#also this man is so paranoid!!! I wish I read more stuff about how insane he has driven himself with his own paranoia

[vialae]

Usually when I imagine durgetash being soft and cuddling, it’s usually w durge resting on gortash. However if it was the other way around, idk if gortash would be able to deal with it.

The little tyrant has forced himself to be in control for years. He is the one that held others with a false smile and promise. In his climb to the top, Gortash quickly learned that there is not a single scrap of sincerity in the Upper-City. They are all pieces that can be played off one another for his own gain. All it takes is an evening or two, just smiling and holding another.

He is good at making people believe he is genuine. He’s done it for a long time.

So much so that he perhaps forgot what proper affection was actually like.

But when Durge comes along, it’s all so different.

He finally gets solid arms wrapped around him, a warm chest to rest his tired face on. And for once, it feels genuine. No payment or deal is expected afterwards. Gortash doesn’t know how to relax into it, though. A part of him definitely wants to, but it’s a part that has been easily ignored for so long. The drive to succeed far outweighs any base human desire.

His eyes remain wide open as he is just taking in the feeling of being held by someone he genuinely cares for. They are currently looking after him; Gortash has someone he can properly rely on.

The thought probably scares him briefly. With arms dealing and politics, you probably get burnt a lot when genuinely trusting people. With a childhood like his, there was nobody for him to even try to trust.

To be held genuinely feels so foreign, and Gortash isn’t sure if he likes it. He is always anticipating something to happen.

But with the warmth and security which comes from it, he falls asleep faster than he ever has before.

[arr-jim-lad]

Can you go into how you think Dios insane and how his mind works. I have trouble putting my thoughts into words but reading other people's opinions helps and not a lot of people talk about dios insanity even tho i find it very interesting

Sure thing!!! You know I love to talk about DIO lmao(NOTE: This will include spoilers for Stone Ocean later on)

In part 1, human Dio’s goal appears to be proving a point to his dead father as well as himself. He always wants more, to achieve more, to prove he’s capable of more. He does that by pursuing superiority in many fields; he proves academic excellence by finishing law school at the top of his class, he proves he’s a talented sportsman by being one of his school’s star rugby players, and he actively, since the moment he joined the Joestar family, wants to prove that he’s superior to Jonathan and therefore a better heir and a better son.

It’s also important to mention the flaws he sees in himself here; his anger. I went into this before here but to summarize it; Dio has an anger problem and he not only knows it - it’s his most despised thing about himself. 

That’s all simple stuff at the start, as it’s just trying to prove he’s better than others, and that’s easy to understand.

Then he becomes a vampire and a power trip REALLY hits him. Now he doesn’t have to pretend that he’s a gentleman anymore because literally no one can do shit to him. That law he studied? Fuck that, he can break it now all he wants, because it doesn’t apply to him anymore. The law is written for mere humans, and he’s not one of them anymore. He can do whatever he wants and he will do that - as flamboyantly and dramatically as possible. The Joestar fortune he was after in his earlier days? Fuck that too, he’s an immortal vampire with superpowers now, he can just take whatever money he wants.

Now Dio is free to be himself in every sense, and he stops pursuing power in a sneaky, deceitful way, but just. Straight up terrorizing anyone who steps in his path. Now EVERYONE gets to know about his wish for power, not just Jonathan.

And what’s even better - NO ONE is a problem anymore. NO ONE can hurt him. You know what this means for Dio? That he doesn’t have to get angry and frustrated anymore, because no one is able to push him that far.

….Except for Jonathan Joestar, who just won’t leave him alone

Jonathan keeps coming back and it low key pisses Dio off, but on the other hand, he also has major respect for him because of that. In his life of power and bliss, Jonathan manages to be the ONLY thing to disturb him

So Phantom Blood ending happens, Dio is bodyless, and in a mixture of necessity and respect, he takes Jonathan’s body. I notice people often seem to think that he took his body because he wanted it from the get go or something, but that’s not accurate. Initially it was for revenge, because Jonathan was the one who caused him to have to behead himself, and in SDC DIO even clearly says he NEEDED to take that body in order to survive - it was originally revenge and survivalism, but seeing Jonathan’s final actions also added immense respect to that. That body means a lot of different things to DIO.

Anyway now we get to the good part.So Dio is underwater all alone with a corpse for about 100 years. I went into more into this once before but to TL;DR that post; that kind of situation Does Bad Shit To You.

By the time DIO arose from that coffin, the insanity REALLY took hold of him. Because, in that coffin, he got to THINK. He got to do a LOT of thinking. All alone. He got to think about what matters to him.

And once he did all that thinking, he found his goal.It was not riches or power, but lack of anger: Inner peace.

Throughout SDC and Stone Ocean, that’s his ultimate goal.Now, how he goes about to obtain that is… hm.

In Stone Ocean, we are introduced to DIO’s diary, in which he essentially wrote down a highly complex, highly convoluted ritual of obtaining peace of mind, or as he likes to call it like the dramatic bitch that he is: Heaven.

I’ve seen people say that he apparently doesn’t show any philosophical interest in that kinda thing in SDC to which I say, do you even pay attention?

Think about DIO throughout SDC - what do we actually see him do before the final battle? He’s reading, he’s studying, he’s relaxing, he DOESN’T WANT TO BE BOTHERED.

He isn’t even the one sending out his assassins at first - the Tarot enemies are all Enya’s employees, she dragged those homicidal maniacs together. It’s only after all of them are defeated that DIO sends out HIS followers, the Glory Gods.

DIO wants his minions to take care of this because it’s low key stressing him out and he Doesn’t Need This Shit Right Now. He’s SO CLOSE to doing his ritual, Pucci is waiting for himin America, they have PLANS, and now these Joestar bastards are in Egypt?? What the fuck??? Can they like, not??? Is there any respect left for the ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs you hang on the door handles??

Basically, SDC catches DIO at a really bad time because he’s just in the middle of something big and it all just comes in to crash his plans, but there’s a lot about him that can be discerned from the final battle, and that is one of my favourite aspects of him, which is also very closely tied to his idea of Heaven; KNOWLEDGE.

DIO was really REALLY confident at the start of the battle, because he was convinced he had more knowledge about the Joestar group than they did about him, and knowledge was supposed to be his greatest weapon.

You can tell how paranoid and stressed out he becomes once Jotaro breaks that idea of him Knowing More and starts moving in stopped time. One of my favourite scenes in the final battle has got to be the ‘Is Jotaro Really Dead?’ scene, in which DIO acts like a paranoid wild animal, he acts like a cat who has his sights on something, but is not 100% sure if it’s safe to come close.

This paranoia is a HUGE factor of why he wants Heaven, aka Peace of Mind, and he is fully aware that he has this issue.

Another one of my favourite moments happens to revolve around his paranoia, that being the moment in Stone Ocean which shows us that it’s preventing him from fully trusting even those who are the most devoted to him, such as Pucci;

What we’re looking at here is DIO speaking to someone who is essentially the closest thing he EVER had to a friend, someone he admits he feels truly relaxed with, and yet even with this man he’s unable to shake off the paranoia he feels.

DIO really doesn’t know true inner peace, even in a situation that he himself described as being one that’s making him feel at ease.

Now we finally get into some bigger Stone Ocean spoilers regarding the stand of the main enemy of that part, Pucci - the same stand that DIO tried to obtain.

Here’s basically what the ritual-obtained stand, Made in Heaven, does;

It speeds up the time of entire universe to bring it back to a point where it started the spin, with everyone still alive just as they were (except the people who the stand user kills), but this time everyone has a vague idea/knowledge of what will happen next, because everyone essentially witnessed the future.

Now, assuming that DIO’s Made in Heaven would do the same thing as Pucci’s did, here’s what this tells us about DIO:

He is SO PARANOID that the thing that gives him the most anxiety and unrest, the thing he wants to get rid of, is the same that all of us take for granted:Not knowing what will happen next.

DIO wants to obtain peace of mind by getting rid of that ‘problem’ of an unknown future and making EVERYONE know what’s inevitably coming next, but he’d be the only one who would be able to change it. That’s his ideal world.

DIO’s insanity was born from his wish to achieve peace of mind.He wants to get rid of his anger and paranoia, but his idea of the solution to those feelings is absolutely demented and unfathomably convoluted.

Basically… it’s something that only be thought up by a megalomaniac vampire who was left deep underwater for 100 years in a claustrophobic coffin with only the corpse of the only man he ever respected to keep him company.

[narutowtfareyoudoing]

Okay so it's totally understandable if you don't want to do this. Love your blog either way! ❤ but I'd love to see headcanons or scenarios about Kakashi, Itachi and whoever else you want smoking weed with the reader! I think it'd be hilarious!!! Again totally cool if it's a no if you don't smoke or are against it.. love you!

Glad to hear you love the blog!💚💚  LMAO I’M SO DOWN WITH THIS 😂💚 I’ve been around marijuana most of my life in different aspects so I’m excited to write this! 💚💚 I also assumed the reader was their S/O. ---

Kakashi Hatake:

Kakashi’s been smoking weed since he left the ANBU. After being in desperate need of an escape and generally needing to calm down. Now it’s a daily ritual.

Though he generally sleeps better now that he gets to crawl into bed with you he usually smokes before bed.

He’ll always share with you, he’s not possessive over his stash at all. Help yourself if he’s not around S/O.

Why is he so lax about it? He’s never had to pay for it. 

That’s right, years ago Kakashi helped out an elderly couple and turns out they ran a weed farm. As a show of their thankfulness anytime Kakashi comes around he gets a handsome baggy for free.

You went with him once and they think you’re lovely, they’re vert happy someone’s loving and taking care of their broody hero. You get a cute little baggy of your own for free too.

Having the nose of a trained Ninken means he knows the good stuff when he smells it.

So the stash you two share is some potent stuff. It’s that good stinky shit my dude.

Kakashi has got a large double percolator bong covered in dog stickers you’ve put onto it that he hides beside his dresser in case anyone decides to drop by unexpectedly. Guy came by once and Kakashi swears he was lectured about it for three days straight. 

Watching Kakashi take hits with his mask still on always makes you laugh, the way the smoke comes up from the inside of his mask should look really cool but it just makes you burst into a fit of giggles. Which is why he still does it sometimes. He thinks your laugh is cute and nothing makes him laugh more than your own laugh.

You two usually smoke in bed, the plan is always just to get a little stoned and get some good sleep. Oh, how you two rarely follow the plan.

You two can stay up for hours talking. Sometimes it strays into serious and philosophical topics and other times it’s a giggles fest of lame excuses he’ll use on his students later.

You two even have little smoking games. One of his favourite is where you two read Icha Icha and whoever finishes the page last has to take a hit, the more you lose the harder it gets to read. But as the room gets filled with more and more smoke it gets harder for the winner to keep focus too. Kakashi usually wins this game never the less though.

To spite what his reputation as a Shinobi is and how he can come across Kakashi is in fact a gigantic nerd and it comes out full force when you two are stoned. His comfort with you paired with the weed is enough to have him drop down any barriers and he tells you all this fan theories about the next Icha Icha books, how he came up with the names for his Ninken. Come on one of their names is Biscuit! 

Speaking of biscuits. Kakashi doesn’t have a huge sweet tooth but that man can pack it away. You two have definitely walked down to Ichiraku’s for a late night second dinner. You’ve run into Shikamaru and Asuma there too along with a number of other faces. There’s a good reason Ichiraku’s is open late, he knows his clientele. 

You two eventually make it to bed so late that it’s early. Both your heads light and bodies heavy as you cuddle up, conversation slowly turning into snores.

Itachi Uchiha:

Itachi’s been familiar with marijuana for medical use for quite some time.

It’s what’s most easily accessible on the road, not every Village has well trained Medical Nin but there’s always at least one person in every Village that sells pot. 

At first he only took medical marijuana oil that had a low THC to avoid effects of grogginess on missions.

But when you came into the picture with your gummies and potent oils things changed. 

He still rarely uses anything with THC on missions but when he’s off his missions he enjoys it more than he thought he would. 

Edibles are something he enjoys, he has a sweet tooth no matter what he says. You made edible Dango once and he adored it.

He can’t take any hits from bongs or blunts but with you he’s become very fond of shotguns and hotboxings. Shotguns usually end in a kiss and it gives him all the more reason to smile. The lightheadedness from the weed and your lips leaves him with what could be considered a dorky smile by Uchiha standards.

Then of course you introduced him to the world of THC body oils. Heaven you introduced him to Heaven.

When he comes back from missions physically sore you break out the oil and give him a massage. Itachi was a little hesitant at first, brushing you off politely but with some insistence from your end he agreed.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the thought of you giving him a massage, it’s that he worries sometimes the relationship you two have is skewed too much in his favour. You often have to remind him you love him and you do this not because you feel like you have too but because you want too. Plus you often jokingly tease him by grabbing his butt and that’s your Heaven so it’s worth it.

His body is usually sick an uncooperative when it comes to physical forms of love with you but sometimes just the right combinations of medical grade oils and high THC can have his body feeling well enough to try. And if you’re receptive at all he doesn’t miss a chance to try.

Buzzing high on THC and blissful orgasmic relief is enough to knock you and Itachi into sleeping the next week away. 

He never would have thought being high would give him such a semblance of a normal life. Laying, cuddled up to the person he loved so dearly, body and mind relaxed, death far from his thoughts. It all gave him a moment of maybe what his life could have been and he relishes in it. 

When he’s stone he smiles more, breathy chuckles make their way our of him not many but more than you’d normally get. He already smile around you more but when he’d stoned it’s more constant. 

He chooses not to get philosophical when he’s high with you, all his philosophical’s have to do with death and he wants that as far as possible from the conversation when he’s trying to be present in the moment with you. It’s something you two have talked about, you already knew the reality that Itachi was going to die and it was going to be bloody...he didn’t need to remind you of it every second so instead he just lets himself enjoy the hazy moments he has with you.

Itachi’s nerves are shot from dangerous Jutsu he’s used over the years but being high feels to heighten his sensitivity and your little touches of affection are something he wishes he could bottle up and take with him on long missions. 

Kisame is aware of almost everything you are when it comes to Itachi and he’s got no problem with it and he’s gone so far as to remember the strains you told him help Itachi the most and will pick them up if he sees them. Kisame doesn’t see the appeal himself since he’s highly resilient. Seriously check it out fish aren’t susceptible to THC 

Some of Itachi’s best days are spent with you stoned out of your brilliant minds. 

Yamato:

Can you guess who was a bad influence and is to blame for this? I’ll give you two guesses but you’re only gonna need one. That’s right, say it with me: Kakashi.

What started as a way to appear cool and bond with his Senpai has over the years become a personal hobby.

Yamato is absolutely paranoid at times that someone will catch him smoking. It’s not illegal but it once was and sometimes he still gets worried he’ll get in trouble or worse get shamed for it.

So he only exclusively smokes at home by himself, with you or guiltily sometimes with Kakashi to spite the fact Kakashi teases the living Hell outta your poor boyfriend.

You do too a little. You can’t help it. You’d think he’s a teenager hiding it from his mom instead of a grown man who lives with you, his adult partner by the way he acts.

He locks all the doors, puts towels at the bottom of every single one, closes every window and latches them shut, he lights candles to stop the smell, he got so worried once he even used his wood Jutsu to seal the door and windows tight. Which caused the most incredibly intense hotbox of your life.

To spite the fact he’s been smoking much longer than you have you typically have to light up first to help him feel more comfortable about it. He still has a worry in the back of his head you’ll judge him for what he was raised with is a nasty habit.

But as he take a few deep breaths he calms down. One of the root reasons why he smokes is to calm himself down and to unravel the tight spiral he spins himself into.

He mainly smokes joints, they’re easy to hide and if he’s positive if he ever needed too he could convince someone they were just hand rolled cigarettes.

He’s a talker. Going over imaginary scenarios that get more and more ridiculous the higher he gets and he used to be able to talk himself into a panic but when you laugh at the insane lengths he goes too it calms him down and make him realize that he is being a little silly...but just a little.

You sometimes have to steer the conversation a little, telling funny stories of when you were in school and someone dared you to eat a roach claiming it would get you high. It didn’t. 

If you can get him going he’ll absolutely in be stitches as he laughs away. And it’s adorable to see Yamato cut loose like that.

Sometimes he’ll tell his famed ghost stories but instead of his Dead Eyed Ghoulish Stare having it’s usual chilling effect it makes you lose your mind and laugh. It should be terrifying with his pupils enlarged, red blood vessels brimming his big eyes as they stare at you but there’s just something so funny about it when you’re high. And eventually after he has a brief moment of bruised ego he laughs along with you.

About two shared joints in the best way to describe him is dopey. 

Dopey eyes, dopey grin, dopey compliments on how he’s so thankful for you and that you’re here with him, years ago he never would’ve imagined he’d get to come home to someone, especially someone as pretty and wonderful as you.

When he gets this dopey he just wants to be held, so much of his life has been starved of touch and it feels so wonderful with the way his nerves and buzzing. If you run your nails through his hair he’s an absolute goner.

He likes to wait for all the hotbox smoke to dissipate into nothingness before he dares to open a window or a door. So this usually means you two spend hours together like this. 

He greatly prefers smoking now that he can do it with you. He however to prefer or approve of your pranks like the time you snuck a joint into his flak jacket pocket. He freaked out desperately trying to hide it and you were in so much trouble when he got home.

~Admin Coral. 

Buy Me A Coffee?

[elegant-etienne]

👻If they were a ghost, what methods would they use to haunt someone?

Horrific Headcanons.

Thanks for the ask, @bootanicals. @atomicdeke also asked me this one, and I’ll probably do one for Adi in response to that.

Behind the cut: ghosty stuff, some references to death, murder, possible suicide, and abuse.

Don't want your money for my silence I don't care who knows your name Don't tell your friends that I'm lying to convince them I'm insane

Over my dead body, oh

- Miya Folick, Deadbody

The first sign of trouble is something almost common: puddles of water, glinting in the candlelight, warping the smooth gleam of the polish wooden floor. Drips by the fireplace, footprints -- familiar to anyone in Ishgard, really. If you stay too long in the house with your snow-caked clothes on, of course it makes a mess.

Someone was here. It's quiet. And the owner of this manor is dead. Just like the owner of the manor next door, last sennight. And one the sennight before that.

They are found in their studies, slumped over a pile of damp pages. The water dripping has left the first page of their letters blurred, but always the same words: IN DEATH, I REPENT. I AM SORRY. HALONE FORGIVE ME.

The pages afterward describe their list of crimes. They start with, "I cannot speak for others. I have no voice of my own any longer. But I will try and describe my crimes..."

Each victim writes an eloquently-worded missive. They do not always take emotional responsibility for their crimes, there are usually a lot of excuses. But it is as if they are going to confession, pushed by an Inquisitor who will not accept anything but the full story. Each letter contains damning details that no one would describe unless under duress. Each letter contains only things the victim would be able to describe.

Many times, inquisitors and knights who investigate are forced to confront the crimes they themselves ignored. They are reminded of complaints overlooked, concerned parents, Brumefolk with bruises, corpses that went unclaimed. Investigators quietly obey the letter's request to redistribute the victim's wealth toward those the victims harmed in life. That is not usually how it is done, but it does seem to be the victim's dying request. Funny, how each family usually has a few vindicated members: a cowering youngest, an anemic spouse, a grandparent left to wither. Generations of denial collapse with this missive. That seems to be the aim.

Cause of death is difficult to determine. Usually, if someone dies of hypothermia (in their own home? With a raging fire?) one would expect some signs of paradoxical undressing. The blood pooling to the center of the body, however, suggests the victim could have frozen to death. The lungs often show signs of asphyxiation, though no water is present in the lungs. This suggests that perhaps the victim was frozen in ice long enough to kill them.

Returning to that statement, "I have no voice of my own any longer."

None of the victims were particularly shy people.

Clearly, the perpetrator is someone bent on exposing these crimes. It feels a little wrong to put any weight on those letters, then, but each time the claims have been investigated, they've been true.

There are no signs of forced entry, no hairs or errant threads. The trails of water seem to appear in random places before heading toward the study, but the only footprints that can be determined belong to the victim.

Heresy? Black magic? Voidsent? It is hard to imagine any of these things happening with such regularity in the Pillars. (At least, not without someone somewhere knowing a reason for it. Without someone greasing a palm. Without a priest or a knight looking the other way.)

There are, of course, rumors about ghosts. Ishgardians are, in equal measure: superstitious, dramatic, romantic, paranoid, and paralyzed by guilt. Of course there are rumors about ghosts.

Who but a ghost would dare undermine the nobility so without concrete proof?

~*~

It is said that Etienne Clairemont died alone, but with a plan.

The exact circumstances are irrelevant, perhaps. They died a bit on the young side, but that's not unusual for adventurers. Some might cite Etienne's struggles with what they called 'fits of melancholy' and imply they died by their own hand. People close to the prostitute-turned-mage-turned-counselor-turned-back-to-mage have little to say about it. They grieve the sudden loss in private. There is no reason to suspect foul play. That man accused of hurting them years ago was found innocent, after all.

(Though he is currently missing.)

It is said that Etienne left behind a book. An exhaustively researched and written volume of thousands of crimes. Not little things like stealing, but true crimes of violation, of manipulation and perversion, committed by untouchable men.

It is said that someone found the book and burned it, but they didn't bother to read the warning on the first page.

Do not try to silence me now. I'll come back.

~*~

Someone whispers to you, “Want to see Etienne?” If you want to, you must go to their grave. They're buried next to Claudinette Clairemont, their adoptive mother, and Margeaux Clairemont, their adoptive older sister, a crib death. The Clairemonts are a dead-end family now: resting on a hardscrabble hill beneath naked gray trees that haven't born leaves nor blossom since the Calamity.

Bring them flowers. Oldroses are the ones they like best - especially if they're near death, petals falling off.

Etienne's gravestone is pink cloud marble, engraved:

♥ I'm free. ♥

Leave the flowers, and an ice-cold wind will blast across that wretched, lonely hill.

Etienne Clairemont will appear to you, covered in a fine dusting of frost. Do you recall Etienne? Tall, solidly built for an elezen, broad in the shoulders, violet hair, opalescent eyes. Death has not given them a pallor, but every ilm of them glitters with that diamond-like dust. Their hair is tied up firmly into two buns. They wear gloves. Their neck bleeds and drips onto their pale pink gown. Rather than black lipstick, their lips are bloody red. It drips down, and smiles show bloody teeth. The blood is frozen too. Trails of ruby. Try not to stare.

Etienne will hold your hands in theirs, so icy it leaves your skin throbbing afterward. The air smells metallic. The wind whips your ears.

Etienne will listen to your woes and smile. They will point to your mouth.

Your throat stings like you've been running, the cold air a dagger into your hot lungs. And you will cough, once. Etienne will wave goodbye, the strange figure of them fading.

When you get home, you find you're unable to speak. No tea with honey, no potion, nothing remedies it. You are otherwise well, though perhaps after that encounter, you are filled with dread or anxiety. Or... did you expect this? Are you feeling confident and vindicated?

On the day your voice returns another powerful monster - another upstanding citizen - another manipulator, another abuser - is dead.

Your voice feels... more powerful than it did, upon returning. You stammer less. You speak up at parties.

~*~

Someone will probably try to stop Etienne at some point. A friend, a lover, a professional acquaintance. After all, in life Etienne expressed affection for Nald'thal's balance, and desires for the souls of all dead to be laid to peace. They would wish to be laid to rest, wouldn't they?

Wouldn't they?

Etienne floats instead of walks, the ruffles of their flowing pink dress whipped about in the icy wind that seems to follow them. They leave a trail of frost along the floors they walk. Crystalline. Beautiful. They always tried to make the world more beautiful.

Etienne speaks, but it is not their voice: it is a hundred others, all in chorus.

There is no tongue. There is a bloody hole.

"Darling, did you think I'd let death contain me?"

Your teeth are chattering. Etienne glides closer.

"I still have so much to say."

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 2

and moving right along w/the 2nd issue!

[sees cover w/skids] MY MAN!!!!

brainstorm calling himself the ‘ships genius’ and then rodimus mistaking him for multiple other people bc of this is hvbhjaksfbskfdl

love that rodimus is a self-recognized himbo. he doesn't know what a  science is and he doesn't care 

i love brainstorm callously joking about the duobot guy being killed horribly via generator melding...brainstorm ily 

and there's cyclonus! 

SKIIIIIIIDS

i fucking love the panel of skids saying ‘maybe I'm just being paranoid’ and in the background the words ‘YOU HAVENT ESCAPED THEYRE ALL AROUND YOU’ are carved into the wall....nice 

skids thinking his name is scum was funny until I had context, and now its just making me fucking SAD 

hbvahfjskfdbsajf rung praising ratchet, and ratchet being like oh thanks, excuse me a second- [hits hand with giant hammer] gotten loosen up the old joints eh 

mtmte is so fucking funny i always forget that bc the story and characters are so strong but its also hilarious. what an iconic series

tailgate is a dial-up robot. love it

‘buzzing with positive energy’ vbhjaksbhdfjsakf drift please

god i fuckgin love drift’s hippy nonsense. peak

wow rung hasn't caught a single break so far in the story huh

‘its your eyebrows! he’s jealous of your capacity for self-expression!’ vhbhsudfjsakfj swerve 

also i remember when watching tfp ruth and i would say that rung belonged there bc everyone in tfp had insane eyebrows 

oof, rung really goin for it there - not that you can blame him. also i get the feeling that the hipaa laws of cybertron are a little looser than earths

god i love how everyone on the ship is at least a little bit of an asshole. fantastic stuff 

swerve please vbjhsdkhfbjaskhfdn

love the detail of skids saying hes unarmed while holding the gun - bc he doesn't even realize/remember that hes holding it 

skids saying ‘fly, my beauty! fly!’ while throwing some guy’s dead body at his attackers....lmao 

cyclonus is so sexy and iconic i gotta say

oof i love cyclonus’s speech there...and the fact that that is what changed rodimus’s mind about him...and also contrast that w/their final moment in the last issue...OUGH 

also I'm too tired to remember/care how to pluralize names ending in s so I'm just fuckin goin for it lmao

magnus threatening to demolish cyclonus....sir

whirl saying ‘i cant remember who started it’ hvbhajkdsfbjajks ok

cyclonus is so ufcking hardcore. also i love him and whirl’s entire relationship progression...so good

the fact that tailgate lies about his function so smoothly is so interesting...i feel like tailgate mostly reads as innocent/naïve but his very deliberate lying shows that hes not just 1-dimentionally innocent (which is excellent)

and like, tailgate had to have quickly realized that he CAN lie about this here, 6 million years in the future, bc there’s nobody around to factcheck him - so now he can be as important as he wished he was back in his day...i love it

and still, as of now, we (the readers) don't know tailgate is lying - tho i feel like him saying that the ark launch would fail without him is a good clue, since we know that the ark launch DIDNT fail despite tailgates absence

fuckgin love worldbuilding stuff like metallurgy being ‘skin specialty’ in a world where everyone is made of metal. like, that makes sense!

i really want to know if tailgate genuinely thinks that whirls name is nutjob hbhdsjfkhbhjsakf

chromedome is so massive compared to the minibot squad hvbhjdskfbdksf

SKIDS WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO, I DONT REMEMBER AND I WANNA KNOW

love that in the crowd shot, cyclonus still manages to find a window to broodingly stare out of. icon

also is that cosmos???? bc im p sure he wasn't even on the lost light 

drift being ‘offensively upbeat’ as rodimus puts it is so fucking funny. sir please

im fuckgin crying at skids being like ‘well i guess i joined a quest? ok then’ lmaoooo this poor dude

also didn't someone do an analysis of swerve’s joking overexaggerated quest checklist to show that that all ended up being stuff that they did...bruh

rodimus really jinxed himself by overemphasizing how important any remarks had to be

also whirl once again dropping the issue title (”hanger ons”), nice

the crusadercons hvbdjkhfbhskdf

reclaim the suffix lmao god 

ohh i love the crew profiles SO MUCH

I love the contrast of brainstorm’s ‘prolific murderer’ to ratchets ‘prolific life-saver.’ also i love the retrospective irony of that particular epithet for brainstorm

chromedomes profession being classified is a nice touch

i love issue 2 too, it goes so well w/issue 1. we get a nice intro to our characters now that they’ve actually embarked on their epic space cruise, and the promising premise continues to feel fresh and exciting. ah, mtmte, so good. im excited for more...! 

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #11 (1979)

The only weapon you need to provoke a police officer to violence is scorn.

Sorry! The above caption had nothing to do with The Cockroach's first appearance in Cerebus and everything to do with how the Omaha Police arrested peaceful protesters by claiming that they're purpose was to "attack and/or provoke police officers to violence." Also, you can tell they're already spinning and lying by adding the "and/or" so they can imply that the protesters are planning on attacking police. And, well, even if they weren't (and they did say "or"!), their other main plan was to provoke them. But of course everybody whose ability to perceive reality isn't clouded by their incessant need to defend police no matter what understands that police will abuse their power at the drop of an eye roll. They believe any slight disrespect is an excuse for a violent rebuttal. They force physical violence on people whom they have no reason to arrest simply so the person can struggle against the assault, as any normal person would do, and then claim resisting. Police should be confronted by scorn and disrespect at every turn. Only when they learn not to instantly resort to violence and threats will they deserve to not be. Welcome to my comic book and/or police review blog! Deni's "A Note from the Publisher" continues on a theme that I hadn't noticed until just now: every new issue of Cerebus now seems to be a landmark issue! It's an interesting self-promotion take that I have to admit I'd never thought of trying. "Every new Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea review is a landmark review!" You know what else is a landmark? Places & Predators, my Cribbage-based Roller Playing Game! You don't even really need any friends to play it. Just read it like a book and enjoy it! Or play it like a Fighting Fantasy Adventure Book! Use some online Cribbage app! Figure out how to use the crib in ways the online app definitely won't let you! Oh, the reason this is a landmark issue is because more letters came in than normal! It's a hit! Deni also reveals that she'll be making the Cerebus plush toys that were advertised in previous issues and at half the price! So kudos for stealing that job from the person who originally made them! It probably wasn't anything so dramatic but what fun is going through your life defaulting to the best, most optimistic possibility in every given situation? Have some fun! Act paranoid! Purposefully misunderstand your father and scream in his face! Kick a dog! Sorry! I got carried away! I would never kick a dog unless it was attacking me. But even then, I'd be wishing I was kicking the owner who let it go off leash. The dog doesn't deserve my epic self defense tactics in its soft face. But the owner certainly does!

The basics on the origin of The Cockroach.

