when he’s finally in a position to strike back without being somewhat obliged to them as part of the circumstances of his birth. I understand and sympathize with him but I just don’t think the public does, and the public matters much, much more than the perspective of one single American fan, to whom he’s never been obliged, and I simply do not think the public will afford him that same understanding, sympathy, and leniency. The public and the media are critical to his humanitarian work - his mother never realized that towards the end of her life, and I truly don’t think she would have been the martyr/saint she is perceived to be now if she had lived, because she did not know how to meet the media in the middle and eventually that started to piss people off. He’s starting to piss people off now and if it doesn’t bother him personally (which it definitely does), I don’t want it to affect his causes. The Invictus Games, Sentebale, Walking with the Wounded, WellChild, Mayhew, Smartworks, Archewell, etc. deserve better than to suffer the wrath of the media and an apathetic public because their patrons simply will not shut up lol.

I guess my point is that they will be unfairly judged (regardless, but especially due to the way they’re handling things), and I think it would suit them better in the long run if they adopted a different strategy. I really sympathize with the fact that he feels frustrated with the narrative that has been manufactured but I really, really think the narrative will only get worse and worse as he continues to go on and on about how badly his life sucks, basically. Again, I don’t deny that he struggles - we all do, some more than others, especially when there are mental health issues - but the public, to me, simply does not care. My own therapist has told me to simply stop caring about the things that I discuss with him. Not to say that they’re not relevant, important, or worthy of discussion - they absolutely are - but his point is that you cannot change people and you are wasting your energy and struggling yourself because you want to change them so, so, so badly that you’re neglecting your own self care in the process. I hate that I do it to myself and I also hate that he appears to be doing it to himself. I’m sure a lot of this conversation has been brought up in his own therapy, and I’m no professional, but I’m doing my best to heed the advice of my own therapist - which is the opposite of what Harry is doing - and it’s done wonders for me, when I actually can do it.

If there’s anything I know from this whole thing, it’s that Harry is absolutely punching above his weight, love him as I may, and that he adores, adores, adores his wife. He has chosen her from the very second she came into his life and I couldn’t want anything more for him or from her. I’m not going to lie, I would have been in this thing for any wife that Harry chose, because I was here long before Meghan specifically came into his life. However, I am glad every day that he chose her, that he loves her, that he wants to protect her, that she loves him back, that he lives the life with her that he’s wanted as long as I (and I’m sure he) can remember. I love her because he loves her, and I would have no matter what, because at the end of the day, it’s his happiness and comfort that matters to me, that has mattered to me since I discovered him and how wonderful he can be more than 7 years ago. What more could I ask of Meghan? What more, as his fan to the end (annoy me as he may), could I want for him? Who could say anything about her in that regard? If there’s anything that has come of this mess, to me, it’s that Harry loves, loves, loves his wife. I will always be happy for him and I will always be proud of him for choosing her, even if I don’t always agree with the way he goes about it.

I’m looking forward to peace, too. I cannot wait for things to just die out, for them to work things out as a couple and as a family, and for everyone to move on. The family will still do their thing and the Sussexes can do theirs, but I cannot deal with this back and forth, tit for tat, petty nonsense anymore. They’re wonderful and flawed, like the rest of them (except Andrew), and I just hope that they can all come to some kind of agreement or terms that lets this die down. It’s exhausting for everyone - themselves included. If I’m this tired, I can only imagine how tired they all are.

Thanks for stopping by, and sorry for the essay (essays, these past 24 hours lol). I really appreciate your kindness in this message, your presence in my notifications (I do see them!), your nuanced perspective and like I said before, I really, really appreciate that you own it!

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

Neil Josten's Playlist Part 6 - For Himself

Masterpost and link to the playlist in its entirety here

A lot of the songs Neil keeps are just for him. Sometimes you need to be in your feelings a bit and music is the only place you're comfortable doing that.

2. Shrike - Hozier

After he initially found Hozier, this boy didn’t listen to anything else for weeks straight if he could help it. Shrike I think is just a song that he loves the sound of. Pretty much the only thing we know in canon about Neil’s music taste is that he doesn’t like loud music. Which is incredibly vague and generalizing. To me, that tells me that Neil maybe is actually someone who tends to pay most attention to and by most effected by the sound of a song than the theme or lyrics or genre or anything. If he doesn’t like the sound, he doesn’t like the song. But a sound that appeals to him? Oh boy, he won’t be able to let it go. Shrike is like that for him. It’s gentle and smooth and I imagine he doesn’t pay too much attention to the lyrics or meaning. He just lets himself get lost in the sound.

