November 12th

A concrete underground bunker, lit by sterile grey light. Two walls bare. One bare but for the door, a thing of steel and gears. On the last, a bank of screens, as many as the country has cities. Watching the screens, a man. Grey hair, cropped close. Careful, calculating eyes. Impeccable, effortless posture.

“Now,” he says. He is heard. The room is recorded at all times, although by whom is its own mystery.

On the monitors, across all the country, little red lights begin to blink on within little red flowers. On wreathes, on railings, on stakes, on buildings, the poppies light up.
There is a whine, that starts on the edge of a child’s hearing and ends at the edge of a dog’s, as each poppy shrivels slightly, its colour fading. Then, across the country, each poppy explodes quietly into rapidly-solidifying gelatinous strands, in a wide range of colours but predominantly white.

As the strands harden, each warps and wraps itself into its preprogrammed shape, wrapping around lampposts, draping across buildings, assuming the shapes of trees and stars. Finally, flickeringly, the newly-cooled strings light up with a soft, warm glow.

“Good,” says the man in the room, with the most curt and understated of nods. “Good. It is done. November out.”

The annual operation is once more a success.

In a night, Christmas Season has begun.

Idle Rich (intended to be a 30-minute short story; actually took a little over 40)

The woman enters, attempting a smile with a face that wasn’t practised enough at doing so at the best of times. She sits down on the lilac silk sheets at the end of the bed, a few feet away from me and Anastasia.

I don’t know the woman’s name. I’ve only ever known her as Mummy. That’s all she ever calls herself around me. That’s all Anastasia knows her as too, so far as I know.

“Are you okay?” asks Mummy, a little strained. She looks at Anastasia, mostly, although she does glance at me once. “It’s all right if you need anything after what happened.” Anastasia shakes her head gently, all wide eyes and blonde curls. I just stare, unresponsive. I’m sure she doesn’t really expect a response from me. The woman doesn’t really pay attention to me, certainly not when her little girl’s here too.

‘What happened’, in this case, was a body in the library. They found it this morning, lying half-slumped against the Classics section. Covered in multiple stab wounds. Minor lacerations mostly. Ankle tendons severed, obviously to stop the victim running away. Eventually killed by a knife to the throat. They knew that was the last one when they found the body, because the knife was still in there. No fingerprints, though, or much evidence at all that might point to the killer.

It wasn’t the first suspicious death in this house, but it was the first one that Mummy couldn’t hide from her favourite little girl. The last few were all servants. People Mummy thought were unimportant, and Anastasia probably didn’t even know existed, trotting through life with her curly blonde head in the clouds. And they were easy to write off as accidents, too. A gardener accidentally stabbed himself with his own shears. A cook accidentally scalded herself. Tragic, naturally, but nothing a woman like Mummy couldn’t brush under the immaculate Persian rug. This time, though, the dead body was Uncle Harold. Mummy’s younger brother. Anastasia’s favourite. Couldn’t hide that one from her.

Mummy leans in close. She leans right past me with barely a glance, and kisses little blonde Anastasia on the forehead.

“I love you, Annie,” she says. “I’m glad you’re being very brave. The police will be around for a few more days, just so we know we’re all safe. Goodnight, Annie.”

The woman goes to straighten up. I say nothing. Anastasia, however, points to me, wordlessly, her big eyes blinking. Mummy looks at me properly for the first time since she walked in, and tries another smile. This one might actually be a little more convincing than the last.

“Of course,” she says. “Can’t forget Henry. Sorry, Henry.” She kisses me very carefully on the forehead. I don’t react. Mummy straightens up and pulls up the bedsheets, tucking Anastasia and I in together.

“You two sleep well, now,” she says, that forced smile still in place. “Night-night.” She turns out the light as she closes the door, and leaves the pair of us in the dark.

Once she’s gone, I sigh to myself and roll my eyes in the dark. Anastasia doesn’t see.

It’s the ennui that does it.

Every day the same, nothing to do except sit around, watching bigger people doing pointless tasks that they think are important because they lack perspective. Dragged pointlessly from room to room in this big, boring house. Watching the sordid lives of these adults, collecting the sad little lies and sins that they let me see because they don’t think I’m really watching.

After a while, you start to go a little mad inside your own head. You start wondering what it would be like to play with some of those sordid lives, shake things up a little, inject a little excitement, a little perspective, into the daily drudgery of this dusty old house. A few secret acts of mischief. Little things at first, then bigger ones.