I didn't realize Dave came up with The Cockroach because it was gross and disgusting. I just thought it was a more clever version of a bat, keeping to the shadows, hiding, surviving, a constant annoyance to poor people. In any case, The Cockroach is the greatest parody of The Batman, hands down. Because The Batman has become such a parody of himself time and time again, you just need an absolutely Batshit insane version of him. I don't do segues so Cerebus has come to Beduin to sell the Black Blossom Lotus. Just look at all the continuity Dave Sim is giving his readers! I wonder how many comic book fans would list "continuity" as their number one favorite thing about comic books? Like, are there people who would list that above great writing or terrific art? Judging by how terrible a lot of mainstream comic books are and how rabid many of the fans, I'd suspect it was a fairly high number. Maybe 65 out of 100, Bob. Change that card! The Merchant Cerebus deals with is a kook who might just have a super secret identity. It's weird to think of the Roach as being capable of actually living an independent life! I suppose he's just barely hanging onto his sanity at this point (and, of course, only during the day). But then he comes into the mystical aura of strangeness that aardvarks apparently exude out of their buttholes and he just loses it completely. He becomes less a merchant slash superhero and more a superhero slash zombie cosplayer. Also he becomes one of the greatest characters ever created! There are like four of them in the entirety of Cerebus! The exclamation point is because I think that's an incredibly high number and not because I think it's an incredibly low number. Most comic book's protagonists never quite make it to the greatest ever! Plus I'd probably give Cerebus more than four but a lot of them are just really good parodies, satires, and slightly-off representations of characters and people who already existed. The merchant buys the Black Blossom Lotus from Cerebus for 100 gold pieces and then promptly drops it out of the window and into the Feld River.

Not only does Dave Sim come up with a bunch of memorable plots across three hundred issues, he also comes up with a lot of good Dungeons & Dragons campaign ideas.

The Merchant pays Cerebus a sack of gold and gets ready for bed as Cerebus begins to leave. Before Cerebus can even exit the hallway outside the merchant's bedroom door, Cerebus begins to hear loud ranting coming from the other side. It's a lot of hissing and threats of murder. Against his better judgment, Cerebus decides to see what's happening and gets his first look at the guy who will be a huge headache to him for the next two hundred issues or so.

One thing I like about Dave Sim is how honest he is when recounting where he came up with or stole his ideas. He gives plenty of credit for the Cockroach and his hissing to Marshall Rogers and Jules Feiffer. It's admirable because a lot of people would just figure, "It might make me look less of an artist and who's going to know anyway?!"

Just a few days ago, my old elementary school friend who was blown up in Iraq and then became a comedian playing to Christians and patriots (which I mention so you'll understand how, as a wounded veteran, he'll never be criticized by his audience and he'll never really grow as a comedian) posted a Tik Tok on Facebook that was just a film of a television set capturing the "Masked Debate" bit on Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. The clip only shows all the clips of news readers saying "masked debate" and none of Oliver's or the show's set-up. He then watermarked it with his Tik Tok name. Now all of those naive followers who can only seem to reply to his posts with the laugh/cry emoji probably think he wrote it. Better yet, they're probably mostly Trump followers who would never admit to finding that libjerk Oliver or his show funny. What's even better is that the Tik Tok has some quote along top that's watermarked with somebody else's Tik Tok name! So it looks like Bob doubly stole the bit. Man, I wish I'd joined the army and gotten blown up and then found Christ and developed an audience of uncritical naive yahoos who would wildly applaud everything I wrote! Why didn't I join the army?! Oh, that's right. Because I believed I had a future right out of high school. Well, I guess Bob is having the last laugh now! Cerebus follows Cockroach across the rooftops to find out what's going on. He eventually witnesses the Cockroach confront a man in an alley, accuse him of killing his parents, knock him out, and steal his gold. The gold part of the night helps Cerebus to ignore all of the other confusing stuff. The Cockroach doesn't gloat for long. He's off to find another victim! Cerebus witnesses him mug another guy whom he also accuses of killing his parents. He also admits to doing this for thirty years. So now Cerebus thinks the guy is crazy but also crazy rich. At the end of the night, the Cockroach returns home and drops the gold purses into a secret panel in the wall. He falls asleep, wakes up, and, when he sees Cerebus, acts as if Cerebus were just leaving. So Cerebus realizes that the merchant doesn't have any idea what the Cockroach is doing. Which means Cerebus is going to recover those gold purses before the Cockroach comes back! At the moment, Cerebus doesn't realize that he's going to be finding thirty years worth of gold purses in the merchant's walls. Can you imagine how boring the last two hundred and eighty-nine issues of Cerebus would have been if Cerebus managed to steal all of the Roach's gold?! I'm sure some of you are thinking, "It wouldn't have been any worse than the last hundred issues we did get!" Also, can you imagine how fat Cerebus would have gotten drinking tons of ale and eating loads of rich foods? I'm laughing so much just trying to picture it! Ha ha!

Eight feet of gold would make Cerebus fatter than a domesticated raccoon!

In the end, Cerebus only makes it away with three sacks of gold. But in the process, he manages to completely screw up the Roach/Merchant equilibrium that's lasted for thirty years. In trying to exploit the man's mental illness so that he'd help Cerebus move the gold, Cerebus drags the Roach personality into the daylight. From here on out, the Roach will simply be a pawn of others, susceptible to almost any second-rate demagogue (although most of the people who subsequently control the Roach are of the first rate variety). The Aardvark Comment section was two pages this issue and had this letter that I don't think was being sarcastic?

I guess I also wouldn't necessarily consider a chainmail bikini as "a disgusting costume." He's probably thinking about Power Girl.

Also, and I admit it might have been a joke, but Dave Sim reveals that Ronald Reagan is Cerebus' father. That, um, makes sense! Cerebus #11 Rating: A. I almost gave it a B+ for variety but then I remembered I just read the first appearance of the Roach. I also forgot that my ratings don't actually mean anything.

[land-of-brains-and-chocolate]

god it WILL NOT stop bothering me until i talk about it. the way we got here. it’s not just about the book anymore, not at all, and it’s certainly never been about “shipping”, at this point it’s how helpless the tactics of the guy make me feel.

step one: refer to people who have read previous venom books and noticed the trend throughout the nineties to portray eddie and the symbiote as a man and an agender alien in an ambiguously or not-so-ambiguously romantic relationship, which was picked up on and completely unambiguously canonised in the very last run, consistently refer to these people as “shippers”, lovingly condescend to them, do not ever treat “the ship” as existing beyond their imagination

[I LOVE THAT YOU GUYS EXIST]

result: make people forget that this is a complete misrepresentation and he has received no criticism whatsoever for “not making a ship canon” because that is not what he did, he decanonised it and then denied doing so and painted everyone it ever meant something to as essentially deluded - and, considering that that’s all they are, he’s being awfully kind and accommodating, isn’t he?

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step two: actively seek out these no-good shippers on tumblr! tell them that you’re watching them! read their detailed posts in which they express their grievances about your comic book to their friends and misrepresent their points on your twitter so your bajillion followers can affirm that Those People are categorically wrong about everything!

[EDDIE IS CODEPENDENT]

people are mad at him because he said eddie was codependent! not because he’s reframing the extremely rare story of a troubled queer relationship that was ultimately still a redemptive force in these characters’ lives as an unhealthy compulsion that corrupts, hm, what a fresh and unfamiliar take, no reason why this would strike a nerve - and, recently, of course, as something inherently abusive, every bit of hope and change for the better vile and fake.

literally just start vaguing about people’s personal tumblr blogs on your professional twitter account with the little, little blue checkmark and everything, use that to make passive-aggressive references to people’s posts! why not!

[LOVE EACH OTHER]

people talk about how they like a symbiote and its host getting along (and they did, that very night, talk quite a lot about ngozi)? that is so dumb and lame.

[EVERYTHING IS AWESOME]

people get sick of edgy shock factor writing that throws one dark theme after another at them without treating any of them with the consideration they deserve? people expect some moments of levity in a venom book?

they’re asking for stories with no conflict where nothing bad ever happens! but it’s okay, he knows better, he knows you just don’t know what you want! it’s not like endless sadness is just as likely to be dreadfully boring or unintentionally hilarious as endless happiness!

result: o w n e d god he sure is shutting down every point no one has ever made

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step three: literally get so mad at people on tumblr talking about your comic that you not only boil their opinions down to THE SHIIIIP but literally say that their opinions don’t matter because they literally would never say it “to your face” literally because it’s “easy to be brave on tumblr”

literally

say these words

[IT’S EASY TO BE BRAVE ON TUMBLR]

call people chicken shits for NOT talking to you directly! and then! BLOCK everybody who talks to you directly! or quote retweet them so your followers can descend like vultures! actually acknowledge that it takes bravery to interact with you if you’re in the Tumblr Demographic, you know, one of Those People, and frame yourself as in the right for it???

am i losing my mind???

[SIX PEOPLE ON TUMBLR]

get so mad at people on tumblr talking about your comic that you not only claim they’re the only people ever to talk badly of it but imply that you’re one step away from namedropping the specific perpetrators. that’s not ominous at all!

it’s an age-old question: how many times does one of marvel’s top writers with legions of fans have to imply his antagonistic awareness of your specific existence before you’re on a first name basis? and also paranoid?

result: stir shit. be a shit stirrer. faint when your shit stirring does in fact stir shit. you can’t go “you would never” and be surprised when people do, you... can’t...

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step four: whip out your ally card... to whip the people you’re supposed to be allied to with it. try to use your knowledge of queer issues to shut down actual queer people.

[I DON’T THINK IT’S APPROPRIATE TO ASSUME GENDER]

either that, or straight-up make a “did you just assume my gender” joke. i can’t find the original tweet anymore, so it’s possible it was that and he deleted it because it was too blatant, lol.

result: MAYBE YOU GUYS WERE THE PROBLEMATIC ONES ALL ALONG

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step five: remember that interview where he outright stated that he just wants to, just to be the definite venom run? just to put the biggest dent in canon he can? just to break everybody’s toys and emerge victorious as the one person with the valid take on venom?

yeah, those things become more noticeable in the actual book, over time, and acceptance of that is, uh, not universal? not everybody’s up for him spending several issues in a row on e s t a b l i s h i n g  d o m i n a n c e by having eddie sit around as other characters tell him that a ton of stuff other writers from michelinie to thompson to costa to kaminski to slott to jenkins have done actually sucked and was wrong and fake and never happened? through retcons that make no sense, like, factually don’t fit?

people don’t like you walking back character and relationship development to further your end goal of recasting the symbiote as the personification of addiction and abuse instead of itself a survivor of extreme abuse who has been constantly denied personhood in a way that is frighteningly resonant and who has been going through a genuine redemption arc for years now?

people don’t like you acting like eddie never had a reason for being who he is before and you had to make one up? one that doesn’t fit the character at all, which you didn’t realise because you apparently thought the character had no characterisation before you came along?

you can imagine how these things might spark nerd rage?

and you can probably imagine who this nerd rage was blamed on, yeah?

these criticisms inherently require knowledge of venom canon, because they’re largely about disrespect for it, these criticisms are not related to shipping of any kind - but of course the only thing people could possibly be mad about is the "ship", the only ones making a fuss are those “shippers”, those casuals, Those People who only care about One Thing and don’t understand the real gritty reality of the, god you get it i’m making fun

[I KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT]

you’re the only one, don. it’s true.

and i know, i know for a fact, that he’s been aware of criticism from other groups all along, that he was, for example, witness to this livestream that spends like a solid hour a month mercilessly dragging him through the dirt, and you know what the extent of his response was?

thanks for checking the book out.

that’s it. that’s all. this guy hasn’t gotten any less loud about criticising him, either. wishing for his book’s cancellation and retconning. but nothing more. he gets to keep to himself. he is #valid.

people have been taking the piss out of him on youtube, on reddit. only tumblr ever earned his ire. only tumblr gets namedropped at convention panels.

and now, now more than ever? you better believe your regular run-of-the-mill nerds, straight, male, utterly uninterested in the icky stuff, everything, are mad. almost everyone who’s truly tits deep in venom lore is mad.

and so he’s said he’s received threats. and i’m sure he has. i’ve received threats. you’ve received threats. it’s never okay. it sure as shit never helps to send them.

he’s gotten a lot of fucking inappropriate personal vitriol! lots of it actually “ship”-related! i’m categorically against contacting the guy for any reason!

but who is to blame? who do people accept as being to blame? who do news outlets report on as being to blame? when, i presume, not every single one of them actually went “i’m doing this specifically because i’m a (thunder clap) shipper”? when large-scale retcons are literally always met with nerd rage? when a shipper-less fandom probably still would’ve had threats?

[THIS IS INSANE]

[IT’S THE SHIPPERS]

result: if all criticism = “shippers”, and “shippers” = harassment, then everyone who has no actual idea of what’s going on but who doesn’t like “shippers” is automatically on his side and nobody who isn’t a “shipper” wants to risk the association by criticising him.

get this stuff out to his followers, to news outlets, to people completely uninvolved and contextless, and watch the bile run over everywhere because lots of people are ready to accept this narrative in comic book spaces.

have people in the replies and comments eagerly discussing how this is more proof that c+o+m+i+c+s+gate was right and they’re the only reasonable ones. how disgusting and crazy "shippers” are. how donny should keep doing his best to trigger the gays. there’s no pushback against these ideas.

and i’m so fucking stuck between wanting to defend the man, wring my hands and apologise on behalf of the other These People, because i don’t see anything justifiable in their actions, and in being... just... just so frustrated... with everything... with throwing everyone out to the dogs... and claiming that he doesn’t mean to... when he has this whole history of belittling "shippers” specifically... of making sure their public image is that of people who just don’t know what they’re talking about and are in no way worth empathising with... of only drawing attention to the aggressive ones and blocking the reasonable ones

when he literally only stands to benefit from doing all this. 

this is massive amounts of free positive pr.

this makes him essentially immune to criticism of any kind.

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes! 

i forgot! somewhere along the line, he did do something very good and disavowed association with co/mics/ga/te!

[C0M1C5G8]

why the fuck am i censoring? tumblr search stopped working decades ago.

anyway, it should come as no particular surprise why these people assumed he would side with them. not that any high profile writer who values his standing would, really. are there any? maybe there are, i’m not up to date on this drama.

i just think it’s funny - genuinely not his fault, but hilarious - that this was apparently enough to inspire a “boycott”? and it was a fart in the wind?

which is the least surprising thing ever because there is actually nothing whatsoever to hold these people’s ire to be found in venom? excluding aliens, there has been one real and present character who isn’t a white guy in 11 issues? it is actively less queer than it was before? donny has never caved to the essjaywoo pressure in any way, shape or form? what were they... thinking? it’s almost like these people are dumb?

all they've done is ensure that, without it actually doing anything, venom gets the commendation for being A Comic The Gators Don't Like?

anyway.

what do we do moving forward? i don’t know. nothing. not harassing anyone. keep being salty on tumblr. do not engage him. i think i’m more about stalling the chain reaction he’s caused than the man himself. if you’re not a “shipper”, of course, keep posting your criticism, maybe stand up for “shippers” who are being dogpiled over genuine criticism, don’t let people say This Is All Proof Of How You Can’t Have Queer Content Because Queers Are Crazy.

and be nice to mike costa.

[tenspontaneite]

Paper Cranes (24/?)

Hikaru and a friend go visiting.

Warnings: Stress, vomiting, depictions and discussions of fictional terminal illness, and maybe a cliffhanger. This is a heavy chapter. It’s also 20k long, so be wary of that.

---

Hikaru attempted to pay attention to the stones Yashiro was placing on the board. He really did. But it wasn’t the most masterful game, just another game in the Kisei preliminaries, and no one he really cared about was playing it. There just really wasn’t any motivation helping him pay the game its proper attention. In the end, the usual rush of thoughts that a pattern of Go inspired in him was unforthcoming, held at bay by the more insistent rush of giddy incredulity.

After a while, Hikaru’s lack of concrete response made it perfectly obvious that he wasn’t really paying attention, and Yashiro frowned at him, almost uncomfortably. “Are you even listening, Shindou?” He asked, finally, putting down the stone he’d held and crossing his arms.

Hikaru offered an ugly noise somewhere between a snort and a giggle. “No, not really, sorry.” He admitted, still utterly caught up in the absurdity of the situation – and, increasingly, paranoia. Some part of him was rearing its head, saying of course he doesn’t believe you, don’t be ridiculous, he’s going to turn around and tell your mother as soon as your back is turned, and it was becoming uncomfortably assertive. Hikaru pushed the thoughts away with the long practice of someone used to ignoring unpleasant emotions, and leaned back with a sigh.

Yashiro eyed him wordlessly for a few long moments, something contemplative rolling over the expressive edge of his soul. For a moment, it looked like he was going to ask a question, and Hikaru looked up at him expectantly, but…he didn’t ask anything. Instead, he sat for a while, and finally said “I guess you’ve got too much on your mind, huh.”

“I’m still not over how you haven’t called me insane yet,” Hikaru answered, in an unthinking and uncomfortably honest stream of words, and then winced. Clearly he still didn’t have his wits about him.

“Yeah, well, give me time.” Yashiro said dryly, shifting uncomfortably.

Hikaru’s eyes went unerringly to that motion, the pessimistic part of him insisting it was evidence for imminent betrayal, and his guts squirmed with annoyingly persistent anxiety. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, unable to help it. Looking at Yashiro’s soul was only so much help. He couldn’t read minds, and Yashiro wasn’t always the easiest person to read in general.

Yashiro made an odd noise and flapped his hand. “God, I don’t even know yet. Ask me tomorrow. Maybe after I’ve talked to that priest of yours.” He blew air out in an aggressive imitation of an exhalation, making the unruly bangs over his forehead puff out a bit.

Hikaru deliberately nodded, more to himself than to Yashiro, and stood up from the goban to stretch, shaking the numbness out of his seiza-deadened legs. They prickled as blood returned to them in an annoying and unfortunately persistent pins-and-needles sensation. “Well, whatever. I’ll leave you to it, I guess.” He said, and sat down on the side of the bed.

His guest inspected him, a flash of pensiveness passing over his face. “Where do you meet the priest guy, usually?”

He was very tempted to make a comment about Yashiro’s apparent inability to hold his questions in, but resisted. “Usually the shrine.” He answered, shrugging, and made a face at the most recent memories associated with that location. “I guess it’s a crime scene now, though. Dunno if it’ll be open for a while. I wonder if he’ll be assigned to another shrine?” He hadn’t even thought of that. What if it had already happened? Hikaru eyed the phone on his bedside, still yet to be activated, with alarm.

“You’d know better than me.” Yashiro noted, and followed his gaze to the phone. “Where would we be going then?”

“He’s got a flat not too far from the actual shrine. Half an hour walk from here, maybe.”

Yashiro’s eyes narrowed at that, some sort of discerning flicker passing over his soul, but he didn’t comment on whatever he’d thought of. Instead he inquired “Have you told him we’re visiting?”

Hikaru paused. “...No. I should really do that.” His eyes returned to the phone. “Not really looking forward to turning that on though. I don’t even want to think about how many messages there’s going to be.”

“…Yeah, well, I left my fair few of those and I’m probably not the only one.” Yashiro looked vaguely shifty at that. Hikaru would have had difficulty interpreting it if not for the flash of embarrassment detectable by spiritual means. Maybe he’d left some embarrassing messages. Hikaru experienced a prompt flash of interest that proved helpful for his motivation; he reached out for the phone and carefully depressed the button at its side with one of his uninjured fingers, picking it up between his right thumb and index finger to bring it into his lap. The screen flashed and it buzzed, and he watched.

Yashiro observed him for a second or two and then returned his attention to the goban, apparently done with it now that Hikaru was definitively not watching. He reached out to clear away the stones as Hikaru’s phone started buzzing with the first influx of messages.

Hikaru observed with some horror as the notifications came and came and didn’t seem to stop. There were dozens by the end of the first minute, texts and missed calls and voicemails, and in short order the number had rolled decisively over a hundred and kept going. He groaned, turned off the vibrate on the phone before it could overheat into combustion or something, and tried to look through his drove of texts for anything from Utagawashi.

There were fewer from him than from other people, presumably because he was more informed about things than most of the people Hikaru knew. Still, there were a few, and Hikaru scrolled through them with mild discomfort.

‘Shindou-kun. I’m not sure when you’ll see this, but the honourable Yonbi-san has told me that you are safely at a clinic and may be moved to a hospital. It has aided me in taking our mutual acquaintance to my home to recover. I hope to hear from you soon.’

Utagawashi, naturally, had not heard from him soon. To that effect, there was another message, timestamped two days later, reading ‘I’m growing concerned about your silence, Shindou-kun. I’ve not spoken to any foxes recently and have had no updates. Please respond when you can.’ The third message was days later, apparently after Setsu had gone visiting, as it said ‘The Setsu-san informs me that you are conscious and have undergone surgery on your hands. I admit I hadn’t realised your cuts were bad enough for that. I wish you the best in your recovery.’

There was only one more message, two days after the third. ‘I understand you won’t have access to your phone until you are released from the hospital. Please contact me as soon as you are able. I am worried about our mutual acquaintance.’

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. Hikaru thought uneasily of the pain that was staining the air nearby, and held the phone carefully in his two-fingered grip. He glanced across the room at Yashiro, who had by now cleared the goban and put the bowls atop it, and looked to be making a move for his laptop.

Hikaru’s left ring finger, one of the only two usable on that hand, hovered uncertainly over the ‘call’ button. Yashiro knew, now. There was no reason not to call Utagawashi when he was around. But…he still felt residually secretive. Paranoid, even. As though he still had some critical secret to hide.

…Well. He kind of did, didn’t he? There was something important he’d not said. Something that would be very, very hard to hide if Yashiro came with him tomorrow.

He shook his head, as if to summon some sort of resolve, and pressed down. Carefully, he held the phone up to his ear, the grip rather tenuous. The call tone sounded once, twice, thrice, four times – and then there was the clattering sound of a call being picked up in a hurry. “Hello?” Utagawashi’s voice came through, caught somewhere between thrilled and anxious. “Shindou-kun?”

“Who else?” Hikaru asked, garnering Yashiro’s attention. He looked over and blinked at the sight of the in-use phone, sitting back on his heels to observe. Hikaru made a face at him. “Sorry it’s been so long. I only got out of the hospital today.”

“It’s a relief to hear from you. I’m glad you have recovered enough to go home.” The man’s voice was quiet, but sounded genuinely relieved. “How are your injuries?”

Hikaru had a moment where he wasn’t certain whether he was being asked about the physical or the spiritual. He hedged his bets, saying “My hands are pretty fucked up. I got some cut tendons and stuff, so not great.”

Utagawashi made a sympathetic noise over the phone. “I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose that’s what the surgery was for? Will they recover?”

“Mostly, probably, but it’s going to take months. I’m stuck in these weird brace things for ages.” Hikaru shrugged as he spoke, casting another stink-eye at Yashiro, who was utterly unashamedly listening to the audible half of the conversation, laptop unopened at his feet.

There was a span of silence that Hikaru didn’t really notice until it ended, since he was half-glaring at Yashiro, but when Utagawashi spoke next his voice was solemn enough to neatly recapture his attention. “…And…the state of your spiritual injuries?”

Hikaru stilled, and swallowed. The pronounced pause before he responded probably said more than the response itself. “…Not great, either.” He admitted, in a colossal understatement. “Good bit worse than before, so, you know, get ready for that.” He pushed through Utagawashi’s grave silence to continue. “That’s kind of why I’m calling tonight, actually. If I can get my mum to let me out of the house, I was thinking I could visit tomorrow.”

Utagawashi was silent for a few seconds more. “That would be appreciated. There haven’t been any foxes visiting in days, and Kaminaga-san is…I’m not sure what to do. I hope you’ll have some insight.”

He nearly flinched, but suppressed it to a small wince instead. “Insight, like what? What do you think I can do?”

“I doubt you’re the most spiritually wounded person alive any more, but you might still be the most sensitive. And you’ve had more friendly experience with spirits. I don’t know how to call the foxes beyond praying, and it has still been days. I don’t know.” He sounded…frustrated. A little desperate. “Please. Try your best to visit tomorrow.”

“I already said I would.” He grumbled, gut twisting at the unspoken implications all over this conversation. Hikaru knew Kaminaga couldn’t be in a good state, knew, but… “I’ll let you know once I’ve asked, alright? Mum’s gonna be pretty protective of me for a while, probably.”

There was the sound of a sigh over the phone. “Thank you.” Utagawashi said, and left it at that. His voice was uneasy. “I hope to see you tomorrow, then.” A pause. “We’ll talk further in person.” He paused again, as if to give Hikaru the opportunity to say something, and then hung up.

Carefully, Hikaru lowered the phone back to his lap, glad the conversation hadn’t been any longer than that. His fingers were aching a bit.

“That the priest?” Yashiro asked, clearly very interested.

“Utagawashi, yeah.” He nodded, and sighed, looking at the screen of his phone. The call screen had vanished, revealing the somewhat staggering number of notifications he had yet to look at. Hesitantly, he opened his texts and just looked at the names of the people who had contacted him. Touya, Waya, Isumi, Yashiro, Akari…all expected. But there were others. Many others. People he hadn’t heard from in a long time, or who he almost never heard from. Mitani, Kaga, Tsutsui, Akari’s Go club friends, Kadowaki, Kawai…the list went on, including a few numbers that apparently weren’t in his contacts.

He swallowed, a part of him feeling conflicted at the list of names in a way he couldn’t quite put words to. Humbled, maybe, or guilty, or surprised… “He wanted me to visit soon, so tomorrow is fine.” Hikaru said abruptly, to follow up on the actual topic of conversation, and put the phone back in his lap. He wasn’t sure he could face all of those messages right now. Certainly not at once.

“What’s got worse?” Yashiro asked, and Hikaru’s mind was occupied enough with the breadth of the list that he didn’t quite process the question.

“What?” He asked, distractedly, eyes fixed uncertainly on the device.

“You said something was worse than before.” The other boy said, and Hikaru’s eyes snapped towards him, widening a little. “It sounded important.”

Hikaru’s mouth opened, and closed again. For a moment, the weight of his knowledge pressed so heavily on him he couldn’t find the words to reply. The moment after, Hikaru breathed, and acknowledged that in the morning, he would be taking Yashiro with him to visit two people who were both very likely to discuss this topic. One of whom was…certainly not in a good state. Hikaru cleared his throat, and looked away, heart fluttering oddly in anxious apprehension. “…It’s spirit stuff. I thought you didn’t want to talk about that anymore tonight.”

Concern flashed in the movements of Yashiro’s soul, perfectly clear even though Hikaru wasn’t looking at him.  “I did say that.” He agreed, slowly. “But…”

“But what?” Hikaru snapped, the anxiety bubbling out to press tension into the line of his shoulders. “You’re – going to find out tomorrow anyway. So it doesn’t matter.” His eyes flashed to Yashiro, for a moment, and he looked worried now.

“…Sounds like it matters, to me.” The boy said finally. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it tonight, though.”

Hikaru nodded jerkily, and exhaled a breath that sort of shuddered out of him. He stood up and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Yashiro inquired, voice mild, posture shifting as though to get up and follow.

He’d mainly just needed a reason to get up and out of the conversation, but…there was something he needed to do. “Ask mum for some sake for the shrine.” He said, decisively, and left the room. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Yashiro came with him, looking downright inquisitive.

“What, for your kamidana?”

“No, the house shrine.” He said, and found his mother in the kitchen, apparently at work on their dinner. “Hey, mum-“

“Oh, you’re awake.” She interrupted, warmly, looking him over. “Yashiro-kun said you’d decided to have a nap. Are you feeling any better?”

“Kinda.” Hikaru shrugged. “Look, I want some of that sake for the house shrine again.”

She blinked, and her face rearranged itself into something shrewd. “Again, Hikaru? I know I said you should pay respects to the house shrine a while ago, but this is more than I expected.”

He hesitated, but in the end was too tired to mince words much. “I nearly died, but I didn’t. I figure I should say thanks for that.” He said plainly, and watched the stricken look that overtook her face. “Can I have the sake?”

As expected, she really didn’t have any objection to that, and let him go off with the sake in the saucer with only a warning not to take too long at the shrine, as dinner would be ready soon. Yashiro took the saucer for him, since that was kind of tricky for Hikaru to hold at the moment, and trailed wordlessly behind him until he reached the house shrine, and then spoke up.

“So…uh…you actually pray to proper kami, too? Not just the…god of Go?”

“Yeah, a few times. I need to do it regularly now, really.” Hikaru said, directing Yashiro to a particular spot on the whole arrangement. He watched as the boy carefully placed the saucer of sake down, reaching for where the lighter and kaya incense had been moved to. Prying a stick of it out from the box was easy enough, but with only the thumb and forefinger of his right hand properly usable and the rest of his fingers hanging awkwardly in the way, it was tremendously difficult to ignite it without burning himself. He was doing better than he had earlier, at least.

“I can do that, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” He denied, stubborn, and carefully played the stick of smoking incense into the burner.

Yashiro made an impatient noise. “Let me do the candles, at least.” He demanded, and held out his hand. Hikaru glared at it for a second, then nodded, and passed the lighter over. Yashiro managed it significantly faster than Hikaru would have, and then the house shrine was lit with candle-flame, a thin line of smoke wafting upwards, illuminated oddly by the flickering light.

Hikaru breathed out, slowly, and sat carefully in seiza in front of the shrine. Yashiro thankfully went quiet, and after a second of hesitant wavering, sat down with him. Hikaru doubted he’d actually pray, but…it was good enough.

He closed his eyes, and felt the ache in his wounds keenly, in the swollen lines on his neck and hands. Felt, even more strongly, the omnipresent ache of his soul, a grief that was physically painful, that now seemed heavy in every inch of his flesh. For a moment, he felt it too strongly, the pain of the wounds feeding back into a loop of despair that was almost dizzying, and difficult to emerge from. He gasped a shuddering breath, and with long practice, extricated himself. He breathed once, twice, and reached out.

The spark was there in the shrine, subtly different to Sai’s in more ways than one. It was alive, not quite attentive yet, but certainly awake – but there was a feel to it that Hikaru was starting to recognise. He remembered it in the ofuda, in the foxes, in the flood of power that had saved his life. Inari’s spark here was only a hint of that vast strength, but...he recognised it. He remembered, powerfully enough that he nearly felt it, the light of a god rushing through his soul.

There were no words strong enough to thank Inari for what he’d done. There wasn’t anything he could offer that was equal to the weight of his existence – or of Utagawashi’s, or the foxes who had survived. It felt wholly, horribly insufficient to sit here, in front of a shrine, as if that could even come close to the thanks the god was owed. But he didn’t know what else to do.

