#and then a leprechaun shows up riding on the back of a dragon and REALLY mixes things up

[ineffablefool]

Finally watching Spirited Away, after years of seeing all kinds of people wax rhapsodic about it over the years.

I did... not expect it to make me feel uncomfortable about being a fat person so very, very many times.

[andrealvsbooks]

Demons

Who is Lizbeth Potter really?

That's a question that gnaws at Lizbeth herself. All her life she has felt strange as if a piece of her life was missing, when at last it seemed that the moment of answers would come, everything seems to get worse.

What seemed like a simple tournament in which she would also see her boyfriend Peter Pevensie again, becomes her biggest problem while she deals with new powers, a new identity as hated as the girl who survived and lies.

Have I mentioned yet that she now has a voice in her mind that says it's her dragon pestering her all the time?

Yes, Lizbeth Potter's luck couldn't get any worse.

English isn’t my first language, so if you see any mistakes or things that look weird please tell me so I can fix them.

Chapter 1

POV Lizbeth

It's been two days since the Quidditch World Cup. Death Eaters showed up, and someone conjured the Dark Mark, which caused chaos that still feels fresh in my mind. After the train ride back to Hogwarts and receiving a letter from Sirius, I am now sitting in the Great Dining Hall, next to Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, my best friends, waiting for Dumbledore's welcome speech. Apparently, he has a very important announcement to give us.

Oh, I almost forgot: I haven't introduced myself. My name is Lizbeth Potter, I'm 14 years old, and although I'm just beginning to discover the extent of my powers, I already have a story to tell. I have a boyfriend named Peter Pevensie, whom I met in the Muggle world. He told me about a magical place called Narnia, and I confessed to him that I was a witch. We spent a lot of time together, but one day, he and his brothers just… disappeared. It was as if they had evaporated, as if no one but me remembered that they ever existed. Ever since then, I've been searching for answers.

When I returned to Hogwarts after that summer without Peter, I became obsessed with understanding what had happened to him. Eventually, I discovered that his disappearance was part of his return to Narnia. Now I wait patiently for the day when I can see him again. Because, after all, if magic allowed me to remember him, doesn't that mean we will meet again someday?

-Well, now that you are all seated I have some announcements to make: Mr. Filch the janitor has asked me to remind you that you are not allowed to do magic in the corridors, I also remind you that the forbidden forest is absolutely forbidden for all the students as well as the first and second year students are forbidden to go to Hogsmeade -Filch entered and approached Dumbledore, As I was saying - he continued, smiling at the crowd of students in front of him- we have the honor of hosting an exciting event that will take place over the next few months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will take place at Hogwarts this term.

-He's staying with us! -said Fred in a loud voice. Almost everyone laughed, and so did Dumbledore, as if appreciating Fred's intervention. -I'm not staying with anyone, Mr. Weasley -he replied, -although, speaking of staying with people, I was told a really good joke this summer about a troll, a witch, and a leprechaun walking into a bar… Professor McGonagall cleared her throat noisily. -Eh… Well, perhaps this is not the most appropriate moment…. No, it's true -said Dumbledore- Where was it? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament! Well, some of you probably don't know what the Triwizard Tournament is, so I hope those of you who do will forgive me for giving a brief explanation while you think of something else. The Triwizard Tournament originated about seven hundred years ago, and was created as a friendly competition between the three most important schools of magic in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was chosen to represent each of these schools, and the three champions participated in three magical trials. The schools took turns hosting the Tournament, which took place every five years, and was considered an excellent way to establish ties between young wizards and witches of different nationalities as well as to invite rulers from one of the worlds around us… until the number of deaths grew so high that they decided to discontinue the tournament.

-The number of deaths? -Hermione whispered, a little frightened.

But most of the students in the Great Hall didn't seem to share that fear: many of them whispered excitedly, and even I was more interested in hearing more about the Tournament than worrying about deaths that had occurred over a hundred years ago.

-In all this time there have been several attempts to hold the Tournament again -Dumbledore continued -none of which were very successful. However, our departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Sports and Games have decided that now is a good time to try again. We have worked flat out this summer to make sure that this time no champion is in mortal danger.

I'm going to try it! -said Fred Weasley, his face lighting up with excitement at the prospect of such glory and riches. He must not have been the only one who was imagining himself as Hogwarts champion. At every table, I saw students looking at Dumbledore with rapturous expressions, or whispering to their neighbors in utter excitement. But Dumbledore spoke again, and the Great Dining Hall fell silent once more. -Although I imagine you are all eager to take home the Triwizard Tournament Cup -he said -the Headmasters of the three participating schools, in agreement with the Ministry of Magic, have decided to place an age restriction on this year's contestants. Only students who are of the required age (seventeen years of age or older) will be allowed to propose themselves for consideration. This -Dumbledore raised his voice slightly as some people made noises of protest in response to his last words, especially the Weasley twins, who seemed suddenly furious- is a measure we deem necessary since the tasks of the Tournament will be difficult and dangerous, no matter how many precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below the sixth and seventh years will be able to cope with them. I will personally make sure that no student under that age cheats our impartial judge to become Hogwarts champion -His light blue eyes sparkled especially brightly as he winked at Fred and George's faces, which showed an expression of defiance. So, please don't waste your time introducing yourselves if you are under seventeen. Now without further ado, let the Beauxbatons students enter!

Suddenly, the huge doors of the Great Hall opened with a solemn echo, and the murmur of students faded into an expectant silence. In walked a group of girls in elegant sky-blue uniforms, their cloaks billowing softly as they passed, as if a mysterious wind were surrounding them. Each of them moved with impeccable grace and amazing synchronization, performing a delicate and harmonious dance that caught everyone's attention. Their movements were smooth, and each gesture carefully calculated. It was impossible to look away. As the show progressed, I could see some of the students begin to blush, enraptured. Ron, in particular, was completely mesmerized, his cheeks taking on a bright red color that went unnoticed by anyone. Hermione, the twins and I couldn't hold back a laugh at his expression, a mixture of admiration and rapture that made him seem completely oblivious to our surroundings.

When the students finished their presentation, a huge woman appeared behind them and started walking towards Dumbledore. In all my life I had only ever seen one person as gigantic as that woman, and that was Hagrid. It seemed to me that they were exactly the same height, but even so (and maybe because I was used to Hagrid) that woman seemed even bigger. Taking a few steps, she stepped fully into the area illuminated by the dining room light, and it revealed a beautiful face with dark skin, large black crystalline eyes, and a sharp nose. She wore her hair tied back at the base of her neck in a shiny bun. Her robes were black satin, and a multitude of opal beads glittered around her throat and on her thick fingers. Dumbledore began to applaud. The students, imitating their headmaster, clapped as well, many of them standing on tiptoe to get a better look at the woman. Smiling graciously, she advanced toward Dumbledore and extended a glistening hand. Though Dumbledore was tall, he barely had to bend down to kiss it. -My dear Madame Maxime -he said -welcome to Hogwarts. -Dumbledog -Madame Maxime replied, her voice deep- I hope you are well. -In excellent form, thank you -Dumbledore replied.