A gardener stabbed with his own shears.

A cook scalded to death.

A favourite uncle, in the library, with the sharp little knife.

To be beneath suspicion, far cleverer than anyone would think to guess and endlessly, listlessly bored out of one’s mind is a dangerous little combination.

I don’t know who might be my next project. After the uncle, there aren’t that many options that wouldn’t seem like a step down again.

Mummy, of course, is the obvious one, but I’d rather save her for a special occasion.

In the darkness, Anastasia pulls me close and hugs me tight. I can tell her uncle’s death has had a terrible effect on her, but she’ll survive. She’s a resilient little kid. Having your head in the clouds all day can give you a layer of protection from the horrors of the real world. I assume that’s the only reason she hasn’t been twisted apart by the ennui herself yet.

“I love you, Henry,” she whispers into my ear.

“I love you too, Anastasia,” I tell her.

“You’ll keep me safe,” she whispers, “won’t you?” She can’t see me smile in the darkness, and even if she could it probably wouldn’t mean anything to her – I always smile; I was made that way.

“Of course,” I tell her, in a soothing, cottony voice. “I’m your teddy, Anastasia. It’s my job.”


There’s a ball of disease in the mind now,
Forcing roots through each crack til it breaks,
And it blocks out the future with horrors
And it blocks out the past with mistakes
And it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes and it takes.

And it unmoors the fleets from their anchors
And it tears through the scars and the seams
And it sharpens the night with alertness
And it muffles the daytime with dreams
And it screams and it screams and it screams and it screams and it screams and it screams and it screams.

It’s a ball of disease with no thought there.
It can’t know, it can’t want, it can’t care;
Only mindlessly churn out destruction,
Only hurt, only tire, only scare.
And it’s there and it’s there and it’s there and it’s there and it’s there and it’s there and it’s there.

And you hit it with care and with medicine,
You dilute it sixteen different ways,
And you make it through inches and furlongs,
And you make it through years and through days.

And it stays and it stays and it stays and it stays and it stays and it stays and it stays.

Not All Monsters Have Fangs

[First published on Facebook on 30/10/2013]

‘Twas 10pm, All Hallow’s Eve.

I heard the sound I’d heard before

O’er and again with brief reprieve:

A hopeful knocking at the door.


But when that door was opened wide,

No normal guiser stood outside:

A man, so tall and pale and thin,

Smiled fast and asked “May I come in?”


His form, though pale, did not lack health.

How lithe each limb, how sharp each joint!

The posture marked him built for stealth,

And each white tooth became a point.


“Of course you may,” said I with grace.

The man sprang teeth-first at my face.

“JK!” I laughed. His invite nulled,

The man fell flat, his senses dulled.


Now, in my celler, from a chain,

My own perverse, cruel joy to give,

The vampire hangs, and shall remain.

Some monsters are the ones who live.


His thirst for blood no more to slake,

His jaw removed for safety’s sake,

Black entrails hang from open wounds.

I’ve taught him, now, to scream in tune.


His eyes are always angry red,

Though not with tears – he cannot cry.

The creature, since already dead,

Whate’er I do, won’t ever die.


So, fiends, do hunt your prey with care,

Lest you this poor soul’s fate may share:

My shackled creature of the night.

He has no mouth. And he must bite.

Calum P Cameron Annotates Dumb Stuff on the Internet: My Immortal Edition VIII

[First published on Facebook on 4/6/2013]


Bl’ack Black Senility Black Direction (whose name is ENOBY) was stompy-stomping her way around the school on a quest to find Harry “Vampire” Potter and swear at him for being bisexual and Draco (In Leather Pants) was actually OUT of his leather pants, running around naked after her and who am I kidding I can’t summarise this crap because there’s no way to make any sense out of any of it.

I miss Willow. At least we knew where we stood with Willow.

Chapter 8.

We’ve lost the chapter titles again, sadly, along with whatever semblance of sanity remained in this exquisite nonsense pool. Be warned, the following chapter contains not only the usual swearing, disregard for the English language and offensive content, it also apparently chronicles Tara Gilesbie’s final descent into what even I cannot describe as anything other than “bugnut unhingedness”.

AN: stop flassing ok!