Hikaru bowed his head, and reached out to the spark. The moment he touched it, it…shifted. He felt it more strongly, now – the sensation of a vast, mighty power turning its eye towards him from impossibly far away, staring straight into him. He shivered, terrified in the way a mouse would be in the path of a dragon, and tried not to outright start shaking. You saved my life, he told the spark, the conduit to the consciousness of a deity, and hoped that something of his desperate gratitude made its way through.

There was a pause, a second that rolled like the turn of a planet, and then something pressed dizzyingly into his consciousness. A hint of soul-flame, the Gobi’s, burning itself out. A hint of desperate prayer, written in the voice of one-who-is-mine. A hint of desperate pleading, called out in despair. Sacrifice, breathed the Spark of Inari, and burned into him the barest, most distant hint of what it felt like for a god to die. Sacrifice, for a worthy cause.

Hikaru’s hands trembled in their braces, his body shaking freely, and he tried to remember how to breathe evenly. I’m sorry, he thought, unthinkingly, almost incoherently, at that horrible feeling of finality, so utterly beyond his comprehension.

He gasped in something like pain as the weight of the god’s communication pushed forwards again, a flurry of soul-concepts that were so bright they burned. Threat to one’s own, it said, and blood spilled on holy ground, and the prayers of the desperate and the dying. Then, in a flare of power that made pain explode into his skull, the Spark said three things: NECESSITY, SELF, INEVITABILITY.

It hurt enough that it was an enormous struggle not to break the contact, to snap back from the spark in the shrine. His energy quivered with the intent, nonetheless, instinctive terror and pain bursting into it like blood from an artery. Hikaru couldn’t even think of trying to understand what the kami was trying to communicate – it was too vast, too powerful, too bright-

Some whisper of recognition, of pity, filtered through into his soul. The Spark dimmed itself, as though trying to lessen its overpowering impact. More than a mortal soul should see, it said, burning smaller, but no less bright, no less loud, for all its trying. It hurt.

A breath, like understanding, flickered along the edges of…something. Where the Spark’s conduit led, beyond his ability to feel. Gratitude, was the last thing it set alight in him, and then the god’s eye turned away. The presence in the shrine receded, and it was just a spark again. Nothing bright, nothing unknowable, nothing of the agony it had spread by its mere existence a moment before – just a spark, resting quietly within a kamidana.

Hikaru gasped for breath, feeling like he’d not breathed in minutes, and found room in the world for sight and sound and touch again. There was a hand on his shoulder, a voice in his ears, his eyes snapped open and the incense had burned out and Yashiro was leaning across his front, calling urgently.

“-indou. Shindou, can you hear me? Say something, dammit-“

“I’m fine,” He choked out, in a quick rush, and doubled over. His whole body hurt, the world seemed too-bright, and there was a headache burning behind his eyes that was beyond almost anything he’d ever felt. His energy was quivering erratically in the wake of it, and he couldn’t quite hold it still.

Yashiro’s hand came up to his face, actually pulling one of his eyelids back, before Hikaru managed to weakly and ineffectually slap it away. Alarmingly, his energy followed the motion, only just falling short of the boy’s soul. “Shaking all over and crying and going unresponsive is not fine, Shindou!” He hissed, and Hikaru realised what the cold wet on his cheeks was. “What the hell happened? I almost thought you were having a seizure!”

Hikaru looked at Yashiro’s scowling, worried face, and then looked away again. Looked up at the shrine, and the candle-light flickering there. “I…just wasn’t expecting it.” He said shakily. “Last time wasn’t like that. I don’t know what changed.” He was more injured now, and more sensitive. It surely made some difference, but he couldn’t have expected how it would amplify the experience of connecting to the spark in the shrine.

“What are you even talking about?” Yashiro demanded, voice still more forceful than usual from the strength of his concern, and he wouldn’t stop fussing. He tried to lay his hand over Hikaru’s forehead, the skin feeling surprisingly cool in the seconds before Hikaru pushed it away – and then stilled, realising too-late that the vast tide of his power was still confusedly following the motions of his hands, sweeping out in an uncoordinated sheet of light.

It was nothing like it had been with Touya, when he’d lost control. Nothing but a vague and meandering flap of his energy on the edge of Yashiro’s soul. But it was nonetheless alarming that it had happened, and…by the way Yashiro flinched, he thought he’d felt it. He didn’t react nearly as much as Touya had though, and just kept on scowling at him, so Hikaru tentatively relaxed.

“Stop fussing.” He grumbled, eyeing the boy’s soul warily. “It’s just more spirit stuff, anyway.” He looked back at the kamidana, uneasy, and conducted a quick check of his wounds. He didn’t find any new damage, and the donated chunks of fox were still properly in place, but…it had hurt. It still hurt, and his energy was still jittery and moving without his conscious control. Praying at the shrine hadn’t been anything like that before, and the experience had thoroughly shaken him.

“Spirit stuff makes you look like you’re seizing?” He pressed, and his voice wasn’t really helping the headache. Hikaru winced at him, and carefully, started to pull himself out of seiza, clamping down tightly on the movements of his energy. He didn’t want to fall over, and he certainly didn’t want to kick anyone in the soul.

“Sometimes, apparently.” Hikaru answered irritably. “I’ve had worse, it’s not a big deal. I’ll ask Utagawashi about it tomorrow.” Or…Kaminaga maybe, if he was in a state to answer questions.

Yashiro did not look particularly appeased by his words, which just sucked for him. Hikaru swayed in place a little, briefly closing his eyes against the pain of his head, and staggered to his room in search of painkillers. He managed to dig out a packet of half-used paracetamol from one of his drawers and stared at it critically, remembering that he was on kind of a lot of painkillers and anti-inflammatories already. He wasn’t sure it would be alright to take more.

Grimacing, he put it back. Yashiro, following as always, tracked the movement. “You’re not taking any?”

“I don’t know if it’s alright with the other stuff I’m on.” He admitted, and gritted his teeth. “It’s alright. I’ll deal. It’s just a headache.” An absolute dick of a headache, maybe, but he was used to pain. He could manage. At least the full-body pain wasn’t lingering too badly, or the spiritual disturbance for that matter.

Yashiro scrutinised him, but eventually nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Alright.” He said, warily. “But I think you should avoid any more…spirit-things. For today, at least.”

Hikaru snorted. His every living moment pretty much constituted a spirit-thing, now. “Yeah, whatever.” He agreed, vaguely flopping his orthosis-clad hand, and watching carefully to make sure his energy didn’t follow it. It didn’t. It had settled down quite a bit already, now only feeling residually sore, and more prickly than usual, but…even that small loss of control was worrying.  “Let’s go downstairs. It’s probably not long till dinner.”

---

Dinner was a thankfully quiet affair, Yashiro apparently picking up on the ongoing persistence of Hikaru’s headache and promptly telling his mother about it, after which all dinner conversation was conducted in a very bearable muted tone. Hikaru felt rather grateful for it, but wasn’t sure how to express it other than by making a bit more effort to be polite.

He couldn’t use chopsticks, and had to resort to using a spoon like a child. He barely even managed to do that much, and needed both hands to hold it. He ignored the offers to help as fiercely as he could and steered the conversation elsewhere.

A topic that did come up was his plans for the next day. Hikaru hesitated, shared a look with Yashiro, and said “I was going to go visit a friend, actually.” His mother blinked, and he knew her well enough to read the automatic and very protective denial she was about to produce, so hastily cut it off with “And Yashiro’s coming with me, so it’ll be fine! He’s…” Hikaru stopped himself from saying ‘a complete fusspot’, since he was trying to be a bit more polite out of gratitude, and lamely finished “…responsible.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her surveying stare slipping sideways to Yashiro for a moment, who straightened reflexively at the look. After a moment, she relented. “Yashiro-kun does seem to be very sensible.” She allowed, not appearing wholly convinced.

Yashiro cleared his throat, and volunteered “My parents made me do a long first aid course before they let me move out. If anything happens, I won’t be useless.”

“Oh.” She looked slightly more mollified at that. “Hm. Well, then, maybe. Where was it you were planning to go? Do you need to get the train?”

“No, they live not too far from grandpa.” Hikaru elaborated.

“Oh,” She said again. “I didn’t know any of your friends lived nearby. Who is it?”

Yashiro watched for his response with interest. Hikaru kept his face very even and lied “Setsu. Remember, I was telling you about…him? I haven’t known. Him. Very long.” It was weird to try using gendered language for Setsu, no matter that it apparently didn’t care about how it was referred to.

“Then why visit him first?” She asked reasonably.

“He’s closest.” Hikaru said vaguely, and answered a few more questions in as bland and round-about a way as he could manage until she finally acquiesced to the outing.

“Alright, Hikaru. You and Yashiro-kun can go out. But you’ll tell me when you leave, and if you’re out for more than three hours you need to call me to tell me so.” His mother decreed, and that was perfectly acceptable, really.

By the end of the meal, Hikaru was feeling exhausted enough from the conversations and the ordeal with the house-shrine that he excused himself at the earliest opportunity, Yashiro following him upstairs just a moment later. “You’re going to sleep already?” He asked, surprised, as Hikaru delicately extricated some pyjamas from a drawer.

“I’m exhausted.” Was Hikaru’s answer, as he took the pyjamas to the bathroom to attempt to navigate clothing and brushing his teeth on his own. He vaguely managed the toothbrushing by holding the brush just behind the head, but it was clumsy and ineffectual at best.

Similarly, he managed to navigate his way out of his clothes, and into the pyjama bottoms, but getting the buttons done up on the nightshirt proved pretty much impossible. He had a thumb and forefinger to work with, maybe, but without the other hand in useful commission it was absurdly difficult to get anything done. He’d picked the one with buttons because he’d already learned that getting into a non-buttoned t-shirt was much harder than getting out of one, but the buttons were even more impossible. He’d hoped these would be easier than the one on his jeans, but…in the end he scowled and just walked back to his room shirtless.

Yashiro raised his eyebrows at the sight of the apparently neglected shirt over Hikaru’s arm. Or possibly at Hikaru’s torso. He didn’t really care which.

“Buttons.” Hikaru snarled at him, by way of explanation, and dumped the pile of clothing in a corner of his room. He was usually tidier than that, and Yashiro certainly looked affronted, but…he just didn’t have the energy.

“Do you want any help?” His guest asked, after a moment. “It’s cold, after all.” It was a fair statement. Japanese houses were often optimised to deal with the stupidly hot summers, and tended to get unfortunately cold in winter. Hikaru probably would get cold, sleeping without a pyjama shirt. He wavered, torn between being sensible and the humiliation of needing a friend to help dress himself. “It’s really not a problem, Shindou.” Yashiro told him, as if reading his mind, and Hikaru scowled.

“Ugh. Fine.” He muttered, and set his jaw, bending to pick up the abandoned shirt. He pulled his hands in their orthoses carefully through the sleeves, which was about all he’d managed by himself before. Yashiro’s face was carefully neutral as he stepped up and matter-of-factly fastened the buttons for him, and thankfully, there was no hint of judgement or anything similar in his soul, either. Maybe a bit of sympathy. It was alright. Hikaru still felt humiliated, but it was alright. “…Thanks.”

“No problem.” Yashiro asserted, and easily stepped away to go fetch his own bed things.

Hikaru blinked at him. “It’s still pretty early, you know. You don’t need to go to sleep just because I am.”

“No harm in an early night.” He replied easily, and headed down the hall to the bathroom. He was so weird, sometimes.

Hikaru huffed out a disgruntled breath, still vaguely embarrassed, and got himself into bed, laying down on his back. It was pretty much the only position he could sleep in, with his hands the way they were. It took some getting used to. He slept on his back sometimes, sure, but all the time? It was probably at least partly why he’d slept so poorly in the hospital.

Gingerly, he pulled the duvet up over himself, and closed his eyes. Yashiro came back in not much later, and made a bit of noise setting up the futon, but it wasn’t long until the light had been turned off, and Hikaru could finally drift off into sleep.

---

As he’d sort of expected, Hikaru didn’t sleep particularly well that night, either. The tension surrounding the day’s visit followed him into unconsciousness, and he kept slipping in and out of sleep with the vague feeling of I wonder if I should get up, yet. In most of those cases, it was still utterly dark outside, and he fell asleep again. Eventually though, there was light through the window, and it took a lot more effort for Hikaru to make himself fall back into fitful slumber.

In the end, Hikaru groggily peeled himself from bed at around nine in the morning. Yashiro’s futon was already made and folded, the boy’s presence ensconced downstairs, but his mother seemed to still be in her room. He warred with himself a bit, frustrated and yet-again embarrassed, but eventually conceded to the inevitable and went to ask her for help with bathing.

Hikaru spent the next hour or so being assisted with a shower, and then carefully walked through his exercises, and then finally having breakfast. The upcoming visit to Utagawashi loomed unpleasantly in his mind throughout, and Yashiro certainly noticed how quiet he was.

Eventually, there was no good reason to put it off, and Hikaru went with Yashiro to the door to get his shoes and coat on. He needed help with that, too. In the end, it was a very tense Hikaru who left the house-wards, Yashiro apparently feeling free to ask questions once they were out of earshot of his mother.

“You don’t seem very happy to be visiting your priest.” He commented, glancing down at Hikaru as they crossed the road. It was a cold morning, and their breath puffed white into the air, but it at least wasn’t raining, even though the skies were grey. Hikaru’s fingertips varied on whether they felt cold or just numb.

“I’m not. It’s going to suck.” Hikaru said bluntly. Grimly, even. He looked at Yashiro and bit back an unhappy noise, distinctly not pleased that the boy was going to get a direct insight into things he wasn’t sure he was ready to talk about. He looked up at the overcast sky, breath coming a little quickly from distress, and stopped near a neighbour’s garden wall to get himself together.

Yashiro slowed, and hovered near his shoulder. “Shindou?”

Hikaru’s fingertips twitched, unable to clench into a fist. He struggled for words and eventually managed something. “…Look. Yashiro. If you come to Utagawashi’s today, you –“ He stopped, frustrated. “You’ll hear…things.”

“Things.” Yashiro repeated, neutrally.

“Depressing things.” He clarified, scowling. He deliberately did not look at the boy beside him. “You don’t need to come. It’s just going to be…” It was a futile effort. He knew it was. But… “It’ll suck.” He finished, lamely. “You won’t like it.”

Yashiro regarded him, inwardly obviously worried, but his expression just sort of firm. Resolute. “I’m coming with you.” He informed, with absolutely no room for compromise.

Hikaru jerked his head down in a poor imitation of a nod, and kept walking. He hadn’t expected anything else, really, but even so…

Thirty minutes was a fairly long walk in the cold, especially when you’d been bedridden for the better part of two weeks. Ordinarily, Hikaru might have daydreamed, losing himself in thought as his feet walked a familiar path. But…this time, it was less than five minutes before he started to feel the sourness in the air. He could ignore it, at first. Another five minutes passed, and then ten, until he was gritting his teeth and grimacing at the ground, his most functional fingers trembling horribly.

“Shindou?” Yashiro prompted, concerned, when they were half way through the walk. “You look a bit…” He trailed off.

“I’m fine.” Hikaru bit out, and kept walking.

Pain was alive in the air, blanketing the world like a sickening mist. It swept and spiralled around him as he walked, as he and his massive energy passed through it, spreading into him and through him and staining him with its touch. Nausea began to press delicately around his throat, every step taking him closer and closer to its source. By the time he was ten minutes away from the house, he had to stop to gasp for air, pressing a hand to his neck to try to quell the urge to throw up, and waving off Yashiro’s concern.

It got worse. It got a lot worse. Kaminaga was close, now, and he was steeped in pain and horror and the kind of awful guilt that nothing in the world could console. Hikaru shuddered, forcing himself to step onwards, feeling the trauma of demon-borne injuries raked through the soul of him, feeling the sickening violation as it took him and choked him and ate him whole. He’d killed him, killed him, tore his throat open and watched him die with steel in his throat, he’d killed him-

Hikaru stumbled and nearly fell, saved only by Yashiro, who grabbed hold of him and dragged him to a nearby wall to sit down. “Hey, hey, hey, careful, Shindou. Are you feeling sick?” He said, still somehow sounding perfectly calm.

Hikaru opened his mouth to try to reply but gagged instead, barely managing to hold back the vomit, and struggled to his feet. “I’m fine.” He managed, his own voice sounding distant around the pounding in his ears, the stutter of his breath, the sick beat of his shuddering heart – “I’m fine. Just – need to get there. It’s. Fine.”

“Shindou.” Yashiro complained, following quickly at his heels, hovering close in a clear attempt to be available to catch him if he fell again. “You are stupidly, obviously not alright-“

A fresh burst of pain and horror washed over him, as though projected straight from the source, and Hikaru stumbled again. Tears welled in his eyes in an instant and were falling the next, leaving cold trails down his cheeks. I killed him, Hikaru thought numbly again, and it wasn’t his thought but he couldn’t think around the sheer horror and pain forcing its way down his throat. He managed three more steps before it overwhelmed him and he collapsed to his knees, the world going red and senseless with agony.

He’d killed him, killed his oldest friend, felt the flesh of his throat part around a blade, felt his friend’s helpless soul swallowed down like blood into the steel, felt the teeth and the thorns that gripped and bit deep – felt the horror that ripped out of him, out, out, out, until there was nothing human left of him-

“-dou! Shindou, for fuck’s sake!” Hikaru’s awareness returned, hinging crazily on Yashiro’s voice and the pain in his limbs and the tears on his face and the burning in his throat- “Shindou! Can you not hear me again? Hikaru, I swear to god-“

He shuddered, and replied dazedly, automatically “’Hikaru’?” He managed, voice suddenly croaky and strained. He coughed, and something nasty splattered on the floor. He looked down and found himself a short distance from a puddle of vomit. Well, that explained that. “Calling me by my first name out of nowhere, Kiyoharu? This is so sudden!” He mock-swooned into Yashiro’s arms, which wasn’t hard to do, because Yashiro was right there and Hikaru was in fact very dizzy.

“…Well, you’re probably not dying, if you can still be a little shit about things.” Yashiro commented, calming down now that he’d got some response out of him, and pulled him up to his feet. “Come on, we’ll just go sit down over there for a bit, use your legs, you wuss.”

“You’re a wuss.” Hikaru muttered sullenly, voice still feeling awful from, presumably, hacking up a load of acid. He allowed himself to be led to the nearest low wall and sat upon it, shuddering as another wave of bleak agony threatened to overcome him again. Trembling, he pulled his stained fan from his pocket with two fingers, holding it as a focus more than anything. He certainly couldn’t swing it, but…

Hikaru focused, pretended very hard that he was swinging the fan, and swept out his energy to clear and burn through the taint that had spread into the air around him. Or…not the air. Obviously not the air. Energy? It had to be, but it was so thinly dispersed, it was nearly undetectable…

“I think you should call off the visit. Maybe go back to the hospital for a check-up.” Yashiro said, digging about in his pockets until he found a screwed-up tissue of some sort. It had clearly been there a while, but Hikaru wasn’t about to pass it up when it was offered to him, and wiped around the edges of his mouth immediately, though he had to put his fan in his lap first.

“I’m not sick.” Hikaru croaked, after he’d cleaned himself. Yashiro gave him an incredulous look, and gestured expressively at the nearby puddle of horrible vomit. “It’s – it’s not me. It’s Kaminaga. He’s…fucked up.” To put it mildly.

Yashiro went very still, and Hikaru realised that...he’d not actually told him exactly where Kaminaga was, had he? “…Kaminaga is with your priest friend?” He asked, very quietly.

“Yeah. Don’t be weird about it.” He instructed, and closed his eyes to try fending off the next wave of choking shame. He was only partially successful, and hunched forwards abruptly to gag again, not bringing anything up this time, but his eyes starting to water again profusely as his body shook. Hands immediately came to rest on his shoulder, Yashiro leaning over to rub awkwardly at his back.

“Not sure how I can ‘not be weird’ about going to visit a killer, Shindou.” He said, his soul looking deeply conflicted.

“What, I’m Shindou again now?” He asked mockingly, as he tried to gather his thoughts together.

“I can call you Hikaru if you like that better.” Yashiro’s voice was very dry now, which was at least an improvement.

Hikaru’s nose wrinkled. “No, that’s weird.” He complained, and broke out coughing again. Apparently not all of the acid had come up the right way.

Yashiro waited patiently until he was done, and then spoke. “Why the hell are we going to see a murderer, Shindou? And what does that have to do with you being sick?”

Hikaru stared at his hands, quiet, and tried to think of the right words. “…People’s souls can be hurt. Kaminaga got possessed by the demon, and that fucked his up a lot. I can feel it.” An understatement. He hoped that his own injuries didn’t do the same thing – was he leaking grief and pain and despair into the air like a burst pipe, like Kaminaga was haemorrhaging shame and horror and agony? What a horrible thought.

Yashiro was silent for several moments, an instinctive scepticism passing over his soul, muffled a second later by a considering sort of feeling. “And that makes you throw up?”

“First time Kaminaga met me, he threw up.” Hikaru said unthinkingly, and then instantly regretted it. Sure, there was no way today was going to end without Yashiro finding out about the fucked-up state of his soul, but…

He ignored the concerned, evaluating eyes on him and reached out to shakily clear the air again.

“Kaminaga’s hurt more than anything I’ve felt before. It’s…really shitty, to feel it.” He shuddered again, and tried to stand up, Yashiro immediately at his elbow. “It’s not going to get any better, so I just have to deal with it.”

“I’m still not sure why we’re going to see him in the first place.” Yashiro said flatly, and Hikaru made a frustrated noise.

“I just need to talk to him, okay? And Utagawashi thinks he might need my help. None of the foxes have been around for a while and I’m the next best bet.”

“None of the what?”

Hikaru ignored the incredulous words and determinedly staggered onwards. Not long to go now, and periodic use of his energy helped keep the haze of pain at least mostly at bay. His body ached and clamoured with it, jittery and weak, but…he walked. One step at a time.

By the time he reached Utagawashi’s small building of flats, Hikaru had pulled his energy inwards into as concentrated a shape as he could manage, trying to keep too much of the ambient suffering from reaching him. He was obviously somewhat successful, since he wasn’t hunched over on the ground any more, but it was distinctly not easy.

He breathed, in and out, and reached out to buzz Utagawashi’s flat. He was lucky he remembered which one it was, really, since he’d only been there once before.

A short, strained exchange over the intercom got him in, and Hikaru pulled himself down the hallway to Utagawashi’s door. The man was waiting there, eyes running over him anxiously, and then settling with surprise on Yashiro. “…Shindou-kun.” He said, stare flicking between his two guests. “It’s good to see you. You brought a friend?”

Yashiro stopped beside him, and politely, said “I’m Yashiro. We’ve talked before, I think.”

It was either the name or the overwhelmingly obvious Osaka dialect that clued Utagawashi in. His expression flashed with recognition as he said “Oh, you’re the friend from Osaka.” He looked to Hikaru, startled. “I wasn’t aware Shindou-kun had told anyone about…well…”

“Spirit things?” Yashiro prompted, dryly.

“Well, yes.” The priest admitted, hovering nervously in the doorway. He hadn’t let them in yet. “I…well, that is to say, do you know who you’re visiting today?”

“I know Kaminaga is here, if that’s what you’re asking.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Which…well, it was fair enough. He’d only found out about it ten minutes ago at most.

Hikaru twitched, and walked forwards until Utagawashi had to back into the flat to avoid him. “Come on, I want to get this over with.” He insisted, ignoring the priest’s weak protests.

“Shindou, you rude shit, wait to be invited in.” Yashiro said indignantly from the doorway, and a moment later was waved in by Utagawashi. Hikaru didn’t bother replying, though. His attention was elsewhere.

Sat in seiza in a corner of the floor was Kaminaga.

He did not look well.

Hikaru exhaled slowly, and stepped forwards. By now the enduring horror of Kaminaga’s demon-borne energy felt like a constant barrage, as though it were in some way as aggressive as what it had come from. But it wasn’t. It was just senseless, thrashing agony. Kaminaga was sat there on the floor, looking superficially unharmed, but trembling like a leaf and breathing too quickly for it to be normal. His expression was twisted, his eyes open and flicking around without resting on anything, without seeing anything. He looked…genuinely terrified.

Slowly, the other two stepped up beside him. Hikaru wasn’t sure what Yashiro was thinking, as he stared down at the man, but Utagawashi cleared his throat and spoke. “He’s…he’s not responsive. Not since a while after the foxes left. He does what I tell him to, if I repeat it enough, but…it’s like he’s not really hearing me. Or seeing me. Sometimes he’s briefly lucid, but it never lasts. And he feels…” He trailed off.

“He’s fucked up.” Hikaru said, voice feeling oddly flat. Faraway, even. The intense concentration it took to fend off Kaminaga’s aura of pain at this range made it hard to focus on anything else. But he tried.

Kaminaga’s energy was curling inwards, inwards, spiralling around his brutalised soul in a frenzied motion of ongoing terror. Hikaru could almost see what it was doing. The energy itself was stained with pain and guilt, and as it went by it set off the light of the soul, set off the energy clinging to the tattered edges of it, lighting up in horror horror horror again and again with every passing second. It was…it was like those months Hikaru had spent trapped in grief, wallowing in it, unable to move on from it or find anything worth waking up for. It was like the moments that kept almost happening again, if he focused on it for too long, if he didn’t avoid thinking about it.

But worse. Kaminaga’s injuries were worse, and…really, by a certain reckoning, the emotions were worse too.

Hikaru breathed, slowly, deliberately resisting the energy-borne impulse of terror that wanted to set in and quicken his heart and prepare him for fight-or-flight.

Grief was horrible. Loss was horrible. It was an aching pit that never felt like it would get any better, a profound lack in the world that made everything bright and enjoyable seem stained and worthless. It was a true breed of suffering, but…a heavy one. It was a slow, oppressive sort of suffering. It propagated lethargy, and depression, and apathy.

Terror was another thing entirely. Terror, and horror, combined with the pain – they were a very insistent, very demanding combination. They consumed the mind, if you let them. Kaminaga was more injured than him – noticeably so, but not calamitously so – but the emotions lighting up in him…

“I’m going to try something.” Hikaru heard himself say, distantly, as he gathered his energy. He had to be careful. Strong, but careful, he looked so fragile-

“Shindou?” Utagawashi said, worried, but he paid him no mind, nor Yashiro, nor anything else.

Hikaru lashed out and scattered the mire of pain twisting around Kaminaga’s body. The man gasped, eyes opening wide, almost focused – Hikaru reached out with his energy as if with a hand and clawed at what was there, at the shroud of foreign power that the man had trapped himself in, pulling at it and tearing at it and shredding it into the air. He didn’t touch the soul at all, but – Kaminaga choked, eyes finally settling on Hikaru, horrified recognition wakening in them as he shook and shuddered and then hunched over. He retched, and Utagawashi was very quick with retrieving a nearby mop bucket. Kaminaga vomited into it, wretched and shaking but finally aware.

But only for a minute. Before Utagawashi had even finished rubbing his back and murmuring to him and tending to him, the remaining energy was already swirling in, already lighting up the mindless terror again, moving with almost purposeful direction. Hikaru gritted his teeth, and snapped “Stop thinking about it!”

Kaminaga staggered up straight again, staring at him. Numbly, he accepted the tissue from Utagawashi and wiped his mouth, then croaked “What?” He sounded hopelessly confused. As though….well, as though he’d woken from a nightmare to find a weird teenager yelling at him.

“Don’t think about it.” Hikaru repeated, the words feeling strange on his tongue, like an internal mantra that had come loose into the air. “Or you’ll get – stuck. Like you were.”

As Kaminaga stared, there was a brief, powerful flare of energy, so strong Hikaru could almost see what it was connected to – a gaping throat, metal sliding between layers of flesh, blood burbling out around it as quickly as water from a faucet. Hikaru reached out and slapped it away, and the man flinched back. “It’s…difficult not to think of this.” He said, after a moment, each word slow and measured and deliberate. He was starting to get his breathing back under control, by the looks of things. “It is…very intrusive.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Hikaru muttered, and looked down at him. For a moment, the parallel of it was…dizzying. He stood over a man knelt in seiza, and had power over him. A man who had, with their positions reversed, held cursed steel to his neck.

For a moment, Kaminaga’s breath went shallow again, in time with the way his energy began to curl instinctively inwards as though summoned there – but then, mercifully, Utagawashi did something Hikaru hadn’t really expected, and set the bucket aside to put a hand on Kaminaga’s shoulder.

“Breathe, Kaminaga-san. I know you’re capable of meditating.” He said, quietly, and the man looked at him. The expression on his face was exceptionally hard to read, but at the distraction the mess on his soul did calm a little. He breathed.

“I was the one who taught you to meditate.” He huffed, voice still gravelly from disuse, and more than slightly distracted-sounding besides.

“Then prove it, and see about clearing your mind a little, if that’s what Shindou-kun thinks will help.” Utagawashi told him, surprisingly firmly, and Hikaru’s eyebrows went up. He waited for Kaminaga to make some sort of cutting remark, like he had while he was under the demon’s influence, but there was nothing. The man snorted quietly, then sighed, and closed his eyes. His breathing took on the sort of forced regularity that suggested a struggle to calm it.

Hikaru watched, oddly fascinated, as first the lines on the man’s face furrowed deeply in a pained scowl, preceding his attempt at attaining some sort of balance. The tension was forcibly exhumed from those very features, the muscles in his face loosening, then his shoulders, then his arms and hands, every line of his body settling into something less awfully strained. Hikaru hadn’t realised how tense the man had been until he so deliberately relaxed, and that was all the more noticeable for how the frenetic and pained energy around him reacted to it.

It settled, somewhat. It was jerky and distressed and churning with guilt and pain, and given Hikaru’s experience, he didn’t think that would ever go away. But it wasn’t actively reinforcing itself, now. It wasn’t far off it – but Hikaru didn’t think he’d have to reach out to slap it around at a moment’s notice, which had to be an improvement.

For Yashiro, who couldn’t sense that spiritual undercurrent, it must have been a pretty weird experience, standing there watching a killer try to get himself together via a particularly aggressive attempt at meditation. Hikaru glanced over at him, and found the familiar thinking-scowl back in place, the boy evidently befuddled and just as evidently tense.

It became a little awkward for a couple of minutes. Hikaru didn’t want to speak or move too loudly for fear of disrupting whatever tenuous balance Kaminaga had found, and apparently neither did Utagawashi. Yashiro didn’t move or speak either, but Hikaru wasn’t sure how awkward he was finding the situation, because by the looks of his soul he was doing some serious thinking. His scowl was more pronounced than usual, too.