Without another word Dumbledore directed the Beauxbatons students to sit at the Ravenclaw table while Madame Maxime sat at one of the free seats at the teachers' table. -Now, our friends from the north, let us welcome the proud students of Dumstrangs and their headmaster Igor Karkarov - said Dumbledore. For the second time, the doors of the Great Dining Hall opened, and this time they revealed a group of burly, imposing-looking young men. They were tall, with serious faces and intense gazes, and they moved forward in an intimidating line. Every step they took echoed off the ground, and with calculated movements, they tapped their staffs in unison. In perfect synchronization, they traced figures in the air with flames that seemed to emanate from their staffs, forming orange and golden sparkles that illuminated their faces and gave the place an almost mystical aura. Leading them was a man of sinister bearing, who wore on his shoulders a cloak of singular skin, smooth and of a silvery tone that reflected the light as if it were made of pure metal. His hair, of the same silver hue, fell in an orderly fashion.

-Dumbledore! -he shouted effusively as he climbed the slope- How are you, my old companion, how are you? -Splendidly, thank you, Professor Karkarov! -Dumbledore replied. Karkarov had a pasty, affected voice. He was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (which ended in a small curl) did not quite conceal his weakly pronounced chin. Arriving before Dumbledore, he shook hands with him. -Old Hogwarts -he said, looking up at the dining room ceiling and smiling. His teeth were quite yellow, and notice that the smile did not include his eyes, which kept their cunning, cold expression- It's great to be here, it's great….. As the Durmstrang students made their way to the Slytherin table at Dumbledore's direction, we saw a boy, with his nose, prominent and curved, and thick black eyebrows. To recognize that profile I didn't need Ron's punch in the arm, nor did I need him whispering in my ear:

-It's Krum! I don't believe it! -Ron exclaimed in amazement- Krum, Lizzie! It's Viktor Krum! -Ron, for God's sake, he's just a quidditch player! -said Hermione. -Nothing more than a quidditch player? -He's one of the best seekers in the world, Hermione! I never would have guessed he still went to school! Before Ron could express his excitement any further, Dumbledore spoke again, causing the dining hall to fall silent again.

-And finally, we welcome the rulers of one of the many worlds that exist. This year we have the pleasure of welcoming the kings and queens of Narnia.

What?

The doors to the Great Hall slowly opened, and an imposing figure filled the doorway. A huge lion with golden fur and deep, serene eyes walked in with calm, confident strides. Following him, in an elegant formation, came Peter, Lucy, Susan, Edmund, and a taller young man with a noble bearing and dark hair I didn't recognize. Awe and excitement made me grip Hermione's hand, who seemed quite curious.

As they reached the front of the Great Hall, the lion stopped in front of Dumbledore. The headmaster greeted him with a smile.

—Aslan, old friend —Dumbledore said, bowing his head slightly in respect.

—Albus, it's good to see you again —the lion replied, his deep voice leaving us all astonished.

An absolute silence took hold of the room. Students and professors were stunned until Fred and George broke the tension.

—The lion... —Fred whispered in amazement.

—He spoke! —George added.

—Awesome! —they both exclaimed in unison, prompting some laughter among the students.

With a playful expression, Dumbledore looked at everyone and introduced:

—Dear students, it is an honor to present the kings and queens of Narnia: Queen Susan, Queen Lucy, King Peter, King Edmund, and King Caspian. They all come from a world called Narnia, filled with magic and adventures.

Following Dumbledore's lead, the kings made their way to the Gryffindor table, while Aslan walked toward the professors' table. I suspected he might be another judge for the Triwizard Tournament.

Fred and George, ever curious, quickly approached the newcomers.

—Hello, kings... —Fred said with a playful grin.

—And queens —George added with a slight bow.

—We’re the Weasley twins, and we welcome you to Gryffindor —they both said proudly.

Peter smiled and nodded formally.

—It's a pleasure to meet you, Fred and George.

The twins laughed, giving him a light pat on the shoulder.

—No need for so much formality, okay? —Fred said, winking—. Here in Gryffindor, we consider ourselves the lions of Hogwarts. We’re brave and loyal, and besides, the Potter family has always been in this house —he added with a proud smile.

I shot him a mildly annoyed glance at the mention of my last name, while Susan looked on with curiosity.

—Potter family? —she asked, intrigued.

—Yeah, yeah —George said, pointing at me—. Lizbeth Lilian Potter, our friend since day one. Come on, we’ll introduce you to her. We’ll tell you how she saved the Philosopher’s Stone, defeated a basilisk, and rescued her godfather.

As the Narnian kings approached, Lucy stepped forward and hugged me warmly.

—Lizzie! —she exclaimed with a big smile.

—Lucy! —I replied, wrapping her in an equally excited embrace.

Hermione watched the scene with a furrowed brow, clearly confused.

—Do you know each other? —she asked, looking at Lucy and then at me.

—Well... —I started to say, noticing Peter taking a seat next to me. With a calm smile, he took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, giving me the courage to continue—. We met in the Muggle world when Peter and his siblings moved near the Dursleys' house. At first, we were just friends, but over time, something more developed —I added, smiling—. Peter and I have been together for almost two years.

A murmur of surprise swept across the table. Just then, the food appeared on the tables, distracting everyone’s attention. As we ate, the conversation shifted to the Triwizard Tournament. When dinner ended, Dumbledore stood up again and walked over to a brown box next to the professors' table, capturing our attention once more.

—Your attention, please, I would like to say a few words —he said, standing next to the box—. Eternal glory awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament, but to achieve it, they must survive three dangerous tasks...

But at that moment, a deafening thunderclap rang out, and the doors of the Great Hall flew open. A man appeared in the doorway, leaning on a long staff and draped in a traveling cloak.

All heads in the Great Hall turned to observe the stranger, suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning that lit up the ceiling. He pulled down his hood, shaking out a long mane of hair that was part gray and part black, and walked toward the professors' table. A dull thud echoed with each of his steps across the Great Hall. He reached one end of the professors' table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room. Hermione stifled a gasp.

