#and then in the afterlife too. this is a full time job folks.

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

💗This handsome hunk truly radiated in this era💗

[meximango]

Day 18 - Hackneyed - Vaile + Bobby - PG

Summary: Vaile has a short encounter with Cahsi’s retainer.

Part 1 of 2. Part 2 can be found here! --

Vaile had never been in this residential district–or any other than Ishgard’s, if he was being honest. The kind of work he had been so used to did not lead him to safe, well-lit, nice-smelling places like these. When meeting up with an acquaintance (the word ‘friend’ was still strange to him, and he avoided using it if he could), they always met up in a city or at a dungeon site or on the road if they happened to bump into each other. 

The sight of all these houses made him feel like an intruder, even though he knew it was full of adventurer’s abodes, rather than normal civilians. Nobody was going to harass him or try to send him away unless he stepped over a line. Hells, Cahsi had told him plenty of people left their homes unlocked! Only a retainer to keep watch, with a book that visitors could sign to give their opinion on the owner’s interior decorating skills. Apparently, it was a form of relaxation for many, and a way for folks to show off their conquests (‘look at this great beast I slayed and mounted its wings on my wall! Gasp in awe!’) It felt like something from a children’s storybook, and he wasn’t sure if Cahsi was just fucking with him or if that was supposed to be considered normal. No way was he about to test if it was true by going into some stranger’s home and potentially getting caught in their homemade dungeon.

Which is why he had to be sure the house he was setting out to find was actually Cahsi’s. 

This place was too quaint for the likes of someone like him, but he needed something from Cahsi, and she said she’d be at her home all weekend. So he’d bear through it. He was tough. He could handle wading through a domestic setting without his skin itching for a fight. Probably. (and if he thought about it too long, it’d bring him back to that brief year of happiness with Axel. The closest he ever got to a domestic life. No thanks, brain.) 

Cahsi had sent him a letter to him via moogle mail with the most awful, nonsensical map known to man explaining how to find her home, which he’d never been to and hadn’t planned on. But she was ‘too lazy to bother traveling somewhere to meet up, even if it were at a major aetheryle. Please Vaile, I just want one lazy weekend where I don’t have to dress up and put on my weapon. You come to me, or you can wait.’ 

So here he was. Sort of. He was close? He was in the correct general area, as far as he could tell, but all these districts looked exactly the same, and ‘it’s a carbuncle themed house, you can’t miss it’, did not help when there were a surprising number of people with colorful homes themed after the same creature. Cahsi didn’t seem to be wearing her linkpearl right now, as she wasn’t picking up. He sighed. Not worth the trouble for what he needed, maybe, but he’d already traveled…

After another few minutes of aimless wandering and deliberation, he finally went to the nearest retainer bell and rang it until he could get someone to fetch Cahsi’s for him. 

When the familiar, stout figure arrived at the plaza, Vaile wasted no time: “Hey, you! Retainer. Where is she?”

Upon noticing who it was asking, the retainer’s face went from a neutral expression to one of slight annoyance. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly know what you mean. Some manners would go a long way to start, boy.”

“Just tell me!”

“....” 

The lalafell in front of him pretended to examine and remove a speck of dust from his outfit, completely ignoring the reaper that towered over him. Hard to be cowed by a punk with a short fuse when you were already dead, after all. Not much phased Bobby, though he certainly could phase through plenty. Having been around for numerous calamities and no signs of returning to the afterlife, Bobby had gotten exceedingly good at controlling his physicality. He could be solid when needed to do his job, but most of the time he was invisible or a blue-tinged, see-through mirage like right now.

It was a standoff Vaile wouldn’t win if he wanted an answer. “Fine. Hello. Nice weather we’re having, aren’t we. Now tell me where Cahsi is.”

“Mmm? And what do we say? A magic word, perhaps?”

“Oh for the love of–you insufferable mage. Please.” Vaile’s teeth were grit together so hard, he could nearly hear them creaking. His hand itched to reach for his weapon, useless as it’d be. Still, it could be fun to see a scythe swing through the man’s apparition. Would it flicker?

“There, now was that really so difficult? Was that painful for you?” His tone dripped with condescension.

“You are so lucky you’ve already left this plane, or I’d be breaking my promise of no bloodshed on the premises right about now–”

“Tsk tsk, the youths these days are so hotheaded. You’d best work on yourself, lad, or I won’t allow you to see miss Theia anymore. She doesn’t need to associate with ruffians.”

“And she doesn’t need a stuffy retainer like you choosing who she gets to see! Let her make her own decisions. She’s the one who invited me here.”

Something changed in Bobby’s expression, the tiniest hint of approval in his eyes. “Hmm. You’re right, I suppose. She’s handled far worse and prickly than you. Very well then.It’s the home right across from the pool, one block down to your left. You can’t miss it. You’ll find her in the library with some guests–friends. I believe you know them. I do hope you’ve packed a bag?”

“What? Why would I need a bag to talk to her?”

“Why, for the sleepover, of course!”

And with that, the retainer flickered into nothing, no doubt having had his fill of tomfoolery for the day.

Good riddance! A sentiment shared by both.

Vaile quickly reached his destination, the sign in front confirming it was hers. Cahsi’s door was unlocked, and there was note waiting for him, telling him she’d be downstairs. Must be where the library is.

As he approached the door leading to it, he heard muffles voices and laughter. Was he really about to intrude on a ‘sleepover’, and whatever that entailed? It was barely dinnertime!

Better to get this over with, Vaile. Sooner you get in there, the sooner you can leave.

As he opened the door, he heard a sentence that made him regret coming here and wishing Bobby had given him the wrong directions: “This has to be the most hackneyed sex pollen plot I’ve ever read, and don’t even get me started about the characterization!”

Was it too late to turn around and pretend he was never here? Unfortunately, three faces turned toward him and exclaimed in greeting.

“Vaile! You’re just in time. You have to join us!”

He nearly felt his adrenaline spike as though he were about to enter battle. What the hells was he getting himself into…?

- To Be Continued… ? - [next]

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

SPN POSTCANON UPDATE: Dean sighted in Roanoke VA, then soon after in Argentina

Seems alive(?), healthy and in one piece, but under a lot of stress. Has lost some weight and powers aren't working too well from what I can see. Hanging out w a pooka that's PROBABLY Baby, but with shapeshifters who even knows.

Dean is working with YET ANOTHER DUDE WHO SEEMS TO BE HIS BROTHER. Pretty clear that if they do share a parent, it's John. Their dynamic is good, a lot like Dean and Sam except this guy is NOTHING like Sam, honestly he's pretty feral. Huge guy easily meeting "giant" height, seems to prefer range combat but can hold his own in melee as well. Calls himself a hunter or tracker of some kind, mostly goes after human targets. Understands a little of what's going on w the Fae/Rome/etc but doesn't get the full picture. He's curious and eager to fuck around and find out

Physically he resembles John a LOT, and could easily be his kid- but also bears resemblance to Balor. w the whole Vessel situation going on rn its unclear who this guy's "father" actually is besides the fact that he's a piece of work. Also of note, this guy is confirmed to have a nonhuman lineage, unclear on which side. Features include giant stature/build, enhanced senses, expert/preternatural marksmanship, the usual super strength(?), animalistic/survival mindset as baseline, and hair seems more like fur, possibly seal fur. Doesn't seem to have any connection to the possible-Selkie girl in Maine.