After a while that probably wasn’t as long as it felt, Kaminaga’s exhalation came out in a heavy sigh, and he moved, bringing a hand up to his face to rub at the heavy grit at the edge of his eyes. “What a mess.” He murmured, quiet and exhausted, as he opened his eyes. They lingered on Hikaru, briefly, then flickered to Yashiro with a light frown. Then he looked away. “We’ll need to talk about this.” He said, sounding oddly lost, oddly frustrated. “There were….things I was supposed to tell you, Shindou-san. It’s so very difficult to think of now.” The way his hand moved to rub at his temples suggested that there was a pretty bad headache underway.

“I think you should probably clean up a little first, Kaminaga-san.” Utagawashi suggested, gently, and carefully reached out to pull him to his feet. The man went willingly enough, and frowned at him. “I imagine your mind will feel a little clearer then.”

Kaminaga stared for a few moments, then acquiesced. “Oh, very well. I can’t look better than I feel, I suppose.” He grumbled, and with a last reluctant glance at Hikaru, headed for one of the doors, which turned out to have stairs behind it.

Unexpectedly, Utagawashi followed him. This apparently prompted some commentary from the now out-of-sight Kaminaga, filtering quite clearly down the stairwell as they receded from view.

“What, you’re coming with me?” was followed by the reply of “I hardly want you to pass out as soon as you’re upright for five minutes, do I?” and then a surprisingly merciless comment of “Besides, it’s not exactly new for me, after the past two weeks.” After that, the voices faded into indistinct murmurs, and faint creaks of movement on the floor above.

Hikaru felt himself relax a little, unbidden, once Kaminaga was out of view. He could still feel him, energy seeming precariously on the edge of more of its vicious cycling, but he wasn’t there in the room. He should have expected it to be stressful just to see the man, but he’d been thinking of other things.

He sighed, and staggered over to Utagawashi’s dining table to pull out a chair. He collapsed into it and was half-way to bringing up his hands to his face like Kaminaga had when he remembered the orthoses. “Ugh,” he expressed, and planted his face on the table instead.

There were footsteps, and the scrape of the chair beside him being pulled out. Yashiro settled into it, and said “That was…something.” He paused for a second, as if waiting for a response, and Hikaru grunted at him. Then, in the absence of any more sophisticated reply, he went on: “So. I’m maybe ready to hear about spirit-stuff now.”

Hikaru groaned, and sat up. Yashiro’s face was still in the thinking-scowl, but less aggressively so than it had been a few minutes ago. “Well that’s just great.” He sighed, and set his hands in their hell-instruments onto the table. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“You could start by explaining what just happened there?” The boy suggested, which was…probably the easiest place to start, honestly. A lot easier than starting at some hypothetical ‘beginning’.

Hikaru mulled over the words, pondering how ridiculous they sounded before they were even voiced, but in the end was too exhausted to quibble much about how stupid everything was. “Kaminaga was possessed by the demon, which seriously fucked over his soul,” He decided it was as good a starting point as any. “So he’s spiritually mutilated now. When that happens…I think what happens is the energy leftover in the injuries soaks up whatever you were feeling? And it ends up in this….vicious cycle, I guess. I broke him out of it.”

Yashiro stared as if he were trying very hard to find a way to call bullshit, but uncertain of where to even start. Hikaru was fairly adept at interpreting that expression on people, which was why he recognised it so keenly. “That sounds completely ridiculous.” He said, finally, and made an extremely disgruntled noise. “But – fuck, I guess ridiculous is just the new normal, now, okay. Are you going to have to do whatever you did again?”

He'd just…accepted it, apparently. Just like that. For a brief, unexpectedly intense moment, Hikaru really appreciated that uncomplicated acceptance. He exhaled, looking up at the ceiling, and considered the state of the energy. “He’s…kind of on the edge, so maybe. He’s managing okay for now though.” His eyes flickered downwards to his hands. “If he keeps his mind off it, he should be alright.”

“That’s great.” Yashiro said unenthusiastically, and groaned again, clearly baffled at the unlikelihood of the situation at large.

Hikaru offered a sympathetic hum for that, and the silence stretched for a few seconds, allowing the muffled voices from upstairs to filter through. Utagawashi said something in a sharp tone, but Hikaru couldn’t hear the words. Kaminaga’s energy stilled a little from its perpetual turmoil, so it was probably in aid of something positive.

Finally, Yashiro sighed, and spoke again. “How did you even get mixed up in all this spirit stuff in the first place? How long has this all been going on?”

Hikaru snorted, very softly, as the quiet stretched around the words that had been hung there. “Ha.” He said, humourlessly, and thought of the many possible answers to that question. “The Kaminaga problem only started like…a month ago. I met Utagawashi back in…I think June? Yeah. But…”

He stared at the table for a long time. Yashiro, thankfully, seemed to have put his patience-hat back on, and sat there wordlessly waiting for him to get his thoughts together. It reminded him a bit of Akari, actually, and he wondered if that meant they’d both just individually figured out it was the best strategy for managing his reticence.

“For me, the spirit-stuff started when I was twelve.” He said, finally, and didn’t look at Yashiro. His fingers were trembling again. It wasn’t as if he was telling someone like Touya, who might immediately recognise the significance of the age, the name…. “I met a ghost. He…His name was Sai.” He exhaled, heavily, trying to exhale the nerves with the air. It didn’t really work. “He’s...the reason I started playing Go. My teacher, I guess.” He breathed, and breathed, and couldn’t quite seem to make himself say any more.

Yashiro just…watched him. Hikaru didn’t look at him, but could feel that subtle edge of understanding, the edge of sympathy, settling onto his soul. “I guess he’s not around anymore?” He asked, almost gently. Really, he was just…stupidly intuitive, enough so that Hikaru briefly felt terribly exposed to be talking about this where Yashiro could see him.

“Nope.” Hikaru agreed, trying for a flippancy that didn’t especially work.

The boy sighed, and it was a fairly sad-sounding one too. “Sorry, Shindou. That sucks.” He said, apparently able to read Hikaru well enough to know that that was the thing that needed saying. “I bet he must have been a good teacher, if you only started playing when you were twelve. That’s hardly any time at all.”

“He used to be a Go teacher when he was alive.” Hikaru said, almost without thinking, and had to rein in a strange, bubbling laugh at how quickly those words had come after years of secrecy. “To an emperor, even.”

“…Emperors have Go teachers?” He asked, baffled, and Hikaru did laugh at that. It was short and stilted and didn’t sound much like a laugh, but he couldn’t hold it back.

“Back in the Heian era, apparently.” He said, glancing over, and coughed out another unhappy laugh at Yashiro’s incredulous expression. “He was…an old ghost.” He fell silent, turning back to stare wordlessly at the table, and then down at his hands.

Yashiro shifted beside him, the movement reflected in the creak of the chair and the rustle of clothing. Eventually, he said “I guess you’ve been keeping this all secret for a long time, if no one else knows what was really going on with Kaminaga.”

Hikaru hummed in agreement, but couldn’t find any words in him to elaborate. He inspected the harsh lines of his orthoses, trying his best to ignore the grief that was all-too-ready to engulf him if he let it.

A moment later, Yashiro made an odd noise, like he’d suddenly realised something. “That ghost is who you’re praying to at that kamidana in your room, isn’t it.” He prodded, speaking with an abrupt kind of certainty. “The ‘Kami of Go.’”

He jerked his head up to look over, in a movement quick enough it felt like flinching. “Where the hell did you get that from?” He demanded, pulse quickening for reasons he wasn’t certain of. It was…unsettling, maybe, to be so transparent, to have personal things just understood like that. He exhaled carefully through the sudden flash of defensiveness and tried not to wait too keenly for Yashiro’s answer.

“It just…makes sense, I guess.” The boy hedged, blinking awkwardly at him. He looked almost surprised at Hikaru’s reaction. “You were so cagey about that kamidana, and the whole incense thing – it had to be something important. And if that ghost is gone now-“ He hesitated at something, eyes settling on Hikaru’s face, and stopped. “It just makes sense.” He concluded, looking unusually restless. Concern was written on his soul, and it made Hikaru feel even more pathetically exposed, like an open book daring people to read him.

“Yeah.” Hikaru said, using the word less as an agreement and more as a blunt force object to wedge the topic closed.

Yashiro opened his mouth, frowned, and then closed it again. It was almost visible on his face, how he thought of different things to say and then dismissed them, eventually apparently deciding to steer the conversation to less sensitive ground. “What I don’t get is how things with that ghost – Sai? – led to all this…” He waved his hands vaguely as though to indicate the room. “…bullshit. With you being targeted by a demon. How does that work?”

Hikaru felt some horrible tension that had collected in his shoulders relax a little at the latter words of that inquiry, just to have the pressure off. Kaminaga, despite having nearly caused his death, was a lot easier to think about than Sai was. “…I was looking for someone who knew things about ghosts.” He said finally. “That’s what I went to Kyoto for back in May. I didn’t find anything, but a while afterwards I found Utagawashi. He’s spiritually sensitive, and he was Kaminaga’s student for a while, so he knew some things. But like – his advice…” He tried to find a good way to describe Utagawashi’s advice. “…wasn’t good for me.” He decided, in something of an understatement. “So he called Kaminaga to come and help, but it turned out he had a demon problem, and it all went from there.”

Yashiro stared at him, brow furrowed. “That….doesn’t really answer the question.” He said, slowly.

Hikaru straightened a little, unexpectedly indignant. “How does that not answer the question?” He demanded, his defensiveness prickling again. “That’s how it all happened!”

“Yeah, but why were you looking for someone who knew about ghosts?” Yashiro asked, all-too-reasonably, his own voice raising just a little to match Hikaru’s. “Your Sai – I guess something happened to him? What were you actually trying to do?”

He stilled, the half-formed ire draining out of him, and looked away. He felt, more than saw, Yashiro going quiet and patient again, waiting for a response.

Hikaru stared out at the opposing wall, the thought of Sai twisting painfully and relentlessly in his gut. He’d just been trying to get answers. All he’d wanted was to find some hint of hope to cling to, some sort of substantial goal. But instead… “Mostly, I just wanted to find out if there was a way to….find him again. Get him back.” The deep well of grief in him cracked open at that, and his breath hitched and then shuddered on the enormity of it. It had been months. Months and months of pain, of mistakes, of worsening his own injuries and then a month of being hunted, and still...

Yashiro watched him carefully, eyes too-perceptive. “Was there a way?” He asked, the tone of it even but…careful. So controlled.

Hikaru’s breath hitched strangely on the inhalation, that oh-so-careful prompt almost following the thread of his own thoughts. It was suddenly all too much. “I don’t know!” He snapped, as though the words had been knocked out of him, voice cracking on the sheer frustration of it all. “Utagawashi didn’t know, and Kaminaga was too busy getting possessed by a fucking demon, and-“ he breathed, and stood so abruptly he half-knocked over his chair in the process, suddenly restless and angry and brimming over with fear. “-and, I still have no fucking clue. I’ve just been – trying not to die. I don’t know.” His hands twitched in the orthoses. The wounds ached. He wanted to hit something, to kick something – instead, he exhaled, the breath so heavy he almost had to force it out, and stomped aimlessly across the room.

He found himself, somehow, in front of a bookcase with an ofuda adhered neatly to its door. Numbly, he reached out, and drew his hanging fingertips carefully over it. With Kaminaga here, it was strangely difficult to feel, but…there were wards here in the walls. The brightness of it was clean. Familiar. He reached out to the light and tried to ground himself in it, inhaling, exhaling, letting his hand fall again. He closed his eyes and breathed, but it didn’t seem to slow his heart down at all.

Yashiro didn’t say anything, or try to approach, which was a small mercy. He just waited, soul twisting conspicuously with worry and a forced patience, for Hikaru to get himself together. Hikaru huffed at himself, frustrated at his outburst and even more frustrated with the turns his life had taken, and not sure what to do about any of it.

In the end, he stopped standing in front of a random bookcase like a madman, and turned abruptly on his heel to approach and sit at the table again. “Sorry.” He said, gruffly, as he fell heavily into the chair, determinedly not looking at Yashiro.

“’S’alright.” Yashiro said easily, sounding honestly unbothered. “Seems you’ve not had much luck lately, huh.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Hikaru grumbled to the table, and leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh.

“What are you gonna do now?” The boy asked, and weirdly enough, the question felt strange and novel as Hikaru’s mind automatically considered it. “Are you going to ask Kaminaga about it? Since now he’s not – you know. Trying to kill you.” His voice was vaguely dubious at that.

Hikaru snorted. “I don’t think so.” He said, mind loosening a little to consider the answer. He’d avoided asking before, and had justified it by needing to focus on survival, but now… “I guess I’ll just have to ask Setsu,” He decided, unhappy, a knot of apprehension forming in his stomach. “Next time I see it.” He felt the questioning spike of motion in the soul beside him, and glanced over to see the thinking-scowl set into a confused cast. “Setsu’s a fox.” He elaborated, and in spite of everything, watched with interest for Yashiro’s reaction.

The other boy’s expression contorted into an admittedly amusing wrinkling of resigned scepticism. It was an unusual look. “A fox.” He repeated, flatly. “What, like a fox-fox, or a shapeshifting folklore fox?”

“Folklore fox.” Hikaru clarified, with the slightest twitch of the corner of his lips. “I know a few, but Setsu’s the strongest. Four tails and everything.” Abruptly, the memory of the more powerful fox – five tails strong – cast a pall on his hint of good humour. He pushed the recollection away with every ounce of willpower he could muster. “Inari sent it to protect me.” He added, with forced cheer, and was gratified to watch Yashiro’s expression becoming even more hopelessly befuddled.

“Inari.” Yashiro repeated, apparently having lost the capacity to do anything other than echo the idiocy coming out of Hikaru’s mouth.

“Kami are real.” Hikaru informed him, and that elicited a rather pathetic groan. “Yeah, I know. Trust me, it gets weirder.”

Yashiro rubbed at his eyes, and then glanced upwards as though trying to solicit mercy from one of the beings they were discussing. “Does that have anything to do with that fit you had at your house shrine yesterday?” He asked, finally, and looked back just in time to see Hikaru wince.

“…Yeah.” He admitted, begrudgingly, and felt his headache briefly worsen at the memory of the pain of it. “I dunno why that happened. It was never like that before.”

“Maybe you can ask a fox about it?” Yashiro suggested, voice a little strained. “It should know, if it’s an Inari fox? Maybe?” He made a frustrated sound and gestured helplessly with one hand. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about kami or spirits or ghosts.”

Same, Hikaru almost said automatically, but bit the word back at the thought of Yashiro’s likely reaction to that. And, really, even with what little he knew, that was still a lot more than most people had. “I’ll talk to Setsu.” He repeated, and tried not to be too conspicuously terrified of that looming prospect.

Yashiro acknowledged that with an awkward nod, and after a while cleared his throat, glancing up in the direction of the muffled voices and then down again. “What do you think Kaminaga wanted to talk about, do you think?” He asked, with the edge to it that spoke of someone desperately trying to change the topic. It was a poor question, if that was his objective.

Hikaru shifted, about five different unpleasant topics immediately coming to mind. “Nothing good, probably,” He answered, and wasn’t sure whether he dreaded that or the current awkwardness more.

Either way, he did feel an instinctive flash of relief when he realised that the footsteps upstairs seemed to be moving more, and the presences he detected were decisively making their way out. It meant he’d have to deal with Kaminaga, maybe, but he clearly wasn’t at his best. Maybe it would be alright.

Both of them fell silent as they waited for their host and his unfortunate guest to show themselves, which didn’t take long. Kaminaga looked fresher and less horribly dishevelled when he reappeared from the stairwell, but the bags under his eyes remained immense, and he walked with an odd stiffness that didn’t seem entirely natural.

“We’re back.” Utagawashi offered, somewhat needlessly, as he emerged as well, fluttering briefly and then deciding on something to do. “Would any of you like drinks?”

“Some water, maybe.” Hikaru said, still too-aware of the taste of acid in his mouth.

“Uh, yeah, water, thank you.” Yashiro agreed, and Utagawashi disappeared into the small kitchen while Kaminaga, slowly, stepped forward and took a seat at the table, each of his motions unusually careful. Hikaru leaned back a little on instinct, and suppressed an inappropriate laugh when he saw that Yashiro had done the same.

Kaminaga was silent for a second or two, and then he turned to Yashiro. “I don’t know you,” He said, quietly, his voice still rough, but less so than earlier. “I suppose you already know that I’m Kaminaga Keiji. I apologise for the poor circumstances.”

“Do you?” Yashiro answered, sounding conspicuously on-edge, and Hikaru did a double-take at how unexpectedly confrontational it was. He looked over, and Yashiro was scowling, but this time it actually looked hostile. It was remarkable how much it changed his bearing. Hikaru was suddenly reminded that Yashiro was in fact very tall for his age, that fact at once strangely more noticeable than it had been before.

Kaminaga blinked slowly at him, and there was a brief flurry of the ever-present shame in his energy, somehow hidden completely from his face. “Yes.” He said, frankly, with such a tone of gravity that Hikaru couldn’t help but straighten at it. “My carelessness has cost lives, and that is not something I can ever change. Believe me when I say that I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.” A shadow flashed across his eyes at the words, and Hikaru thought he could guess why.

Yashiro’s eyes narrowed, and he sat back, crossing his arms. Hikaru didn’t say anything, and just watched, oddly fascinated by the confrontational bearing of his friend. He had his hackles up, and that wasn’t something Hikaru had really seen before. “I thought the man in Yokohama was the only one you killed.” He said, not-quite neutrally. The tone was a bit too condemning for that, the edges of the words bristling with a quiet hostility.

Kaminaga looked at Hikaru, then, and despite there being no hint of that demon-driven haze remaining there, it still made him flinch. “I count the spirits. Do you?” He asked, tone deceptively calm against the guilt and fear and horror that kept moving, again and again, in the energy around him. He had a better grasp of it now, but it was there. It was unmistakeable.

Hikaru swallowed. “Yeah. Of course. I just –“ He looked at Yashiro, whose outward hostility had loosened a little as he looked over as well. “I didn’t tell you yet. There were foxes at the shrine with us. A lot of them died.”

Yashiro stared at him seriously, brow furrowed, and exhaled. “Shit.” He expressed, finally, and his shoulders slumped a little. “I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.” Kaminaga said, and sat back. “And there’s more than that to apologise for, as well.” The man’s eyes snapped back to Hikaru’s again, and it was all he could do not to stiffen up at the mere glance. As it was, his heartrate immediately quickened past its already-fast pace, a spark of adrenaline loosed into his system from ingrained fear. “I hunted you.” He admitted quietly, and in Hikaru’s peripheral vision, he saw Utagawashi stop in the kitchen doorway, steps stuttering at the sound of the words. “I followed you and hunted you down and would have killed you if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“…It wasn’t you.” Hikaru said, voice a little strangled, and fought the urge to shuffle back and get out of Kaminaga’s line of sight. “I could feel that from the start.”

“Even so.” He insisted, and…there wasn’t any point in trying to convince this man that he wasn’t completely at fault. That he, personally, hadn’t been responsible for the deaths. The weight of the guilt on him was utterly immovable, and looking at him, Hikaru understood the futility of ever trying to change that. It would be as pointless an endeavour as trying to convince him not to be upset about Sai. The shame and horror were written into him, etched into his being like words into stone. They wouldn’t leave until he was dead, and maybe not even then.

Hikaru swallowed, carefully not thinking about that, and nodded slowly. “It sucked.” He agreed, voice subdued. He had no heart for the idea of saying much more. There was nothing in him that felt angry at Kaminaga now. Maybe he had been before – angry he’d not been careful enough, angry that he’d not listened – but now…it was wholly and horribly evident that Kaminaga did not exactly need to be prompted into feeling penitent.

He looked away, just in time to see Utagawashi resume walking again, setting the glasses of water on the table and taking his seat beside Kaminaga. It was strange to feel the two of them in proximity. Two souls, one hopelessly mauled, one merely grazed. But Utagawashi hadn’t escaped from the ordeal unscathed, it seemed – the edges of one part of him had eroded a little, as though eaten by acid, and there was energy clinging to the wound left behind. Hikaru thought he had to be a lot more sensitive now.

It surely had nothing on Kaminaga, though. Hikaru winced at the sickening mess of the man’s soul, the tattered edges of it deteriorating almost visibly as they spoke. It was more than slightly horrifying to watch.

Kaminaga must have said something, but Hikaru had become preoccupied – he didn’t notice until Yashiro nudged him in the shoulder, saying his name. “Shindou,” He prompted, patiently, and leaned back as Hikaru blinked and looked at him. He nodded in the direction of the man whose soul he’d been beholding.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, distracted, and looked back at Kaminaga, taking care to focus more on the man than the soul.

Whatever Kaminaga had said, he didn’t seem to have much interest in repeating it. Instead, he regarded Hikaru for a few seconds, and asked “How does it look to you? The damage, I mean.” He smiled humourlessly, adding “It’s somewhat hard for me to tell.”

Hikaru shuffled awkwardly. “…Not great?” He offered, and grimaced. “Worse than me. Not sure how much, but worse.”

“I’d say you’re somewhere around a tenth more mutilated than Shindou-kun, Kaminaga-san.” Utagawashi interjected, a familiar grimace over his own face as he looked between them. “It’s fairly pronounced.”

Kaminaga looked appraisingly at him, and seemed about to make a comment when Yashiro interjected.

“Excuse me, but what.” He said, politely, but with an uncompromising flatness to the words. “Mutilated. Mutilated what?”

Hikaru felt his stomach sinking almost as if it were a real physical occurrence and not a piece of fanciful imagery. As one, all three of them looked at Yashiro, and then Hikaru became the recipient of the stares.

“He didn’t tell you?” Kaminaga asked Yashiro, an eyebrow raising. “That his soul is considerably more injured than most people who are able to live to tell about it?”

Hikaru flinched as Yashiro’s eyes shot his way, heavy with wary frustration. “You sort of hinted, I think, earlier.” He said to him. “About how he threw up when he met you.”

“Yeah,” Hikaru agreed, helplessly, hunching down a little in the chair. His throat closed oddly, as though responding to how very little he wanted this to be a topic of conversation.

“That’s true. He was terribly injured before I even breathed in his direction, though I can only have made it worse. Tell me,” He spoke directly to Hikaru, with a sort of commanding imperiousness that felt familiar. So that part of his personality hadn’t been all-demon, after all. “Are you much worse now?”

He shifted resentfully in the chair, the wounds on his hands aching conspicuously. “Can’t you tell?” He demanded, irate. His eyes flickered to Yashiro, whose expression had gone near indecipherable. His soul, however, flickered in an unhappy, suspenseful pattern of concern. There was the shape of slow, wary anticipation there, too.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Kaminaga admitted, and Hikaru’s eyes snapped up to him. “If this delightful new level of injury will give me greater sensitivity, it hasn’t happened yet. All I can detect is-“ he waved his hand in the air, and Hikaru was perfectly able to infer the reference to the haze of pain and fear his energy propagated. “-this.”

Hikaru twitched, and remembered distinctly how much practice and mental adjustment it had taken to be sensitive to anything other than the pain and despair of his injuries. “You get used to it.” He offered, after a moment. “After a while you’ll be able to feel other things.”

“Helpful to know, I suppose.” The man sighed, and leaned back. “And on the note of injury….I’ve got important information for you. Utagawashi-san, do you have a pen and paper?” He turned, and the man beside him fluttered into motion, still looking profoundly bizarre out of the kariginu.

“Of course,” he said, and returned in the space of thirty seconds with a pad of post-it notes that looked like some sort of free hand-out from some company or the other, and a ballpoint pen. Kaminaga accepted them carefully, and as he wrote, Hikaru noticed that his hands were shaking.

Kaminaga looked up and regarded Yashiro. “I still don’t know your name, but you should be aware that what I have to tell Shindou-kun now will be quite serious and upsetting. And personal, as well. If he doesn’t want you here for this conversation, I think you should respect that.”

“No offence, but I’m not leaving him here with you and someone I don’t even know.” Yashiro replied instantly, scowling fiercely, and then looked over warily at Hikaru, as though he might disagree.

Hikaru considered it. He really, honestly considered it. He was pretty sure of what was about to be discussed, and it was exactly what he’d feared Yashiro overhearing. Maybe he could just…make Yashiro leave. Not have to deal with it. He debated it for several depressing seconds, and sighed.

It wasn’t an option. Not really. Yashiro would be all hurt and pissed off about it even if he did agree to go, and…

His fingers shook, fighting the urge to clench. Hikaru exhaled, and resigned himself. He really, really didn’t want Yashiro to know. But, at the same time…

“It’s alright.” He said, finally, and Yashiro relaxed a little.

Kaminaga nodded, and slid the piece of paper across the table. Hikaru took it warily, Yashiro leaning over his shoulder to read, and saw four lines of writing – one in kanji, one in some sort of Romaji that didn’t look English, and the third again in kanji – a name. The last was a phone number.

Kaidan Shokogun, the first line read. The second, Kaidan’s Multiple Sclerosis. The third, Dr. Sato Hitomi.

“Ghost story syndrome?” Hikaru asked, incredulously, focusing on the first line for now. Kaidan did indeed refer to a ghost story – but an old kind. The sort that were steeped in folklore and spirit-tales. It was an old word, and not one he’d exactly heard a lot, outside the mutterings of superstitious old people.

“One of the reasons you originally contacted me was to learn about what drastic spiritual injuries do to a person.” Kaminaga said, and his voice was very calm now. Hikaru envied that, a little – that ability to sound so well-collected when there was so much writhing beneath the surface. “In my years as an exorcist, I’ve dealt with several people with injuries either not quite as bad as yours, or…in a few few cases, as bad as mine are now. I’ve learned a few things that may help you.”

He reached out to tap the first line, and then the second. Hikaru’s eyes followed the motion unerringly.

“Kaidan syndrome, or in the Western term, Kaidan’s Multiple Sclerosis, is the name given by medical scientists to the physical consequences of trauma to the soul.” Hikaru wasn’t sure what passed over his face at those words, but it brought a grim and unhappy smile to Kaminaga’s lips. “In the modern day, of course, the doctors don’t associate it with actual spiritual encounters. They merely list complex hallucinations as a common and noteworthy symptom of the disease. But they study it nonetheless, and if you need it, they can provide treatment for you.”

“Treatment,” Hikaru repeated, voice oddly shaky. “What sort of treatment.”

“Steroids and painkillers for the most part, to deal with the main physical symptoms.” Kaminaga sighed and sat back. “I believe some current research is investigating the use of drugs that suppress the immune system as well, but that’s unlikely to be available for people like us for a long time. They might offer some medications to help with the emotional disorder of our condition. Antidepressants, for example.” Hikaru grimaced strongly enough to elicit a huff from the man. “It’s an option, at any rate. You don’t need to take it, but it’s only right I tell you that it exists.”

Hikaru was silent for what felt like a very long time, thinking. Yashiro stayed silent beside him, and the adults across the table as well. “…What does happen, with this?” he asked, finally. “Setsu said it would get worse, but it didn’t know about the…actual disease stuff.”

Kaminaga regarded him heavily. “You’re getting worse?” He asked, and his voice was…strange. Half-resigned, like he’d already suspected, but not confirmed. He didn’t wait for a response, apparently reading it in the silence, and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.” He said, and the words had all the weight they deserved. The heaviness of them struck him dumb. I’m sorry, he said, exactly like someone offering condolences for a fatal prognosis.

For a moment, Hikaru forgot how to breathe. “What’s going to happen?” he asked, again, and ignored the heavy churn of suspicion and sickening dread building in the soul beside him. He didn’t want Yashiro to hear this. But he’d warned him. He’d warned him. He’d decided to stay. And Hikaru needed to know.

“Multiple sclerosis is a disease where the nerves in the brain and body are broken down slowly over time.” Kaminaga said, graciously moving on at the prompt. “I’m no expert in it, but I understand that chronic pain, tremors, muscle spasms, and difficulty walking are all very common. In later stages you may have problems with important body functions, like breathing and digestion. I’d suggest looking into information on the disease if you want to find out more. I’m afraid I never had significant motivation to learn more than the basics, before now.”

Hikaru stared down at his hands. “Wouldn’t this have happened to me before, then?” He asked, numbly. “It’s been years since I got injured.”

Kaminaga tilted his head, as though to consider it. “I imagine it did, at least mildly. Perhaps you were in unusual pain, or felt weak or shaky, but dismissed it until it got better.” He said, after some thought. “I understand that in isolated cases of soul trauma, the physical damage does eventually heal. That’s no longer applicable to you or I, though.”

It was possible. He’d been in enough of a numb, apathetic haze during those two months that he might have overlooked any number of things. He’d certainly felt terrible, but it was hard to remember the specifics now. “I’m going to get worse slower than you.” He said, abruptly, and felt very keenly the pieces of other souls that were holding him together. Two foxes, and Sai. “I’ve got…some of the foxes gave pieces of their soul to me, to help. It’ll slow it down.” He opened his mouth to suggest maybe you can do the same thing, but…hesitated.

He suddenly doubted very, very strongly that any foxes would be willing to give up a piece of themselves for Kaminaga.

Kaminaga blinked at him, as though pleasantly surprised. “Oh, well that’s very good to hear.” He said, and the sentiment sounded genuine. “Did the foxes tell you how much difference it will make? How long do you have?” It was…very much a question one asked of someone who was dying.

Beside him, and across the table, there were twin sharp inhalations. The dread in the seat next to him reared up, chokingly powerful, and Hikaru couldn’t look. He couldn’t. He stared straight down at his hands. “Setsu said,” His voice wavered, cracking briefly. He cleared his throat and managed to finish. “Setsu said thirty years, maybe.” He could almost feel the shocked eyes burning into his skin, so contrary to the near-relief that was coming from Kaminaga.

Someone’s breath had gone harsh and forced. Someone was trying to control it, trying to rein it in, trying to exhale through the mess their emotions had become. And for all that it was a terribly familiar sound, one that he was intimately acquainted with…that breathing did not belong to Hikaru. He clenched his eyes shut, and didn’t look.

“Incredible,” Kaminaga said, his honest delight utterly incongruous to the mood of the room, and yet Hikaru understood it perfectly. “That’s far better than I would have thought.”

Something gave way. There was a heavy, shuddering ripple of the human soul beside him, and then the too-loud sound of a chair screeching backwards over the floor. Hikaru looked over in reflex, seeing Yashiro standing, fists clenched at his sides, head bowed, eyes hidden behind a mess of grey hair. “Excuse me.” He said, tightly, through clenched teeth, and turned and practically ran for the door.

Hikaru’s mouth opened, as if to stop him, and fell shut without a sound. Yashiro reached the door of the flat and stepped through it, and the slam of its closing echoed too-loudly in the quiet room.