That light highlighted the man’s face, and it was a face very different from any I had seen in my life. It looked as though it had been carved from a piece of wood worn by time and rain, by someone who had no idea what human faces looked like and who was also not very skilled with a chisel. Every inch of his skin appeared scarred. His mouth was like a slash at an angle, and a large chunk was missing from his nose. But what made him truly terrifying were his eyes. One was small, dark, and shiny. The other was large, round like a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye moved constantly, never blinking, darting up and down, side to side, completely independent of the normal eye... and then it would turn white, as if looking inside the man’s head.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He extended a hand as roughly formed as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, murmuring words we couldn't hear. He seemed to be asking the stranger questions, who shook his head, remaining unsmiling, and answered in a very low voice. Dumbledore nodded as well and gestured for the man to take the empty seat to his right. The stranger sat down and shook his mane to get the gray hair off his face; he reached for a plate of sausages, lifted it to what remained of his nose, and sniffed it. Then he took out a small knife from his pocket, poked one of the sausages at one end, and began to eat it. His normal eye was fixed on the sausage, but the blue one continued darting back and forth without pause, moving in its socket, focusing both on the Great Hall and the students.

—I present to you our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher —Dumbledore said cheerfully, as the room fell silent—. Professor Moody.

Normally, new teachers would be met with cheers and applause, but this time no one clapped, neither the professors nor the students, except for Hagrid and Dumbledore. The sound of their hands clapping resonated so sadly in the silence that they quickly stopped. Everyone else seemed too stunned by Moody's strange appearance to do anything but stare.

—Moody? —I whispered to Ron—. Mad-Eye Moody? The Auror?

—It must be him —Ron said, sounding scared.

—What happened to him? —Hermione asked in a very low voice—. What happened to his face?

—I don't know —Ron replied, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed completely indifferent to this cold reception. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he rummaged again in his traveling cloak, pulled out a flask, and took a long swig from its contents. As he lifted his arm to drink, the cloak lifted a few inches off the ground, and I saw, from under the table, part of a wooden leg ending in a claw.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

—... just to clarify the procedure we will be following. But first, for those of you who don't know them, allow me to introduce Mr. Bartemius Crouch, director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation —there was a hint of polite applause—, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, director of the Department of Magical Games and Sports— They applauded much more for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps due to his fame as a Quidditch Beater, or perhaps simply because he looked much friendlier. Bagman acknowledged the applause with a jovial wave of his hand, while Bartemius Crouch neither waved nor smiled when presented. Remembering him in his immaculate suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry thought the wizard’s robe didn’t suit him. His bristle mustache and the straight part in his hair looked very odd next to Dumbledore’s long, white hair and beard—. Messrs. Bagman and Crouch have been working tirelessly over the past few months on preparations for the Triwizard Tournament —Dumbledore continued—, and they will be with me, along with Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and His Majesty, Aslan, on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts.

At the mention of the word "champions," the students' attention increased even more, dispelling the tension that Moody's entrance had caused. Perhaps Dumbledore sensed the sudden silence because he smiled as he said: —Mr. Filch, if you would be so kind as to bring the chest...

Filch, who had gone unnoticed but was paying attention in a corner of the Great Hall, approached Dumbledore with a large wooden box studded with jewels. It looked extraordinarily old. Murmurs of interest and excitement rose among the students. Dennis Creevey stood on his chair to see better, but he was so small that his head barely popped above the others.

—Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman have already examined the instructions for the trials that the champions will have to face —Dumbledore said as Filch carefully placed the chest on the table in front of him—, and they have arranged all the necessary preparations for them. There will be three trials, spaced throughout the school year, that will measure the champions in many different aspects: their magical abilities, their daring, their deductive skills, and, of course, their ability to face danger. At the mention of this last word, an absolute silence fell over the Great Hall, and no one seemed to breathe.

—As you all know, three champions compete in the Tournament —Dumbledore continued calmly—, one from each participating school. The perfection with which they carry out each of the trials will be scored, and the champion who has obtained the highest score after the third task will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial judge: the Goblet of Fire.

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped it three times on the top of the chest. The lid slowly creaked open. Dumbledore reached in to pull out a large chalice, roughly carved from wood. It wouldn't have drawn attention if it weren't for the trembling bluish-white flames that filled it to the brim. Dumbledore closed the chest and carefully placed the chalice on top so that everyone present could see it well.

—Anyone who wants to volunteer as a champion must write their name and the name of their school on a piece of parchment in clear handwriting and toss it into the chalice —Dumbledore explained—. The aspiring champions have four days to do this. Then, on Halloween night, the chalice will give us the names of the three champions it deems most worthy to represent their schools. Tonight, the chalice will be displayed in the entrance hall, accessible to all those who wish to compete. To ensure that no underage student succumbs to temptation —Dumbledore continued—, I will draw an age line around the Goblet of Fire once we have placed it in the entrance hall. No one under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line. Lastly, I want to emphasize to all who are thinking of competing that careful consideration must be given before entering the Tournament. When the Goblet of Fire has selected a champion, he or she will be obliged to continue in the Tournament until the end. By putting your name in the Goblet of Fire, you are signing a binding magical contract. Once turned into a champion, no one can back out. So you must be very sure before offering your candidacy. And now it seems to me that it is time to go to bed. Good night, everyone.

As we all stood up, I took Peter's hand and quickly led him to a more secluded corner of the hallway. Without thinking twice, I hugged him tightly.

—I’ve missed you so much, Peter. I’m glad you’re here —I whispered without pulling away from him.

—I’ve missed you too, Beth, more than you can imagine. I love Narnia, but… by Aslan, I’ve never missed anyone so much —he replied. Hearing him call me by that nickname he only used filled me with warmth.

—How have you been? I can’t wait for you to tell me everything…

But before I could continue, Susan appeared with a soft smile.

—I’m sorry to interrupt, but Aslan wants to talk to us, Peter. It’s great to see you again, Lizzie.

—Su! I’m excited to see you too —I exclaimed, happy. I had forged a good friendship with her during the summers at the Dursleys' house.

—I’ll see you later, okay? —Peter said, though it was clear he wasn’t very happy to have to interrupt our conversation.

—Sure, don’t worry. Besides, I have to go show a new girl around the castle. We have the whole year to catch up —I replied, smiling as I caressed his hands.

We said goodbye with one last exchange of glances, and I headed off to find Professor McGonagall for instructions on where to find the new student. As I walked, I thought about how promising this fourth year looked.

[clarktooncrossing]

Giraffe's Eye View | The Hobbit (1977) REVIEW)

Wondering why the sudden case of Deja Vu? It's because this was posted as one long review called 'BINGE WEEK', but I've decided to shorten it for the sake of your sanity and mine. If you're interested in my previous review, click here for my thoughts on 1956's The Ten Commandments! For now though, onwards to a grand adventure!