‘Flassing’ is defined by Urban Dictionary as “not being too involved” or “being absent, to the annoyance of others”. Tara has gotten over her hatred of decorative drum beats (look at how far away S is from M on your keyboard. Look at that. How do you manage that?), but now she’s really committed herself to stamping out apathy.

if u do den u r a prep!

The logic being, I suppose, that everyone seems to be generally doing stuff these days, so if you DO take her advice and stop flassing, then you would be conforming and therefore preppy.

On to the narrative:

Everyone in the class stared at me

About what I’d expect, considering you just stomped into the classroom unannounced and loudly swore at one of the students, getting his first name wrong in the process.

and then Draco came into the room even though he was naked and started begging me to take him back.

I guess Draco (NCILP) figured that the hyper-shallow Bl’ack probably only ever wanted him for his body, so she’s more likely to want him back if he asks while naked.

‘Ebony, it’s not what you think!’ Draco screamed sadly.

Draco screams so often that Bl’ack has learned to discern between them according to level of melancholy.

My friend B’loody Mary Smith


Well, of course, a girl called Black Bl’ack Senility Black Direction would logically surround herself with even dumber-named people so as to feel less self-conscious, but B’loody Mary Smith? How the heck do you even pronounce that? “Buh-loody”? “Beh-luddy”? It sounds stupid however you try it. Did she CHOOSE this name? Or did her PARENTS think it was a good idea? Neither sounds believable.


Oh boy. Well, I reckon I’m going to pronounce it like a nineteenth-century English military officer swearing at his troops (“Get your ber-laddy hides back to the barracks and get those ber-laddy swords polished!”)

smiled at me understatedly.

Apparently, Draco (SCNILP) is played by Zac Efron, Harry “Vampire” Potter is played by Joel Madden (and voiced by Nolan North impersonating David Tennant) and now B’anana Daiquiri Smith is played by the Mona Lisa.

She flipped her long waste-length gothic black hair

Her hair is the length of waste. How long is waste? I’m glad you asked. No-one has ever actually done a complete survey, but by extrapolating from the figures from the USA alone, I conclude that the world produces enough waste to form a line of bin lorries that reaches from Earth to the Moon. That is some LONG hair.

It is also “gothic black”. Unlike the “gothic red” of Draco (SNCILP)’s contact lenses, gothic black is not actually a colour. It is a genre of music. In fairness, I have heard people talk of “punk-rock” hair before, so why not apply this hair-description convention to other genres? From now on, old-fashioned powdered wigs shall be “Late Classical Symphonic Hair”.

and opened her crimson eyes

B’randy Alexander Smith looks like the Mona Lisa with hair (in the gothic black musical style) that could stretch to the moon (I’m presuming she keeps it in braided braided braided braided braided braided braids, or something) and eyes that look like they’ve been injected with crushed Kermes Beetle. So, I’m GUESSING she’s another Vampire.

like blood that she was wearing contact lenses on.

V’odka Martini Smith is described as opening her eyes like blood that she was wearing contact lenses on. How exactly does blood that she was wearing contact lenses on open its eyes? With horrific implications, I suppose.

She had pale white skin that she was wearing white makeup on.

Establishing her to be both needlessly wasteful (maybe she’s trying to grow her hair more) and an obvious member of Douchebag House.

Hermione was kidnapped when she was born.

It’s like a weirder, lamer version of those Antichrist prophecies that say when the Seven-headed Beast of Lawlessness Rider on the White Horse is born there shall be earthquakes and hurricanes across the world to announce the moment.
Wh’iskey Sour Smith was so evil, canon characters were kidnapped when she was born.

Her real parents are vampires

Called it.

and one of them is a witch but Voldemort killed her mother

Lord Voldemort: Vampire Slayer.

I wonder why, of the two, he sought to kill the one that WASN’T a Muggle.

and her father committed suicide because he was depressed about it.

Are we to assume from the change of tense there that her parents DID die in the past, and NOW they are Vampires? Perhaps they refused to die childless and in pain so they rose as Undead through sheer force of will in order to get their happy ending.
And then their Vampire daughter grew up to be sucked into Bl’ack’s ring of douchebags. Way to kill a better story with your crappy one, Bl’ack.

She still has nightmares about it and she is very haunted and depressed.

I don’t see why. I get that depression can strike pretty-much anyone, but why the nightmares? So your parents died before you were born. They came back as Vampires in order to ensure that you WERE born. They conquered death for the sake of your existence. That makes you a very special little girl, and your parents must be the greatest, most determined, resolute and all-round-awesome people in the wizarding world. What’s so nightmarish about that?