The silence rang as his presence receded down the hallway, and Hikaru didn’t know what to do.

A restless distress itched under his skin. He wanted to go after him, but the thought of the inevitable confrontation was nearly unbearable. He quivered between the two impulses, helplessly torn, limbs feeling heavy and unpleasantly tingly with the intensity of the stress. “Shit.” He muttered, under his breath, and finally looked up at the others at the table.

Utagawashi’s face was white, starkly pale and crestfallen, but not surprised. Evidently he’d heard something of Kaminaga’s prognosis from the foxes, and had had at least an inkling that it might also apply to Hikaru. It hurt to look at, but not as much as it did to consider Yashiro.

Kaminaga’s expression had settled into a resigned, sympathetic frown. “Perhaps you ought to have told him more before you came here.” He said.

“Don’t.” Hikaru bit out, and exhaled in a quick, unhappy puff. “I should – I should go after him.” He muttered, frustrated, fingers twitching uncomfortably. Every motion pulled at the swelling of the wounds. Yashiro had stopped outside the building, upset written all over the soul of him, and it made Hikaru’s stomach churn and twist nauseatingly.

“Please wait a little, unless he’s going somewhere. There’s only a little more to say.” Kaminaga requested. “Is he leaving?”

“…No, he’s just outside.” He admitted reluctantly, and relented to the urge to rub at his face with the palm of one hand, however carefully he had to do it with the orthoses on. “Shit.” He said again, because it bore repeating.

Kaminaga eyed him carefully, and nodded down to the piece of paper again. “The name on there is of a doctor and medical researcher. She works on our disease specifically.” He waited until Hikaru managed to get some of his attention onto the paper before continuing. “The phone number there would get you through to her office. She knows my name – I’ve sent patients her way in the past – and if you mention it she could likely get you through the process of being diagnosed much more quickly than if you went through your doctor. She’d want to use your information in her research, but it’s well worth it for most people.”

“…Does she know about spirits?” Hikaru asked dully, staring at the number.

“No. She merely thinks that as a ‘so-called’ exorcist, I tend to run into people with the tell-tale symptoms frequently.” Kaminaga smiled wryly at that.

“…I don’t think I’m going to talk to her, but thanks.” He said eventually.

“Don’t discount it so easily.” The man cautioned. Utagawashi was looking between the two of them as they spoke, quick anxious movements. He looked close to wringing his hands. “Like any decent medical professional, she respects confidentiality. No one has to know if you end up on medication, except possibly your parents.”

Hikaru jerked back at the mere notion without even thinking about it, any willingness to consider the idea gone in an instant. “Um, no.” He said, very insistently, and scowled.

Kaminaga snorted. “I don’t know what the legality of it is. Maybe she wouldn’t be obligated to tell your parents, but I haven’t any idea. I suppose if you’re that opposed to the idea you can always wait until you’re an adult, if you’ve still thirty years ahead of you.” He looked, briefly, very conflicted.

“Maybe.” Hikaru said noncommittally, mostly to try to get done with the conversation.

The man regarded him for a moment, and then sighed. “Keep the information safe, at any rate.” He said, resigned, and then reached into a pocket on his haori to extract something, and slid that across the table as well.

Hikaru beheld it with utter confusion. “That’s a phone.” He said, uncertain of what else to point out.

“That is the phone I use for my work as an exorcist.” Kaminaga said, and Hikaru looked up at him incredulously. Surely he wasn’t going to suggest- “Tonight I intend to turn myself into the law, and whether or not they manage to convict me before I die, I won’t be in any condition to continue my work. If you are truly going to live so much longer…” He exhaled. “Of course, it’s completely up to you. But there are very few people in Japan capable of dealing with some of the spirits that cause problems.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Hikaru said, flatly.

“Frankly, Shindou-san, you’ve already killed a demon god. I can’t imagine much else will trouble you after that.” Kaminaga’s lips turned downwards. “I hardly have any ability to force you. But it is a source of income, if you want it.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m already a professional Go player, but thanks.”

“Yes, I…we were aware.” Kaminaga said, and his eyes went briefly distant. The energy churned sickly around him. “In any case, I’ve said my part. Do what you want. Then there’s only one thing left to mention – the katana.”

Hikaru stiffened. “The what.”

Utagawashi shifted uneasily and spoke. “The physical form of the demon blade still remains, Shindou-kun.” He said, delicately, and then hastened to speak again when some sort of involuntary, awful noise emerged from Hikaru’s throat. “But it’s not a problem! There’s nothing alive left in it. It’s only a powerful spiritual artefact now – the Yonbi-san confirmed it, if you trust its word.”

He hissed out a breath through his teeth, uncomfortably aware at how quickly his pulse was racing. It hadn’t exactly been slow through any of this – the various turns of conversation had all been pretty stressful – but now he felt liable to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Maybe once I hear it from Setsu myself.” He said, voice distinctly on-edge, and looked warily around the room. “Where is it?”

“Hidden upstairs.” Utagawashi assured him, frowning worriedly. “It’s honestly not demonic any longer.”

“Does it have ofuda on it anyway?” Hikaru demanded, pain aching in hot lines along his hands and neck. His pulse thrummed against the swell of the cut over his jugular.

“…Yes, actually.” The priest admitted, and he allowed himself to relax slightly.

“I intended to offer it to you, if you wanted to use it.” Kaminaga said neutrally, and Hikaru wanted to laugh in his face.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” He denied, heart still refusing to slow. “Maybe it’s not alive now but it still nearly killed me. I don’t ever want to see that thing again.”

“…I don’t blame you.” His once-tormentor admitted, exhaling slowly. “I feel much the same. I suppose it’ll rest in your keeping, Utagawashi-san.” The priest did not exactly look thrilled at this, but he nodded agreeably enough

“…Is that everything?” Hikaru asked, on-edge and jittery and exhausted, and still far-too-aware of the awful mess of emotions seething in Yashiro outside.

“I suppose it is.” Kaminaga said, and Hikaru didn’t need any prompting to get up from the table. He hesitated, and very carefully picked up the glass of water between the palms of his hands, and took a couple of gulps before he turned to head for the door. “Shindou-san,” The man said, and he stopped. “I expect you’ll be asked to testify against me.”

“…yeah?” Hikaru looked at him suspiciously.

“Please do precisely that.”

Hikaru’s eyebrows shot up, startled. “…Alright?” He agreed cautiously, and received a plainly relieved nod in turn. “I don’t really see the point, though.” He said, after a moment. “It’s not like you’ll be in jail for long.”

“I’d rather not spend the rest of my admittedly short life in hiding, if you’ll excuse me.” The man said, quite dryly, and sighed. “I’ve committed a crime and I intend to be convicted for it, if I can.”

Hikaru eyed him, and then the state of his soul, and determinedly did not argue. “Alright.” He said, finally, and edged towards the door. “Can I go now?”

“Take your paper. And the phone.” Kaminaga told him, indicating the items on the table.

Reluctantly, he shuffled back and stuffed the bit of paper awkwardly into his pocket, along with the phone. He stared at the two adults at the table, uncertain of what to say, and then in the end just nodded at them. “I’ll see you some other time, Utagawashi.” He decided after a while. “And Kaminaga…good luck, I guess. I don’t know if I’ll see you again.”

“Good luck to you as well, Shindou-san.” Kaminaga said, his voice and the lines of his face both sombre. “I’m sorry to have taken you down with me, so to speak.”

Hikaru wanted to say stop it, get him to stop self-flagellating so flagrantly when it didn’t help anyone, but there probably wasn’t any helping that. Shame was a part of Kaminaga now, as much as his flesh and blood were. Hikaru exhaled heavily, and nodded, and headed for the door.

He approached the exit of the building more slowly than he could have, hyper-aware of Yashiro’s presence loitering outside. When he left, and looked around, he found the other boy sitting on a wall, hunched forwards a little, hair spilling over the top of his face. Hikaru lingered for a second, desperately reluctant to approach, but forced himself forwards.

Yashiro must have noticed him in his periphery because he looked up before Hikaru had quite reached him. For a moment, his expression was open and helpless and utterly lost, looking so very young. The rims of his eyes were red and his cheeks were wet, and the very sight of him sent some complex and sickening emotion surging down Hikaru’s throat. Guilt, maybe. Misery, for certain.

The too-vulnerable expression didn’t last. His face screwed up awfully, in a gesture Hikaru recognised as a futile attempt at self-control, and a couple more tears leaked fitfully from the corners of his eyes. Hikaru wavered where he stood, feeling utterly stricken at the sight of such obvious, unmistakeable distress, and covered the remaining distance if only so he didn’t have to look directly at it any more. He sat heavily on the wall and stared ahead at the quiet street. By some mercy, there wasn’t anyone around, except for the cars that passed carelessly along the road.

He held himself there, horribly tense, with no idea what to say. Yashiro’s breath came in unsteady, wet-sounding gasps, and everything about it was awful to listen to. His unusually expressive soul was by no means helping.

In the end, it was Yashiro who managed to say something first. “You’re dying.” He said, thickly, and the sound of the words out loud forced Hikaru’s eyes closed against the dizzying emotion they provoked. His pulse thrummed shallow and thready against his skin. “That’s what – that’s right, isn’t it? That’s what you were talking about.”

Hikaru’s breath quickened with its own distress, and he couldn’t particularly help it. “…Yeah.” He agreed, voice hoarse, and shuddered at having admitted it. It was horrible. It was awful. It was an unimaginable relief. His shoulders shook and he wasn’t sure which emotion was causing it.

“Fuck.” The word was utterly raw, and when Hikaru opened his eyes to look over there were fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. In some awful reciprocal reaction, he felt his breath hitch again, eyes burning. Yashiro’s mouth opened and failed to speak for several more shuddering, gasping seconds, and that was horrible too. “When did you – how do – when did you find out?” There was a half-numb, half-horrified shock in his voice that was uncomfortably familiar.

Hikaru raised his arm to wipe the first hints of water from his own eyes with his sleeve, trembling all the way. “Not long. A few days ago, maybe.” He croaked, eyes predictably blurry. “Setsu visited me in the hospital and – told me.”

“How does the fox know, though?” Yashiro asked, words increasingly matching the edge of desperation on his soul’s pattern “Could it be wrong? Can’t you – heal the soul stuff, or something?”

“Setsu isn’t wrong.” Hikaru said, hollowly, and felt the edges of his wounds more keenly than ever. “And I can’t heal my soul unless I die. That’s just…” He trailed off. “That’s it.” He finished, more quietly. His cheeks were wet again.

“Thirty years,” Yashiro exhaled, the sound of it like it could have been torn from Hikaru’s own agonised thoughts, and hunched forwards again helplessly, bracing his hands against his knees. His shoulders absolutely shook, and he was crying and wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise, and Hikaru teetered precariously on the edge of doing the same.

He choked back the threat of a shuddering sob, and held some facsimile of control tight in his gut. His eyes were watering and his shoulders shaking but no more. No more. He couldn’t. Not here – not anywhere – but especially not here. There weren’t even any people around to see, it was just him and Yashiro, but – he couldn’t. His breaths hitched and stuttered as he held himself away from the precipice of collapse, and all the while Yashiro made no such effort whatsoever. He was sobbing and choking on tears, the shape of him shaking with every awful sound, every breath, every second.

He tried at least three times to say something, to try to get some sort of direction back into the pit of absolute misery the two of them had generated between themselves, but every time he opened his mouth felt like it he was issuing an invitation for a calamitous breakdown. So he stopped each time, took in more long, shuddering draughts of cold air, and felt the headache behind his eyes soar more spectacularly with every passing minute. Hikaru breathed and Yashiro cried, and that was all either of them could manage for a horrible, timeless stretch of wordless misery.

It was a long time before Hikaru was able to speak. Eventually, finally, when he was getting so dizzy he wouldn’t have been surprised to pass out, he managed to say “This is…part of why I want to try finding Sai.”

Yashiro lifted his head, face absolutely soaked in tears, and cleared his throat. “Yeah?” He managed, in a particularly miserable voice, and raised his hand to wipe at his face again.

“Sai’s the reason I got injured.” He confessed, finally, something about the tears and the raw distress passing between them that made it possible to speak. “He didn’t mean to. He didn’t know anything about how spirits worked, or souls, or – but he – he did possess me.” Yashiro blinked, some hint of clarity pressing its way through the abject unhappiness. Hikaru trembled and couldn’t stop but did manage to continue. “Not like – not like the demon on Kaminaga. He was just…hanging onto me, I guess. Following me around. He wasn’t hurting me. It’s just – when he disappeared…” He cleared his throat, heart aching, and grounded himself desperately into the too-fast thrum of his blood. “…I guess he took a huge chunk of my soul with him, and that’s how it happened.”

Yashiro’s next breath shook and shuddered, but didn’t give way to a sob. He exhaled. “So what, you’re hoping if you find him again, he can give it back?” He asked, voice raw enough to crack on some of the words, but perfectly understandable.

Hikaru looked up at the sky. It was appropriately grey. “I don’t know. I guess.” He sighed, and for the better part of a minute, they sat there, both of them becoming vaguely more composed. Hikaru’s heartbeat still felt too-fast, but honestly he didn’t blame it. It had barely had any opportunity at all to slow down today.

Yashiro shuffled on the wall and raised a hand to rake his hair back out of his face, expression still distinctly bothered. He didn’t try to say anything, or try to prompt Hikaru to say anything. He just stared ahead, with a kind of overwhelmed numbness that Hikaru intimately recognised.

“Really, I’d do everything I could to find him, even without the…” He cleared his throat twice, because once apparently wasn’t enough. “The dying thing.”

His friend made an odd noise beside him. “The dying thing, Shindou, really. What a way to put it.” He sounded exhausted.

“Well, it’s not wrong.” Hikaru said, and one after the other they coughed out laughs as ugly and humourless as a mouthful of phlegm.

“…Why is it so important to you?” Yashiro asked, after another long pause, and Hikaru didn’t need to ask what he was talking about.

He stared at the grey haze above him. “…He was important.” He said, wearily, once he’d found the words. It was oddly easy to speak them now. As though whatever part of him that usually held back these thoughts had succumbed to exhaustion too. Still, every word hurt. “He was just…so different. And he was my friend. And I was a brat the whole time I knew him. He was Sai. I just…” His thoughts felt hopelessly confused, the words that fell from his mouth just as hopelessly disorganised, but just as honest too. “I just…really fucking miss him.” Hikaru said, finally, and shook all over like a leaf at how starkly, terribly true it was.

“I’m sorry.” Yashiro said, and he really sounded sorry, like he meant it, like he understood how important it was. “That really sucks.”

Hikaru shook again, the tremor passing over his body in another dizzying second. He gasped in another quick breath, shoved down the encroaching wave of grief and tears, and exhaled again. Breathing was a good thing to focus on.

While he was breathing, Yashiro hauled himself steadily to his feet, and then spent a few patient moments pulling his clothing and hair into order. He rubbed heavily at his face with both hands, as though to exorcise the upset the day had held, and sighed.

Then, plainly exhausted, he held out a hand and gestured to him. “I know your hands aren’t exactly working at the moment,” He said. “But give me your arm and I’ll pull you up somehow.”

Hikaru huffed, and didn’t even bother arguing, he held an arm up, and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet by the outstretched wrist. His head swam as he found himself upright again. “Ugh,” He muttered, steadying himself. His pulse was still too damn fast.

“You alright?” Yashiro asked, somehow still finding the energy to worry about him.

“Just dizzy, I’m fine.” He insisted, and nudged Yashiro’s still-present arm in the direction of the road. “Come on. I want to be back home like, now.”

Agreeably, Yashiro did begin walking, and Hikaru stumbled along after him, head aching and swimming as he walked. The November air was too annoyingly cold to be walking in after all that drama, even with a coat on.

They walked for the most part in silence. Yashiro, for his part, seemed extremely thoughtful, his expression and soul both fluctuating between a hundred different hints of feeling. Hikaru was feeling considerably less introspective, because he was completely exhausted, and in a distinctly unpleasant way. He felt liable to pass out as soon as he sat down again, and not metaphorically.

Steadily, as they walked, they receded from the area of Kaminaga’s sprawling, painful influence. It was far less extensive than it had been, now that he had it somewhat in check, but there was something about pain that seemed to ripple out a very long way, even far past where his energy reached. Like blood in the water. Hikaru thought dizzily of sharks, wondering at metaphors, and wondered if the water in this scenario was the spirit layer. It seemed to make some sense, at least.

He shivered in the cold air, and considered the spirit layer. Before Setsu had told him about it, he’d never noticed anything of the sort, but…when he thought about it, how exactly did he detect faraway things like the demon approaching? Or Setsu? A lot of the time he’d felt things coming before his energy was touching theirs, and he’d never really thought about why.

“Fucking spirit layer.” He muttered to himself. “Of course it was.” Things travelled in the spirit layer. Things travelled across the spirit layer. Things like ripples from demons and pain from humans and who-knows what else…

“What?” Yashiro asked, and Hikaru blinked at him and considered the idea that he might have said that out loud.

“Nothing,” He assured, flapping an arm ineffectually to dismiss the inquiry, and felt strangely dizzier for the motion. He shook his head a little, and shivered again.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that his pulse was still weirdly fast. It had never slowed down. That was weird, right? They weren’t walking especially fast. He wasn’t upset anymore. Was it weird?

He swayed a little on the spot and cursed, vision swimming. He encountered what he assumed to be Yashiro’s steadying hand half-way through falling over, and leaned into it, thoughts running in strange and vaguely incoherent loops behind his eyes. “Shindou, you alright?” The voice questioned, and yep, it was Yashiro. He was all worried again.

“Uh.” Hikaru considered it, his pounding headache, and the way the world seemed distinctly less stable than it usually did when there wasn’t an earthquake in progress. “Dizzy?” He suggested, and didn’t attempt to move. He looked up, and Yashiro not only looked concerned, but suddenly very alert.

“Shindou, you actually don’t look that good.” He said, and Hikaru was considering making a quip of some sort when the boy reached out with his other hand to feel his forehead. The hand felt alarmingly cold, and Yashiro hissed. “Shit,” He cursed. “I can’t tell if you’ve got a fever or if my hand is just cold. Hang on.” He pushed his sleeve up, and switching the hand he was holding Hikaru up with, pressed his wrist to Hikaru’s forehead instead. That felt cold as well.

“I’m probably just tired.” Hikaru offered. “Probably.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s a fever. Fuck.” He unceremoniously shoved two fingers of his free hand at the un-scarred side of Hikaru’s neck, eliciting a wordless complaint from him, and held them there for a few seconds.

“You could maybe warn me before going for my throat.” He grumbled, but felt himself getting genuinely a bit worried at the seriousness on his friend’s face. “…Um?” He inquired, and Yashiro produced a stressed-sounding huff of air.

“I am a bit worried about your heartbeat too, it’s…a bit fast.” He said, slowly, and stared worriedly at the direction they were meant to be walking in. “How far are we from your house, now?”

“Uh.” Hikaru looked ahead with him. “Not long. Five minutes?”

“…That’s probably fine then.” He said. “Come on.” Supporting Hikaru, he nudged him onwards, and Hikaru walked. It wasn’t as though he were too unsteady to stay upright at all, so that was mostly fine. He shook his head but it didn’t dispel the dizziness. “Seriously, Shindou, after all that today you think we need more drama?” He grumbled, without any real ire.

“What are you so worried about?” Hikaru demanded, a bit more than slightly concerned, and Yashiro shrugged helplessly.

“I’m probably just being over-cautious.” He hedged, urging them onwards a bit more quickly than was comfortable. “You’re probably just getting sick with something. Stress doesn’t help with that. People always get sick when they’re stressed.”

Hikaru glared at him. “Or?”

“Or if you’re really unlucky your infection could be like, getting bad.” Yashiro voiced, deliberately blithe, as though not to tempt the possibility. But.

Hikaru stopped moving. “Oh, shit.” He said, less in a tone of dismay and more in the way someone would say ‘oh, now I remember.’

Yashiro stopped with him, now looking decidedly anxious. “What?”

“Uh.” Hikaru extended his energy, and tried to feel for the presence of any nearby foxes. There were meant to be some around, right? “Well, Setsu did say to call for it if my infection got any worse. So, um. Maybe that’s a problem.”

Yashiro stared at him, then stared into the distance. He exhaled, short and quick. Then, sounding both exhausted and worried in a way Hikaru could entirely relate with, he said “for god’s sake, Shindou.”

“What? It’s not my fault.” He protested, and felt something like movement in the air – the spirit layer – in one area. He followed it.

“Not completely, maybe, but seriously.” Yashiro was rummaging in his pocket for something now – a phone? – but Hikaru was more focused on his own search. “Getting septic is not a good idea, Shindou. Don’t do it.”

Hikaru didn’t exactly know much about sepsis but he could infer that it was, indeed, not a good idea. Finally, his search prevailed upon something that felt both foxy and also decidedly alarmed to be followed by him. Before it could escape he sort of…well, held it down a bit, and he did feel guilty for that, but it got over its fright and calmed after a second, maybe as it recognised him. “I’ll try not to.” He said distractedly, and carefully shaped get Bestows-Obscure-Knowledge quick in his faraway energy.

Yes-agreed-okay, the fox said, a little fretfully, and he let it go. It circled on the spot, soul exuding a half-terrified and half-delighted sort of mood. Will go-searching-fast! It proclaimed, and then shot off extremely quickly. He hoped very hard that it was telling the truth.

“I called a fox.” He said, finally, and closed his eyes. “It’s going to go find Setsu.”

“That’s nice, Shindou.” Yashiro said, and when Hikaru looked at the phone, he could see that he was half way through his contacts list and just getting to Hikaru’s mother. “But just in case the fox doesn’t get here soon, I think we should maybe get you to a hospital.” He pressed a button and held the phone to his ear. It seemed a bit superfluous when they were only minutes from the house, but what did Hikaru know about sepsis? Not much, is what.

He tried not to get too worried, because he was dizzy enough as it was without getting panicked on top of it, and made a disgusted noise. “I literally only just got out of the hospital.” He lamented, apparently to no one, because Yashiro was already on the phone to his mother.

He turned around to stare into the distance, feeling very keenly that getting out of bed that morning had been a truly colossal mistake.

---

End chapter.

Notes: This was, by far, the most difficult chapter I’ve ever written. I have never, ever been fought so hard by a piece of my writing before, and I can guarantee if it wasn’t for all the support and enthusiasm from all of you I just wouldn’t have bothered. This chapter was pain. I hope it hurt you too. If you can muster the energy to give feedback on any chapter, please let it be this one.

Seriously though my acknowledgements list for this chapter is long enough I’ll have to write it up and make a tumblr post for it. Special mentions, though – the new Paper Cranes Discord and its inhabitants, in particular noip13 and Bellachrome. And, notably, Kurohaai, whose art practically gave me life at more than one point and overjoyed me at several more. Also esama, who recommended some soundtracks which half-wrote the chapter.

Chapter specific note: This is the longest Paper Cranes chapter yet, coming in at nearly 20,000 words. The next closest was chapter 19. In my opinion it’s also the emotionally heaviest yet. I wrote the last 6.5k of it in one day, two days ago, and it wrecked me. Trivia: this chapter takes place on 16th November, only one day earlier than today! Albeit fifteen years in the past of a fictional universe.

Disease note: Multiple Sclerosis does not have complex hallucinations as one of its symptoms. In-universe, that’s a characteristic which strongly distinguishes Kaidan’s MS from the other varieties. In general, my reading list for MS and dysautonomia is very long, and I’ve written segments of an in-universe academic paper on KMS as well. If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. I’ll likely make my reading list public at some point.

Sepsis: sepsis is a life-threatening condition that happens when you get an infection and your body gets disproportionately worried about it. It is emphatically not nice, and generally has a mortality rate starting at 30%. That said, I don’t consider this a particularly important cliffhanger, so don’t be too worried.

If you want to join the Paper Cranes discord, here is the new invite link: https://discord.gg/ZeGECd

This will expire on 18th November 18 at 20.30 GMT-0, but there will be other invite links in the future.

[natasha-cole]

#1 Crush: Part 10

Chapter Summary: Reader gets an unexpected visit from her manager. Unfortunately, he is coming forward with some information that might have been nice to know when it actually started happening. As Reader returns to work, she realizes that this is all a lot more serious than she’d been treating it. She also realizes that she might be a little paranoid.

Word Count: 5343

Warnings: fluff, angst, arguing, swears, creepy fan, paranoia, anxiety

Notes: I wrote a lot of words for you. Also, the hits just keep on coming, I can’t give poor Reader a break.

Series Masterlist

Just as you had expected, not much else came from the last day of the convention.

Aside from the unsettling posts on social media, things remained fairly calm. Still, you had done as Rob had asked and allowed him to make sure that you not only had a handler for the day; but some big, scary security guy to follow you around.

It wasn’t so bad when you sat down to do autographs, you hardly noticed he was there at all. In fact, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had some obsessed fan who happened to be at this convention. It wasn’t until later on when you walked into the room to do photo ops that the realization hit you.

Your assigned security stood close by, and you suddenly felt fearful over the fact that the fan could easily be here in this room right now. You had to go through all of the ops; posing and hugging each person who came through, all while wondering if each of them could be the person behind the gifts and the creepy messages.

Your mood for the remainder of the day changed drastically. You no longer pretended to be cheery, nor did you continue to joke about the situation. You realized Rob was right. Maybe conventions weren’t the safest place to be considering the fact that there was obviously someone out there who now seemed to be upset with you.

As you took a break in green room after your last batch of photo ops, you couldn’t help but let the curiosity get the best of you. Since you were mostly alone, besides your handler and your security, you decided it might be a good idea to know exactly what this guy was posting that had everyone else so worried.

It appeared as if the main account that you were most familiar with had been removed, probably due to so many people reporting the account. However, a quick search for your name pulled up other things that you weren’t exactly expecting.

There were apparently a lot of different accounts; all generic usernames with no profile pictures or any other indication on who was running them. As you scrolled through them, you suddenly wished you hadn’t even bothered to look. At the same time, you couldn’t look away now that you had fallen down this rabbit hole.

Mostly, you were being called names still. You scrolled through the tweets calling you a ‘whore’ and a ‘liar’, unsure of why anyone would have a reason to call you any of that.

The worst of it was that you were being called out on your relationship with Rob, in much more aggressive manners than what you had seen before. Whoever this was, was questioning why you were even with a man like him. He was too old for you, you were only with him because you settled, Rob was using you, and on and on…

Rich had been right. A lot of it was threatening. Just by looking through these messages, you understood now why Rob especially no longer thought of this as harmless. You didn’t want to focus too much on the way this person made it seem as if you were dating Rob just to make them jealous. It was insane. You didn’t even know who was doing all of this, and now you felt as if this person thought that they had claim on you.

You glanced up when you heard someone enter the room. Normally, you would be grinning happily when you saw Rob. Right now though, you were holding your phone in your hand, looking at him as if you were terrified. Truthfully, you were terrified.

“I told you not to read those,” Rob said quietly as he approached you.

You hadn’t been dating for very long, but he still knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t listen to everyone’s warnings. Besides, he could read your expressions better than anyone.

You didn’t reply; you really couldn’t. You didn’t know what to say in response to all of this, especially the things that were also being thrown out there about him. It was one thing for someone to maybe be a bit territorial with you, but it was even more unsettling that whoever this was, was angry at Rob as well.

“Couldn’t stay away,” you said as he took a seat next to you. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry that you’re apparently involved now.”

“I’m not worried about me,” he smiled. “Just you. And, I’m sorry for downplaying all of this at first. You were freaked out, and I told you not to be… I should’ve taken your concerns seriously.”

“I still don’t think it’s anything more than just someone being an asshole online. It would be easier if I knew who it was though.”

Rob gave you a forced smile and you knew based on his body language that he definitely had something that he wanted to say.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you want to.”

“I do,” he replied. “But I also don’t want to upset you.”

“I’ll be upset if you don’t just say it.”

“Y/N, is it really that far-fetched to think that someone you know could be doing this?”

You rolled your eyes at him, still annoyed that he thought someone close to you could be responsible.

“We’ve discussed this…”

“I know we have. But, you’ve also completely shut down the idea that it’s a possibility.”

“That’s because it’s not a possibility, Rob!”

You took a moment to calm yourself as he looked at you in shock. You hadn't meant to yell, but you were so tired. Tired of him still thinking this, tired of not knowing who was doing this, tired of being afraid.

“Why are you so set on blaming someone I know?” You asked, a bit more calmly now.

“I’m not set on blaming anyone. Just- you need to keep in mind that it is a possibility. Especially with how close this person is getting.”

“Fine,” you replied. “I accept the fact that this could be someone I know. Even though I definitely know it’s not.”

“You’re impossible,” Rob said.

You caught a hint of a smile and you cuddled next to him again to keep the mood light.

“That’s why you like me,” you grinned.

Your week back home was easier. You spent a lot of time with Rob; the two of you going on dates, hanging out, and just spending time together outside of the conventions. It also helped you to forget about all of the other stuff for a while. Even Rob didn’t bring up the things that had gone on, and it was as if the two of you could be together without the worry of knowing that there was a creep within arms reach of you. At home, you felt safe. With Rob, you felt even safer.

It had been a fairly quiet day, just before you were scheduled to head back to Vancouver to be on set. You and Rob had been lazy that morning, lounging on the couch when your doorbell rang. You curiously got up to see who it was, not used to people just showing up out of the blue like this.

You were a bit thrown off to see your manager standing at your door when you answered it.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

Not once in the history of your relationship with your manager had he ever shown up to your home like this. Just seeing him here unsettled you.

“I did call,” he replied. “And I did text you. You never answered so I thought I’d catch you at home.”

“Is everything okay?”

He let out a sigh, giving you that look as if to tell you that things were not okay.

“We need to talk,” he said simply.

You nodded, still confused as to what was going on; but you stepped aside and let him in.

“So,” he began as you sat at the table and waited. “I’ve heard there have been some… issues going on.”

He sat across from you and carefully placed the folder that he had been carrying down in front of him.

“Issues? Am I in trouble?”

“No. Not at all. I’m talking about the gifts and notes you’ve been receiving,” he replied, “the messages on social media that keep popping up.”

“Who told you about all of that?”

“I’m your manager, I keep tabs on you. I’ve seen some of it, Y/N. Also, people close to you have come to me with their concerns.”

You looked at Rob accusingly, sort of upset that he had gone to behind your back to talk to your manager about this.

“Sorry,” Rob said softly as he averted his gaze from you. “Someone had to say something.”

“I guess at least it’s not the police,” you said sarcastically.

“Not yet,” your manager added.