Let it be known throughout the land that I am not a worshiper of the Church of Tolkien. Before finally checking out Peter Jackson's beloved film trilogy last year, my only exposure to the classic British novelist's work had been Letters from Father Christmas, a collection of letters he wrote to his children as a version of Santa who dealt with a peculiar polar bear when not fighting off goblins.

Ha, wouldn't that have been amazing? Santa Claus vs David Bowie, what would even top that?

How is that not a Marvel comic already? Oh wait, I'm getting off track, let's get back to the point shall we!

As far as The Hobbit goes, any knowledge of that comes from the three-part comic review done by Linkara of @atopfourthwall fame. Any of you who haven't checked them out really should, the show is funny and he brings up a lot of good points in regards to the book and movies. If nothing they taught me about Tolkien's bedtime stories that served the basis for this 1977 animated feature directed by, of all peeps, Rankin and Bass!

For all you young wiper-snappers wondering who Rankin and Bass are, again you have my pity. Unlike VHS though, chances are you've seen the work of these two television icons. They're responsible for seasonal staples such as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town, Nester, The Leprechaun's Christmas Gold, Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July, and Nester, The Long Eared Christmas Donkey. Yesir, Nester, a sad rip-off of Dumbo where the mom actually dies! Merry Christmas! Like the tale of the donkey, most of these seasonal specials show their age, but still have timely yuletide messages at their core that ring true today. Combine that with memorable music, charming characters, and the occasional nostalgic nightmare fuel, and you have a lineup of seasonal staples that's as warm and comforting as a cup of hot coco. Still, those are just half-hour Christmas outings. How do Rankin and Bass fare adapting The Hobbit?

Our story focuses around Bilbo Baggins (Orson Bean), an unassuming hobbit content on living a contempt life in the Shire. That is until a wizard named Gandalf (John Huston) randomly comes a calling alongside twelve elves. Eleven of these elves might as well be set dressing considering how much they add to the story. Asides from giving Rankin and Bass regulars like Paul Frees something to do, their only purpose in the plot is to be captured, nearly eaten, then fight in the war of the five armies at the end. Before all that though, they approach Bilbo proclaiming he's a master burglar, asking him to help reclaim their gold from a greedy dragon named Smaug (Richard Boone). Bilbo reluctantly agrees, even going so far as to sign a contract agreeing to join the endeavor. Yes, Bilbo signs a legal piece of paper declaring he's being hired to something illegal. Along the way he encounters trolls, wolf-riding goblins, giant creepy spiders, and a mysterious ring formally owned by a sickly looking creature named Gollum.

Gollum here is far sicklier in appearance than in the Peter Jackson movies, looking like a mutated frog freak that lives exclusively in mud. Honestly I prefer this design and now wish we lived in the timeline where Andy Serkis had to mocap this to life. Other character designs can be off-putting at first, but overtime you get used to them. Two good examples are Bilbo and Smaug. The amount of details on Bilbo's face can come across as creepy at first, but Bean's performance really helps sell the character's sincerity. Smaug, on the other hand, looks more like a cat than a dragon. Maybe I'm just too used to the design made famous by WETA and Benedict Cumberbatch, but every time I saw Smaug in this I kept expecting him to ask me for lasagna before shoving Odie off the table.

Meow.

Joking aside, the movie is a perfectly serviceable adaptation of this fairy tale treasure hunt, though not without a few problems. The songs sprinkled throughout the feature are catchy but ultimately forgettable, there's some wonky animation every now and again, you could've cut out a few dwarves and lost nothing, it was super disappointing how they didn't help defeat Smaug near the end, and the battle of the five armies lacked the epic scope we'd later see in the Jackson movies. Still, if one were to forget the Tolkien retellings we've received since then, the Rankin and Bass take on The Hobbit is as good as gold! I just hope a cat-faced dragon doesn't come along and take my copy...

Assuming one won't, our next feature ironically comes to us from a company founded by the animators

Fun fact about this movie that my friend Alec brought up; it was animated by Topcraft, a studio that sadly went bankrupt in 1985 before three of its members reformed what remained into the company that gave us our next picture...

GIF by daughter-of-the-king-bc

CURIOUS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? CLICK HERE FOR MY THOUGHTS ON 1997'S PRINCESS MONONOKE! MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[radioactivedelorean]

Forduary Week 2: Science

The smaller bundle of logs and flame looked up at Ford curiously, decided the man was a threat and ran off into the woods. The larger one sat down in the grass and curled up slightly. The flames burning on its legs gently blackened the blades of grass it was sat upon. Ford sat cross-legged three feet away, eagerly drawing in his journal with a quill and ink. He’d been wondering why the flowers in his front garden had been on fire recently, and why the wood around his porch was charred. He’d found these little creatures in the woods not far away this morning. He had tried to touch one, but had instantly regretted the idea as the flames burned his skin. His left hand bandaged up, Ford instead decided to keep his distance as he studied them.

These little creatures, which he had heard the locals call “scampfires” (Ford had thought that was a rather appropriate name), seemed to be comprised of six or seven logs, varying in size for each creature, which constantly burned. The first time he’d seen one, he had thought it was a normal campfire, left by some careless hikers. He’d taken a bucket of water to put the fire out, only to find the fire missing and nothing but burned grass and soot-coated dirt in the clearing where he’d last seen it. Barely an hour later, he’d found a family of them in the dirt outside his house. Leaving the water behind, Ford had rushed inside to get his journal and a pen. By the time he’d returned, however, they had moved on.

This time, he’d brought out a load of scrap paper and twigs and left them in a pile at the edge of the woods to the west. He’d waited on his front porch, journal and quill in hand, until the little scampfires had emerged. Ford had learned quickly enough that they fed off paper, wood and anything else that was particularly flammable. Carefully, he had risen from his seat on the porch steps and had sat gently beside them. This is where he was sitting now, eagerly sketching the creature in front of him and writing down any information he could about them in the pages of the journal.

He’d already filled two whole journals with drawings and notes on the mysterious creatures in Gravity Falls and was well on his way to completing his third. The golden six-fingered hand on the front reflected the scampfire’s light and sparkled gently. Ford had spent many rainy afternoons in New Jersey sat in his bedroom, drawing and designing all sorts of creatures, from dragons to unicorns to pixies. Since arriving in Gravity Falls, Ford had been utterly surprised by the sheer variety of creatures he had encountered. He’d also realised that only a small handful of his childhood creations were accurate. He’d been elated at first to find out that unicorns were real, until he’d encountered one. It had been arrogant, egotistical and rather rude, something which had taken Ford by surprise. All the myths he had read in books as a kid had been wrong. They couldn’t see into the future - they could barely tell the time!