11. Best Part - Daniel Caesar & H.E.R.

Not too much to say about this. It’s soft and beautiful and smooth, and I think Neil would greatly appreciate the sound. It’s a bit too soft for him to associate with Andrew, but he doesn’t need the association to enjoy it. Neil listens to it on his morning runs when the sun is only just rising and the world is still moving slowly. But he also listens to it on slower mornings when Andrew convinces him to forgo the morning run in favor of breakfast and coffee on the couch with the cats.

17. Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

Like some others on this list, this is a song that catches Neil wholly for its sound. Like the title, listening to this song feels a little like getting lost in a dream. There's just something very soft about it, and those are the kinds of songs that catches Neil's attention. He likes that he's found something he can get lost in for a time without losing himself.

27. Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright

As incredible of a song this is, the origin of Neil's connection to it isn't anything super emotional. The foxes made him watch Shrek. He became very attached to this song and would listen to it on repeat for weeks afterwards. They all got so sick of it. His aux cord privileges were revoked. Matt doesn't need to start CRYING while he's DRIVING Neil, THANK YOU.

As for his connection to it, a big trend I'm seeing in the stuff that I think Neil listens to is that a lot of it is very emotional. Sad songs, moving melodies, beautiful ballads. I think Neil listens to music to help him feel his emotions - like really feel them. He's so good at compartmentalizing and shoving everything down and away (as per the trauma of running for the better half of his life), I think listening to emotional music - like really listening to it all - as a means of getting in touch with the emotions he's always shoving aside would be a great coping mechanism for him. To that degree songs like this just strike a cord with Neil, even if there isn't any parallel to draw between the lyrics and his own life. A song is a package of emotion that Neil can hear and unpack and process at his own pace while retaining a safe degree of separation.

30. Obstacles - Syd Matters

Not a whole lot to say about this one. Neil finds it somehow - either through one of his foxes or just on his own - and he finds it incredibly calming. He keeps it close. It makes him hopeful even on days when he can't bring himself to look in the mirror. The steady melody and repeating words help him get lost in something other than his own thoughts.

35. Ashes On Your Eyes - Deb Talan

This is one Neil found on his own. It doesn't remind him of any of his foxes, though, or his mother. It's one of the few songs he has just for himself. It serves as a reminder that he's going to be okay. He has a great support system, but sometimes he likes to find comfort in himself just to prove that he can still do it. Songs like this keep him going on those days where he doesn't want to bring his problems to others.

37. Rivers and Roads - The Head and the Heart

This is one Neil gets his hands on in his final year at Palmetto, but it isn't just about Andrew for him (like most of the others from this year). This one is about all his foxes - his family. It's about how lonely he feels even when he has a whole group of people he lives and plays and interacts with on a daily basis. They aren't his people; his people are scattered everywhere. He only learned how to be a real person after he met them. Now he needs to learn to do it on his own. There's a special kind of pain that comes when he thinks of how much he misses each of them.

39. Unsteady - Ambassador X

This song is one Neil thinks of often when he's having bad days. He'll still always end up having some days where he doesn't feel like a real person, and on those days it can be hard to ground himself - to keep from floating away and giving up on everything he's built to run back to being nothing. What helps him most on those days is not being alone. It takes him a long time, though, to learn how to communicate what his needs are on those days. It's pretty lucky that Andrew can read him so well, but during the years when they aren't living together it becomes very hard for Neil to find the words to ask for help. This song helps him with that. The chorus is so short and to-the-point but is still such a bare-bones lay of emotion and need that it centers Neil enough to realize that he doesn't need to explain himself or mince his words when he's asking for help. He just needs to ask.

42. Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) - Green Day

The downside to having the music taste that Neil does is that sometimes he latches onto something that is apparently a bit cheesy or overplayed, and the foxes gladly tease him for liking it unironically. This is definitely one of those songs. It doesn't matter to him that it was basically everyone's 8th grade graduation song (he didn't get one of those anyway, Matt.) He listens to this and thinks of the passage of time and how hard it's going to be when his foxes are scattered all over the country while he's stuck alone in Palmetto. But they'll be happy, and he'll be happy soon enough after that. They'll all move forward but it doesn't mean they'll lose each other (he has to repeat that to himself on bad nights).