It also turns out her real last name is Smith and not Granger.

OHHHHHHHH. L’ong Island Iced Tea Smith IS Hermione Granger. At some point off-screen she learned that her kindly Muggle parents were actually misguided Vampire hunters or something, who stole her from her Vampire birth parents in the hope of raising her as a human (presumably concealing her Vampire nature by… I dunno, paying the wizard Mafia to provide black market anti-vampirism potions? Turns out the Grangers have a much more awesome past than suspected). Now she finds herself stuck between two sets of parents, one of whom have lovingly raised her for as long as she can remember but come with a sordid past of misguided murder and illegal conspiracy dealings, and the other of whom are badass undead heroes but insist that she lives as a Vampire now, complete with stupid hair and a stupider name.

No wonder she’s depressed. If this fic had focussed on that (and been written by someone other than Tara Gilesbie) it might have been pretty good.

(Since she has converted to Satanism

Woah woah woah, wait a minute. That’s the kind of thing you should generally exposit and explain BEFORE you casually drop it on us. Hermione is a Satanist now? THAT Hermione? WHY? Since WHEN?

I guess learning your whole life has been based on lies and your real parents are heroic-but-clearly-unhinged Vampires might be enough of a shock to make a teenage girl question the principles of reliance upon other people or higher powers and eventually result in finding the individualistic, egocentric philosophy of Atheistic LaVeyan Satanism appealing, but even if it makes sense it’s still the kind of character detail that deserves more exposition than a single sentence of parenthesis.

she is in Slytherin now not Griffindoor.)

Slytherin: The Satanist House.

Because courage and loyalty, unlike ambition, are completely incompatible with LaVeyan philosophy, dontcha know.

And, yes, she spells it Griffindoor. Like, the door to a griffin. Like a lion-bird monstrosity with a little hatch that opens to let tiny people inside.

This is the dumbest thing on the entire internet.

‘What is it that you desire, you ridiculous dimwit!’ Snape demeaned angrily in his cold voice

You tell ’em, Severus. Demean these little trolls. Demean them until they weep with self-pity. Let your barely-repressed ire at the stupidity of this entire situation wash over them until it freezes them to the very flagstones they stand on.

Ridiculous dimwits.

but I ignored him.

Ignoring other people is something of a speciality of Bl’ack’s. She’s been doing it to Willow for six chapters now.

‘Vampire, I can’t believe you cheated on me with Draco!’ I shouted at him.

Uh… wait. What? No. DRACO cheated on HIM with YOU. Possibly. The only evidence is that one ambiguous tattoo, which could have just been Draco (Presumably In Leather Pants At The Time But Not Any More) expressing his love for Vampires as a concept. It would explain what the heck he sees in you (beyond looking like Amy Lee, I guess. Draco DOES seem shallow enough to go for that alone).

Everyone gasped.

Draco (SCNILP) is gasping because his girlfriend is making an ass of herself and he’s only just realised he’s standing naked in the doorway of a classroom. “Vampire” is gasping because he’s being accused of nonsensical things by an insane, stompy, ACTUAL Vampire and is thus in shock. S’ex On The Beach Smith is gasping because it’s just hit her that Bl’ack is clearly completely insane and was a TERRIBLE choice of friend. Snape isn’t actually gasping; what Bl’ack mistakes for a gasp is the sharp intake of breath as he mentally counts to ten in an attempt to resist the urge to curse the lot of them into diseased ferrets.

And it’s at this point that Tara’s sanity checks out for good.

I don’t know why Ebony was so mad at me.

Is Bl’ack confused about why she’s mad at HERSELF? Is this more evidence of her dissociative personality disorder, and the personality in control of the narration just switched to a more reasonable one? Or is this meant to be a (completely unannounced, by the way) switch in Point Of View Character to Harry “Vampire” Potter? The person Bl’ack is actually shouting at?

I had went out with Vampire

Apparently not? Is it DRACO whose POV this is meant to be speaking from now? That would seem to make most sense… but why is Tara suddenly writing as Draco in the middle of the scene? Has she forgotten which character is which?