...all in all, Balor is looking like a more likely candidate for this guy's dad, which would explain why he and Dean currently have this sibling relationship due to (THE BOYS S4 SPOILERS). Also still some chance of a Fomoire/Fae/Fuath/Campbell family connection that I haven't noticed.

Dean is tied up in more Roman nonsense and appears to have ended up owing a blood debt (in his own blood) to some late Roman military-cult god I've vaguely heard of bc he killed said god's brother. Lots of modern folk magic/esoterica, severed limbs and possibly at least one demon deal. Given the location and the events set to unfold this summer, can't rule out Croatoan fuckery going on here as well. Dean also had a new Magic Knife(tm), bone handled with a steel, iron or possibly silver blade. gave it to this new guy, probably for protection.

I'll look into if Balor had any children in the mythos (current/recent Antichrist Situation notwithstanding).

Not sure why Dean is headed south, not sure I want to know. If he weren't the type to run directly INTO danger every time, I'd say he was trying to get out ahead of the absolute shitstorm hitting the Northeast US coast in a month. I rly hope he's not planning on picking a fight w that Brazilian pantheon over what happened w Sam... its not their fault and if anything someone should warn them. Wars between seasonal deities WILL spread just as climate change does, and if one of them was already dragged into it, that whole mythos is at risk. ...Hopefully Dean is there to warn them, not. stab them.

Dean pls just be decent to the other pagan gods this once please.

Also, Garth and his wife are now in a threesome! with BENNY.

and they are ALL married to each other

that's odd, its not bad, its just ODD, I'm happy for them. 10/10, they were always like the 3 most functional characters in the whole show anyway, and I'm sure Garth's kiddos will enjoy having yet another fun dad.

congrats to whatever's going on over there.

ALSO! Rowena's back! Yay!!! She seems to have given up trying to escape Death and now WORKS for Death, namely corralling the souls of children who don't want to go to the afterlife... or... something vaguely like that idk. She likes her job, or at least likes continuing to exist while doing something in her vague field of interest. However she DOES appear to be sniffing around near all that recent activity w Azazel's return, I hope she stays safe or just finds somewhere else to hang out. Of relevance re: Rowena's current activities are:

-two VERY talented ghosts who help other ghosts pass on and hunt the occasional monster, they are amazingly skilled and there's a lot to learn from those two.

-Tom Tildrum, or possibly Tim Toldrum, idfk its one of the cats to go by the title "The King Of Cats". I think he's Cat-sith on at least one side (Faerie/Sidhe cat) and may be in charge of them.

-Jenny Greenteeth, who may have Fomoire heritage and may ALSO be Balor's relative/child. She seems nice, if in over her head. Not sure she remembers what she is.

-Yet Another Second Generation Special Kid. this one has ALL kinds of other weird going on tho, gotta look into that

[luimagines]

Trust me when I say Cyber Sleuth!Reader and Avdol would be absolutely livid hearing about every Link's adventure since they done it with little help.

Both have seen what that kind of mindset or idea has led to. One reason why Reader still keeps up their medical skills as someone needs to smack some sense in these folk and have the evidence to shutdown any bullshit. Someone pulls any prophecy related argument then they are getting kicked.

Avdol: ...so a full grown soldier asked you to investigate a monster ridden well. Had a literal 10 year old boy to do his job? Punk better pray that I don't ever find him as it won't be pretty.

Time: ...finally someone with common sense.

Digimon have multiple stages with the highest being Mega which is after Ultimate. Considering the risk of running into a dangerous opponent whether on a job or not, Reader made sure Avdol can digivolve to his Mega before shit really hits the fan.

The form in question being AncientSphinxmon, a very powerful Digimon known as the Legendary Warrior of Darkness and rules over annihilation/destruction of all living things. Reader told the Chain about Megas but not what Avdol can actually become.

They only find out when the next portal drops them very high in the air with no safe way down. Avdol became AncientSphinxmon because he would be big enough to carry everyone on his back and fly them to safety. Questions are asked of course until Warriors brought up fighting.

Reader: If there ever comes a situation where Avdol has to digivolve for battle, then you guys need to stand back.

Sky: But why?

Avdol, still in Mega form: Do you want to get blasted into oblivion by accident? Only someone with a death wish will go near a fight involving a Mega Digimon. Dodging my Dark Blast is super difficult as it's a massive laser but Necro Eclipse is literally a one way trip to the afterlife. Unless you can become a war god or have experience fighting alongside a Mega like my partner then stay out of it.

Time can only glance at the Fierce Deity Mask while Sky thinks back to Demise afterwards. If such power was needed, then what kind of enemies did Reader and Avdol have to face before coming here?

"Cool...." Wild giggles on the vicarious power trip. "That's so cool."

Twilight too busy looking at the new form to think much about it. He's struck by the sheer size and power of this thing.

Sky is trying to take in the feeling of flying again. He's completely happy up here.

Hryule is not. He's having a time. Get him back on the ground please.

[bigyeshsamurai]

An Avid Foodie’s Guide To Night City

/ / Incoming Transmission / /

< / PART 2: A Hungry South Indian’s Guide to Night City>   

Good day to you beautiful folks in Night City! if you are like me; a disgruntled, hungry, often sad foodie who came to Night City with the hopes of making it Big then this article is for you! That’s right! because you can never hope to conquer the streets of night city on an empty stomach ( assuming you do have one..) . and I'm not talking about Kibble or those nasty Prepacks from All Foods or Synth food that makes you stomach CHURN ( God! I hate the Eezy Beef! ). I'm talking bout fresh food folks (that ought to get your attention!) , what most people may not know is that Fresh food ain't just the luxury of the Elite or the filthy rich. You common sheep too can get to savor the flavors of fresh food in the Streets and beyond that is if you know where to look and only if you have the right connections. ( You guys can thank me later! ). So here is a full day of my eating escapades in Night City.

A brief note on Indian food. Indian Cuisine has a multitude of flavors but  Indians really do like spicy food and most dishes here have a spicy undertone. But there is no dearth of sweet food here. Indian cuisine is a melting pot of varied cultures and that just makes it worthy to be in the market stalls of Night City as well; Spicy, Feisty, sometimes sweet but it  always makes you want to have more! 

1. 8:00 AM < // Wake The F**k Up Samurai! // >

Wake up early and head downtown. There is a very successful little store by the name of Ambrosia. Head over there for the best Kibble you'll ever have in your life time. Now you may thinking “What Kibble? That bland, grainy, dry stuff ? ” Well yes. You see, my friend Laila who runs Ambrosia has cracked the code for making Kibble taste great. The secret? Just add delectable Indian Spice Mix to them but the rest of the process though is pretty much as closed lipped as Arasaka Tower. But who cares? If you want the most nutritious, soft, aromatic and tastiest breakfast yet, give it a go. Truly it is a feast worthy for gods.  

 2. 11:00 AM < // Time For some snacks // >

Well it’s Almost Mid-day and I already feel hungry so I head to Pacifica. I have a good frenemy named Josh there that sells these amazing one of a kind banana chips form South India. The perfect combination of crusty texture, crispy feels, yellowish glow and the glory that is fried food. The Indomitable Fried banana chips. These are available for a very hefty price in the American markets but because you know me and Josh you may get it at a discount. It also comes in a nifty protective package for eating on the go. Just don’t take Jobs from Josh. There is a reason why we are frenemies.    