Ford snapped out of the memory to find something hot burning his shin. He yelped and jumped to his feet, having found that the younger scampfire from earlier had settled at his feet and its flames had been gently burning the ankle of Ford’s trousers. Ford patted the flame out and gave the little scampfire a sharp glare. “That hurt, you know,”

The little creature crouched away from Ford, resembling a kicked puppy, before retreating to its parent. The man had no idea how to determine the sex of these creatures and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. He would likely get some nasty burns in the process of finding out. He had no idea whether they reproduced sexually or asexually either - something else he wasn’t particularly comfortable with trying to find out. They were rather fascinating little things, though. He didn’t know how they responded to rain, snow or wind, common things which usually put fires out. Curious, Ford got up and picked up the bottle of water off the porch step and brought it over to the larger scampfire. Unscrewing the cap, he turned the bottle upside down and poured some of the water on the creature. The larger scampfire awoke with a start, hissing violently at Ford before taking its offspring and retreating into the forest.

“Remarkable,” Ford muttered. Their flames weren’t put out by water! The way it had hissed reminded the man of the way a cat hissed, perhaps while being threatened or after having its tail stepped on. Quickly grabbing his journal and pen, he scrawled down some more notes before closing the book and going inside.

-------------------------------------------

“Urgh, what the hell is that noise?” Ford groaned. It sounded like some sort of music coming from the woods by his bedroom window. He’d been having a rather pleasant dream - involving running his own academic research centre and earning more than enough to support his whole family. What was even better was that, in this dream, Stan had never ruined his project and the twins were living happily in a large house by the sea in California. Hauling himself out of his warm cocoon of blankets, Ford scrambled for his glasses in the dark while simultaneously trying to get his slippers onto his feet. Once he could see properly, he turned the lamp on his nightstand on and got up, wrapping his coat around him and grabbing his journal and a pen.

Walking out into the cool night air, Ford immediately started to shiver. It was late autumn and the nights in Oregon were cold at the best of the times. He really hoped that whatever was making that noise was worth him leaving his nice warm bed for. Using a flashlight to see through the darkness, he headed towards the source of the noise. As he drew nearer, the music became clearer - it seemed to be an endless loop of that horrible “Danny Boy” song. No doubt it was going to be stuck in his head for a considerable length of time after tonight.

Climbing over some tree roots, Ford found the source of the noise. At first, it appeared to be a tiny centaur. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that it seemed to be some horrific hybrid of a leprechaun and a unicorn sitting down on the earth in front of him. Sitting cross-legged in the damp grass, Ford took out his journal and began sketching the creature. It had a sickly sweet smile on its face and its eyes looked like something out of one of those Japanese animated television shows - unnaturally large and sparkling far too much. Its horn seemed to be the main source of the irritating music.

As he drew, Ford noticed the creature getting up. It walked over to him and started chewing on his jacket sleeve. He yanked his arm away quickly and the creature padded off to sit down again, still playing that horrific music. It was beginning to drive Ford insane, so he quickly finished his drawings and notes and got up, heading back to his house. That thing really wasn't worth leaving his bed for. Sure, he'd found something new to document in his journal, but it had been utterly disappointing.

--------

Ford continued to fidget uncomfortably, swiftly trying to get home. “Note to self,” he muttered under his breath. “Go before I leave the house.”

Why did he have to drink all that water? That, on top of the cup of coffee he'd had before he left, meant that his bladder was pretty damn full. Sure, he could just stand behind a tree, unzip his pants and relieve himself like that, but Ford figured he was more civilised than that. That was the sort of thing he and Stanley used to do as kids, if they were down by the beach and either couldn’t wait or couldn’t be bothered to go home. He was an adult now. He could hold it. His house wasn't that far away, anyway.

At least he thought it was. Had he taken a wrong turn back at that clearing? He'd wandered much further into the woods today than he ever had before and now he was regretting it. Not only was he most likely lost, he needed the bathroom. Badly.

Stepping over a set of large tree roots, Ford came across a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a small wooden structure. An outhouse. He’d been through this clearing multiple times before and that had never been there before. It looked oddly out of place there, but right now it was a blessing. Almost running over to it, Ford yanked the door open and went in, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Once he had relieved himself, Ford opened the door again, expecting to be greeted by the forest again. What he didn't expect was the hot, dry blast of air he was met with when he stepped outside. Looking around, Ford came to the conclusion that he was certainly not in Gravity Falls any more. As he turned back to where the outhouse had been, he was shocked to find that it had disappeared.

He was now stranded in the middle of who-knows-where.

The first thing Ford thought he should do, instead of wander around aimlessly, was to try and find a road. Over to his left, he could see something move towards him, kicking up dirt as it went. A car. Instantly, Ford was running towards it, his arm out to try and flag it down. “HEY! HEY! STOP, PLEASE!”

By the time Ford had reached the road, the car had passed him and was long out of sight. He sighed in frustration and looked in the direction the car was traveling. At least he'd found a road. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Ford followed the car. It must have been going in the direction of civilisation. His best option was to follow it. Maybe he could reach a town and hitch a ride back to Gravity Falls.

After nearly three hours of walking, his shoes were full of sand and dust and he was very thirsty. He'd drunk all the water he'd had before, while he was still in the woods. He regretted that decision greatly, as now he was parched. There was sand in his hair and down the back of his shirt. His feet ached tremendously.

Ford perked up at the sound of a car behind him. Turning round, he stuck his arm out into the road. “Hey! Stop, please!”

He must have been spotted as the car came to a halt just beside Ford and the six-fingered man sighed in relief. It was an old pickup truck, rusted with age. The driver, a man around Ford's age with dark hair, leant over. “What the heck are you doing all the way out here on your own?”

Ford ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “It's a long story… I'd seem crazy if I told you.”

“Hey, mate, I live in Gravity Falls. I'm used to crazy.”

“You live in Gravity Falls?!” Ford exclaimed. “I live there too, in a house in the woods.”

“Well hop in, I'll give you a ride back.”

“Thanks,” Ford grinned, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. “Sorry about all the sand and dust.”

The driver waved him off. “Don't worry about it, the car's ancient anyway.”

Ford sighed in relief as the driver started heading up the road in the direction of Gravity Falls. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror on the back of the sun visor. His skin was dusted with sand, most of which was stuck in his hair. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. The sand down the back of his neck was immensely irritating to lie against.

000000

After that ordeal, Ford had decided to stay well away from those mysterious outhouses. He'd found that the one he'd used, in the clearing, had disappeared. They seemed to move location daily and were never in the same place twice. He had no idea how they were doing that and quite frankly he didn't really care all that much.

Ford was walking through the woods two days after that incident, still on the hunt for any more clues as to the answers behind the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness. His journal was clutched in his left hand. He stopped suddenly, hearing strange growling and muttering sounds coming from behind a tree. Tucking his journal into the inside pocket of his jacket, Ford carefully walked around the tree.