“It’s not a big deal,” you argued. “It’s just a fan sending me flowers. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m sure you’ve been handling it well enough on your own. But, there’s something you should see.” He placed a hand on the file, hesitating just briefly before sliding it across the table to you. “We; I mean myself and anyone else who works for you, have been holding onto these for a while. It was a ‘just in case’ type of situation. We didn’t think it was anything to worry about at first.”

You began to flip through the file which was made up of a lot of handwritten letters.  Each letter was written by the same person; some were short, some were pages long. You didn’t really take the time to read them, but you had a good idea of what this was all really about.

“How long have you had these?” You asked.

“We started keeping them when the first one came in about six months ago. Mostly because it was odd. We see a lot of interesting things come through, but there was something about that particular letter that didn’t really sit right with anyone. Again, there was no reason to panic. We just held onto it in case. Since then, there’s been a lot more. All from the same person we guess, based on the handwriting and the nature of the letters. They’ve only gotten longer and stranger.”

“You never thought to tell me about this then?”

“We didn’t want you to scare you unnecessarily. It wasn’t anything to worry about at the time. This stuff happens. Fans can get a little territorial.”

“Why are you showing me this now if it’s nothing to worry about?”

“They’ve…” he paused, nodding toward the stack of letters, “they’ve become increasingly hostile recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s probably best not to go into details. In fact, I would suggest not reading any of them at all. But, you have to know that it’s bad enough to where we are now concerned about your safety.”

Despite his insistence that you not read them, you couldn’t help but to scan them now that you realized what this was. You now recognized the handwriting. It was the same sloppy, rushed, scribbling that you had been seeing lately. You held your breath as you flipped through some of the letters; trying not to focus too much on the fact that they were definitely threatening and creepy.

All you were seeing as you skimmed through them was the same stuff you had been reading online and in the notes left for you.

“Months?” You asked.

“Yes. They started right before you got this gig.”

You looked up at Rob, giving him a look of ‘I told you so’ now that you knew for sure there was no way anyone you knew here could be responsible for this. You hadn’t known any of your co-workers long enough for them to be responsible.

“Very recently they’ve become more aggressive.”

“”Exactly when would you say they started to get aggressive?” You asked.

“Within the last few weeks.”

“Alright,” you said, trying to remain calm. “What do I do about this?”

“There’s not a lot that we can do right now,” he said.

“You don’t have a return address from these letters? You’re saying we can’t find this creep that way?”

“There’s never been a return address,” he replied.

“How is that possible?”

“The entire time you’ve been receiving these, they’re never postmarked.”

“So… you’re saying that whoever sent these dropped them directly into the box where I receive fan mail?”

“Yes.”

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh. Now you were frustrated.

“Look, I just knew you had to know about these because of everything else that has been going on. It’s one thing to get letters… it’s quite another to be threatened in addition to letters and gifts. We just feel that this is all connected, and we believe your safety is now an issue.”

“What am I supposed to do about a stalker, when I don’t even know who it is?”

“Like I said, we can’t do much. I am going suggest that we involve the police. Possibly renegotiate your convention contract, since that seems to be when everything happens.”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’m not quitting the conventions because of this.”

“We sort of feel like those are the instances where you are the least safe.”

“I don’t care. I’m not letting this asshole keep me from my work.”

“What about security?” Rob chimed in. He gave you a forced smile, obviously still having a hard time with all of this, but still coming to your defense. “She had security last weekend and things were fine.”

“Yeah, just get me a bodyguard or something.”

“I’m not winning this one, am I?” He asked.

“Trust me,” Rob chuckled. “No one ever wins an argument with her.”

“Fine,” he replied. “Then I’ll handle everything. I’ll find you reliable security…”

“For conventions only,” you reminded him.

“Yes. Convention security. I’ll also communicate with the proper people for when you return to set for work.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Is the location of the set a secret?”

“No.”

“Then if this guy could possibly know where you’re working, I think it’s very necessary to at least let the right people know what’s going on.”

“Fine,” you said. “And that’s it.”

“That’s it for now,” he replied. “Look, if anything else happens… if you get someone showing up at your home… or you get phone calls… any indication that someone knows more about your private life than they should, you tell me immediately.”

You didn’t want to even consider the possibility that this could spill over into your private life, but now you realized that it could certainly happen. For now though, you wanted to ignore that possibility and just focus on being able to go to work without worrying about your safety.

“Of course,” you responded.

Your manager said his goodbyes and  made sure to take the file filled with letters as he left. The last thing anyone wanted was for you to sit around and actually read them. The situation was stressful enough as it was.

“Are you mad at me?” Rob asked carefully after you saw your manager out and had a moment to breathe.

“I’m not mad,” you replied. “I probably should’ve said something to him a while ago.”

“It didn’t help that I told you it was nothing to worry about at first.”

“It’s fine,” you responded.

You turned to look at him, offering him a smile as if to let him know that you weren’t bothered.

“Can we just- go back to enjoying our week together?” You asked.

“You wanna ignore all of that?”

“What I want is to have just a couple more amazing days with my boyfriend before I have to go back to work.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Of course, Y/N.”

You couldn’t be certain, but you couldn’t help but think that Rob seemed disappointed in the way you chose to brush all of this off. You continued to have the feeling that he wanted to talk about it, but that was the last thing you wanted.

“So, I heard that this is all actually quite serious,” Adam began. “They’ve beefed up security on set now that you have a stalker.”

You were sitting on set in between scenes when Adam approached you. You didn’t tell him that he had startled you as he walked up from behind. That was a weird new thing that you had noticed about yourself; you really hated when people didn’t make their presence known right away and you definitely hated being snuck up on.

“Who told you that?” you asked as you tried to make it less noticeable that he had scared you.

“The higher ups,” he replied. “Is this really as serious as they’re making it out to be?”

“I don’t know,” you responded. “My manager thinks so. Apparently he’s acting as if it’s this big thing even though we discussed otherwise.”

“All this over some flowers and online messages?” He asked. “I know we were all concerned… but, this feels like it’s more than just that.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe it’s the handwritten letters that threaten my life that I’ve been getting for the last few months.”

“What?”

“Just- it’s a long story.”

“That sounds… really serious Y/N.”

“I don’t understand, you know? Why would this guy go on and on about how much he loves me, send me flowers and notes… and then just suddenly call me horrible names online and threaten me like this?”

“I don’t know…”

“Maybe it’s not even the same guy,” you continued. “Maybe it’s a bunch of people who hate me and are just trying to scare me.”

“Or…” Adam hesitated. “Maybe it is one person, and his behavior changed because… well, your life has changed recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. When did all of this start?”

“It’s been going on for months.”

“All of it?”

“Well, no. I guess the aggressiveness of the notes and the online stuff has been going on for a few weeks.”

“Nothing’s happened in those last few weeks that could’ve triggered somebody who’s obsessed with you?”

You thought for a moment, but the realization hit you quickly.

“Rob and I…”

“I mean, this all really started happening when you two started seeing each other.”

“Huh,” you huffed as you thought about this. “Do you think I just have some obsessed fan who got pissed off because I’m no longer single?”

“That probably makes a lot more sense than, say… one of your co-workers stalking you.”

He gave you a playful smile as if to let you know that he was joking, but it was actually a bit upsetting. Rob was still trying to blame all of this on someone that you probably knew; which meant he still thought it could be your ex or Adam.

“I’m still so sorry about that…”

“I’m joking,” he laughed in return.

“You’re right though,” you said. “That makes the most sense. Whoever this guy is never posted or said anything bad about me until I started seeing Rob. Now, I’m just a whore who broke his heart apparently.”

“That’s actually really creepy. This guy has said that?”

“Oh, yeah. There have been lots of names and lots of threats. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the good old days when he thought we were meant to be together.”

“Are you ever going to stop joking about this?”

“Maybe,” you replied. “For now, it sort of helps to laugh a bit.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re allowing people to look out for you at least,” he said as he nodded toward your bodyguard who was standing close by.

“Yes, Liam is not really someone that people want to mess with.”

“He seem like he knows what he’s doing,” Adam shrugged as he studied him.

“Maybe. But, the guy hasn’t said two words to me. It’s a little weird.”

“As long as you feel safe.”

“I feel like I’m being suffocated,” you admitted. “I really hate all of this.”

“I know,” Adam replied. “But, it needs to be done. Just you wait, eventually this will all blow over and you’ll have your freedom back.”

“Hopefully soon,” you chuckled.

You got back to your apartment late that night after a long day of filming. Still, you made a point of calling Rob. You called him every night while you were away. It didn’t matter the time, he always answered.

There was something about just listening to his voice that made it easier to be at your home away from home alone. Each night, when you got home, you were anxious and now had the tendency to work yourself up as you considered all of the possibilities. It wasn’t until you had him on the phone that you’d shut that paranoia off and you could actually feel happy for a moment.

“Hey,” you smiled when you heard his voice on the other end.

“Hey honey,” he replied. “How's work?”

“It's good. I miss you though.”

“I miss you too. So much. Are things okay?”

“Based on the way they've added security on set, I'd say everything is fine.”

“You know it's necessary.”

“Yeah, I know. It's just a bit embarrassing.”

“There's nothing embarrassing about making sure you're safe, Y/N.”

“I know… I just hate all the attention.”

“Well, look on the bright side. You’ve only got a few more days on set, and then we’ll meet up in Chicago-“

“For more work,” you laughed. “But at least I’ll be with you.”

“And, you’ve got a birthday this weekend.”

“You remembered,” you smiled.

“How could I forget?” He chuckled in return.

“Well, I can’t wait to spend it with you, if we have time.”

“We’ll make time,” he replied. “I’ll always make time for you.”

“I actually called to run something by you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Adam and I were talking… and guess what? He’s still not my stalker.”

“Haha, I get it,” he said sarcastically. “Look, I’ll apologize to him this weekend, okay?”

“Thank you. Anyway, we were talking and he sorta brought up a good point… he mentioned how all of this craziness really started after you and I started seeing each other.”

You paused, waiting for him to respond, but he was silent on the other end of the call.

“I mean, yeah the letters and stuff started a long time ago,” you continued. “But, the flowers and creepy messages started recently.”

“I know, Y/N,” he said softly.

“You noticed that.”

“It’s all I think about,” he sighed. “Honestly, I noticed the timeline of everything right away.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t help but feel as if all of this is my fault, you know?”

You could hear the sadness in his voice and that made your heart ache. You didn’t want him to blame himself. This wasn’t his fault at all.

“I sort of feel like this guy got angry with you because of me.”

“Rob…”

“Now he’s threatening you…”

“It’s not your fault,” you promised him.

“I just- don’t want to lose you because of what this guy is doing.”

“You won’t. I want to be with you. You make me so happy. You make me feel safe.”

“I’m doing what I can to protect you.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

“What about on set? Do you feel safe there?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “It’s pretty much on lockdown here. No one gets in and no one gets out.”

“I don’t know if that sounds like a good thing.”

“It’s fine. Plus, I’ve got a bunch of really big guys that I work with who have caught wind of what’s been going on. I think I’ll be okay.”

“I’m also wondering if you’ve decided to stop treating this all like a joke.”

“Oh, you mean, did I stop pretending everything was fine because everyone told me everything was fine?”

“I know we should’ve listened to you, Y/N. We all should have taken you seriously when you were freaked out.”

“Yes,” you answered. “I’ve stopped treating this as a joke. Mostly. I am actually really kind of scared. Those letters… those posts…”

“You’re not reading them still, are you?”

“I think I’ve given up on social media for the time being.”

“Good. You don’t need to see that crap.”

“I’m avoiding it.”

“God, I’m so worried about you,” he sighed. “Maybe I should just fly up to be with you while you’re there.”

“That’s not necessary. You’re working on the album. Besides, just a couple more days, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Also, Rich is directing, so I have him hanging around, reminding me that I have a stalker.”

“Not funny.”

“Hey, gotta find find some humor in the situation.”

After a long, tiring morning of filming, you returned to your trailer for a short break. Your assigned bodyguard, Liam, had been hanging around all day and he followed you as you stopped at your trailer and unlocked the door.

“Give me a few minutes?” You asked him.

At this point, you wanted just a moment alone. It was a strange thing to have someone follow you around all day. You weren’t used to this at all. The lack of privacy and alone time wasn’t even this big of an issue when you had handlers trailing behind you at conventions.

He nodded hesitantly, but stayed put in his spot just outside as you opened the door and walked into your only quiet space. You made a point of closing the door firmly behind you as you let out a breath and smiled now that you had just a moment to yourself.

When you turned toward the small space, the first thing you noticed were the flowers.

Your breath caught as you stared at them. You felt that familiar sense of fear that you had pushed down for so long start to build again. You made no movement toward them at first, you just studied them from afar. At this point, your mind was racing with thoughts.

You froze in place, even though you wanted so desperately to not be here anymore. The value that you had placed on alone time was suddenly not important anymore. Now, you wished that Liam had actually followed you in here; at least then you’d know that there would be someone who would protect you, even if it was just because he was paid to do so. You glanced around the tiny trailer, wondering for just a moment if the person behind all of this was here.

How had he found you at work? How did he even get on set? Did he actually get on set, or did someone else do this? You remembered that your trailer had definitely been locked all day, and there was only one other person on set who had a key to it.

You told yourself that there was no way anyone was actually here. This place was too small, you’d notice right away if someone was waiting for you as there were no places for anyone to hide. Although you had talked yourself down from that panic, you were still upset over the fact that you were still getting flowers. For just a moment, the fear washed away, and now you were just angry. You were angry that this person knew when you were on set and that they had either sent flowers here of actually left them in your trailer themself. You knew it was more rational to believe that your assistant had intercepted the delivery and left them here, but in this moment, you were anything but rational.

You finally stepped toward the flowers, only to grab the card that was included and you exited your trailer, holding back tears and anger as you gripped onto the card.

“Miss,” your bodyguard started. “Is everything okay?”

He looked behind you, trying to peek inside the trailer, but there was nothing there that concerned him.

“I need to find my assistant,” you explained.

When you did find her, you didn’t hold back. It only made sense that she had either let someone into your trailer, or put the flowers there herself. The fact that she was going against everything that had been discussed with the rest of crew upset you. Even your co-stars understood protocol.

“What are you doing?” You asked her as you angrily grabbed a hold of her arm to turn her so that she could face you.

“Uh- uh, I-“ She stuttered, looking completely caught-off-guard as you confronted her.

“There are flowers in my trailer.”

“Yes,” she replied, giving you a quizzical look. “I know. I put them there.”

“Did you let someone into my trailer?!” You shouted.

“No,” she replied quickly. “I told you, I’m the one who put them there. They were delivered, so I brought them to your trailer.”

“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want gifts… anything delivered to me. This was discussed already!”

“Y/N, calm down,” Rich warned as he took a step toward you.

You were seething at this point, mostly because you were so afraid.

“How can I be calm Rich?! People are supposed to be looking out for me, and I can’t trust anyone.”

“I- I didn’t know-” she stuttered in return. “I thought that since they were from Rob, it was okay.”

“What?” You asked as you turned to look at her.

“Did you even read the card?” Rich asked.

“Why would I read the card?” You spat. “Every time I read the damn cards, I’m terrified, Rich. They just keep getting worse.”

“They’re from Rob,” she cut in. “He told me he was sending them over and to make sure you got them.”

“Open it,” Rich urged as he motioned toward the envelope that you now had crumpled up in your hand.

You shakily did as he asked, still not fully convinced that he was right. Even though your assistant was certain these were from Rob and it sounded as if he had pre-planned this with her, you couldn’t help but still feel as if you were just going to be upset by what was in this card. It was terrifying just thinking about what could be written here, even if you were being told that it wasn’t what you were thinking it was.

There, on the now wrinkled card, was a message scrawled in Rob’s handwriting.

“Happy early birthday. I miss you. -Rob”

You felt your heart sink first as you realized that they were definitely from him. Next, you felt ashamed as you replayed the way you had blown up on your assistant for no reason at all. Still shaking, you put the card in your pocket and excused yourself as you began to cry.

“Y/N…” Rich called out to you, trying to stop you.

You didn’t stop though. You began to sob as you walked quickly away from that entire humiliating outburst.

You had been terrified, truly terrified, for the first time through all of this. Everything else before this had been nothing compared to what you were feeling right now. For a brief moment, you really thought that whoever it was that had been doing all of this had actually found you. You actually thought that he had been in your trailer, waiting for you. Even though he had been in close proximity to you at the last convention, you hadn’t been as freaked out as you were in this moment.

Why hadn’t you calmly asked where the flowers came from? Why did you just assume, especially since security was so tight around here? Why didn’t you just read the card before you berated your assistant?

You didn’t want to admit it out loud, but this was also the moment that you realized you were completely paranoid about the entire thing.

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[earwaxinggibbous]

“Congratulations” VS. “Started From The Bottom”

Started as a bottom, now my whole team’s fuckin’ rears.

Self-aggrandizing rap and hip-hop anthems have existed since the genre was invented. It’s just a really nice, friendly way of saying, “hey! I’m better than you.” Generally speaking, whoever is on the track should have the power and clout behind them to make all of the bragging seem warranted. A great example is Eminem’s Rap God, which has a chorus that literally has Eminem saying he’s beginning to feel like a rap god. And we buy it, because hell, Eminem basically IS a rap god. Regardless of how you feel about him, especially as a person, there’s no arguing that his flows and style require an insane amount of skill. (Or at least, they used to.)

The other big rule, once again using Rap God as an example, as that the song should actually be good. Because if you’re bragging about being the coolest rapper with the most chains and bitches while rapping like complete shit, your point is pretty much moot. When Eminem speed-raps in Rap God, it’s essentially the proof that he is in fact the man named in the title. 

There’s only one real problem with these songs when it comes to audience reception: They’re not relatable to anybody except other rich rappers and musicians. Which can be kind of a problem since that’s not really who the music industry is aiming to please. So in somewhat recent times we’ve been getting a different flavor of self-aggrandizing rap. Songs that, instead of saying “I’m super great”, they say, “Hey, I started from humble beginnings and worked my way to the top, and now I’m super great”. Which gives us viewers the idea of this sort of achievable dream that is nearly within arm’s reach.

Enter two very, very different hip-hop artists, at two very different times.

Drake and Post Malone, in my opinion, are both pretty good, in my opinion.

Let’s start with Drake. Drake feels at least a little more like a “real rapper” than Post does. Maybe because he was on Young Money, or because he doesn’t have that sing-songy flow that Post does, but he just feels more like somebody I’d describe as a rapper. If I had any reason, I’d say it’s because Post Malone’s music, even his ego-boosting shit, tends to sound stoned or morose the bulk of the time. Drake’s voice isn’t much fun either, but at least I can believe his ego based on his vocal tones alone. Post has a tendency to sound really, really sad, or just super high.

Now one might say, “Panda, you can’t compare these two songs. Started from the Bottom precedes Congratulations by four years.” But the reason I’m making this comparison is that, despite Drake being considered the superior artist by nearly everyone, Congratulations is basically the better version of its predecessor. 

Let’s discuss this.

Now for one thing, I fucking hate the music video of Started from the Bottom. Not because it’s that bad, though depicting “working at a drug store” as “the bottom” is pretty fucking stupid, the video itself does a pretty good basic job at getting across what it wants. I just hate the skit.

I remember pulling up the song on YouTube and thinking, Jesus, this song is 5 fucking minutes long? Half the lyrics are just the title. Relax, past Panda, one minute of that video is a stupid skit that shows up randomly before the second chorus. A full fucking minute of two of Drake’s coworkers, not even Drake himself, but two of his coworkers at Duane Reade or something ogling some woman who’s checking out of the store. It’s not funny, it doesn’t really add anything, and the two guys can’t act. Drake’s body language is awkward and goofy in the music video, I doubt he’d be a great actor either, but that’s fine, he’s just the guy who made the song. Most of what he needs to do is lipsync along to the track and wave his hands around anyway. But the two guys are in a skit, an acted skit that requires acting to happen, and they suck.

It doesn’t help that it’s interrupting what is already one of the most monotonous songs that the lord hath graciously dumped on top of our collective consciousness like a weighty cow turd. The video actually tries to help the song by making it look like Drake really did work a crappy job with a bunch of assholes and was raised in a shitheap. But this isn’t true.

And I hate bringing the lives of artists into their music more than anything. Because ever since really getting into Eminem’s works, I’ve been seeing every musician’s persona as a character. Now some musicians characters, like say, Mary Lambert, are very close to their real-world self, or even identical. Others, like David Bowie or the aforementioned Eminem, are essentially entirely different people offstage. Then there’s incredibly creative people like ThatPoppy who sort of blur the difference between a musical persona and the person behind it. And honestly I find that way more interesting than ripping into an artist personally. (Unless it’s Taylor Swift.)

But Started from the Bottom is an argument against critics who don’t believe Drake ever really suffered or understands the lower class. And I’ve read about him, so I can say that he should. He wasn’t living in a complete shithole, generally Canadian shitholes are better than American ones, but he still dealt with a parental divorce, bullying due to his race and Jewish upbringing, and having to see his father arrested. But there’s two issues once we reach this point.

One. This song never mentions any of that. And two. After dropping out of school he got a TV job to act as a main character on Degrassi. And since this song isn’t about his childhood, I can only assume it’s looking back on his days as a working-class young adult.

NO, Drake. BAD hip-hop artist.

Being an actor on a TV sitcom is not the bottom. Not to mention that even when he left to start making music, he essentially had his career set. Once you’re an actor on television, if people watched your shit, you can almost definitely get a job in music afterwards. It worked for Miley, Demi, Ariana, and Selena, there’s no reason it wouldn’t have worked for Drake. Not to mention that he got picked up by Young Money, which is essentially a free win for anyone who’s better and more interesting than sentient iguana man Li’l Wayne. (Which was surprisingly rare, apparently. Where the fuck is Gudda Gudda’s next single, Wayne?!)

Yes, Drake, we know you weren’t rich. That doesn’t mean you were at the bottom. I live in a comfortable apartment in Midtown and my mom works a law firm, and we don’t even call ourselves rich. “Not being rich” is different from “the bottom”. “The bottom” is only owning hand-me-down underwear, living in a downturned umbrella and eating dirt for nutrients. 

But lyrically this song doesn’t tell you anything. All the stuff I know about this guy is just from Lyric Genius and Wikipedia. 

Wow, you only argue with your mom once a month?

Lucky bastard.

Also, really quickly I wanna comment on the uncle line for a second. “The keys” are specifically to his drop top Lexus that young Drake was borrowing. I don’t think you need me to say that people who are on “the bottom” don’t tend to own convertibles. 

And, like, rich people work at night and get in traffic too. Just because you’re in a limousine doesn’t mean there’s no traffic. It’s just slightly more enjoyable traffic. 

And then Drake just spends the rest of the song essentially sucking his own dick without expanding on his hardships, which was supposed to be the point of this track from the beginning. And I don’t get the whole “no new friends” thing he always says, this isn’t the only song he’s said it in. Drake, unless you’re gonna tell me that the entirety of Young Money and several other well-known rappers went to high school with you like some kind of wacky rap music-based sitcom, I’m pretty sure you’ve made some new friends. Either that or your obvious baby crush on Nicki Minaj is painfully laced by inconceivable amounts of mistrust.

So you’re either a paranoid asshole who just admitted to not trusting the people that got him into the game in the first place, or you’re a liar. Good to know!

Honestly this song makes me just kind of not like Drake as a person. Which is probably one of the worst things you can do as an artist. If you’re trying to make a song that allows people to sympathize with your plights or revel in your success, being this illegally unlikable while doing it isn’t helping your case in the slightest.

But honestly the worst part isn’t even the douchey lyrics, it’s just the song itself. It just feels like it goes on forever.

(Pictured: A hook, apparently.)

The chorus itself is so repetitive I’d rather listen to fucking Come and Get It, Drake has a really bad habit of sounding literally bored to death, and the beat just sounds like a Future song jacked off on GarageBand. Lame snares and lame backing tunes. One whole piano key. Wow, Drake, you’re almost as good at playing physical instruments as your mentor.

(Even he hates it.)

Sad to say the beat and production is probably the best part? Drake’s voice wrecks what was already a weak beat. Whenever he wants to be self-aggrandizing he just sounds fucking bored. Like the most self-aggrandizing thing about it is the fact that he doesn’t think he needs to actually try. In fact, The Motto (YOLO) had the exact same problem. I actually prefer that song. The beat still isn’t high art, but it’s got a little more snap to it. Kind of reminds me of Sage the Gemini’s Gas Pedal, which falls into the category of songs that aren’t that great but can be danced to if put on the setlist. 

But this? It’s no fun. A hard 1 out of 5, and that’s only because its attempted premise was almost salvageable. But all I really got out of this song was that Drake is an asshole, he went to school with Lil Wayne apparently, his mom is really really nice since they only argue once a month, and he should just go back to desperately wishing his girlfriend would call him on his cell phone. You’re way better at being sad than--

Fucking... goddamnit.

Now Post Malone is kind of... different. In many ways. One time he said he doesn’t write rap music, and while normally I’d attribute that to him being a pussy who’s too afraid to contribute to what is and has always been a predominantly black genre and racism and he secretly doesn’t wanna be associated with them or whatever. But honestly I’m inclined to give Post Malone some leeway because really, he’s a singer. He makes notes. He’s singing with a hip-hop flow and occasionally has actual rap guests who... honestly end up doing a similar thing on his tracks. (In this case, it’s Quavo! Hurray!)

Oddly enough I actually went through a few songs to compare this to before settling on Drake. I considered Cheap Thrills, as they both sort of follow a similar concept of ‘today’s a good day, let’s go clubbing with only three bucks in our collective pockets’. Decided not to because really Cheap Thrills could be more accurately compared to a myriad of other songs. Considered White Iverson, his first single, but decided they didn’t really have enough in common to use it. I had options.

Really the only reason I went with this is because Congratulations succeeds in every place that Started From The Bottom fails.

Rather than attempting to detail Post Malone’s past suffering, it moreso discusses the actual rise to fame. And alllll the people who said he couldn’t do it.

Beatwise this one outclasses Drake’s already. I remember reading critics describing Started’s beat as “haunting”, which was apparently a good thing. I don’t get it. Congratulations, on the other hand, is carried by a sort of stoned, laidback tempo. Really speaks to the whole idea of “hey, we worked really hard, our album dropped, and now we can take a break and have some fun!” 

Honestly if Post Malone wrote more songs like this and less straight-up luxury porn/self-aggrandizing rap like White Iverson or rockstar. (I feel like I’m a minority in not really minding either one of those songs.) Also I must say that Post Malone seems to be really good at picking guest artists. On rockstar he has 21 Savage, whose big thing is that he’s gangsta and shoots people and don’t fuck with him, which at least fits into the attempted tone. (Honestly Sav fits better on that song than Post does.) And in Congrats, we get Quavo.

Not only do Quavo and Post sound really good together on this, as their vocal range seems somewhat similar implying some kind of bro-type unity shit. Honestly this song gives me more band vibes than rockstar does, albeit a very different kind.

You know, you just started your band, you’re waiting to hit it big, you’ve put in all this effort with barely any money, you’re living in a shitbag apartment with 4 other sweaty dudes and you all have to sleep together and Quavo keeps rolling over and shoving his nuts in your face. It’s completely garbage and your drummer has to whore himself out for money, you accidentally get paid for a gig in beer tickets like in that one episode of Metalocalypse, and then finally, FINALLY, you drop a tape that hits big. You get on TV, you meet a record exec, and you’re calling your mom during the afterparty and you’re all celebrating because it’s been so LONG since you could just have a BREAK and now everybody’s SAUCIN’.

EXACTLY.

The lyrics work perfectly for this, but not only that, it’s to show all of the naysayers who insisted they couldn’t do it. All the haters who are now suddenly super gung-ho about how they used to be friends with Post Malone even though they actually shoved him in a locker literally every day. This somehow manages to be super-laidback and super-hype at the same time, which seems to be Post’s general style. Candy Paint has sort of a similar feel. That’s also a fucking great song. I love Post Malone. There. I said it.

But the biggest difference between these two songs is that I somehow get some feeling that Post Malone started somewhere. When I hear Congratulations, I feel like he actually had to put in some effort to get where he is. His first big hit only even got released because somebody leaked it. Nobody was ever expecting it to be as big as it is. Stoney in general is an insanely personal album, and it all feels surprisingly honest for the genre despite the drops of luxury porn and self-aggrandizing. 

Basically, TL;DR: Drake cares more about the destination than the journey. Post gives us both the conflict and they payoff. Drake’s beat lacks texture or purpose, whereas Post manages to meld his melodic voice with a smooth backing track. Also, Post occasionally bothers with wordplay! Lyricism in a melodic rap song? Who would’ve thought?

Hell, it even manages to fix the “no new friends” idea displayed by Drake by sort of re-interpreting it as “no fake friends”.

And fuck, I almost forgot to mention Quavo.

Oh Quavo. Your verse may be short, severely lacking in punchlines and technically mediocre, but you just... you sound good. You sound good with Post. Somehow Post fucking Malone manages to totally outclass one of the Migos on this track. But Quavo does pretty well. I kinda like the “Huncho Houdini” line and a few of the football puns. In the end his verse is a little too short to really judge as anything more than decent.

(Also, the music video is great.)

But yeah, who would’ve thought this white stoner with braided sideburns would manage to completely slam Drake, the god of the late 2010′s? I’m honestly tempted to give this thing a 5 out of 5, but due to a few not-rhymes that nearly slip past due to Post’s mild drunken slur, I’d have to drop it into a 4.5/5. Still, I love this song. I love this song, I love Post Malone, fuck it. Judge me if you want. I have yet to hear a Post Malone song I don’t like.

Which I guess doesn’t mean much since he only has an album and an LP out, but...

It’s more than can be said for Drake at this point.

[hekate1308]

The Not-So-Friendly Ghost

Basically, this is pure wish fulfillment. Also, no Beta this time around, because I want to see the reviews coming in whether I’ve gotten over my bitterness before I inflict my typos on anyone again. 

Anyway, enjoy!

@dmsilvisart  @shaonharryandpannisim

Things actually calm down for a while.

Maybe that is the very thing that puts Dean on edge, but anyway, he is the first of them to notice something’s up.

His things start... moving around. Only slightly, just a tick to the left and the right, but he was brought up to notice these things, so how can he not?

Still, he might just be paranoid, so he doesn’t bring it up to Sam or Cas, who just recently moved into the bunker once and for all. No reason to start the alarm just because he’s a little jumpy.

After all, why should the bunker be haunted of all places?

Only that it’s more than him being jumpy, because on the next hunt, he gets knocked around by a ghost who in turns gets thrown across the room.

What the hell?

At first he has no idea what is going on.

And then he remembers a samurai sword sliding into his hand.