 3. 2: 00 PM (Nearby Pacifica) < / A drink for every occasion / >

A Merc in Night City can’t function on an empty stomach or low energy levels. Luckily for us, my brothas from the Animals have a solution for that. They have got a great cocktail of muscle building boosters, fresh strawberries, Lime, bananas and vodka, perfect for keeping those gains on the road or while fighting the bad guys. Where do they get these strawberries and Bananas from? Well lets just say they are not just pumped up freaks and they do know a bit about greenhouses too. It is possible to be barely natty in Night City too.  I present thee the drink dubbed “ Strawberry Pump Haze 3XT ”. 

5.  6: 00 PM < // Some more snacks by the Pier // >

In the bustling markets of the piers you will find a small, and very shanty looking store by the name of Singh’s Chow. At first glace it may not be much but in actuality it is a very successful smuggling front for premium Indian Spices. If you are an immigrant Indian like me this is the go to place if you want to bathe in the nosh-talgia of home. [ This was pretty difficult to find but I have my sources ] . Although be warned, they do not take kindly to strangers meddling in their business so it will be good to establish a rapport with them or have an Indian friend recommend you as a customer. It is home to the only place where you’ll find an Indian take on a dumpling or pierogi. It is a sweet dish made with wheat with fillings of coconut, brown sugar and a whole lot of goodness. 

4.  9:00 PM < // To The Afterlife Choombas! // >

Now after a long day of eating, evading the Police, Gangsters and doing Merc jobs it is best to head to the Afterlife to wind down (Albeit with a gun in hand though). For The Men among Boys do yourself a favor and get the Club  Exclusive Johnny Silverhand. Waft in its glory, Get High and Get Moving for we always have some barbeque, steaks and Parottas to burn. 

5. 11:00 PM  < // Somewhere in the Badlands // >

Now because it is the weekend and I have got nothing better to do, I head out to the badlands. A few months ago I had to Win a death race in my pursuit of exploring the tastes of Night City or its Peripheries. Fast forward a month I am now thick friends with a tight knit nomad group that mainly consists of immigrants from India (Name classified). The Fourth Corporate War was not kind to their livelihood and they were forced to settle in the Badlands taking up illegal smuggling from India to the United States and vice-versa. Now these guys are the real deal. they can get access to a lot of Livestock. Don't know how they get it though. Today I was invited to a weekly community barbeques and I offered my services to cook them a proper Indian dish; The Chicken Biriyani . they just had to get the ingredients. Trust me when I say “ Trust the Nomads”  cos they can get any ingredient you want! So here I was preparing the dish in the open flame. Basking under the Night Sky with a few friends I had made along the way. A perfect ending to a perfect day.

< // Tune in Next Time for news on the best chows and drinks in Night City. Next up is a special mystery edition //>

Until then this is Avid Foodie chippin' out !

P.S : 

These dishes are traditionally found in many South Indian homes, and as South Indians can be found almost anywhere around the world (This is a standing joke among us). I thought that maybe Night City too would have its own share of South Indian people. Now the Dishes in their traditional names are given below: 

1. The grainy looking stuff: Its famously known as the Poha 

2. Banana Chips are famously known as Malabar chips. 

3. The Rice with Chicken : Biriyani (This tends to have a lot of variants from place to place)

4. The bite sized dumpling: Unniyappam

I genuinely think that dishes have proved their mettle to be in the market stalls of Night City. 

[alpaca-writes]

I have this habit of being very detailed in writing- hopefully not too much that it bores anyone to death. Personally, I love detailing OC's and as many aspects of them as I can before exposing these poor things to pain- almost like a slow-burn for torture, I suppose?

But then it occurs to me as well that maybe I'm just writing a normal story, with villians and heroes and anti-heroes but with more emphasis on the pains they go through.

Oh well, here is my newest creation-

CW: None quite yet. Some strong language, I suppose

MYSTICS

CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB

Lyrem Nomadus busied himself, flipping through resumes that bored him half to death and then a little more. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to look for anyone to share his space with. The business of curating, refurbishing and selling occultic items was dreadfully interesting to the general public and the last thing he was looking for was someone new to devalue it with their own useless knowledge and presumed ‘psychic’ abilities. The last two days were full of just that. He pinched the bridge of his wide nose as a mild headache came on- the last interview was a particularly painful thought.

A young man, with a heavily freckled, pale face, and round framed glasses poured over his collection of rocks near the front entrance, started spouting nonsense that Lyrem had little patience for.

“Ooh, malachite. I heard that stuff’s toxic, y’know,” he spoke with little regard for Lyrem standing near the cash register- an old charcoal grey thing with large buttons and made a noise like a classic ‘ka-ching’ just before the receipts printed out and the drawer popped open.

“Hm,” Lyrem hummed unamused, hoping it would prompt some style of professionalism from his prospective interviewee. It did not.

The young man continued to look around the store, finding one hematite pendulum specifically fascinating. Then he found his attention drawn to a display of elegantly designed tarot cards. The young man picked one of them up, studying the hierophant with mild interest.

“Please do not touch the merchandise.” Lyrem cut in.

The young man placed the card back down on the glass shelf, slightly askew to the rest on display. He cleared his throat and approached the register, finally.

“Did you bring a copy of your resume?” Lyrem asked him, knowing what the answer likely was, as there was nothing in his hands. He wore a long black trench coat over ratted, torn jeans and a plain tee shirt. There was one chain dangling from a pocket somewhere.

“Yessir,” he answered.

Oh, perhaps this boy had a hope after all.

After reaching into his back pants pocket with effort, the resume was presented, folded into six sections as a single piece of paper. A folded and clearly used napkin fell out onto the floor. Lyrem breathed deeply, took the folded resume, and smiled.

“Thank you for applying, but I am afraid you are not quite the right fit for this position,” Lyrem didn’t bother opening the paper, and instead tossed it over his own shoulder. It landed directly into the bin behind him.

“I-I’m sorry? You haven’t interviewed me yet”- his eyes widened with the confusion of the sudden rejection.

“Hm. I have interviewed you plenty, and I tell you now, I’d have a mangey dog run my store before you.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so casual. Lyrem blinked.

The poor boy took a moment to process the insult before glaring across at the owner of Mystics ruthlessly. Suddenly, his fist pounded the desk, sending a short tremor through the wood.

“Anybody with half a brain could do this job! For fuck sake’s, man!”

Lyrem looked at him with a simple eyebrow raised and cocked his head toward the door. He was tired these days. The less he chose to care about children’s tantrums, the better. The boy left in a huff, and clearly, he tried slamming the jingling door behind him as he stepped out onto the street, but the spring against the top disallowed such havoc, and bounced slowly back. It closed finally with a light click, and the young man was gone.

Releasing the pinch from his nose, Lyrem sighed. He didn’t know which one was worse, that boy who left a trail of disrespect in his wake, or the woman from the previous day who was convinced that she could speak with his mother in the afterlife. The sullen woman wore gems aplenty on her fingers and hanging from ropes and chains around her neck. The wire wrapped amethysts in particular, caused her to look like an easter egg more than a living person. She didn’t take it too kindly when he explained that the stones around her finger were not a genuine turquoise either. By the end of it all, she was rather happy to be finished.