The creature responsible for the noise seemed almost human. It was crouched over something, muttering and sniffing at it. As Ford stepped closer, he stood on a stray twig. It snapped beneath his foot and the creature turned around. Its eyes were a shocking white against the dark shadows obscuring its face. It seemed to almost smile at Ford as it quickly dashed forward, sharp teeth and claws bared. Ford barely had time to react as it sunk its teeth into his right shoulder, its claws shredding his skin and clothes. The man cried out in pain and staggered backwards, punching at the creature as hard as he could. He managed to dislodge it from his shoulder and took off running in the direction of the town centre. His hair whipped him in the eyes and his shoulder throbbed agonizingly. Blood started soaking through his jacket, staining the fabric red. He could hear the creature’s grunts and hollers as it followed him.

Almost slipping over as he sprinted towards the road, Ford instantly headed for the nearest building he could see - the recently-built Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store. He knew that the creature would most likely follow him inside, but it was the best chance he had at escaping. A car was within a hair’s breadth of hitting him as he ran across the road, the horn blaring in his ears. The creature jumped clean over the car, still clawing at Ford’s heels.

Ford rushed through the doors of the convenience store and slammed them shut behind him, pulling on the handles to prevent the creature pulling them open from the other side. Ford was desperately out of breath and considerably pale, blood still dripping off his shoulder and clothes and hitting the floor. The creature scratched and snarled at the glass doors furiously, but eventually gave up on chasing its prey and retreated into the woods.

“Are you alright, hon?”

“Huh?” Ford looked over to the cashier’s desk to see an older lady giving him a worried expression. The lady had silver hair and wore a nametag simply reading ‘Ma’.

“Are you alright honey? You’re bleeding an awful lot there,”

Ford looked at his shoulder, the burning pain suddenly becoming much more prominent. “Oh! Yeah, y-yeah I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Are you sure? I can take you out the back and get you fixed up, if you want. You’re bleeding all over the floor there.” ‘Ma’ walked over to him.

Ford staggered away from the doors, his mind whirling and spinning in a nauseating fashion. “I’ll be alright. I’m awfully sorry about the mess.”

“Now, now, don’t mind that.” A new voice said. An elderly man came out from behind a row of shelves. The man was around the same age as Ma and wore a nametag that read ‘Pa’. Ford mentally concluded that the couple were married. “Go on, go with Ma now and get yourself patched up. I can clean up the mess.”

“I-If you insist,” Ford followed the woman to a door at the back of the shop marked ‘Staff Only’. Ma led him down a hallway and into a room on the left, where there was a box of medical supplies on the countertop.

“Take a seat, sweetie, and take off your jacket and shirt. I’ll need to get a good look at that injury.”

Ford did as instructed, slipping the jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. The injury seemed much worse now that it was properly exposed, but it wasn’t as deep as Ford had first thought. There were two round lines of small puncture wounds, forming the shape of a jaw, surrounded by about an inch-wide margin of torn and shredded flesh. It was still bleeding slightly. A third, smaller circle of puncture wounds was just above his elbow, where the creature’s claws had dug into him.

“What was that thing, anyway?”

“That? The locals here call them ‘killbillies’, which is a rather amusing name if you ask me. They don’t like coming anywhere near town for some reason. The modern technology scares them away.” Ma pulled over another chair and sat at Ford’s right side, holding some disinfectant wipes in her hand. “Now, this is going to sting, so just brace yourself.”

The chemicals burned Ford’s skin, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. He dug his fingernails into his palms, biting down on his tongue. It felt like a dozen tiny white-hot knives pricking his flesh. He knew the burning sensation meant that it was working, but it was still very uncomfortable. He looked up to see Ma studying him curiously. Specifically, his hands.

“Have I seen you somewhere before?”

“I think so, I’ve come in here several times before for supplies.” Ford replied. “I’ve lived here for about six years now.”

“Whereabouts do you live, then, hon?” Ma asked.

“618 Gopher Road,” Ford replied. “It’s in the woods on the outskirts of town.”

“Oh, you’re that elusive scientist the townsfolk keep talking about. You know, you’ve got quite a reputation around these parts.” Ma started sterilizing a small sewing needle and a length of fine thread. “A lot of folk have been wondering what you’ve been up to.”

“I’m studying the weirdness of Gravity Falls.” Ford said simply. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with explaining everything to this lady, as nice as she seemed. He wasn’t even going to mention his Muse, just in case. He hadn’t told a single living soul about his Muse and he would like to keep it that way. Who knew how the townsfolk would react to hearing that the man was getting help from an omnipotent, all-powerful dream demon from another dimension.

“Well, there’s plenty of it around.” Ma chuckled, putting a hand on Ford’s chest to hold him steady. “Try not to move too much, your shoulder needs stitching up.”

Ford nodded and remained dead still. He flinched ever so slightly as he felt the woman tie a few loops of thread through one end of his wound before carefully sewing her way up the rest of it. He was surprised at the small and precise stitches she was making. “How’d you learn to do that?”

“I’m old, dear. I’ve picked up several tricks in the past. I’ve lived through a war, after all.” Ma replied, her eyes intently focused on her work, yet they cast a quick glance at Ford’s hands every so often.

Ford folded his hands in his lap, feeling much more conscious of his extra digit all of a sudden. He was pushing thirty and still felt the need to keep them covered up. In reality, they probably weren’t all that noticeable. Only those who really picked up on things like this noticed them. Unfortunately, during his childhood, that had meant Crampelter and his goons. Here, though, nobody had particularly noticed his hands. He’d usually kept them hidden in his pockets every time he went into town. It had become a habit by now.

Ma gave his shoulder a gentle pat when she had finished her sewing. “There, all sealed up. I’ll just wrap some gauze over it to keep it clean.”

“Okay. Thank you for your help.” Ford smiled.

Ma waved it off. “No worries, dear. I couldn’t let you go out like that. You may have passed out before getting home. What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, Stanford. Stanford Pines.” Ford held out his hand for her to shake, but regretted it, realizing he’d just put all six of his fingers on display for her to see. Before he could take his hand away, Ma had grasped it and was shaking it.

“Well, Stanford, it’s lovely to have properly met you. I’m Maggie, but most people just call me ‘Ma’.” She adjusted her nametag. “My husband out there is called Patrick, but people call him ‘Pa’,”

Ford nodded. He instantly folded his hands in his lap again after Ma had released his hand. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his fingers. Idiot! Of course she had! She’d shaken his hand! There was no way she didn’t notice them. Maybe she won’t say anythi-

“Say, Stanford?”

Shit. “Yes?”