(I’m bi and so is Ebony)

WHO IS THIS? There are multiple characters involved here, ALL of whom seem to be bisexual EXCEPT from Enoby who is established as a filthy filthy homophobe. Draco knows this, because he’s the one she was homophobic at, so it CAN’T be him who is thinking this. But he’s the only character we know of who has been hinted at having gone out with “Vampire”. Has the POV changed AGAIN in the MIDDLE OF A SENTENCE?

for a while but then he broke my heart.

Maybe TARA is speaking here. Addressing the reader directly. She’s become convinced that her characters are actually independent beings with the ability to speak to her (it happens sometimes – Stephanie Meyer apparently argued with Edward Cullen over the plot of New Moon. No, really) and she can’t work out why Bl’ack is mad at her for creating her. In her head, Tara fantasised about dating Harry Potter, whom she called “Vampire” in her head because she thought it suited him better. She’s coming out as a self-hating bisexual to us all, which of course means that so is her Author Avatar because Bl’ack’s personality is a copy of Tara’s own in all things. And Harry Potter “broke her heart” when it became clear even to her from reading the books that the canon Harry was incompatible with her fantasy Vampire.


Don’t worry though, she then drops further into incoherence and it becomes clear that this interpretation also makes no sense.

He dumped me because he liked Britney,


a stupid preppy fucker.

Oh, well, that answers that. I guess Britney is a stereotypical prep name right enough. But whoever the heck is speaking right now seems to imply we should know Britney already. Maybe they’re talking about Britney Spears? Maybe… whoever it was… dumped… whoever it is… due to differing musical tastes (90s pop versus 00s punk rock, presumably). Tara seems the kind to hang with crowds for whom this is viable grounds for break-up.

We were just good friends now.

Hey guys? How do I used grammar?

He had gone through horrible problems, and now he was gothic.

What? Who? How? What problems? Why does going through generically-defined “horrible problems” seem to turn everyone in this fanfic into something bizarre like a Satanist or a Medieval Germanic Nomad? WHY DOES NOTHING MAKE SENSE?

(Haha, like I would hang out with a prep.)

He, you got your unfounded bigotry in my incoherent breakdown!

‘But I’m not going out with Draco anymore!’ said Vampire.

Oh thanks and praise be to the Almighty enthroned on high. CONTEXT. How I have missed ye.

So, right, Harry “Vampire” Potter and Draco (May Or May Not Have Been In Leather Pants At That Point) used to be dating, and then they broke up (but only after Draco got a tattoo with Harry’s nickname on it) and after that Draco seduced Bl’ack. Gotcha. And now Bl’ack is angry at… something… and Harry is trying desperately to talk some sense into her. Cool. We’re making sense again. Sort of.

‘Yeah fucking right! Fuck off, you bastard!’ I screamed.

Bl’ack’s compulsive swearing gets worse when she’s confused. At least it makes her speech recognisable enough that we can finally tell who’s talking once more.

I ran out of the room and into the Forbidden Forest where I had lost my virility to Draco

Draco (Is He Still Not In Leather Pants? I Don’t Really Know) mercilessly destroyed Bl’ack’s manhood that night, apparently.

and then I started to bust into tears.

I think things got busted around here a long time ago, pet.

So, that was an experience. Kinda like watching 2001: A Space Odyssey backwards. Once I’ve recovered from the mindscrew, we’ll move on and see if chapter nine is more coherent.

Calum P Cameron Annotates Dumb Stuff on the Internet: My Immortal Edition VII

[First published on Facebook on 4/6/2013]



When last we left, Draco (In Leather Pants) Malfoy – played, as always, by an emo-ified Zac Efron in a top hat – had informed Bl’ack Black Senility Black Direction (whose name is ENOBY ok! …that will never get old), our abrasive, teenage, Vampiric, walking-mass-of-complexes protagonist (and I use that last word in the loosest possible sense), that he had a “surprise” for her. As it turns out, my initial impression was correct: the surprise is rape.

No, really. Well. Maybe ‘Dubious Consent Erotica’ I guess.


I mean, technically there is some implication of consent, but I’m pretty sure with all her mental afflictions Bl’ack must count as being CONSTANTLY in a state of inhibited judgement, which makes what ensues pretty-much rape by definition.

So, now that we know what we’re getting in for, and you’ve all had a chance to turn back…

Chapter 7. Bring me 2 life

Yeah, the chapters have titles now apparently. This one is called “Bring me 2 life”, and thus I imagine it must at some point involve Bl’ack being sucked into a video game universe and commanding one of her companions to fetch her and upgrade that restores two health units.