He shuddered, remembering the strong scent of patchouli she left that seemed to linger within his store, even now.. He didn’t have an aversion to patchouli, or to amethyst or turquoise, or even easter eggs… at least he hadn’t one before two days ago.

The rest of the applicants were all the same. Wanted a job, wanted something easy, and for experience- and all the time, Lyrem would ask himself: “experience for what, exactly?” Instead of asking the question aloud, he’d thank the person, and politely send them on their way out, with a promise to call them when he had made a decision.

He wasn’t planning to call anyone.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The streets would be bustling past four, and if he wanted to avoid it and give himself a break from the eye strain, he would need to go for his coffee now, or not have one until after six. The horror.

He flipped over the sign on the door. It was one of those apologetic ones- as though it would stop a person from throwing a brick through a window for being closed on a weekday. Lyrem locked the door and turned to his right. There was a small local place not far from the corner of the intersection that he had grown accustomed to. If they had the raspberry scones today, he decided he may take one of those as a treat. Lost in thought, he crossed in front of a small white car making its left turn. The car stopped, though no horn was sounded as the engine suddenly died inexplicably next to him.

Lyrem walked around the car and poked his head through the passenger-side window which was open for the cool breeze. The driver looked back at him, his hands gripping the wheel too tightly.

“Pedestrians have the right of way, you know,” he mentioned calmly. Then, he tapped the top of the car twice. It restarted. “Drive a little safer, now.”

The driver suddenly remembered that the car was still in gear, and he moved along, crossing the intersection and left Lyrem behind like everything he had just done was part of some fever dream. He chuckled lightly and turned back down the block.

It was a sun-filled day, without a cloud in the sky, and it was a warm one too. Despite the fact that it was still early April, and the city had only just started waking from its hibernation from the cold, the streets were filling quickly with people.

His coffee took a while, which he forgave only because the end result was quite often a perfection, but he was nearly pouting at the counter as the spot for raspberry scones were replaced with one with blueberries instead. Losing his appetite, his eyes drifted around the rustic establishment. The sounds of a classical guitar filled the room with the unmistakable talents of the virtuoso, Andrés Segovia. It was a nice change from the sounds of folk rock and boy bands. The coffee shop was only getting better and better with age, it seemed.

Against the wall, a cork board was decorated in haphazardly placed notes. Some notes were simply inspirational or funny, some were searching for students for taekwondo or guitar, advertisements for plays and musicals at the local theatre were spread along the outer edges begging to be noticed, and there were a few job postings as well from other nearby establishments, restaurants, including one from a pet store.

He shouldn’t have tried putting an ad on Kijiji at all- not when the perfect people were right here all along. Like Icarus, Lyrem flew too close to the sun, and was burned by the troubling rays of stupidity that came through his door from delving into the ruddy depths of online job hunting. Never again would he make such a mistake.

“Lyre!”

Nodding, he retrieved his cup, and turned back toward the door. He nearly collided with another person, standing close up to the cork board and huffed, not spilling a drop.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

“Apologies.” The person gave him little notice, but moved off to the side with ease to allow him through.

He furrowed his brows. What was it that was causing him to pause just before reaching the door? There was just… something… off.

It took him a moment before hearing it- the faintest humming to Segovia’s España, Spanish Dance No.10 in G coming from the person who apologized to him for being in the way. Each note timed perfectly to the sound from the speakers in the corner. He turned his head, to a particularly high note, the humming stopped to be replaced with fingers tapping in unison to the notes against their thigh.

“Guitar?” He asked, suddenly beside them. He studied the board also.

“No,” they replied. “Just looking for a job.”

He nodded, grimacing. Raising his hopes one final time, he ventured.

“I have potential work for you. I am hiring at my store’s location down the street. If you are interested.”

“That seems coincidental.” They replied unemphatically sifting through the other job postings there, knowing they were not currently dressed for success. “What store?”

“Mystics. It’s along twenty-third and”-

“-seventeenth, yes, I know the place.”

“Then you’re hired.”

They stopped, and brought their hands down from the board, and turned to stare their deep brown eyes into his of deep hazel- to finally spare a glance to the person wanting their attention.

“I don’t have time for practical jokes- or human trafficking, for that matter,” they said with insistence.

“I’m not joking, and I am definitely not in the business of human trafficking”- Lyrem stuttered incredulously. “I thought you said you knew the place.”

“I do.” They replied. “I’ve just never been in. It’s just one of those ridiculous shops for people to waste their money on colourful rocks. There’s literally a river just under the bridge half a mile from here- infinite supply for none of the coin.”

Taking them by surprise, he laughed.

“You will be the worst salesperson.” He said. More seriously, he added, “look, I really am in need of a person to take care of a few evening shifts and the weekends, I pay well above the average rate for any local retail store, and I’d be able to supply you with health benefits.”

This sudden bargain seemed to be interesting enough for the person to distance themselves from the cork board.

“I’m still finishing high school- under eighteen- is that a problem?” They asked. “It’s been a problem everywhere else”-

“Not a problem.”

They nodded.

“When do I start?”

[enolathesly]

1. How long have you been worshiping?

About 18 years or so.

2. Do you have a deity that is particularly close to you?

I'm hopelessly devoted to Hestia, and she is included in almost everything that has to do with my home, family, friends, children etc.

3. Whats your favorite tale about your Gods?

I enjoy the story of Artemis and the Stag

4. Do you keep an altar?

Yes. I keep a permanent altar.

5. Do you consider yourself an Oracle?

No.

6. What brought you to your current path?

I had a dream when I was young, it is recurring, and over time I've accepted it.

7. Do you believe in past lives?

Yes, but I don't think everyone was a princess or a king or a great warrior. No delusions of grandeur here.

8. Do you think plants, animals or stones have spirits?

Yes. I believe that everything has a spirit or essence, that nature spirits have never been human, and so they don't think or act like humans do. This falls in line with my belief in the small folk. I dont hold a Victorian era image of what they would look or act like.

9. What do you think your afterlife will look like?

I'm not sure, but I'm hoping for something calm and pleasant.

10.Who’s your favorite divine power couple?

I dont really have one. The Olympians were big on drama and incest. I love their lore, but let's be real, some of it was pretty messed up.

11. Do you listen to devotional music?

Yes. And I write some of my own little songs too.

12. What are your views on virginity? Is it worth anything spiritually?

Personally, I've never held much belief in virginity being the ultimate purity ideal. Yes, the Hestia had a temple full of virgins, but they had a job to do. Virginity as in non-marriage and independence, however, was a very powerful thing to have in times when women had very little control over their lives or futures.

13. What deity do you turn to most in times of trouble? Hestia, Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Persephone and Demeter.

14. What are your views on dreams? Have they anything to do with divinity or the future?

I have had dreams of things that have happened later.

15. Do you prefer to party and celebrate or quietly observe holidays?

I like quiet celebrations.

16. Which deity do you find has the biggest sense of humor?

I'm not really sure.

17. What made you choose your religion over any others?

It is what fit me. I wasn't raised as anything specific and my interests and dreams led me this way.

18. Do you have any food or drink that is spiritually important?

Not really. I offer different things. Wine is a constant though. And water.

19. Do you have any numbers that are spiritually important?

I find that things tend to happen in 3s.