The completely serious way he listens to this song is funny to the foxes at first, but Nicky is the first to break down crying when it stops being funny. He's also the only one to break down crying, but that doesn't mean the others don't get emotional too. ("Jesus, Neil, you got a whole team of collegiate athletes getting emotional over the time-of-your-life song. How much more of a fucking weirdo enigma can you be??" -Andrew at some point probably)

47. Everybody Hurts - R.E.M.

Neil has some pretty intense, pretty specific trauma. Plenty of people in the world have experienced terrible things and it isn't a competition. Neil knows this. However, he's also painfully aware that he's someone who pulled the right numbers in the shit lottery. Sometimes it helps to hear this song.

He knows that maybe his own life experiences were not anything close to what the songwriter had in mind, but it still helps. It helps to remember that he isn't the only person in the world who has terrible days. It even helps to know that people outside of the foxes have bad days. It helps to find a way to feel connected to the larger population of the world. It's a definite new thing for him - feeling like he's allowed to belong in the world - but it's very comforting at times.

54. Lights Up - Harry Styles

((I wish I could remember who made a post once saying this was a very Neil song because that was how I first heard it and I wish I could credit that person. Alas, it was over a year ago when I first read the books and didn't recognize any usernames yet :/ if anyone knows who that is lmk!!))

There are a lot of things Neil doesn't know about himself. There are a lot of things from freshman year and before that he still feels some level of guilt for. But ultimately he doesn't regret a single choice he's made. There are a whole lot of things he's still figuring out about his life. He heard this song and really vibed with the sound and what it was saying. Not much more to say than that. He's found himself in a light that he's happy to stay and figure himself out in.

66. Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles

Mary was a bit of a Beatles fan. There were several of their songs she'd play on their long drives when they weren't being immediately tailed.

This wasn't one of them. She skipped this one, every single time. Neil fully understands why. For all the indulgence she gave herself in the music she listened to, this one seemed to cross a line she couldn't handle.

Now Neil listens to it on morning runs and good days. And he lets himself feel okay.

71. Fall on Me - R.E.M.

Neil's had plenty of people trying to hurt him throughout his life. He's never really gotten help from people he was supposed to get it from. And now he has a whole family of people who have experienced similar abandonment.

Sometimes that pisses him off.

Sometimes he just really wishes the world was a softer place. Andrew would say it's dumb to wish, especially for something like that. And he'd be right. But it doesn't stop Neil from thinking it sometimes.

73. Hat and Feet - Fountains of Wayne

Sometimes you're just beaten down and worn out. Just once in a while, Neil wants to let himself feel this without feeling terrible and lost for it. This song helps with that.

Sometimes you're just a hat and feet, and that's okay.

[bisexualbuckleyy]

An analysis of Ronan, Adam, and Gansey

So many people are quick to write off characters in The Raven Cycle, seen most often with Gansey but also with Adam and Ronan. People call them selfish, cruel, insensitive, self-centered, and bad friends. What people often don’t understand is that every single one of these characters is written like an actual person, so they’re all complex and multi dimensional people. They’re not all good or all bad, they do good and bad things. More importantly, all three of these characters have traumas that affect every single decision they make throughout the whole book. This is really long so please bear with me.

Ronan

I’m starting with Ronan because I feel like he’s the one who gets the least hate out of the three, and because he has some of the most easily traceable trauma. Gansey describes Ronan as having been much happier and more carefree before Niall died, and that he became a radically different person after Niall’s death. Considering the circumstances of his death, it’s obvious why Ronan was so fundamentally changed by it. As a 15/16 year old, Ronan found his father, who he loved more than anyone in the world, dead in the driveway after being viciously beaten to death with a tire iron. Losing your father and one of the most important people in your life at that age would be enough to seriously mess up most people, but being the one to find the body makes it even worse. Ronan lost his father, his mother, his home, and to some extent his brothers in one fell swoop, leaving him with nothing and no one but Gansey and Monmouth to help him through tremendous grief and trauma. Obviously, Ronan does not have the healthiest coping mechanisms. He clearly has depression and some form of PTSD, which affects his sleep and often leads him to do reckless things such as drinking, street racing, or getting $900 tattoos. These are all forms of self harm that Ronan is inflicting on himself as a form of punishment and a way to cope with his self hatred and trauma. Ronan is nearly killed by one of his dream creatures, which are things that are created by him and manifestations of his own desires in some way, meaning that Ronan is also suicidal, which also contributes to his poor coping mechanisms. Ronan is consistently cruel and insensitive towards his friends, which is another coping mechanism; as he’s trying to push away the people he cares about as a way of punishing himself. In the aftermath of an incredibly life-altering traumatic event, instead of a therapist or any other calming and potentially helpful presence, Ronan has Gansey and Gansey’s quest, which he throws himself into in lieu of dealing with his own issues. Not to mention, there’s definitely plenty of Catholic guilt and internalized homophobia to further contribute to Ronan’s self hatred.