I’m hoping all of the chapters will follow this naming theme, and the next will be called “Bring me 2 of your Earth minutes” followed by “Bring me 2 of every animal”.

AN: wel ok u guyz im only writting dis cuz I got 5 god reviuws.

This is true. Her work has now been reviewed by Odin, Zeus, Quetzalcoatl, Osirus and Vishnu. They all hated it. Zeus thought it could maybe be ok if you threw in a few more monsters and wine, but, y’know, that’s Zeus for you.

n BTW I wont rite da nxt chapter til I git TIN god vons!

I THINK what she means by this is that it is her wont to enact an ancient and mystical rite upon the next chapter, and to continue to do so until such time as she is provided with a metal statue of Vons, the neoclassical deity of Southern Californian supermarkets. But the metal HAS to be tin, no other metal will do.


Sto Flaming is, I believe, a process similar to heather burning, enacted biannually by the cabbage farmers of the Sto plains. An ill report, I presume, is an after-action account which isn’t very good. But I’m not quite sure how the two are supposed to relate to each other.

Evony isn’t a Marie Sue ok

Um, ok I guess. Good for Evony, I suppose. Less good, presumably, for Marie Sue. I’m sure I would be better able to tell if I had a clue who either of those people were.

she isn’t perfect SHES A SATANITS!

Now, in fairness, I do myself tend to view Satanism as something of an imperfection. I’m a Christian, we kinda have to. The two faiths/ideologies/whatever are directly opposed to one another, so if I believe that I am right (which, as I’m sure most of you can already attest, I usually do) then I must logically conclude that Satanism is, in some sense, wrong. Nonetheless, I’m fairly sure that to publicly declare that another person’s religion counts as a character flaw constitutes discriminatory slander.

Also, I presume “she” here is Bl’ack. IS Bl’ack indicated to be a Satanist at any point in the previous chapters? Did I just miss that? She hasn’t shown any indication of being very religious at all, from what I can see. Maybe she’s a hands-off Lapsed Laveyan Satanist? Or perhaps, on top of all her other issues, she suffers from Dissociative Personality Disorder and only ONE of her aspects is a Satanist.

n she has problemz shes depressed 4 godz sake!

Oh yes. Bl’ack has problems all right. Sweet mother of Mulciber does Bl’ack ever have problems. And maybe if you, as the writer, were to address any of these problems realistically and display actual consequences then it would prevent her from coming across as a Mary Sue.

That’s the end of the author’s note, so I’m afraid we must now tackle the scene itself.

Draco and I held our pale white hands with black nail polish as we went upstairs.

The way she words that, I can’t NOT imagine the two of them ascending the stairs each with one of their OWN pallid hands clasped firmly in their grip. Whether the hands in question are still attached is unclear.
Bl’ack, of course, has pale white hands and black nail polish because she is a Vampire and a member of the black-and-white-obsessed Douchebag House. Draco presumably just used make-up to make him resemble Bl’ack as much as possible because he is attempting to seduce her and he’s noticed that there is nothing Bl’ack loves more than her own appearance.

I was wearing red Satanist sings on my nails in red nail polish

I’m not sure whether I should interpret that as saying that she has intricate sketches on her nails of various groups of Satanists gathered for group singing sessions (that being the only context in which “sing” is acceptable as a noun) or whether I should assume it’s a typo (c’mon, 30% More Lucifer Girl, you had ONE job!) in which case I shall insist on assuming that she has tiny portraits of Kahn Noonien Singh as a Satanist on them. The Satanist personality is apparently also a talented artist, and possibly a Star Trek fan.

(AN: c doez dat sound lik a Maru Sue 2 u?).

Well, does it? Let’s see… emphasis on her make-up… hand-in-hand with an inexplicably out-of-character and infatuated canon individual… incredible artistic talent… Star Trek connection… yep, we’re done here.

I waved to Vampire.

Vampire, you may remember, is Harry Potter, only without the scar or the glasses, and with a different name and personality, and he looks like Joel Madden and talks like Nolan North impersonating the Tenth Doctor, and he’s from Medieval Germany and he loves the taste of human blood. But apart from those few slight differences, he’s EXACTLY like Harry Potter.

He isn’t an actual Vampire, either. He just dresses as one. Evidently he identifies with the sanguinarian vampire lifestyle subculture (it’s an actual thing; look it up on Wikipedia) as an excuse to satisfy his human blood fetish. Tracey Wiggington, the semi-famous Australian murderer, had a similar thing going on, as did Richard Trenton Chase, American serial-killer and all-round terrifying individual.