20. Do you believe in fairies, nymphs or nature spirits?

Yes.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Another list! Of stuff I liked about Supergirl ep. 6x03, “Phantom Menaces”! AKA:

Spoilers!

WOW HEY WOW I LOVED THIS EPISODE.

BECAUSE EVERYONE IS HAVING FEELINGS.

(This is gonna be all over the place I can tell, apologies in advance for poor organization)

Okay, so! Right off the bat (‘ha ha’ but like, in a sad way) we learn that poor Silas has been Phantom’d. :C

We then get even MORE Phantom action back in the actual Phantom Zone--Kara’s plan to literally grab a ride doesn’t go over so well WHICH LEADS TO!

Kara making a Phantom Zone Friend! Yay! :D  

Pretty much immediately on board with Nixly’s (I refuse to try and spell out her full name) chaotic energy. Brilliant. Amazing. 10/10, hope she’s not secretly evil.

Kara’s physical vulnerability bringin’ in those “Human for a Day” vibes, yes, good, yes.

Then we’re BACK AT THE TOWER and things aren’t looking great for Silas! J’onn is blocking out his emotions! Brainy is neck deep in his! 

AND SPEAKING OF FEELINGS.

ALEX.

WITH THE CRYSTAL.

OOOOooOOooOOH NooOOOOOOOOOO

Side note: Love that Kara’s last will and testament is like, ‘Four for you, Eliza and Alex Danvers!’

‘Aaaaaand none for Jeremiah, okay bye.’

Puttin’ a pin in the Luthor stuff. We’ll get to it.

Back to the Tower! Alright, first and foremost, probably a silly thing but I’m glad the Super Friends are just...dressed casually.

I was concerned at the outset of this season that we’d see them all in their Super Suits™ most of the time because everyone’s a vigilante now, but fortunately that is not the case!

Appreciate that the Phantoms are actually a particular type of alien. As far as I know, ‘Zulian Maletarians’ are original to the show--no reference to preexisting DC stuff.

Something I noticed upon a re-watch--my suspension of disbelief allows for the physical phantom transformation...but they also all sprout matching dark robes???

Sure, Jan. 

Anyways. Then WEAPONS GRADE ANGST, as Alex has like, combo PTSD/guilt trip reaction to Phantom’d Silas. 

Just like. The frozen, helpless look? 

NOW I’M HAVING FEELINGS, HOW DARE.

And the hits keep comin’, cause we’ve got a balcony talk between J’onn and Alex but it’s tense and sad and gosh I love it.

Back in Kara’s Phantom Zone Adventure, love her Wizard of Oz-esque gathering of companions on her way to see the Wizard find an escape.

This week it felt like there was a better handle on the close-ups? Like, they were pretty apparent in 6x02. Here, they’re a little less obvious. (Or maybe I’m just getting used to them IDK. XD)

Az-Rel is a deep Detective Comics Comics cut--a Kryptonian prisoner in the Phantom Zone who has pyrokinesis! 

(tHEy DoNT ReSpECT tHe cOMicS!!! Except that they do, and y’all don’t even NOTICE.) 

Glad that both Kelly and M’gann had plot stuff to do this week, instead of just offering emotional support to everyone else.

I forgot to mention it last week so I’ll just quickly mention that I like the glow-y purple lights in the Tower. Very nice touch, J’onn.

(But how is he affording this?)

(And for that matter...are Kara and Nia now the only members of the Super Friends with jobs?)

I’ll dispense with the linear approach because the back-and-forth between plotlines is getting to be a bit much, SO!

On the Kelly and M’gann note: Again, really liked that they’re not simply there to be cheerleaders for the other characters. M’gann still feels a little like she’s at the mercy of plot whims, but. Progress!

And then Kelly! I mentioned this last season--I like that they’ve built up her character such that her inclusion in like. Bad-guy fights makes sense, even though she’s maybe not as directly connected to the action as other members of the Super Friends, being more ‘team CatCo/Obsidian’ than ‘Tower’

(Spoiler-y info suggests that will change as the season progresses so we’ll see how that goes!)

I liked this Final Phantom Fight more than the one in 6x02--the direction/blocking felt a little less ‘everyone stand on your marks in a line and shoot up at the CGI stuff’. 

I mean it was still essentially that, but. Just worked a bit better here, IMO.

And Alex can quick-change now! Love that it has the red glow of Martian shapeshifting.

Oliver Queen out there somewhere in the afterlife, seething with jealousy.

(Jumping back, just think it’s funny that, presumably, emergency services got a call about the Phantoms like, ‘911, what’s your emergency?’ ‘We’ve got hostile ghosts!’)

Alright, circling back to the Luthors!

Brainy and Lena are feeling their feelings, folks.

Loved all Brainy’s stuff. Particularly, his enraged, “I hate him! I hate him!” and then his quieter, broken, “I miss her.”

Just. So good.

(But man he is...2 for 3 on busted tech. Keyboard, tablet...fortunately the TV was spared but it was close!)

And Lena had some growth! 

I’m just at the point where I’m never gonna like. Enjoy the character--too many years of fandom baggage unfortunately. But credit where it is due: NO MORE LITTLE BOXES, THANK GOODNESS.

She’s gone from Bowler Hat Guy to Elsa. Good for her.

The amount of Lex this week was about as much as I can handle anymore. Simmering in the background, antagonizing Lena...that’s where he belongs.

(But he can leave now, thanks.)

Okay so BACK TO KARA, b/c you know. I’m biased.

Her time in the Phantom Zone is a little less introspective than I expected, thus far. However! Still the good Kara content I crave.

Kara making friends and influencing others with her sheer determination and compassion? 

Almost like...her real power lies in her ability to inspire others. 

Gasp! A theme!

Also the mention of fractured memories...intriguing! 

And will no-doubt dovetail into the upcoming time-travel/flashback episodes.

I am excited.

An aside: Kara’s gonna be so distressed that she missed out on all these big emotional milestones.

“J’onn and M’gann soul-bonded? Alex and Kelly moved in together? Lena and Brainy engaged in healthy coping mechanisms???”

She’s gonna have so many Hallmark cards to buy.

*Card with a cute smiley face on it* *opens it up* ‘Congrats on not murdering your brother!’

I’m sure there’s a bunch of other great stuff I’m missing but that’s all I can remember at the moment, so!

TL;DR - SO MANY FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS! From everyone! It was great.

NEXT WEEK: Phantom Friends Fight to Find a Feasible Flight from the Frigid Fathomage of the Former Fort Rozz!

[tardis-stowaway]

hi! I really like your taste in media, and I'm looking for new summer reading - if it's not too much trouble to share, do you have any like, top 5 book recommendations? or maybe some books you've read recently that you enjoy? any genre is fine, including nonfiction. thank you!

Hi anon! This was a really nice message to get, so thank you!!! :D Lately, I haven’t been reading as much as I usually like due to a combination of grad school and pandemic brain, but here is a list of five books I adore that I’ve discovered in the past several years, plus a bonus older series that I wish got more attention. I tried to give some variety of different sorts of books. This got a bit long. I have a lot to say about the books I love!

-The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison: this is a wonderful comfort-read fantasy with a main character who I love and would protect with my life. The worldbuilding is rich (there’s formal and informal pronouns!) with some fascinating touches. It’s the story of the half-goblin youngest son of an elven emperor, raised away from court and out of favor, who unexpectedly gets the throne when his father and older brothers are killed in an airship crash. Can this shy, anxious young man solve the mystery of his father's death and hold onto his throne without losing his gentle, empathetic nature?