Adam

I feel like people either love Adam or don’t really care about him but I’m going to write a miniature dissertation on him and his trauma anyways. Adam grew up without any affection, validation, or emotional support whatsoever. It’s stated multiple times that Adam’s parents would talk about how much they wished they hadn’t had him in earshot of Adam, which is something no kid should ever have to hear. Adam did not have a single friend until he met Gansey. He spent the first 16 years of his life entirely alone, depending entirely on himself for everything. He’s incredibly ambitious and driven, working three jobs so he can go the best school and go to an Ivy League college. He grew up with nothing, so he’s incredibly protective of everything he has, no matter how small, and resents anyone who wants to change how he operates in any way, even if their intentions are good (Gansey). Adam refuses to accept help from anyone, insisting that things only mean anything if he’s earned them himself. This obviously stems from his entire childhood and adolescence of having to fight for everything, whether it was a job, an education, grades, or food. Adam never had someone in his life who genuinely cared about helping him before he met Gansey, so he views Gansey’s genuine attempts at friendship as pity. Him and Gansey have entirely different backgrounds, sets of skills, and ways of handling things, which often leads to them not understand each other’s intentions. Adam’s fierce protection of his independence often supersedes his relationships, causing him to lash out at anyone who he feels threatens that independence. Adam lives every day of his life wanting things he can’t have and having to work tirelessly to even come close to having those things, things that Gansey and Ronan don’t even have to think about. Adam both admires and resents Gansey and Ronan, two emotions that often clash in a friendship. Adam’s reactions to Gansey’s attempts to help him throughout the series, are not necessarily justified by his trauma, but they’re certainly explained by it.

Gansey

The time has come. Gansey is one of the most fiercely debated characters in the TRC fandom. Multiple times throughout the series, Gansey is incredibly arrogant, self-centered, and insensitive, and many people criticize him for that. I’m here to say: LITERALLY EVERY TEENAGER EVER IS ARROGANT, SELF-CENTERED, AND INSENSITIVE. Gansey is a 16/17 year old kid, and all 16/17 year olds are dicks at some point. This is not excusing anything that Gansey does, but a lot of people tend to forget that these characters are teenagers, and cannot be held to the same standards that adults are held to. Gansey led a fairly sheltered lifestyle in his childhood, and developed his own way of looking at the world and dealing with problems. His only role models were his parents and his older sister, who relied on money to fix all of their problems and coasted through life on status. Gansey has never lived without having enough money to fix everything that comes his way, so that’s what he’s used to and how he handles any issue. It’s often not the best way to handle things, but he genuinely was not taught how to handle problems any other way. Gansey explicitly says in the story that he knows that he is privileged, and he consistently tries to use that privilege to help the people he cares about. His actions often cause harm or upset others, but everything he does comes from a place of wanting to help his friends. He also explicitly says that he feels it’s his responsibility to help his friends because he has this privilege, and that he doesn’t have the right to have to rely on them for anything because he is so privileged. A 16/17 year old boy should never feel like the livelihood of others is his responsibility or that he can’t ask his friends for help because of his background. Gansey has placed this incredible weight on his shoulders because he feels it’s his duty to carry it and he doesn’t even believe that he can ask anyone to share the load. On top of all of this, Gansey lives every day of his life knowing that he could be seconds from death. He died as a child and was brought back, and then he clung to the one thing he believed could save him because he believed he had no other choice. Living in constant awareness of your own fragility and mortality would be enough to set anyone on edge, and Gansey deals with that on top of his responsibilities to his friends. Nearly everything Gansey does in the series is out of love for his friends, and because we see so many of his actions from the point of view of Adam or Ronan, they’re often warped and appear selfishly motivated.