“I don’t mean to be rude or nosey, but why do you have six fingers?”

Ford felt his heart skip a beat. Honestly, that was the nicest way anybody had ever asked him about it (he was used to hearing things like “What’s wrong with your hands?” and “Are you a mutant?”) but it was still an uncomfortable question. “I was born with a birth defect. Six fingers on each hand.”

“That’s remarkable. And you can move the extra ones just as well as the others?”

“Yeah,” Ford wiggled his fingers to prove it. “It makes using a piano slightly more difficult. It helps with shadow puppets, though.”

Ma couldn’t help but laugh as she wrapped some bandages around the gauze on Ford’s shoulder. She frowned as she noticed that Ford’s expression had fallen. He looked almost ashamed. “I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’m sure you were teased about it as a child, weren’t you?”

“Unfortunately so,” Ford sighed. “It was just the sort of thing that everyone knew about, and everyone picked on me for it.”

“Did you have any friends at school who stood up for you?”

“Not really,” Ford looked at the floor, keeping his hands folded and his sixth fingers hidden. “Only one. My twin brother.”

“That’s very good of him to stand up for his brother.” Ma smiled, tying off the end of the bandaging to keep it from coming undone. “There, you’re all done.”

“Thanks.” Ford stood up and pulled his shirt on again. It was still torn and bloody but at this point he didn’t have anything else to wear. He had plenty of other clothes back at home anyway. He put his jacket back on and dug in the pockets for his wallet.

Ma pushed Ford’s hand away as she saw the wallet. “Now, you put that away. I don’t want any sort of payment. We in Gravity Falls help each other out, no matter what. I wouldn’t dream of charging you any sort of fee for being attacked by one of those horrid monsters.”

“Are you sure? I’ve used your equipment and supplies, I feel it’s only right to-”

“Nonsense!” Ma cut him off. “They weren’t being used by anybody anyway. You’ve been a perfectly polite gentleman and a joy to talk to. Please, don’t give me any money.”

“If you insist,” Ford couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. He headed out the door back towards the main part of the shop. Before he went through the door, however, he felt a hand on his forearm and stopped.

“Now, listen here dear.” Ma spoke quietly and gently. “No matter what people say to you about your hands, you are no less than they are. In fact, I am sure you are far more polite, eloquent and caring than most of them could hope to be. Don’t let anybody tell you you’re a freak, or a mutant or whatever other horrible things people call you. You are a perfectly valid and unique human being who is going to achieve great things. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

Ford subtly wiped his eye, feeling himself tear up. “Thank you, for everything.”

“No problem, dear.” Ma led him back into the shop and waved to him as he left, returning to her post at the cashier’s desk. “Please, come again!”

Ford waved goodbye to Ma and Pa and headed back towards his house, through the woods and out of sight.

--------

My entry for Forduary Week 2: Science.

AO3 Link

[goddess37]

Today I had to report harassment

The worst part is that I was too uncomfortable with the idea to even do it myself.

Last spring, I met a couple of guys at work. I’d been working there since the end of the previous summer, but they worked at the plant across the street and the only real overlaps were smoke breaks and I don’t smoke. When I finally made it outside last year I mostly scrolled through Pinterest or joked with the girl I work with and let everyone ignore me. Eventually though two of the guys, Brandon and Jordan, started talking to me here and there. Jordan even added me on Facebook.

It was kind of cool to have friends again. I’d been living in this state for about a year with no friends except for my boyfriend of a few months, now a year and a half. Brandon is pretty laid back, but Jordan seemed to want to talk all the time. It was fine at first and I would always oblige by discussing at length whatever subject he wanted to “debate” that time. Inevitably, we found ourselves on feminist topics. He identifies as an egalitarian. I don’t remember most of what he said anymore as this was almost a year ago and there were many “debates,” but one thing has stuck in my mind and marked the real beginning of our problem. We were discussing rape and he decided to argue- no, debate- that it wasn’t really such a big problem. I remember he made the “not ALL men” argument and I told him that no it wasn’t all men but it was enough. Apparently, the obvious response here was, “Who decides that it’s enough?” I guess even just one wasn’t enough for him as he then told me all of my examples were anecdotal. These examples included me, one of my mothers, and two of my closest friends, but these weren’t enough for him.

After that I started ignoring most of his texts, of which there were plenty-sometimes nineteen in a row. At first he asked why I never responded anymore and I always brushed it off, blaming it on my anxiety. In part, that was the reason. I was anxious talking to him. What core value or traumatizing experience would he try to diminish this time? As long as we only talked when people were around I was mostly okay. Whereas I would get angry and exacerbate the situation, others would distract us both. Conflict averted. We could make small talk at work or on the way to the theater with Brandon, but never alone or he would “debate” again. I tried even to never be too near him. Stand with someone between us, turn my body away from him, sit across from him at breaks instead of beside him. Eventually I quit going to breaks other than lunch at all and blamed it on the cold. It was fall by then and I’m from warmer climates so this was easily believed.

One day Brandon asked me to play Dungeons and Dragons. He wanted to be DM but needed a group. He told me there were a few people from his plant who were supposed to play, including Jordan, and we’d meet every Saturday. It was a group of several people so I thought it should be fine. No. When I got there I found out everyone had bailed. Everyone, that is, but Jordan and me. It turned out to be a lot of fun despite this and I still really enjoy playing. Our characters got along no better than we did in real life. His half-elf monk Noveon was argumentative and started fights with almost everyone we met. My tiefling druid Relentless Madness, Mad for short, was quiet, “spunky,” and tried her best to stay out of trouble. She even had to talk down the god of death after Noveon picked a fight with him. The god of freaking death—that’s unrelated.

Anyway, we still didn’t get along, but those texts never stopped. Day, night, weekends, before, after and during work. I still ignored the vast majority. I was afraid to confront the situation, because that would only spark some long drawn out conversation in which he had to be right. He always has to be right. I just ignored it and brushed it off and played D&D and tried not to let our conversations get to deep when I had to get rides from him when the roads got icy. I was always nervous since it’s a 30-40-minute drive to get to D&D and yet another on the way back. If he felt there were any issues between us he always tried to discuss them then and we almost always had some kind of issue. Those rides were so exhausting I almost quit D&D, which I really love to play.

Christmas came around and he got me two presents. I thought it was weird that he got me anything at all and I told him several times that he really shouldn’t get me anything, that he didn’t need to, but he still did. He got me a hair dryer and a set of make-up brushes. Neither gets much use, but you’re supposed to be grateful for gifts so I gave him a hug. I regret that deeply. I found out recently that he talked about it a lot after. He told me often that I’m one of his best friends, even if I don’t feel the same about him. I always ignored that.