There’s a ghost around. Has to be. It’s the only explanation. But why, and how? 

He pretty soon figures out that it’s only around him anything remotely spooky happens, and never when he’s with anyone. Aside from when he’s hunting and his new... bodyguard decides to act.

Dean can’t really say why he doesn’t mention it to Sam or Cas; maybe, he’ll late think, he felt from the first this wasn’t an evil power.

How ironic, all things considered. But that’s for later, when he’s gotten used to this new normal.

For now, he’s curious enough to try an Ouija board one night.

“Hey” he says, feeling as silly as when he did his own ghosting around in a hospital so long ago, “You there?”

Before he can say another word, the arrow slitters over to Yes. If he was talking to a human, he’d say it was an impatient gesture.

“Okay. Next question. Do I know you?”

The cursor flies of the board, makes a circle through the room, and lands on Yes again.

“No need to be so dramatic, jeez. Just can you maybe give me a hint? Most people I know don’t have much of a life span...”

The arrow starts moving fast. He can barely keep track.

“Now, slow down – “ he stops talking because of the three letters he just read.

S-Q-U-I-R-

There are barely any words that start with this combo. There are barely any words that have this combo to begin with.

No. It can’t be. He wasn’t – he wouldn’t come back as a ghost –

“No way in Hell. If you really are who you say you are, tell me something only I would know.”

The cursor moves again.

T-H-E-T-R-I-P-L-E-T-S-W-E-R-E-B-L-O-N-D-E-S

Fair enough, but that’s easy to guess –

M-A-L-E-S

He swallows. “Crowley? Is it really you?”

The arrow draws circles around the word yes, then proceeds to hop up and down the board.

“Hey, I get it.” Dean blinks. Truth is, he has no idea what to do. So Crowley’s a ghost now. Should he help him move on? But that would certainly mean him landing back in hell, and why should they just repeat that? Crowley was- is – a friend. Kind of.

Also there’s the fact that Dean is so freaking happy he feels like bursting into song. He missed the damn demon, alright? Maybe a bit more than he let on when Sam and Cas commented on his bad mood. Repeatedly.

“You feel particularly vengeful? More than you used to be, I mean?”

The arrow skitters over to No.

“So basically you’re just... hanging out?”

Yes.

“Okay. Cool.”

He’s definitely not going back to sleep tonight. Remembering Bobby, he asks, “So if I... pour out a drink for you, you can actually sip it?”

Yes.

And that’s how he ends up sharing a drink with Crowley once more, if a bit more quietly than he’s used to, if he ignores the Ouija board, because the demon – ghost – whatever is apparently ecstatic about being able to communicate.

That last motel was god awful –

You needed way too long to figure out it was a tulpa three months ago in Miami –

That ghost was so pathetically weak –

It all runs together after a while, but Dean doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“Dean?” Sam asks the next morning.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Sure” he says, looking from him to Cas, who looks as confused as Dean himself feels at the question.

“You were just humming while making me a spinach omelette.”

“So? Can’t a guy just be in a good mood for once?”

Because he is. He really is. Somehow, their team feels more complete now that Crowley’s returned to them – even if only in spirit form.

The Ouija board gets tiresome after a while, so Dean takes a pencil and notebook and it turns out Crowley can write things down. Awesome. He just has to be careful that the others don’t see it, because Crowley’s handwriting is pretty distinct. Seriously, did he practice calligraphy when he was alive?

He still hasn’t told Sam and Cas. Crowley is obviously haunting him specifically anyway, and he’s not doing anything evil, so what’s the damage?

He also knows exactly what they would say and do, and he’s not the least ready to say goodbye, he admits to himself a week after they first communicated.

Turns out he missed the demon more than even he realized.

Thing is, Dean gets that being haunted is supposed to be awful and scary and whatnot, especially if the one who’s haunting you was kind of a friend back when he was alive.

But truth is, it’s not. Sure, it can be a tad annoying when Crowley is bored, but it’s Crowley. Things could be way worse.

One morning, he stumbles into the kitchen. Next thing he knows, a cup of coffee drifts over, exactly how he likes it. “Thanks, man.”

It’s surprisingly easy to get used to it. It helps that Crowley’s bored out of his mind, apparently, because Dean simply stops dropping things, even when he’s had a few drinks; truth is, they just keep getting caught just in time by his helpful spirit pal, as he calls him in his head but never to his not-face.

“Hey!” he complains one afternoon when Crowley switches the channel. “That’s Doctor Sexy!”

I am dead and I can feel my brain cells evaporating, the notepad declares.

He rolls his eyes.

“What do you want to watch, your Highness?”

Huh. The 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice. He doesn’t even have that bad a taste.

It’s then and there that Dean admits to himself that he’s clinically insane, but can’t bring himself to care, especially because soon afterwards a bowl of popcorn comes drifting his way.

And then comes the night when Crowley decides to have an opinion. Dean’s about to reach for the bottle of jack to refill his glass when –

It skitters away.

“Hey!”

It skitters further. “What do you think you are doing – “

And with that, the bottle takes flight. “Oh no you don’t – “

Thing is, both Dean and Crowley were pretty sure Sam’s asleep and Cas in his room.

They aren’t. In fact, they’re just coming down the hallway and the bottle hits Sam straight in the face.

“What – “

And so Dean has no other choice but to confess.

Sam is incredulous at first. “A ghost demon? Dean, you’re not so gullible.”

“Do you really think I can’t tell? Crowley, write something down for Sam to make him see.”

Crowley complies. He usually does, unless Dean asks for really stupid stuff.

I am dead, Moose. Thought you’d be happy. You were the one who wanted to kill me dead, remember?

Sam stares at the paper. “That sounds like him.”

“Told you.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Dean shrugs. “A while.”

“A while?”

“He’s not doing any harm, is he?”

“Harm – Dean it’s Crowley as a ghost. God knows what he gets up to.”

That’s what you get for being a helping hand, the ghost writes.

Dean snorts.

“Dean – “

“Come on, Sam, we’re good. There’s no danger. Do you feel anything, Cas?”

“Now that I know a spirit’s here, I can feel it, but it’s definitely not vengeful.”

“There you have it, Sammy.”

He leaves them there, wishing that this could be all... Only it’s Sam, and if he knows one thing about his brother, it’s that he doesn’t know when to leave him alone.

And so a few days later, he tries again.

“Dean...” Sam trails off when he sees the chess board in front of him. “What are you doing?”

“Playing chess. Just try doing anything else with him; he’ll cheat every time.”

His king falls down. “Oh, don’t you start, you know you do.”

“Dean, can we talk?” his brother asks. “Alone?”

“Sure. Crowley, stay put, alright? And don’t even think about it. I know exactly where each piece is standing.”

He follows Sam into the library.

“So” his brother begins. “You were just playing chess. With a ghost who used to be a demon”.

“Yep. We were bored.”

“You were – Dean, don’t you realize this is a little bit crazy?”

“Compared to what? God’s sister?”

His brother sighs. “Alright I – look I’m a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Why? It’s Crowley.”

“Exactly!”

“If you’re worried he’s going to get crazy, don’t be. I think it has something to do with him not being human before he was a ghost, but – “

“Fine” Sam mutters and leaves.

Dean shrugs and returns to the game. “Alright, that bishop was not standing on E3 – ”

Crowley puts it back. “That’s better.”

He gets that most people would consider what he’s doing insane. On a case, they meet some other hunters, and while they’re discussing the options, he asks his notebook, “Any ideas?”

Rachel, the hunter, jumps when the pen gets taken up. “What’s that? Some Harry Potter horcrux thing?”

“Nah, just Caspar the helpful ghost” Dean simply replies, reading Crowley’s answer. “ A wraith? Could be. And you know you’re helpful, shut up.”

When Rachel looks at Sam, he shrugs.

It’s a wraith after all, and they deal with it soon enough.

That night, he gets woken by all of his books being thrown off their shelves.

“What the – Crowley, what are you – “

The Blade he used to fight through Purgatory flies across the room.

“Are you trying to kill someone, stop – “

His closet bursts open and his flannel shirts fall out.

“Crowley – “

The answer is just more chaos, and he would think his demon-slash-ghost-kind-of-friend has finally snapped, only...

Nothing has hit Dean yet. Sure, he’ll have to fix his room, but that’s just a small inconvenience.

Which means that this is not an angry ghost out to hurt him.

No, this is a ghost crying out in panic. But what can possible be the matter? If Dean or the others were in danger, Crowley would act rationally to prevent things from happening; so what –

Unless – if –

Dean sprints out of the bed. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

When he reaches the war room, he hears Cas. “Sam, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Cas, it’s getting out of hand. I caught him playing chess with the ghost in the war room.”

“It’s not just “a ghost””. Now Cas sounds decidedly bitter. “I know you want to help your brother, but sometimes you forget – “

“Cas, he was playing games with a demon turned ghost.”

“Chess is a highly interesting strategy game that involves – “

“For the last time: I am doing this. You can either stay or go.”

For one moment Dean is frozen, unable to breathe. For once things have calmed down, they have been hunting quietly, he actually feels pretty good about his life, and his brother wants to –

“Sam” Cas suddenly says, sounding serious, “I don’t think I – “

And that is all Dean needs to storm in and snatch the bowl out of Sam’s hands. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“What we always do, help spirits move on!”

“Move on to where? Do you know he’d end up in Heaven, for sure? No you don’t! And can’t you imagine how many demons would be glad to see him back in Hell?” Dean snarls, holding up the bowl, which is violently knocked out of his hands by Crowley.

“Look what you’re doing! What you’re turning into!”

“What do you mean!?”

“The old Dean would never have tolerated a ghost hanging around! We even helped Bobby go to Heaven – “

“When he went berserk, Sam. Crowley will never become a vicious spirit, because he already was – as a demon.”

“We don’t know that for sure!”

“No we don’t, but do you think I wouldn’t be able to tell?”

“We know ghosts can possess people” Sam argues.

Dean looks at him. Finally he says, “Sometimes I think you don’t know me at all.”

He turned and leaves.

He half-expects Cas to follow him, and he does. “Dean, I want you to know – “

“I heard you. You weren’t completely on board. Got it.”

Then, unexpectedly, Cas looks up and say, “Crowley, I apologize to you as well.”

A pillow flies from Dean’s bed and hits Cas on the head. “Pretty sure that was him patting you.”

“I can easily believe that” the angel deadpans.

Dean grins.

The next few days are tense. Sam is silent, Dean is still a bit angry with him, and Cas is... well, Cas.

At least Dean thinks so until he hears the angel talking to himself one day.

“No, no, that would make it worse, I think. Dean’s so happy you’re back. He would probably think it was Sam’s fault.”

Dean listens but doesn’t hear a thing. “Yes, I know. But you and Dean were closer when you were alive.”

He’s talking to Crowley. Dean really shouldn’t eavesdrop but can’t help it.

“Crowley, you must know that... Dean has considered you part of team free will for a while now. He once – I know he has faith in you.” After a pause he adds, “As do I.”

Next thing Dean hears sounds like the notebook being thrown against a wall.

“Crowley?” Cas asks but apparently gets no answer and Dean steals away.

He returns to his room and a piece of paper with the word EAVESDROPER and a caricature of him being painted on it. He chuckles. “Come on.”

He still keeps the drawing.

After another few days during which he pointedly asks Crowley for the most mundane stuff when Sam is around to show he’s not a goddamn monster, his brother appears to be relenting; but he only truly learns what it means to have a ghost on their side during another hunt, when a werewolf who just threw off Cas is about to rip Sam’s throat.

Because he suddenly throws his head back and yowls in pain, giving Sam time to scramble away and Dean to shoot him.

On the way home, Sam’s silent for a long time. Then, he says, “Thanks, Crowley.”

The lights go on and off three times.

“I agree” Dean says, and the world rights itself.

Over the next few months, Sam and Cas start to address Crowley randomly too.

“I don’t recognize that word” the angel explains one day when they’re working on a script in Ancient Greek, “but then, as you would say, it has been a while. Crowley, could you – “

He’s already scribbling down the translation.

On another occasion, Dean finds Sam in the library. “You looking for something?”

“I know there was this one book about Egypt spells, but – “

It falls down in front of Sam. “Thank you, Crowley.” He blinks. “Good God, I just realized I’ve gotten used to this.”

“Join the club” is all Dean replies.

And this seems to be the way things are, until they stumble across an old witch. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but Cas feels her powers on their trip through town, so they decide to check it out.

They didn’t realize how old she is.

Some of the pictures on her wall are drawings from Egypt, around three thousand years ago.

And because she’s so old, she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Esmeralda (“Call me Esme”) has been nothing but friendly and even made them tea. Dean has put his notebook on the table out of pure habit by this point, but Crowley’s been remarkably silent.

Completely silent.

In fact...

“Oh don’t worry” Esme says, “I performed the spell while I was in the kitchen, he’s resting by now.”

And suddenly Dean knows exactly how Crowley felt that night because – because –

“Did you – you haven’t – “

God damnit, he’s a hunter, he’s not going to have a panic attack in some witch’s living room –

“Oh no – no dearie, of course not. I would never send him to Hell. He seems like such a sweetheart, and he’s so attached to all of you. I don’t think he realized what I was going to do, but honestly I didn’t even try to get in contact with him, because his wishes were rather clear.”

“His wishes? What – “

“Dean – “ Cas says, resting a hand on his arm. “Please, let her speak.”

“So he’s alright?” Sam asks at the same time.

“Oh yes. In fact, I think he’ll be a little bit more in a while... There are some perks to being the only witch who knew the ways of Ancient Egypt and there life after death spells...”

Dean has no idea what she even means, but he decides to wait. He can always put a bullet through her later.

It turns out to be the farthest from his mind when Crowley comes stumbling in from the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Witches – all the same” he grumbles to himself. “Have to tell the boys that – “

“Crowley!?” Dean gets up an d walks over to him. “You made him visible?”

Esme actually looks scandalized. “What do you take me for? I’m not just a witch.”

Dean doesn’t understand until he’s close enough to realize –

Crowley is breathing.

He grabs his wrist.

“Squirrel, what? I’ve been trying for months to – “

“He has a pulse” Dean announces. “Crowley, you’re alive.”

“Human, of course, like his soul has been since he died” Esme says. “But I trust it’s enough.”

“Dean?” Sam asks, “Is that really him?”

“You bet” Dean replies while Crowley is busy figuring out how he came back to life and that now that he’s human, thanks are probably in order.

Sam nods. “Cas?”

“It’s as Esme says” he announces.

Thank God. Thank Esme. Whatever.

“We’ll have to clean out a room for you” he muses when they’re back in the Impala.

Like they did for Cas, months ago.

Crowley, who has until now been pretty silent, replies, “Oh how I’ll miss watching you sleep.”

“Dean doesn’t like that” Cas informs him.

“You really think I wasn’t aware?”

Dean catches Crowley’s eyes in the rear view mirror. Yep, still Crowley. Still a sarcastic bastard, still annoying, but human.

He finds he can live with that very well.

[ts-akhmim]

Episode 8 | ”Being a muppet is a contagious disease. ” - Ali

omg so?! i need to do a proper long confessional and go through my thoughts because i just got like a tsunami of information but... jake lived?! and idoled out scott who i thought was gonna win?! hello?!? i'm so so so excited because now i get to work with jake and he is SUCH a shield, and me/him/autumn are gonna ride off into the sunset im manifesting it.

what the HELL is going on here first jake pulls out an idol (which i was JUST gossipping with jordan pines about him having it because i know just how he plays and would ya look at that!) i was so ELATED to read he did that, thinking ok, i gave him a fair warning those false beauties we're gonna get us all, and they voted him unanimously so surely he'll take one of them out and ... HE TAKES OUT SCOTT?? i dont even have time to process this bafoonery yet because here i am, minding my business, trying to watch micronesia to heal the hole in my heart left by w*nners at w*r, eating a piece of pizza and then BOOM we merge?? but oh ok! they said we get a nice little break, lemme not stress and go back to eating my piz- NOPE THERE IS SO SUCH THING AS A BREAK IN SURVIVOR GORL I SWEAR I PUT MY PHONE DOWN TO GET ONE BITE, I COULDNT EVEN ENJOY MY EXTRA CHEESE BECAUSE MY TELEPHONE IS BLOWING UPPPP people are spilling tea left and right, i probably dont even have time to write this so i gotta keep it short and sweet; the false beautys are really trying to slide in my pms and sing kumbaya and if they wanna sing with me, bring it on because they are not a songstress like i am, ill riff run and harmonize yall right off this island. PERIOD. ive been REALLY trying to play up this card where im just some dumb bitch, let everyone keep thinking im the mayor of boo boo the foolsville, but i know a lot more than i let on so catch the tea on that

i swear for it being our "day off" this sure has been the most work i feel like ive had in a hot minute first of all fuck the tomb but FUCK this pyramid even more the second it was announced i found the extra link to the slide puzzle on the blog within SECONDS but 1) i suck at slide puzzles and 2) MY COMPUTER CRASHED HALF WAY THROUGH IT SO I HAD TO START AGAIN. literally took me 2 hours to finish, so that was embarrassing, then much like how the tomb had questions, this pyramid has a hashi puzzle to solve in EIGHT MINUTES....which i dont even know what the fuck that is sorry to this hashi man i gave a good effort but didnt get it in time, so im gonna try again tomorrow of course but im sure someone who isnt a dumbass had better luck than me and got it so thats that on that ....also gorl some of these people aka kendall really got the audacity, she messages me today and is like IS JAKEY COMING TO YOU SAYING STUFF ABOUT ME TRYING TO PIT US AGAINST EACH OTHER oh gorl, if only you knew its ME going to jakey saying shit about YOU trying to get him against YOU, because your first mistake was trying to prepare an alliance to vote me out, your second mistake was running around telling everyone i have an idol, and your third mistake was making an enemy of jakey, now there's this angry jakey on the loose and im gonna just try to work my magic to tame him and keep him like a pet dragon on my side to get them out and then deal with whether i think ill be able to trust him going foward, but again, i know i voted him out last game so i cant rule out him trying to target me already, especially if somehow worst case scenerio people try to pick us off first for knowing each other also had a call with augusto which was.... interesting, look, i genuinely like him as a person even though i still feel some type of way about him turning fake on me, so i definitely want to maintain a friendship with him even if it's hard for me to just stomach talking to him because of how stupid he must think i am, keep your friends close but your frenemys closer!! then i just had a call with devon too which was also interesting because, i do like him as a person, but idk how to feel about it!!! after all of them lying to me in the beginning im already feeling PTSD and dont know if i can trust anyone, but he gave me some valuable information even more so just reaffirming them all thinking i have the idol which i know is a crock of bs because DAMMIT IVE TRIED I JUST DONT HAVE IT. I know amir has it, it's so obvious to me, maybe augusto?? but i think amir. apparently devon also just kinda said he think he could see the first vote coming down to me or jakey or even him which.......makes me really nervous, i wasnt planning on fighting for immunity at the auction i wouldve rather had an advantage of some sort, but i think with this cast, and the amount of intertwined relationships going into this first tribal, i want that immunity necklace and im gonna do my damndest to get it OKAYYY this game is going to drive me insane, i feel like ive been running my mouth TOO much and talking to too many people and am gonna get voted out for it but i also simultaneously feel like i havent talked to people no where near enough and, am gonna be voted out for it so ???buckle the fuck up ladies we've officially boarded the confusion express so im just gonna try and sit back and enjoy the ride ig

Welp we are on the bottom... shit. I'm going to be honest, this week has not been great for me. Like my real life is slowly going to shit and now my fake life has been screwed. Thanks Jakey... you dick. All is not lost, because out there in the distance is the iconic duo of Jordan Pines and Kendall Duffy AKA Sarah and Woo. You know, Sarah and Woo. That iconic duo in Cagayan. Remember that one time Sarah walked up to Woo and said "Sup I'm Sarah," and he nodded and said "Woo". And that other time they were sitting on the same log laughing at something Tony said? That is stuff of legends man. Okay so genuinely Jordan meant to say Tony and Woo but he accidentally said Sarah and Woo and now this is our legacy. The plan is to play it both ways. As this isn't going to be a simple Pangonging. Obviously a beauty is going to leave but before we all go, they are going to try to get rid of some of the brawns. The goal is that the beauty isn't me and the brawn isn't Jordan. I know you're legally not supposed to trust Jordan Pines but it's never really been the case for me? IDK maybe it's cause he always gets sniped before I betray him. Maybe it's cause the one time he voted me out it was cause I committed suicide by cop. But for the most part he's a realible ally. Also this would be a shitty and stupid lie right? Like he knows I don't have an idol, literally everyone knows that! Trying to get in my good graces is a terrible fucking idea, Jesus. Right now I'm just going to market myself and the others as a free vote. I know it's not realistic to get Augusto and Amir to the finals but it's all I really want. We've been through shit together. I don't want to be put in a position to get them out. I also believe that either Jakey and Ali has the idol. So this round I'm going to flush it. I'm not going to be able to get him out, I just need him to believe he's going to be voted out. He's a very paranoid individual, it shouldn't be too difficult.... I am not going home tonight. I refuse to. 

okay so i haven't done a good typed confessional in a WHILE and i have thoughts. so i'm basically really frustrated with a lot of this tribe and i don't know how to vocalise it. but first the positives.. the fact that i have an alliance of me/autumn/jake brings me such a rush of seretonin, i love them both and i will fight my hardest to get the three of us to the endgame of this game. i think rn my goal final five is me/jake/autumn/adam/devon, adam because i dont think he is playing this game as well as he necessarily thinks he is, but i also think we have trust and he is someone who is scoop-up-able? and then devon i get good energy from him and his straightforward energy i'd like to see in the endgame. the rest however.... whew. well actually Liam is fine, he is sweet and doing his best. of the rest tho... hmm. kendall's energy doesn't quite land with me, her dry sense of humour doesn't really work with me ha so i feel like we are gonna struggle to gel as allies (especially since we are either side of the weird brawn/beauty divide). augusto is very chatty but its a lot of chatting for... the sake of it, like his social game is to just overwhelm you with lots of messages but its nothing of substance. amir i actually like!! he has me-energy, i would actually like him to stick around (he is a good shield too). duncan i am still sus about from premerge, but i'd love to mend that bond because i might need duncan?! tj and jordan both give snake energy... tj is suddenly back to being non-commital with me and it frustrates me, i wish he would like... talk to me KJLSADF. jordan is the same i always get weird energy from him and he was in that weird alliance during the swap and didn't tell me... feel a f10 boot for jordan ideally. honestly its just frustrating i feel like everyone on this tribe is so cagey and like just thinks talking a lot is social game?! and its... not. but yeah ideally first four merge boots: kendall, augusto, tj & jordan (tho the last two is open to consideration if they stop being shady to me KJSDFA).

I just got immunity in the auction and I feel like I wasted a chance to get some long term for my game. Because I wasn't going anywhere this round (I don't think), but like at least it prevented some other people from getting it which allows me some room to make a couple moves without too many repercussions. In terms of social standing, I truly think I have put myself in a good spot. Jakey and Jordan have both said they want me to be their number ones; Devon also has said the same and has told me that he holds the Double Vote. I know that Autumn and Duncan are both willing to work with me in our alliance with Jordan. Liam and I have bonded quite a bit. And I get good vibes from Augusto, Kendall, and Adam. So the big question now is, my target at the moment is Amir... how do I get him out? I need to break up Amir, Augusto, and Kendall so that I have a better chance of working with Augusto specifically down the line and hopefully Kendall as well. I have a feeling that Adam will push for one of the trio and the trio will push for Adam or Jakey, which should give me plenty of ammo to try and make that move. Correction to my last confessional... the trio can't target Jakey because he's immune. Suck it!

i really... really just got my second idol huh... i cant believe it. i bodied that idol hunt, i sat their trying like six hundred combos for the morse code, got that demonic tile and did that evil hashi puzzle... im so happy hehe okay so ignore my super jaded confessional from yesterday im back in again akdjfsaf im literally on a reign of terror doing harsh confessionals then apologising but askdjfafa we move. so yesterday was a real busy day, we had the auction, i called lots of people and... i got myself a little bit of bling. with the auction first, it was really interesting. i misunderstood the "idol block" so i snatched it up, but then it just blocks hunting for the idol versus playing one, but for my mental health am glad i have that. i also got the vote revealer, which was like a mid-tier thing that im happy to have just got a second thing tbh. then i had like six hundred calls kaljsdfas. i called with devon first, he is really sweet and we had a great talk tbh? i really like him and hope we stick together. i did then go on to have very similar conversations to the one i had with him, with augusto and amir, but i felt best about the conversation me and devon had tbh. augusto is sweet, and very social. like i'd prefer to vote him to kendall, but i like him ha and feel like we have a bond now. i think i could be a good number moving forwards (i wouldn't want him gone 11th/10th). amir is also very nice, we are calling tomorrow, and i just dont think targetting amir is in my best interest rn? like what's the end goal in doing that. so then right now. i think i want the merge vote to be kendall? i feel like if we let that trio slide, its scary, and i have a closer connection to amir and augusto of the three. i think then the brawn tribe can turn inwards, but im eager to push the brawn tribe like "implosion" until after that trio is taken apart (to the style of splitting up alex c/jones/mo from montenegro) also otherwise i got an IDOLLL, or rather my second hehe. i put in a LOT of work to get it, i translated morse code, i did a demonic hashi puzzle, i got the 2048 tile. i earned this idol and im very proud. now i have two idols so have such wiggle room. and i'm building bonds across the tribe... im not saying im set, but... im covered for the time being

okay so im a clown and got frustrated with jordan for telling jake he was hesitant to keep me in... jordan just told me he has been downplaying our connection to people like jake KJLSDAFA so i fully just bought into nothing.

i am starting to feel my standing in the game rise, like im building bonds... everywhere. like im starting to become set to go the distance because i have lots of lowkey social bonds and because im not overtly super strategic i dont think i seem as threatening.

okay so ideal merge bootlist: f4: me/autumn/jake/devon, adam (5th), liam/jordan (6th/7th), amir (8th), duncan (9th), augusto (10th), tj (11th), kendall (12th) and then at the moment the order i would vote for people as a juror (bringing this back from montenegro): jake > autumn > amir > jordan > duncan(?) > devon > augusto > adam > tj > kendall > liam because i think jake has already idoled someone, and to make it to f3 after that is super impressive. autumn is a queen, has real strategic savvy and will have made moves to get to the end. amir is very much like autumn and him making it to the end. jordan is an amazing player and tbh deserves a win. duncan is really in game-mode and id love to see him in FTC (what a role reversal), devon has a real rootable underdog story, augusto is a social king, adam needs to pick it up beyond just targetting beauties to get my vote. tj/kendall are question marks for me, and then liam i LOVE but he doesn't necessarily 100% want to be here so i would be tentative to vote him. but its crazy because i think: jake/autumn/devon/adam/liam/jordan/amir/duncan... all trust me to some extent that's... such a large portion of the tribe. so i need to be careful im not scorning people too much, but this is a real work-able situation i think ahh

Interesting development that both Kendall and Amir want/wanted to call and talk to me. I just finished talking to Kendall (she is so sweet, I enjoy talking to her!) and I definitely see an avenue where we work together, but I am concerned that there does seem to be a guard up, which I totally understand given that we haven't been on a tribe together. We both kind of mentioned that Liam has been flirting with the idea of asking to be voted out which gave me an avenue to not say that the name I would throw out is Amir. I do hope that Liam isn't adamant about going because I truly do care for him and want him to stay in this game. I picked up a great ally in him after the initial Brawn vote and losing him now won't be fun. It does dispel this Brawn alliance people probably expect to be happening, but am I at ease with Liam going to facilitate that? But if that happens, that delays the fight between Adam/Jakey against the trio of Augusto/Amir/Kendall, which in fact would be good for me as it allows me to slide by for another week... ugh, decisions decisions. Why do I feel like this first vote could determine the rest of my game?

So Liam still wants to be in the game, which is good. I can easily work with that. Yes, I feel awful telling Kendall I thought the vote would be Liam, but now that he seems to want to be in the game, I think I can work with Liam possibly staying. I still have to wait it out and listen to what some others think, but I may be back on the board of going for one of the trio. I know Jakey wants to do Kendall, but I don't want her to go just yet. Eventually, yeah probably, but I do want her here.