In conclusion

THEY. ARE. TEENAGERS. Every teenager does dumb shit, and hurts other people, intentionally or unintentionally, and is arrogant and selfish and self-centered. None of these characters are perfect, because they’re all people. Also, the book is never told from the point of view of an objective narrator. Every single character is an unreliable narrator because their worldview is warped based on their own personal experiences and biases. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk and message me if you want to scream about TRC together.

[paulinedorchester]

Mosley, Leonard. Backs to the Wall: London Under Fire, 1939-1954. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971; reprint, as Backs to the Wall: The Heroic Story of the People of London During World War II, New York: Random House, 1971.

Each generation gets the history that it needs — or wants, or demands. That’s what kept going through my head as I read Backs to the Wall, which appeared three years after France’s youth explicitly rejected both Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed leader of the Free French during World War II, and the political ideology that he represented, and amidst ongoing unrest over the Vietnam War. (It’s also worth mentioning that it was published in the same year as Norman Longmate’s How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War and two years after Angus Calder’s The People’s War.) This book gives up a World War II narrative in which Churchill was an improvement on Chamberlain only in that he wasn’t an appeaser, de Gaulle was worse than both of them put together, the Allied leaders all cordially loathed each other, half the British public wanted to sue for peace, and there was across-the-board mutual dislike between London civilians and American troops (and British dismay at the way African-American troops were treated by their white counterparts was far from universal). Do I exaggerate? Only slightly. Backs to the Wall is a sort of distant, city-specific pre-echo of Juliet Gardner’s sour 2004 book Wartime: Britain, 1939-45.

As with Wartime, however, this book does have the virtue of introducing us to a number of very interesting people. I became interested in reading it because it brought Vere Hodgson’s wartime diary to public attention. Mosley quotes or paraphrases Hodgson’s writing from the beginning of the war through its end, and also seems to have interviewed her extensively. His primary villain, meanwhile, is not Chamberlain but Chamberlain’s chief acolyte, Henry “Chips” Channon, from whose diary he quotes widely (and who turns out to have been born and raised in the United States, to my surprise). We hear a great deal from the chemist and novelist C.P. Snow and follow the misadventures of two civilians, Jenny Martin and Polly Wright, whose consistency in both bad luck and bad choices meant that neither of them was able to stay out of serious trouble for any length of time.

There are many glimpses of the London home front through the eyes of two boys, both eight when the war began: John Hardiman, of Canning Town and later of Aldgate, who was evacuated in 1939 but soon returned to London, and Donald Ketley of Chadwell Heath, who was never evacuated at all. Donald, who thoroughly enjoyed himself during the war, had an experience that speaks to our own recent reality:

Another good thing: quite early in the Blitz, his school had been totally destroyed by a bomb. Since Donald was shy, a poor student and unpopular with his teacher, he was overjoyed when he heard the place was gone. Thereafter he went each day to his teacher’s home to pick up lessons, which he brought back the next day for marking. In the following months he changed from a poor student to an excellent one, and although he was aware that his teacher rather resented it, he didn’t care. 

Mosley also introduces us to Archibald McIndoe, the real-life counterpart of Patrick Jamieson, Bill Patterson’s character in the Foyle’s War episode ‘Enemy Fire.’ Art seems to have imitated life pretty accurately in that instance: he and his burn hospital in East Grinstead were apparently exactly like what was depicted, the only difference being that the hospital was set up in an existing hospital building, not in a requisitioned stately home.

Backs to the Wall seems to have been one of the earliest books to make substantial use of Mass-Observation writings. Most M-O diaries are anonymous, but there are two named diarists here who stand out. John James Donald was a committed pacifist whose air of lofty detachment as he observes the reactions of those around him to air-raids and other wartime event and prepares for his tribunal — which, in the end, he decides not to attend — quickly grows irritating. More interesting is Rosemary Black, a 28-year-old widow, in no small part because she differs markedly from what I had thought of as the archetypical M-O writer. Here’s her self-description on M-O documents: “Upper-middle-class; mother of two children (girls aged 3 and 2); of independent means.” Mosley continues:

She lived in a trim three-story house in a quiet street of the fashionable part of Maida Vale, a short taxi ride from the center of the West End, whose restaurants and theatres she knew well. She was chic and attractive, and lacked very few of the niceties of life: there was Irene, a Hungarian refugee, to look after the children; Helen, a Scottish maid, to look after herself and the house; and a daily cleaning woman to do the major chores.