-The Murderbot Diaries series by Martha Wells, beginning with All Systems Red: super fun science fiction with a page-turning plot and an oh-so relatable, snarky narrator. Murderbot is a security construct who has hacked itself and just wants to use its new freedom of mind to watch media in peace, but the pesky humans around it keep needing rescuing, and there’s some evil corporate shenanigans going on. This is a series of several novellas and one full-length novel.

-The Invisible Library series by Genevieve Cogman, beginning with the book of the same name: these books are romps packed full of things that I love. Librarians wielding language as magic! Witty banter! Dragons! The Fae! Parallel worlds! A Sherlock Holmes-esque detective! Heists! Steampunk! Intrigue! A creepy villain! Likable characters at the center hold everything together.

-The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherynne Valente: you know the “women in refrigerators” trope folks complain about from comics and other dude-centered media? The premise of this book is that a group of women who were connected in some way to superheroes (sometimes they’re the un-powered girlfriends, sometimes they’re superpowered themselves) getting together in the afterlife to tell the stories of their own lives, how they are complex people who are more than how they suffered for some man’s journey. This book is angry and sorrowful, but also engaging, motivating and even funny in parts. Catherynne Valente’s prose is always astounding. If superheroes aren’t your jam, try her wise and whimsical middle-grade portal fantasy The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making or her “Eurovision in space to save the world” Douglas Adams-esque novel Space Opera.

—The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal: alt-history sci-fi with an intersectional social justice lens. An asteroid strike in the early 1950s prompts an international effort to radically accelerate the space program. The protagonist is a woman pilot trying to become an astronaut. The author has done a TON of research into the actual history of space travel and it shows. This is sort of what you’d get if you crossed The Martian with Hidden Figures and threw in a major natural disaster. Note that this is part of trilogy. I’ve only read the first two, but I’ve heard only good things about the third.

-Bonus old favorite: The Blood and Smoke series by Tanya Huff: urban fantasy that will appeal to fans of Buffy, among other things. The Blood books center on Vicky Nelson, a tough and stubborn PI who gets drawn in to dealing with the supernatural when she meets vampire Henry Fitzroy (bastard son of Henry VIII, short, charismatic, bisexual vampire…I love Henry so much). The Smoke books, which I love even more, center on Tony, a minor character in the Blood books who has moved on to get a job on the crew of a vampire detective TV show. These books are creepy, exciting, snarky, and have pretty good queer rep. (Henry’s bi, Tony’s gay and has a super cute canon romantic plotline in the Smoke books). They’re a bit dated, especially the earlier Blood books from the early 90s, but considering their age their take on a lot of the urban fantasy tropes feels quite fresh. More people need to read these and then post Tony/Lee fics on AO3 for me to enjoy. You can start with either Blood Ties, the first overall, or skip to the Smoke series with Smoke and Shadows.

The long list of books I also considered including: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsin Muir, the October Daye series by Seanan McGuire (really, almost anything by Seanan), The Collapsing Empire by John Scalzi, A Natural History of Dragons by Marie Brennan, Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik, and All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders.

Happy reading, anon! I'm happy to talk about books (almost) any time.

[ltleflrt]

Wild Speculation Time!

I’ve been following the gnostic stuff from some meta folks, and while I think their ideas are compelling and interesting, I’m only barely able to grasp the esoterica of it all.  So they may look at my speculations and go Yup That’s It! Or I may be completely out in left field (and not unhappy to be wrong lol).  But I have thoughts.

So Rowena is now Queen of Hell.  She seems to be really enjoying herself down there, with the demons fawning over her, and the parties, and all that jazz.  Basically eternal punishment is now kissing her toes lol

What does this mean for Heaven though?  I’ve seen a lot of hypothesizing that Jack or Castiel will end up ruling there, but I just can’t see it for them. 

Jack is a child who needs to be allowed to live a full life.  He’s been trying to save the world since he was born, but just like Sam and Dean, he shouldn’t have to do that.  He should be allowed to be normal.

Castiel flubbed his one attempt at ruling Heaven so badly that he’s been running from the responsibility ever since.  Hannah talked him into it again, and it went better that time, but it was still a sense of duty that put him there.  And when he found out Heaven was failing, he turned to Gabriel to see if he would take up the mantle, and obviously that can’t happen now. 

I think it’s going to be Michael and Adam, together.  Now that Michael has Adam with him, he’s different.  Softer, calmer, and so dang fond of Adam.  I think their partnership could mean a better Heaven.  One where the angels are there to care for it and its inhabitants, but with Adam giving insight on what humans would actually want out of their afterlife experience.  Unlock the doors, knock down some walls to create more shared spaces, etc.  Why can only soulmates share a heaven?  Why not families and friends too?  Why can’t they pop in and visit each other whenever they want?  Or even better, what if they’re allowed to make new memories together instead of reliving old ones?  (I stopped going to church at 13, but the religion I grew up in presented Heaven as one big happy picnic where we could all just hang out and love each other while enjoying luxuries that no one had to work for, and I think that would be cool for the SPN universe.)

Having Midam ruling Heaven would be a nice parallel to Rowena in Hell.  Friends/Family/Allies who would let Sam and Dean come and go as they pleased.

Side note, while I would not like to see it, I can imagine Castiel becoming ruler of the empty.  Although what I’d really like is to have the sleeping angels sent to heaven, the sleeping demons sent to hell (and Rowena giving them the opportunity to earn their way into heaven), and the Empty being allowed to go back to sleep for eternity after it re-absorbs Chuckmara. 

I have no idea what they’ll do with Purgatory.  I’d like to see it dissolved completely, but we’ll see if they have time to address it again.

That leaves Death, and I’m side-eying everyone in TFW 2.0 for that job right now.  Although I’d like it to be Dean.  He’s got experience with it.  As Death he could visit all the realms.  I saw a still of him and Sam eating some kind of desert, and I remember how the first Death loved crappy junk food so much.  He was sort of a cosmic mentor to Dean in some ways, and it would be neat to see Dean take up his mantle and flit around all of existence trying all the burgers and pies.  But I can also see Castiel having to take that job now.

I dunno.  We’ll see!  TWO MORE EPISODES!  I am excited!

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Texas Hold ‘Em || Solo

TIMING: Recent

LOCATION: Houston, Texas

SUMMARY: Morgan strikes a bargain to seal the deal on her revenge, but it’s going to cost more than she reckoned on.

The exorcist pulled up to the hotel at two in the morning, left her Ford pickup with the sleepy eyed valet worker, and moseyed into the lobby, grave ash and dust trailing onto the marble tile in her wake. Morgan watched her from the safety of her chair in the lobby, pressing against the armrests to straighten her back and look taller. She wanted this to be quick and simple. Deirdre was asleep and they had a plane to catch in the next six hours. There was only so much time before White Crest wrapped its claws around them and she needed this last thing to be easy, because nothing else that happened when they got home would be.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said, greeting the exorcist by way of gesturing her to sit in the chair opposite. “There’s complimentary chocolate chip cookies, if you’ve got the munchies,” she said, trying her best to smile.

“Not interested,” the exorcist drawled. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Oh. Noted.”