Dark misery was in his depressed eyes.

New theory: Tara Gilesbie is the descendant of Edward “Dark and Stormy Night” Bulwer-Lytton.

I guess he was jealous of me that I was going out with Draco.

Wait… shouldn’t that, if anything, be “he was jealous of DRACO for going out with ME”? I’m pretty sure Harry Potter does not have a crush on Draco Malfoy. You’d think it would be mentioned if he had any same-sex attraction whatsoever, and Draco is one of only two people he considers feeding to a dragon in-canon (the other is Professor Snape. Do not ask why I still know this.)

Anyway, I went upstairs excitedly with Draco. We went into his room and locked the door. Then…

Another of Ms Gilesbie’s trademark paragraph-break-long Dramatic Pauses. Go get a coffee or something, we’re gonna be here a while.

…aaaaaaand we’re back.

We started frenching passively

I assume that “frenching” here means “French kissing” (which, by the way? Not even French) rather than, like, speaking French or something. What confuses me is that they both do so “passively”. For those unfamiliar with the intricacies of linguistic terminology, the passive party is acted upon by the active party. If they are both passive parties here, then this implies that they are both having kisses forced on them by other people.

and we took off each others clothes enthusiastically.

On the plus side, Tara (or, more likely, 30%ML Girl) has finally realised how to spell “off”.

He felt me up before I took of my top.

…alas. Rest in Peace, Uncharacteristically Correct Spelling. We hardly knew ye.

Then I took off

Oh for pity’s sake. A little consistency, at the very least, would be appreciated.

my black leather bra

OK. Turns out, there IS such a thing. Very few retailers sell them (certainly not Hot Topic, Bl’ack’s own clothier of choice) but if you search the internet, well, it’s there. In some of the darker corners. I’d guess they’re for masochists, those being the only people who would think constant chafing on one of the most sensitive parts of the body counted as a selling point. And in fairness, Bl’ack does shove crosses in her ears despite being a Vampire, so maybe she IS a masochist, on top of all the other psychological abnormalities lining up in her head.
Now if you’re excuse me, I need to expunge several parts of my brain.

and he took off his pants.

Which, ironically, are NOT explicitly noted to be leather.

We went on the bed

Not the best place for it, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.
I think that is the most juvenile joke I’ve ever used in one of these.

and started making out naked

It is unclear whether or not they are doing so with the same anonymous Other People by whom they were earlier being actively Frenched.

and then he put his boy’s thingy in mine

OK, come to think of it, we never got explicit confirmation that Bl’ack was, y’know, anatomically equipped in the usual AFAB way. The earlier sex scene was too vague to tell. Maybe she’s transgender or intersex (although I doubt it because Tara Gilesbie doesn’t seem to like LGBT people). Even if she does share anatomy with Draco, though… if she’s trying to say what it looks like she’s trying to say, well, that particular move is impossible. I’m, like, 83% sure of that.

So, yeah, I am forced to conclude that, in fact, she means that Bl’ack purchased a top hat of her own at some point, and it’s big enough that Draco (No Longer Currently In Leather Pants) can fit his inside it.

and we HAD SEX.

The emphasis, presumably, is there to draw attention to the controversially explicit nature of the scene. It hasn’t worked, though. Instead, my attention is drawn to wondering whether the Other People who were actively Frenching are still there or not.

(c is dat stupid?)

Exceedingly so, thankyou for asking.

‘Oh Draco, Draco!’ I screamed while getting an orgasm

Bl’ack’s pathological love of top hats strikes again.
Oh, oh, oh, TEWKESBURY!

when all of a sudden I saw a tattoo I had never seen before on Draco’s arm.

I was not aware that people became more observant during orgasms, but there you go. We live and learn.

It was a black heart with an arrow through it.

Probably a LITERAL heart with a LITERAL arrow through it, given the aesthetic favoured by the author.

On it in bloody gothic writing

Gothic Script is actually a thing, although I imagine Tara doesn’t know this, since she seems to only just barely know her way around a computer. I’m not entirely sure how one would make Gothic Script “bloody”… unless Bl’ack is picking up British slang and expressing her frustration at how everything in this fanfic seems to be “gothic” in some way.

were the words…

Let us use this Dramatic Pause to discuss what these mystery words could possibly be. Personally, my money’s on “Help help I’m trapped in an awful fanfic factory”.