When January hit us he wrote me a suicide letter through text. I had no idea what to do. This had never happened to me before and I’m ashamed to say I ignored that too. By that point I was constantly angry with him and the responsibility this text laid on me made me even angrier. So I ignored him. Nothing happened, thankfully.

His texts became more insulting afterward and he was clearly more and more upset that I never respond to him, though he always claimed he was joking.

In February, he blew up on me for the first time. For days he had been poking me, in the shoulder, the arm, the side, every time he passed me and I had had enough. I do not like to be touched. I can count on one hand the people who I am truly comfortable enough to let touch me. He has never been one of those people. He was aware of this, though I understand that for people who don’t have this aversion it can be hard to remember. When I confronted him I tried to be calm and nice about it. I walked up to our lunch table right after he had poked me again at the microwaves and said, “Dude, you need to quit touching me.” He made a face that was just so full of shock and hurt and told me he was sorry. I lied and told him it was okay and proceeded to pull out my phone and eat my food just like I do every day.

Six minutes after lunch ended he texted me to say again that he was sorry, to explain that he was only trying to show affection, and to promise that it would never happen again. I was working at the time and didn’t see it, though if I had I probably wouldn’t have responded. He’d said what he felt he needed to and I had already told him it was okay. Twenty minutes later he sent me this.

“I also, promise the next

time you text me, no matter

how important, save life

threatening situations, I’m

going to be ignoring that text,

since that seems to be a thing.”

 Out of pure spite I ignored that as well. It was rude and unwarranted, but apparently he wasn’t done. About an hour after every one got off work I received a 48-page text message. It took a whole two minutes for it all to come through. I had to just silence my phone and walk away from it. These texts told me that he was very upset by our confrontation not because of what I said, but how I said it and the fact that I didn’t change the topic after so he wouldn’t feel as bad… I’d been dealing with very unwanted physical contact for days and had tried not to say anything so I didn’t hurt his feelings, but somehow I was the rude one. That makes sense. He went on to say that I had just ignored him for the rest of lunch. For once, I hadn’t ignored him. At lunch, I generally don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to me. Everyone pretty much accepts that except for him. He told me that I had been harsh, distant and unfriendly. I even said “Dude” to try to soften the blow. He told me again that he had forgotten about my aversion to touch and that he felt as if I had slapped him across the face. Then he confessed how he had been having a bad day at work I “put the icing on top.” He felt that I really didn’t want to be friends with him (Shocker!) since I really only talked to him when we play D&D and he had no idea why I would feel that way. He told me how he would’ve handled the situation by texting back because that’s what friends do when they have a concern or problem. The rest of this book of a text he tried to tell me how good of a friend I am and that he isn’t trying to manipulate me…

For the next few weeks he tried to get me to go eat with him a few times and criticized my boyfriend for not cooking for me on Valentine’s Day when I said that I would be the one cooking. Other than that we were much more civil to one another though I still tried to keep my distance. He even fixed my computer and put the movie Moana on it as I had been dying to see it.

Last Thursday it started getting scary. The previous day he had sent me a picture of him wearing a leprechaun hat and beard with the words “Oh yeah!” over Messenger. I looked at it and then promptly went to bed. I woke up to three videos from Facebook, I think they were supposed to be funny but I didn’t watch them, and a message saying, “Btw, that pic of me deserved an lol!!” I still didn’t reply. Then as soon as I got to lunch he joked that I should have at least laughed at it. I told him, “I’m sorry I don’t feel the need to respond to all of your texts.” He shut down and pouted for the rest of lunch and didn’t say ‘bye when he left. That was essentially the same thing he didn’t back at the beginning of February.

Over the next week there were so many texts I can’t remember what all he said. After work he sent texts to Brandon and me saying that he wouldn’t be at D&D because he didn’t want to be around anyone. Then he sent another text complaining about me that was only supposed to go to Brandon. He apologized of course and I told him I understood that sometimes people need to blow off steam, but I was annoyed and needed sleep so I was done talking. He was angry after that and sent me a book complaining that I wasn’t being understanding of his feelings since he had had a bad night, I’d been rude to him and now he was embarrassed about accidentally sending me that text. The rest of the morning he continued to tell me how I’m terrible and insensitive and that I needed to call or meet him so we could talk it out. I told him no multiple times and that he needed to back off. He didn’t.

That afternoon, he apologized. That sets the pattern for the rest of the week. Constantly insulting me, then apologizing and praising me, often from one sentence to the next. On Monday, he told me that this had all been because he was not taking his depression medication regularly. He also told me that the side effects of them were “related to erections, numbing in the penile region, and [his] libido.” That was much more information than I wanted, or had asked for since I hadn’t communicated with him at all since Friday morning. He asked me to talk to him on last break, saying that I owed him a face to face explanation. I got angry, angrier than I’ve been in a long time. I marched into the break room and told him I owed him nothing. I told him he had been harassing and bullying me all weekend and that I was done. I had hit my breaking point. He tried to explain it away, saying that he hadn’t meant to, that it hadn’t been his intention to do that. I told him again that I was done and I left. He didn’t come to work the next day.

When he did come back the following day he had shaved his head. As in, Brittany Spears meltdown, it was all gone. I didn’t speak to him and did my best not to even look at him. It was quite peaceful until the end of the day when he texted to ask if I minded if he still attended D&D. Brandon and I had discussed it that day Jordan was absent and we were both of the mind that we didn’t want him there. When he wasn’t harassing me, he was harassing Brandon about me and, according to Brandon, it was getting obsessive. I told Jordan I didn’t want to be near him. He didn’t say anything more until I got to work Thursday.

I pulled into my normal spot, on the phone with my mom, when I see my boss walking up to my car. He told me Brandon had mentioned something was going on with Jordan and me and he wanted to hear my side. He then realized I was on the phone and said he’d come find me later to discuss it during actual working hours. I had about twenty minutes to fret on the phone with my mom. If Brandon had said something it must be worse than I thought. I had been more worried that he’d hurt himself than me, but obviously Brandon was concerned. That was alarming to me. Then I got yet another text from Jordan that dwarfed the others not only in size but in malice. This alarmed me too. Not long after work began, my boss found me and I told him everything. I let him look through all of the messages, though nobody really had time to read ALL of them. He said he would let HR know and that it would be taken care of. I never heard more about it from him, but Brandon told me yesterday that he’d told Jordan not to talk to me anymore. Jordan apparently complained for the rest of the night that I had filed harassment against him because I couldn’t admit that I was wrong… I’ve been warned by a couple people now to be “…cautious.”

I haven’t seen or heard from him since then, although Brandon says he’s still harassing him about me. Mostly, I just want to be left alone. The more I think about this, the scarier it all gets.