They sat in silence, looking at each other. Morgan wasn’t sure if Rebecca and Jasmine had given her the wrong idea about exorcists, or if this one woman, dug up down a daisy chain of referrals starting with Cassie and stretching halfway across the country, simply elected to dress in iron tipped cowboy boots and leather vests out of personal preference. The exorcist was at least as old as Rebecca, with sunburnt wrinkles around her eyes and a brittleness that worked its way from her dusty fingers to her lank blonde hair. Morgan, for her part, had borrowed some of Deirdre’s makeup and jewelry in an effort to look more commanding and assured. She didn’t want to broadcast the extent of her desperation. How much she was willing to pay. How far she had already come. Morgan was sure she’d talked to every exorcist with a listed number this side of the Mississippi for help, but all of them considered themselves under-experienced, underequipped, or simply unwilling to do what Morgan asked. She had trucked on, because to accept that there was no one within reach was to accept that Constance had won, and Morgan couldn’t do that without feeling a piece of her soul go up in flames and char. She hid her fear behind a smile and a self deprecating laugh, but she’d run out of backup plans.

“Jose told me you’ve got your hands on some sensitive material,” the exorcist said. “I’ll be straight with you: I want that text in addition to my fee. Not a copy, the original.”

Morgan stiffened. “Why?”

“Does it matter? No original, no exorcism.”

Morgan’s jaw clenched. Only now did she notice the hollowness in the exorcist’s look, the hard lines that reminded Morgan of every cruel face she had met. Under other circumstances, she might have told the exorcist their meeting was finished. This wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to owe anything toward or trusted with a ritual this powerful. But under other circumstances, she wouldn’t need this in the first place. And this was hardly the first person of questionable intentions she’d worked with. When the family had been hanging over her, there was no such thing. There was only getting free or staying under Constance’s feet. The same was true now: stay hunted and haunted and beaten, or take matters into her own hands. It was just her pride, the way Remmy had turned away from her in the backyard and the way Jasmine called her a hypocrite for believing in kindness as if that was synonymous with accepting a position as a child’s torture toy for the rest of her existence. Or, better still, sending her off with a pat on the back and a ‘have fun in the afterlife.’ A peaceful sleep, something Morgan was never going to know any more than a life spent without that cruel, miserable girl’s shadow over her. She hesitated because she was tired of being misunderstood. Of people talking to her like she was the monster. She didn’t want to give them an inch to feel like they were right. But the character of energy was all in its use. One woman’s monster was another’s salvation. And Morgan didn’t have time to be choosy if she wanted to keep the body count to a minimum.

“Fine,” she said at last. “After you’ve done your job, successfully, it’s yours.”

“And I’ll need more than the fee we discussed for materials and labor. You want this done the right way, you can’t go half-assing the ingredients. And with the kind of harm you’re looking to unleash--”

“I have the materials gathered. I did all the labor myself. If there’s really such a thing as bestowing intentions on an object when you’re a zombie, the items you’ll need will be chock full of how much I need this little bitch to suffer for what she did to me and my family.”

The exorcist laughed dryly. “That’s not possible.”

Morgan produced a screenshot on her tablet of the pages she’d torn from that crusty old professor’s book, carefully preserved in clear sleeves, and dotted with sticky notes translating the text and documenting her ‘shopping list.’ The exorcist gave the pictures a once over, her face inscrutable.

“Well?” Morgan said. She had broken laws for this. Worse than that, she had broken pieces of herself her friends had held up and broken their ties to her along with it.

“Well I’ll be,” the exorcist said. “I’ve always wanted to do one of these. And the linguistics, marrying the latin to the french, the craftsmanship of the text-- this bitch is going to feel like she’s being raked apart from the inside out.”

“Good,” Morgan said shortly. “Can you get to Maine on your own or do I need to cover that too?”

“I’ve got some business up north to take care of. I’ll make my own way. But what do you mean when you say you did all the labor, already?”

“I wasn’t aware that was an ambiguous statement.”

“Well, given your timetable isn’t for a few weeks yet, I’d be surprised if you had the source gathered already, or else you are a very different kind of woman than what I’ve taken you for.”

“The source? Aren’t you the source? The source of energy? The caster in this scenario?”

The exorcist snorted, hiding her face in her sleeve while she gathered her composure.

“I don’t--I’d appreciate some clarity. If there’s been a misunderstanding--” She would do anything to fix it. She needed this done.

“I don’t think I’d be much help in the exorcism if you had me hogtied and bleeding over a pit,” the exorcist said, laughing harder. “The source of the pain. Now, in the revolution in gay pair-ee, some of these folks would get together and do a little blood letting themselves, and when you’ve got a circle of six or more, that’s fine. But from what my grandpa said, most of the time they had a live one on deck, someone they could make suffer twice over. The source is pain and blood, Ms. Beck. You don’t have to cut a man open in the circle, I don’t need to be a witness to anything that might give me trouble, but this isn’t some butcher’s blood pissbaby shit. You need to make someone bleed like you’d make her bleed. That’s how we open the channel, that’s how we drag your ghost out of this plane kicking and screaming. Are you telling me you’re gonna cover that too?”

Morgan was silent for several moments, her hands pulling at the upholstery on her chair so hard the threads snapped. She wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t like Constance. She kept her messes contained. She didn’t take things out on people who had done nothing wrong if she could help it. She didn’t make people carry her shit for terrible reasons. And maybe she’d been a coward in life, but she had a lot fewer fucks to give now that she was dead. And yet… and yet… Morgan bowed her head and breathed deep. “If that’s what it takes, then yes.”

[theradioghost]

So I’ve realized recently that I actually really really like podcasts when my audio processing isn’t acting up (thanks tma!) and was wondering what recs you have for completed podcasts. I’m cool with basically any genre and theme, though I would appreciate a warning for tragedy. Thanks for your time!

Of course! I’ll put this one under a cut just so the length is a bit less ridiculous.

Some of my favorite completed shows are

Wolf 359 – a scifi comedy about four squabbling coworkers on a malfunctioning, isolated space station which then takes a hard right into a spectacular, heartwrenching drama. Not a tragedy, but many tears are shed when listening. Probably one of the best podcasts out there tbqh.

Ars Paradoxica – a modern physicist accidentally invents time travel, landing her back at the start of the Cold War and changing the course of history forever. The creators literally described it as “a tragedy” and they weren’t lying, although the finale is sort of hopefully bittersweet.

The Hidden Almanac – a grouchy professor in a plague doctor mask offers bite-sized pieces of history and hagiography from his fantastical world as well as gardening advice, occasionally interrupted and/or dragged off on unwilling shenanigans by his tequila-loving accidental necromancer best friend coworker. Fantasy writer/artist Ursula Vernon and her husband put this 4-minute show out three times a week for SEVEN YEARS, and it’s funny and cozy and poetic and can be found in full here, as there are too many episodes for most podcatchers to display.

Alice Isn’t Dead – lesbian Americana road-trip horror. A cross-country trucker searches for her missing wife while monsters and conspiracies pursue her across the vast empty and abandoned spaces of America. Actually also exists in novel form.

The Bright Sessions – records from the office of Dr. Bright, a therapist who specializes in people with strange and secret abilities. However, her patients aren’t the only ones with secrets. Personally this show never completely absorbed me like some others did, but the character writing is genuinely amazing. The story obviously also deals a lot with mental illness and some other difficult topics and content.