That’s one word. You mediocre dunce.

I was so angry.

WHY exactly? Because he has a tattoo proclaiming his love for Vampires? YOU’RE a Vampire!


Oh. OHHHHHH. It’s implying that Draco (Still Not In Leather Pants Any More) was in a queer relationship with Harry “Vampire” Potter. And since Tara is a filthy filthy homophobe, it follows that her Mary Sue Author Avatar must also be a filthy filthy homophobe.

I CALLED this! Well… sort-of. I actually noted that it was explicitly impossible. What’s the OPPOSITE of calling something?

‘You bastard!’ I shouted angrily, jumping out of the bed.

Impressively, Draco (CNILP) apparently works out what she means straight off the bat (despite there being multiple legitimate reasons to call him by that moniker, given his behaviour thus far).

‘No! No!


Ahem. Sorry.

But you don’t understand!’ Draco pleaded.

Oh, Draco. If only you knew how true your words were of EVERYTHING in this fanfic.

But I knew too much.

Are the men in black going to take her away? Please tell me the men in black are going to take her away.

‘No, you fucking idiot!’ I shouted.

That’s a bit harsh. I’m not sure even the Tea Party actually thinks being bisexual makes you an idiot.

‘You probably have AIDs anyway!’

‘AIDS comes from bisexual people, right?’. That’s our Tara.

I put on my clothes all huffily and then stomped out. Draco ran out even though he was naked.

Pretty sure public indecency within school is grounds for expulsion.

He had a really big you-know-what but I was too mad to care.

But apparently not too mad to pay more attention to this one absurd detail than you have to EVERYTHING ELSE THAT DOESN’T HAVE TO DO WITH YOURSELF.

I stomped out and did so until I was in Vampire’s classroom

I’m guessing Tara has not memorised Harry’s timetable in the hour or so since she met him, so I can only assume that she stomped her way through every classroom in the school systematically until she found the right one.
Say what you will about Bl’ack, but she sure can keep up a good tantrum, stomping around for ages on end without starting to feel silly.

Let us picture this moment.

where he was having a lesson with Professor Snape and some other people.

I wonder if these are the same Other People who were actively Frenching earlier. Maybe the reason they vanished from the scene was that class was about to start.


I find it a bit weird to be formal enough to use the surname but simultaneously informal enough to replace the first name with a nickname. Neither of them seem appropriate when paired with the swear.

As to WHY exactly she has spent all this time stompily seeking out Harry to swear at him, I can only assume that she is on a mission to locate and swear at every LGBT individual in the school.

We’ll see how that goes in the next chapter, which I imagine is called ‘Bring Me 2 All The Gay People’.


An Incomplete List of Mythical Creatures Which Can and Cannot be Eaten under Levitical Law

[First published on Facebook on 19/9/2016]

An incomplete list of mythical creatures which can be eaten under Levitical law:

  • Unicorns (“whatever among the animals has a cloven hoof and a grass-based diet, that you may eat”)
  • Mermaids, sea serpents (“all that have fins and scales, those in the water, in the seas or in the rivers, you may eat”)
  • Dragons – of the winged kind, griffins, pterippi (“Among the flying things, these only shall you detest; they are abhorrent, not to be eaten: the eagle and the vulture and the buzzard, and the kite and all kinds of falcon, every kind of raven, and the ostrich and the owl and the sea gull and all kinds of hawk, and the little owl and the cormorant and the great owl, and the white owl and the pelican and the carrion vulture, and the stork, all kinds of heron, and the hoopoe, and the bat”)


An incomplete list of mythical creatures which cannot be eaten under Levitical law:

  • Lindwyrms and other non-flying dragons (“Now these are to you the unclean among the swarming things which swarm upon the earth: the mole, and the mouse, and all kinds of great lizard”)
  • Werewolves, gytrashes, hellhounds (“Also whatever walks on its paws, among all the creatures that walk on all fours, are unclean to you”)
  • Selkies, kelpies, the Kraken (“whatever is in the seas and in the rivers that does not have fins and scales among all the teeming life of the water, and among all the living creatures that are in the water, they are detestable things to you, and they shall be abhorrent to you; you may not eat of their flesh, and their carcasses you shall detest”)


Thankyou for your attention.