Black took her children out of London at the beginning of the war but quickly brought them back, and when bombs began falling she kept them in place — air raids might be disruptive for them, but apparently relocation had been worse. She was very much aware that she was riding out the war in a position of privilege, and she often expressed guilt feelings; but this tended to fade away before her irritation at the dominance of “the muddling amateur or the soulless bureaucrat” in the war effort. Offering her services, even as a volunteer, proved very frustrating. “She was young, strong and willing; she typed, spoke languages, was an expert driver and had taken a course in first aid,” Mosley tells us, “but finding a job even as a chauffeur was proving difficult” in September 1940. (She actually wasn’t all that strong physically: as we learn, she suffered from rheumatism which grew worse during the war years and probably affected her outlook.)

Black was greeted with “apathy and indifference” by both A.R.P. and the Women’s Voluntary Service. Early in 1941 she was finally able to get a place handing out tea, sandwiches, cake, and so on to rescue and clean-up workers at bomb sites from a Y.M.C.A. mobile canteen. She was a bit intimidated by the women with whom she found herself working:

Their class is right up to the county family level. Nearly everyone is tall above the average and remarkably hefty, even definitely large, not necessarily fat but broad and brawny. Perhaps this is something to do with the survival of the fittest.

And the work did bring her some satisfaction, even if it was of the type that lent itself to being recorded with tongue placed firmly in cheek:

We had a pleasant and uneventful day’s work serving City fire sites, the General Post Office, demolition workers and Home Guard Stations, etc. We were complimented at least half a dozen times on the quality of our tea ... I think the provision of saccharine for the tea urns to compensate for the mean sugar allowance is my most successful piece of war work. What did you do in the Great War, Mummy? Sneaked pills into the tea urns, darling.

For all her good humor and astute observations, Mrs. Black was far from immune to tiny-mindedness. After an evening out in 1943 she wrote:

I had to wait some time for the others in the cinema foyer, and I was much struck, as often before, by the almost complete absence of English people these days, from the capital of England. Almost every person who came in was either a foreigner, a roaring Jew, or both. The Cumberland [Hotel] has always been a complete New Jerusalem, but this evening it really struck me as no worse than anywhere else! It is really dismaying to see that this should be the result of this war in defence of our country.

Indeed, Mosley cites the results of a multi-year Mass-Observation study that showed a marked increase in anti-Jewish views London’s general population over the course of the war. Since it’s just one study, and since I haven’t seen that study mentioned anywhere else, I am reluctant to trust blindly in its accuracy; and there’s also this:

The small flat which George [Hardiman] had procured for [his family] ... in Aldgate was cleaner and airier than the old house in Canning Town [which had been bombed], and the little Jewish children with whom John now went to school seemed to be cleaner than the ones in Elm Road; at any rate, he no longer came home with nits in his hair.

On the other hand, Mosley himself gives us only a fragmentary view of London’s wartime Jewish population: everyone seems to be either a terrified refugee or an impoverished East Ender. We hear nothing about the substantial middle- and upper-middle class population — mostly of German descent and in some cases German birth — that had already taken shape in Northwest London; and while we are briefly introduced to Sir David Waley, a Treasury official, in connection with the case of an interned Jewish refugee, we aren’t told that Waley himself was Jewish, a member of “the cousinhood.” On yet a third hand, Mosley also quotes other M-O surveys from the same period that indicate largely hostile attitudes to most foreigners in London, with Poles at the bottom of the ladder and the small Dutch contingent on top. (Incidentally, the book’s extremely patchy index identifies Vere Hodgson as a Mass-Observation diarist, which she wasn’t.)

Backs to the Wall closes with a very brief, remarkably non-partisan account of the 1945 general election and its immediate aftermath. “Neither side had any inkling of the way the minds of the British voters were turning,” he writes.

When [Churchill’s] friends suggested that he was a victim of base ingratitude, he shook his head. He would not have such a charge leveled against his beloved countrymen. Ingratitude? "Oh, no," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t call it that. They have had a very hard time."

The book is worth reading for the primary materials that it includes, but it probably tells us as much about the era in which it was written as about the period that it covers.