Whew merge merge merge. Tonight is the first night to play my legacy advantage, i could block a vote but honestly im probably not going to. Id be pretty caught off guard if i was the target tonight and I think id rather let it fester to an idol, whether for me or someone else later tha depends on my game play. Last night was the auction and boy did jordan win big, i got a whole vote steal that im pretty sure no one knows about. I created a believable (i think) lie about what i bid on and spread and thankfully adam came out the gate with a super fact checkable lie about the auction so i think most of the heats on him. For the vote it could be a beauty butpart of me really sees liam going home just cause people are so scared of how many brawn are in the game, and like thats fine i can deal with that. I am slowly building my relationships to the point where i can get the ball rolling enough to do some damage. Ive been biding my time in the shadows for most of this game, but Jordan Pines is about to rise!

this round is what we call a mixed bag like the auction? hated that girl. I saved my money and all I got was a drawing like sis this is the Survivor Auction not an actual auction ;-; but other than that, I’ve felt really good about how I’ve been playing? Like always, I’m trying to be the Belle of the Ball and have everyone want me as a date yknow? Currently, I have my main allies (Amir, Kendall, Devon) but others (Autumn, Duncan, Ali, Jordan, Jakey) have expressed that they want to work with me which is cute! I don’t know who to trust tho ngl but yay? My main priority is getting my footing in the game this first round and hopefully getting out a Brawn. The main two I want gone from the Brawns are Liam M and Jordan Pines. Liam M is the easier sell and I don’t mind that, Jordan Pines is someone I want gone soon though. I also want Adam gone if at all possible sometime soon but we shall see! 

i take it back jordan and duncan can go again...? literally like both of them preach up and down that we are gonna work together, then pull shady stuff like saying me and adam are a duo in their alliance chat of gremlins with love of my life autumn and professional robot tj?! literally just because y'all linked up at swap and think you are gods gift to alliances doesnt mean me and adam are a duo? i just talk to him and actually give him a chance in this game unlike like... 99% of this cast. now i cant really defend adam at all or people are gonna try and snap my neck? which sucks... adam was in my endgame but because i see him having a losing finalist arc versus me being a duo with him. so that sucks but well. it just reconfirms to me that i have to trust autumn. which is not hard because i literally love her sm and i want to see thrive in this season. so i am praying it works out. this cast continues to prove that being a muppet is a contagious disease.

im absolutely LIVID right now.... i dont even know where to begin ?? let's start with this: are we playing SURVIVOR or are we playing america's next top CLOWN?? because based on how silly all these people are it doesnt seem like survivor. this is my 3rd time playing this game, and never once have i ever made it to a merge where .... every single person wants to just settle on one name since they're the "easy" vote.... and yet that's all im being told with people wanting to vote liam?? at this point i hope the plan is to vote ME out and everyone is just telling me liam because i dont want to play the game with a bunch of feeble minded school of fish who have no backbone. first of all everyone has wanted to do nothing but play that ANNOYING ass "ooh its been quiet i havent heard a name yet" game for the entire day. We're 3 hours before tribal and all the sudden everyone wants to sing kumbaya and vote for liam??? because he's not around, which guess what it does make him an easy vote but....this is survivor why would you EVER vote that person off in the merge right away, he can literally go next or any other time. I refuse to sit back and just conform to it, ill probably end up having to, but im gonna try to push what to ME makes the most sense, not only for myself but for everyone... to get one of those 3 false beautys out. I've been going to a lot of people and basically saying "Let me break it down for you: one of them 150% has the idol??? and thanks to the suvivor auction, and based on what ive gathered from people they probably have advantages too.....why waste this vote being "easy" because then next round....they're gonna know it'll be one of them and so......they're gonna play all their shit and take someone out, and i absolutely reserve the right to laugh at whoever it is because theyre an idiot and didnt want to wake up and play the game (unless it's me of course oop) I've approached, jakey, autumn, duncan, jordan, ali, devon, tj, pretty much ANYONE who has a brain to just state the obvious.....its stupid getting liam out. literally the stupidest and quite frankly downright embarrassing move to make for a group of players of this caliber. and you know what responses ive gotten? "oh its too soon to rock the boat" "we have to get one of those brawns out" "yeah we just have to go with the brains on this one" ??? too soon??? at merge??????? to play the game of survivor??????????? at this point im about to try and just tell liam with the very slim chance that he has an idol and can use it on himself because how am i supposed to try and play the game of survivor with people who dont want to play its frustrating. **update as i was writing this i just had a call with jordan pines, im not as mad anymore after smoking weed with him for like 20 minutes ahfdd but its BORING LIKE WAKE UP PEARL LETS PLAY SURVIVOR...i probably made a big mistake pushing those 3 to as many people as i just did but whatever hopefully it at least planted seeds with people and people actually try and approach me in the future rounds with that idea again in other news, the auction happened and i got the power to go to the prejuror island and plead my case with them regarding this next vote, no one was even there so that was lovely i felt like i was talking to myself so nothing new there, i peeped connor was online but didnt have anything to say when i showed up, much like how he never had anything good to say in the game and that's why he was voted out, but ANYWAY. im pissed i made a case to them to vote for amir and now no one will even make the move with me. I also bought a challenge advantage which i wanted MOSTLY so i could just tell people thats what i got from it because to me i suck at challenges anyway, so it shouldnt paint as much of a target on my back and i want people to know i dont have one of those really scary ones (and i also want to keep making people think amir or kendall has something good), but ali did confide in me he has the vote reveal which made me trust him a lot more, and i dont plan on revealing to anyone what he told me so anywho, tribal is NOT gonna go my way tonight, i tried to make a move but liam is unfortunately completely unsaveable because he's not around even though i do like talking to him personally, i opened the door to people and it just got slammed in my face but in this game you have to learn when to drop it so im hoping i dropped it fast enough to not be a future target because people could still very well vote me out next because they'd be taking out the only real beauty left!

tj, jordan and duncan are all going home as soon as possible. they really think they are slick and they are not. they think they can badmouth me, my game and my position and it wont get back to me. there is a word for it and it is clownery. one of them is going to get to stepping really soon. maybe jordan.

also i cant be too mad at liam because im voting him but i wish it wasnt like this. well. what can you do. if he plays an idol im playing mine.

Now that we're told the right day... Well, it looks like most people are back on the Liam Train, and damn I really don't want this move to be made. Like, yes, it will set me up well moving forward: less "Brawn Alliance" hype, more battles between Adam/Ali vs. Beauty Babes, and a decent amount of social mobility for me. But this just feels like a giant waste and I don't know how to stop this at this rate.

First of all: YAASSSSSSSS WE LOVE MAKING THE MERGE!!!! I’ve gotten over my Scott grief and actually am pretty content with him out of the game since he was a big contender to win it all. The time I’ve been able to spend talking to people has been amazing and I feel like I genuinely have a good relationship with everyone on the tribe besides Liam, which is why I’m happy to see him go. He’s a really nice guy but he’s not adding anything to my game. I expect the vote to go 11-1-1 tonight. I could always get idoled out or blindsided and that would suck but you try your best and do what you can! I think I have EXCELLENT relationships with Amir, Jordan and Autumn and that’s like the kingpins of each group so if someone comes after me hopefully I’ll hear about it one way or another. I need to get my head out of Amir’s ass though, I’m most excited to play with him and we called for literally 2 hours and 50 minutes yesterday. I’ve always thought he was cute and intelligent from when I was in the community before and I fangirled getting to play with him. I like to think I’m in a good position in this game so far, we’ll see as the game progresses. One last thing? ADAM!? SIS?!?! EVERYONE IS AWARE YOU LIED TO THEM! YOUR ASS IS GOING HOME NEXT! PERIODT!! (Hopefully I’ll be here to help vote you out lol

Well, here we are? This is where my game was MADE back in Guyana, however, I clearly don't have a solidified alliance I am willing to take to the end at this stage. We have 5 Brawns, three former winners, a person I voted out in Guyana, two people that voted me out, and a person I tried voting out last round all still in the game. Still, I am going to make the best of it. In the short period of time this game has provided, I have been able to make REALLY solid connections. Not all of them are 100% genuine, but the hope is that they're enough to gain trust and information that I can use to advance my game. 

if i go home tonight im gonna lose my marbles

so basicallyyyy jakey is gathering intel from the other sideand apparently theyre all scared of me, grow up??? im literally harmless wtf

HOHOHOHOOGO WHO WANTS SOME TEA ? SO DUNCAN SPILLED THAT back long ago on original hathor, remember when I was losing my mind thinking aj ratted everything to Adam It was THE TRUTH and I’m glad aj has been dealt with. It’s what he deserves .

adam thinks hes so fucking slick running around telling everyone i gotta go and that i have the idol, and then messaging me in my pms trying to call and have a "tea-spilll uwu" when hes just going to use that against me anywayyyy honey u arent as smart as u think u are, and when the time is right, you're getting crucified ADAM CAME TO ME TO BE LIKE "FUCK JAKEY WON IMMUNITY" and im like "ik :( " and he runs to jakey and goes "THE RATS ARE MAD U WON" mark my words if im leaving this game i will blow him tf up on the way out

these people are all rats ALLIANCE: Threats R Us members: jakey ali autumn Source: jakey ALLIANCE: (name unknown) Members: Autumn Duncan TJ Jordan Source: Autumn so autumn ratted on an alliance to me and not the other, which lets me know that she is far more invested in Ali that she is in Duncan. Working with Duncan is not going to save face with autumn, i have to treat her as a separate entity and work with her genuinely if i want safety from ali, like she sold duncan tj and jordan down a river to me so fast i love her so much, i want to work with her but i have to see how far it goes people i want out : adam tj liam ali jordan but rn ill settle for anyone but me cuz no one is talking to me

devon wanted to talk real quick and tellin me that there was a whole ass plan started by adam to get me out, like say the vote is kendall but actually vote for me, and the plan was entertained by brawn, also i told jakey i have the idol, and jakey told me ali has 2 idols a vote reveal and an idol block

[epic-couples-haven]

Framework Arc: Some Positives for FitzSimmons

As we are getting closer to the end of the Framework Arc, I wanted to mention a few things that I do love about it. Before I start, YES, just like MANY fans, I REALLY dislike the creepy Aida/Fitz stuff (the kissing/virtual rape basically since he has no choice...she took it away by programming/manipulation). I wish the writers did NOT include that storyline. But they love torturing fans. So that was like the icing on their torture cake. (and maybe they wanted to creepily even the Will thing from last season)....

BUT ANYWAY, here are the positive points:

1.) I want to start with the ACTING. Yes, we know how amazing both Iain and Elizabeth are. We’ve seen them shine and shine. MANY times. But could you ever imagine Iain playing such a cold and chilling character like the Doctor THIS well? I mean, somehow, he made it seem like his eyes are emotionless. To me, that’s insanely good.

2.) MORE from Jemma’s side. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve read fans say “Fitz loves her more...for him, she is everything. But for her, he isn’t first.” CRAP...total crap. Sorry. But this WHOLE season and last season showed that for Jemma, Fitz is EVERYTHING. Take for instance, her PLEADING with Ward to spare his life recently. Her talking about how she loves him...how amazing he is. Her crying her eyes out at the idea of losing him forever. HOW can anyone still say that Fitz is not number one for her? That would be blind watching. Let’s talk about Jemma literally saying, “I can’t think without Fitz.” She is broken and LOST without him. She can’t function without him. She went into the framework FOR HIM. Just as he went into another planet for her. That’s EQUAL love. Period. No “one sided” crap that some Fitz fans still say on tumblr. Heck, even last season, in her videos while stuck on that planet, she talked about settling down WITH Fitz...basically marrying him....being with him forever. But anyway, back to the framework, her LOVE for him is full on display. She knows it’s not the real universe because “the man I love would never execute anyone...” 

3.) Can we talk about different characters flat out PRAISING the FitzSimmons love story? Daisy talked about how she always knew that they belonged together. She then told Fitz that Simmons loves him and is the only one who can make him remember. Then we have even Redcliff praising their “unbreakable” love story. I mean, the quotes have been EPIC. 

4.) Aida even despite all her manipulation and programming was TERRIFIED visibly by Fitz looking at Jemma’s photo. She was so paranoid about their epic love that she made Jemma “dead” and took away all signs of her in this world. And when Jemma came back, she made sure to hide all the photos. ANY time Fitz wants to know about Jemma, she tries to change the subject.

5.) Let’s talk about Fitz in the framework. He grew up with a cold father who taught him all the wrong lessons. And he was PROGRAMMED/manipulated by Aida to be her puppet. YET, you can see that when he saw photos of Jemma, he began to constantly ask about her. For example, WHY did he suddenly ask Redcliff about Jemma when Redcliff was talking about him and Fitz in the real world? It didn’t fit into that subject. YET, he asked about her. Just like later on, he asked Daisy about Jemma. She is ON HIS MIND even though he has been manipulated.

6.) THAT MOMENT...when Jemma shouted NO and Fitz looked at her, it was ALL OVER HIS FACE. He felt it. He felt something. As you can tell, his face softened. Somehow, these two actors made a few SECONDS moment be one of the most powerful scenes for our couple.

7.) AFTER Jemma shouting AND Fitz staring at her....he began to question HIS OWN actions. Hello there. Now, suddenly, he is not sure if killing Agnes was the right thing. NOW, he was showing more emotions and actual feelings. 

YES, the downside has also been the complete lack of FitzSimmons scenes. And I miss Iain/Elizabeth shining together. BUT I think it’s storyline related. Why? Because I think that if Jemma were to interact with Fitz in a longer moment, he’d remember. And they wanted Fitz to stay a “puppet” for Aida for a few episodes...rather than him remembering right away. 

I think in episode 20, Jemma will get a true moment ALONE with Fitz. We will get an epic FitzSimmons moment where he WILL REMEMBER her. It’s inevitable. All the clues are pointing to it. He is asking about her. She has an effect on him already...and they didn’t even interact. 

As a side note, I HATED HATED the Will thing last season and wanted to quit the show. I was so mad. But I feel like the writers really worked it out last season and gave us EPIC FitzSimmons love scene. And somehow made our couple even more amazing. So I will trust them in THIS storyline to do things right for Jemma and Fitz. And just think of it as being even with the whole icky Aida/Fitz thing. AND at least, it’s just in the mind...not body and soul. It’s not actually happening. 

ALSO, at the recent panel, Iain was very OPTIMISTIC about FitzSimmons future. Remember, he said that they are STRONG together...and that nothing seems to break them. He basically gave out a huge hint here. AND Elizabeth giggled when asked about possible proposal. So I think a proposal is happening. 

AND I realize fans are worried about only a few episodes left and how everything will tie up nicely. I did ask Mark on twitter. He said to trust the writing team and made it seem like all will be resolved through good writing.

Just prepare for more angst tomorrow...but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. In slightly more than a week, FitzSimmons will be back into the real world...out of framework.

It’s important to watch LIVE and tweet live....we want to make sure our show gets a season 5 renewal. So please watch. And you can always cover your eyes during the icky Aida/Fitz stuff. 

[cosmosogler]

i was mistaken! i did not go to the office today because my sister had jury duty and was not available to take me to the office. so i got started on cleaning my room. i unpacked two boxes and put away most of my laundry. and put away a bunch of stuff from my bathroom in the apartment. my soap dispenser’s lid came off in the plastic bag so i had to rinse off everything else. 

i did not get around to looking at the papers, but that’s ok. i did twice as much cleaning as i had planned to make up for it. oh, and i found a new marina and the diamonds song i like. the title is “blue”. i have listened to it a few times, but i wasn’t at the computer too much today so i haven’t memorized it yet.

i went to play bunko with my gramma and her friends tonight. also my mom and my roommate’s mom were there. i didn’t have to interact with mother TOO much. i spent more time with dawn and gramma. i was getting scores of below 20 for the first 11 rounds, and then in the last round i got preposterously lucky and ended up winning twelve dollars (everyone puts in five). 

mother became aware of my dry eye problem, but i didn’t really mention that it’s been happening for seven or eight years. in the last year it’s happened once or twice a DAY. even when i put in eyedrops. it hurts so much and blinds me for a few minutes. wearing sunglasses seems to help... and making sure i get my eyes wet before i try to drive. it’s happened three times on the road, once with asher (and i was wearing sunglasses if i remember correctly), and i was so stressed. 

i found myself feeling super bitter on the way home from bunko. just... thinking about relationships. not even just romantic ones. it’s easier to be angry at myself than to be angry at other people though. i just, i wish i had known how little i mattered to jim. the last two times i’ve dated i haven’t seemed to matter to my partners. if i wasn’t such a prude maybe craig wouldn’t have... taken matters into his own hands.

man, that’s horrible. look at that. i can’t believe that is a thought i was having. i wish i didn’t get crushes on guys. 

while we were driving asher said things must be simpler without sexual feelings involved in my life. i know where he was coming from, and in a way that’s true, but it’s kind of made things a lot more difficult too. every partner i’ve had has like, tried to sneak in sexual stuff, or just dumped me without warning because i wouldn’t make any moves. that’s happened twice! that’s more than once!!!

i feel like i’m never going to find someone. i think of the kind of relationship i want as like a “partner in crime” more than a “girlfriend.” and... i know other people do look for that kind of relationship. but i am too shy to talk to them. or i don’t develop those sorts of feelings for that person. and i am afraid that even if i did find an ideal relationship i would be too suspicious that they were withholding those, i guess, more sexual feelings and will leave me without saying anything. or just jump on top of me while i’m trying to sleep! 

like, even if the other person was earnest, the relationship wouldn’t work because i’m too paranoid. i’m the problem. i’m broken.

hmm. i should have gone to bed earlier if i wanted to get up at 9 so my sister could take me to the office tomorrow. but i wanted to shower anyway so that would have held her up a while. taking obnoxiously long showers is the best part of my day. and i’ve been trying to shave my legs so my mom doesn’t call me disgusting. it takes a few tries. i found a new razor in the box i unpacked so maybe that’ll help. the other one was kind of rusty and dull.

don’t worry. i’m not going to do anything with the razor besides shave. i’ve accidentally cut myself before and it doesn’t just hurt, it itches for days. i want to be injured if i’m going to do that, not annoyed. if i wanted to be annoyed there are dozens of better ways to do that to myself.

welp, since there’s no way i could get ready in time to leave with my sister, i may as well keep writing until i feel like i talked about everything i wanted to.

are you still reading? hi. i’m sorry. i do read back over these sometimes so i’m not just tormenting you. i’m also stalling for myself!

i took my anti nausea medication at the right time both times i ate today and i still got pretty sick. i don’t think it’s helping. i should call my doctor tomorrow and set up an appointment for next week. i will try to remember.

last night i had a dream that started in the woods, went through a hedge maze but the hedge was made of rope and planks, and there was a dark neighborhood involved, and it ended up in a mall sort of building my brain told me was hong kong but there was just no way that could possibly be right. also there were elves? and orcs, i think?? but i left them behind in the maze. the first half was ok, to my sense of smell and sight and hearing and stuff, but the mall was just so overwhelmingly crowded. i hated it. i couldn’t figure out how to leave or where i might find a quiet corner to figure out what to do. there were seas of people waiting in endless lines to get nothing. everything was gilded and glittering and blinding. lots of red and white and gold and glass. smelled like a food court but there was no way to actually get food. it was so loud it rattled my head. i somehow didn’t touch anything the whole time though.

why are my dreams so cryptic? maybe if i remembered everything instead of just most of it they would make more sense when i tried to figure out what they meant. my worst fear is that they don’t mean anything, and they don’t mean anything on purpose. there is a time and place for dada. it is not good all the time.

sometimes i wonder why i have them and then i get kind of annoyed with myself. but i think i understand, at least a little bit. growing up with mom, when i was little, i used to wish so bad that i could be part of the books i read. i wanted to have a magical adventure and win people over with my hard work and determination and learn that i was maybe worth it. i called out for help from god every night. but nobody came. i guess consciously i had to accept that in reality nobody cares and mom is just going to be like this forever. great grandma was 102 when she died and she never stopped being like that. 

i mean, the terrifying nightmares started when i was 3 or 4. i remember the type of dreams i used to have at that age, and i remember very specific images and scenarios. i still revisit them sometimes and there’s always like an angry buzz in my head for the whole time i’m there. i got beat up during the day and tormented by devil visions at night. i started wanting to die by the time i was 6.

i started noticing a little more substance in my nightmares around, i don’t know, middle school. i guess because i spent more time sleeping, or at least, trying to sleep. i was too scared to try to get out of bed after that time dad pinned me against the wall by my neck for wandering around and startling my sister. i would go to sleep thinking about the books i was reading. 

maybe i just got used to the “death and decay” aesthetic. it still bothers me, but not as much as it used to. i got used to dying horribly or just suffering very strange and very painful injuries. like having a nail driven in under my kneecap. that was cool! maybe when i realized i would never have the kind of adventures i wanted in real life i started dreaming about them instead. but my most interesting dreams are always about other people that i meet. i am disappointed but also mostly glad they never really existed. sometimes they die over the course of the dream and i am just kind of witnessing their last few moments. sometimes i talk to them a while and then they leave and i continue with my business. sometimes i talk to them and wake up before i can ask a question that was on my mind. they always seem kind of... resigned, though. maybe some of them know that i won’t think they were real after i wake up. 

i have talked to death a few times... yeah, that seems right. it is always wearing a different person’s face, but i figure out who it was afterward. i don’t remember what we talk about. i’m never afraid of it. more like reverent. i’m kind of surprised it keeps me company while i wander around a dream. or maybe i keep it company. 

whenever i try to talk about my dreams with other people i am aware of the fact that i sound totally insane. i don’t like to talk about the weird powers i always seem to have. i don’t like to acknowledge things that might make me sound better, somehow, than i really am. but when i’m in the process of dreaming i don’t really think about it like that. i just kind of do the things i know how to do when i remember to do them. like, i learned the rules, and i sometimes take advantage of them to survive or try something new or leave an area i don’t like or ask a friend i previously made to come and help me. 

it’s kind of nice to know there’s some part of me that doesn’t really care what other people think, or what i think about myself. it just does what it does and doesn’t worry about it. it gives me hope that i won’t always have to hold myself back. but it also makes me fear that i am holding myself back, and if i just tried harder i could do anything. because that part of me is not only determined, but also stupid and doesn’t understand what limits are and gets angry when it encounters them.

i can never tell if it gets angry because i spent the first ten years of my life physically disabled and told that if i just tried harder i wouldn’t be so weak, or because the idea of a limit to human (my) intellect is scary. maybe both. 

like, one day i will be physically and cosmically unable to understand anything more. that thought makes me feel stupid, insignificant, and also gives me the horrible suspicion that i think too much of myself.

i never want to be egotistical. i never want to think that i’m better in any regard than anyone else. but just because i don’t want something to happen doesn’t mean it won’t happen and that drives me nuts. like, sure, i can’t control the world around me, but at the very least i could control myself. but i don’t know anything about myself! not for sure. i always latch on to what other people say about me because maybe they are more observant from their perspective outside the hurricane of constant madness in my head. 

there are so many contradictions that i find in myself that i can’t figure out what i’m really about, you know? like, i want a partner, but i know a relationship with me would never work for more than a few months. i want to understand and think about things, but i have so little energy that i can’t even try to do that half the time. i want to talk to people and make friends but every time i talk about myself i beat myself up and get so angry afterward because i also like to be dramatic and i must have been stealing attention from them, and not only stealing the attention, but also LYING, which means i totally wasted the attention! 

i am lying because i don’t know anything, and to hide the fact that i don’t know anything, because mom thinks i am stupid and i can’t let anyone else think that, i pretend to know things. i pretend that i remember an event perfectly and tell the story like i remember it, even when i clearly (to myself) have holes in the memory that could mean my whole point of view is wrong.

like, maybe craig didn’t really hump me when he climbed on top of me. maybe he didn’t even climb on top of me. maybe he was just sort of half on me and fell asleep and then got a semi boner. but maybe even that didn’t happen. maybe there weren’t other people in the room totally ignoring my discomfort. 

maybe mom didn’t actually hit me so much. maybe spanking is different from beating and that makes my complaints invalid. i mean, plenty of other people got disciplined and they were fine. and discipline is a part of learning right from wrong. not... physical discipline, but can i really know that i wouldn’t still be angry even if mom had just put me in time out instead of slapping me around and kicking me? like, literally punting me a few feet through the air.

how am i supposed to know anything about myself when half the things i tell myself could be made up?

man, gaslighting sucks. i don’t want to do that to people... i’m afraid that i already have though. everything i say is interpreting events a little different than they actually happened. maybe. i don’t know.

i think that’s what i wanted to talk about when i started writing. i’ve been having that feeling for years but like it’s hard to figure out how to talk about it. i didn’t have words. i gotta figure out how to get to this stuff by talking about something else first and sort of working my way to it. if you read this far, thanks for taking the time to listen to me. even if you never mention it or anything, the thought that this may have reached someone else and they might understand is... comforting. that’s why i write this stuff on tumblr instead of in, like, a word document. if i keep it in a private diary, then no one will see it, and no one will see how i feel and maybe also feel that way, and they won’t know that someone else understands how they feel. you know?

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

Man, I’m honestly so exhausted with all of this family-related drama. It’s gone well past the point where it was a “look at how fucked up my family is isn’t in wild” point of conversation and has just turned into something genuinely exhausting, and yes, people are most likely sick of me moaning and complaining about it, but I’m honestly just so tired. This whole crap with my sister-- helping look after her kid, putting up with her abuse, seeing the effect it has on my brother and my mam-- has just gotten so out of hand so long and drawn out and ridiculous that I really just don’t want anything to do with it any more. I love Liah, I really do. I’ve helped raise her for over a year and in that time I’ve learned how rewarding it can be to help raise kids, and it’s made me realize that I definitely do want kids one day, but this responsibility and the drama that comes along with it was something I never asked for. I took it up out of sheer necessity. My mother is 51 years old, with a bad back and a heel spur, and she just doesn’t have the energy to look after a growing, five-year-old girl any more, and so I’ve left to do a lot of what a traditional parent does. I get up with her in the mornings my mum doesn’t have to be up already, I get her ready, I bring her to school, I pick her up, I entertain her while mum is working, feed her, dress her, put her to bed, read her bedtime stories, do her homework with her... the list goes on. And like I said, it’s not like these are the parts that I resent; Liah is so loving and such a funny little kid, and I love her so damn much. These are valuable, bonding experiences that I have with her and every time she tells me she loves me or any time she laughs whenever we’re playing our games or we share one of our little jokes is so lovely that it does make it all feel as though it’s all worthwhile. But, the perpetual, constant effort and the time and the energy that doing stuff like this takes on top of knowing that the whole reason I’m even doing this is because my sister just isn’t capable and to a large part unwilling to is making me increasingly bitter and angry. Then we have the periodic battles with Sean over custody and access, the stuff that my sister does all of the time seeking attention or otherwise just doing what she wants to do without regard to the consequences or other people’s feelings, seeing my mam getting so stressed out and anxious as much as I am, seeing the lies and the horrible things that my sister has said affecting my brother, the anxieties that I have over my own future, over Liah’s future, the impacts it has on my mam’s health... it’s just so enraging. To think that my sister can so casually, so effortless relinquish the responsibility of raising the child she gave birth to, but then turn around and claim me and my mam are X, Y, and Z, cause more drama and more worry and more anxiety, just because she misses her and has decided she wants to be a half-decent mother for five minutes.  I remember when I last met with my aunt and uncle from the states (two of my absolute favourite people in the world, and people who I should try and keep in contact with more) and we were in Brother Hubbards in town, and I talked to them a little bit about what was going on with my sister, the pressure I felt like I was under, and they were so wonderful and understanding. They’ve always been incredibly supportive and encouraging (they see potential in me somewhere, I suppose, or perhaps they just feel sorry for me knowing what’s going on-- god that sounds pathetic) and when I gave them all the details they said that my sister was a vortex, and that I was getting slowly dragged into what she was doing to herself. If I didn’t pull myself out of it I’d end up trapped in it indefinitely, but what does pulling myself out of it even mean? Leaving my mam here alone to deal with all of this? Leaving Liah when she’s already so attached to me and end up hurting the both of us, but perhaps her moreso because she’s already lost her dad and her mam? I don’t want to do that. I don’t think I’d be able to happy knowing that I’ve just jumped so much responsibility and left it all with my mam, and knowing that Liah would miss me. And besides, how am I supposed to get out anyway? That kind of idea requires mobility, which requires money, not something I have a whole lot of. Hopefully, when I do get a job (THAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO GET TWO MONTHS AGO HELLO COSTA???) I’ll be able to save up and maybe just get an apartment somewhere? Maybe that would be enough to erect some very much needed distance? Or would I just get dragged into it no matter how far I go? I honestly don’t know at this stage, and don’t know if I’ll even be able to do that if the opportunity does come around.  I mean, I’m sitting at home with Liah, watching Tangled with her, and as much as I’m trying to put on a happy and funny face for her, I’m also waiting for the guards to come because Sean decided that he wasn’t going to pick Liah up like he was supposed to last weekend and moved it to this weekend instead, even though the court order says it’s only every two weeks. He came, I had to argue with him at the door, he said that we breaking a court order for the third time(???) and then went to my aunt Mandy’s, because my sister, on the phone, told him that’s where she often brings her when she’s in work, then he gave Mandy shit when she’s nothing to do with this, said he was bringing the guards to her house too, then my mam got a call off the guards... etc., etc. So right now I don’t know if he’s going to turn up still, with the guards and my loud, unpredicated, batshit insane sister and demand to see her. I’m here, on my own, with Liah, trying to keep her entertained and pay attention to her cute little commentaries on Rapunzel's hair or respond to her silly little faces, but in reality I’m anxious as fuck worrying about what I’m going to do should that happen.  I never asked for any of this. I never did anything in all of this to warrant this. I wasn’t the one who had a child and got with a man who turned out to be a domineering, imperious asshat with the emotional intelligence of a laminated sheet who decided, all of a sudden, that he was Liah’s father. I should be working and saving up for my master’s degree and planning my future rather than rushing home to look after my niece and entertain her. I should be texting friends on my days off and asking if they’re free for a few pints or if they want to head out somewhere and hangout. Instead, I’m sitting here with my niece on my lap, looking out the window like a paranoid schizophrenic every time a car goes by thinking it’s either Sean and the guards and planning about what I’m going to say or do-- I can only imagine what my neighbours think every time I peek my goofy looking head out the window to check if it’s him. I’m incredibly anxious, feeling almost as though I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack (I probably sound like a right Tumblrina atm but that is something I’ve actually started having since all this started), and even when there’s nothing immediately wrong there are still these underlying issues and worries-- how long is this going to go on? Am I even doing a good job doing what I’m doing or am I only making things worse? Is this what my whole life is going to revolve around now? Liah is only 5, how long am I going to have to be an informal parent / steward / guardian for her? Until she’s 18? What impact is that going to have on my future? Despite being unemployed I feel as though I have so little time to myself any more. I can’t really read uninterrupted because I feel guilty about just plopping Liah in front of a television screen for two long and not interacting with her, and the same applies to playing games or even just hanging around on the internet for too long.  And people are probably wondering; well, why not just let Sean look after Liah? He’s clearly quite willing to considering he’s going through so much trouble himself to even just get access. And the truth is that we’re uncomfortable with Sean. Beside me and my mam’s own personal distaste for his character (he’s, as I said, imperious, demanding, condescending, disdainful, etc.) he’s also got a weird personal history that we feel is pretty suspect. I mean, the guy has sort of casually slipped into a number of family’s lives and taken on a very, well, “affectionate” attitude towards these people’s kids. I think he seems himself as a form of surrogate father for these people’s kids, and that makes me... uncomfortable. Why does he feel the need to become so close to these kids? He’s done so against the wishes of at least one family, as people have cut off contact with him for telling them how to raise their kids when he’s not even related to them and their parents are doing a perfectly fine job. Then there’s the duplicity, the willingness to listen to Michelle’s bullshit when he probably knows full well that she’s spouting lies because it provides an excellent starting point for legal invectives in court, the fact that he insists on Liah calling him Daddy when we’ve already expressed we’re uncomfortable with that, the fact that he sent messages to Liah’s father’s biological family implicating that Michelle attacked his mother... it’s just a whole load of bullshit, and we’re not happy with it. But, unfortunately, the courts ruled that he’s entitled to loco parentis because, when Michelle got involved with him, he spent enough time around Liah to be entitled to it. Now, the judge the last time we were in court said that we it up to him and had he been there at the ruling where he had been given it, he wouldn’t have given it at all, but unfortunately due to either a case of the judge’s oversight or simply because it appeared at the time that he was a good man worthy of it, he was awarded it. So that’s what we have to deal with. His constant butting into our lives because he was awarded loco parentis and visitation rights. Plus, Liah does love him. Misguidedly so, but she’s five, you obviously can’t blame her for that. And it’s painful to think about how heartbroken she would be were it a case she wouldn’t see him again-- although we do believe it’d be better in the long run. 

So that’s really it at the moment, anyway. I’m so fed up but I don’t know what to do.