Our Fair City – the eight-season saga of the inhabitants of a post-apocalyptic underground city ruled over by the remnants of an insurance company, featuring mole people, lightning-harvesting sky sailors, giant ants, and a found family of mad scientists among others. Part comedy, part drama, all anticapitalist satire. You kind of have to give it a couple of seasons to find its stride (this was one of the very first shows in the podcast-based audio drama revival) but it is absolutely worth it. Disclaimer that while I am on the final season of the show I have not quite finished it yet.

Jarnsaxa Rising – a unique scifi-fantasy hybrid, in which a vengeful Norse giantess escapes imprisonment with the goal of destroying the gods and bringing about Ragnarok, only to find herself in a post-climate-change dystopian future.

Glasgow Ghost Stories – a Scottish woman begins noticing the many ghosts inhabiting the streets of her city; but the ghosts have begun to notice her too, and not all of them are friendly. Pigeons are involved.

Big Data – an odd little heist comedy about a rogue journalist investigating a spectacular crime in which the “seven keys to the internet” are stolen, leading to a story about hacking in which no actual hacking is involved. There are two fun side notes to it: one, everything that happens in it could technically happen in real life. Two, it involves an absurd amount of cameos from other well-known podcasts (and also Taika Waititi?), which you don’t need to get to follow the story but which make it kind of hilarious on a whole other level when you listen to those shows.

I Am In Eskew – a surreal, intense, disturbingly poetic horror about a man trapped in a shifting, malevolent, impossible city, and a woman on the outside trying to find him. Extremely good but I do recommend thoroughly checking the trigger warnings on this one. (Surprisingly non-tragic finale, although not a typical “happy ending.”)

The Alexandria Archives – half comedy and half horror, in the form of a late-night radio show at Alexandria University, on the edge of North Carolina’s Great Dismal Swamp. Half of each episode is a standalone cosmic horror story set in and around the town of Alexandria. The other half features the antics of the university’s students, including the host MW and her friends who are definitely Canadian exchange students, and not a vampire hiding from his ex and a bunch of stranded space pirates. (A little goofy? Yes, but I love it a ton for all its faults anyway. Also, some of the short stories are genuinely terrifying.)

and also, some completed miniseries!!

The Tower – a gorgeous experimental audio drama in which a young woman decides to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one ever returns.

Time:Bombs – a comedy by the folks who made Wolf 359 about a bomb disposal squad on New Year’s Eve, trying to survive their leader’s obsession with breaking a record.

They Say a Lot of Things – upon discovering that she can interact with a dropped tape recorder, the ghost of a young girl tells her story, interwoven with the stories of those who have passed through the abandoned house that she cannot leave over the years that she’s haunted it.

Podcaster A. R. Olivieri specializes in microfiction miniseries, ranging from scifi to experimental to fantasy. (Side note, a lot of his work crosses over with the still-running scifi podcast Girl In Space, but you don’t need to have listened to GIS to understand what’s going on in his shows.)

Nym’s Nebulous Notions – a self-declared investigative journalist decides to check out a mysterious SOS signal and finds herself on a mysteriously abandoned ship – or so she thinks. Arguably a tragedy, although not necessarily in the way you might think.

Palimpsest – technically not finished, but each season of this anthology makes up a complete 10-part story, and seasons 1 and 2 are complete. Season 1 is a ghost story about a woman who is suspicious about strange happenings in her new home and her odd new neighbors. Season 2 is a turn-of-the-century dark urban fantasy about a girl who escapes her career criminal mother’s house, taking a job as the companion to what her new employer claims is an imprisoned faerie princess. (Season 3 is ongoing and is about a codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on London’s streets during the Blitz.) It’s a heartbreaking sort of show, albeit in a very beautiful and moving way.

The Details is a short piece about an office worker who goes in to negotiate for a promotion and finds himself negotiating with the devil himself instead. The number of genuinely surprising and excellent twists it packs into just 45 minutes is really fun.

The London Necropolis Railway – a really underappreciated little fantasy-mystery about a recently-dead detective who refuses to board the train scheduled to take her to the afterlife until one of its hapless employees helps her solve her supernatural murder.

Janus Descending – a scifi horror told in two intertwining perspectives, one in reverse order and one in chronological order, about two scientists who land on a remote planet to investigate the ruins of its lost civilization, only to encounter the thing that killed the former inhabitants. A fantastic story told in a really clever and unique way, but stamp a big old tragedy warning all OVER this one, although because of the structure you technically know how it’s going to end right from the start – what makes this show so good is how you get there. It will make you cry, though.

… and also my show, Midnight Radio, which is about lesbian romance, small towns, old radio shows, the good and bad sides of nostalgia, and ghost stories.

[crystalectomy]

I call this piece “leaving the groupchat”

I'm starting off somewhat small - I removed myself from the groupchat. I haven't told anyone yet (and the group settings mean there will be no notification that I’ve done it, people will have to find out on their own). 

I don't know yet the FULL extent of the backing-slowly-into-the-hedges I want to do with these people. I know, broadly speaking, that if I get invited to things from this group in the future there will be a few things I straight up say no to: 

most get togethers at [A]’s house

any camping trips

most parties in general, esp hosted by [A], [B], [C] , or [D]

Things I might say yes to:

a concert w [B]

a boardgame night (occasional)

a park hang, bar hop, or outdoor festival (anything it's easy to bounce from)

Things I will be pleased to continue:

some kinda relationship with [C]

maybe a reconnection with [E] some day

My brother’s advice was to leave the group chat and only explain myself to anyone who asks about it. He said leaving it would be good for gaining closure (as opposed to just turning off notifications, which I've tried many times already). From what I've told him it seems I have every reason to do so -- he did not try even for a second to talk me out of it. He said he had a similar situation where he left/was cut out of a friend group a year ago and he has had absolutely no regrets at all. 

He also said he thinks our Dad sticks too long with people / doesn't recognize when they've become harmful to be around, so if the goal is to not be like Dad (which, yes), then recognizing when to move on from people is one way to get there. 

I'm doing everyone a favor here (probably too aggro a thing to say)

I've been reading about people who've broken up with friends or left friend groups and a familiar refrain keeps coming up -- friendships should be with people who you trust, who uplift you, who do not leave you feeling stressed and drained. I cannot say that about this group, as a whole, anymore. At all. 

For a long time -- years now -- I've flirted with the idea of leaving the groupchat. It hasn't been a fun groupchat. A lot of it is people posting links and videos that I'm not interested in, giving life update announcements that don't need to be given in a group setting, or posting plan-making logistics, which always end up being a little awkward when some people can participate in them and others can't (which is always the case, b/c of awkward breakups in the couples of the group, east bay vs sf commute times, and now differing covid sensibilities and vaxxed/unvaxxed status).

All of that is innocuous enough, but if it's clutter, it's clutter. And there's no reason not to remove it. 

So what made the group good if not the groupchat? The hangs. The drugs, the alcohol, the games. The concerts, the movies, the camping trips. Since we've had a forced year without those things, I've gotten a better look at what the core of this group feels like to be in without all that -- and it sucks.

So why not just ride it out until we can hangout in person again (which will be v soon!)? I guess I'm just feeling like a spring cleaning attitude about it. Like, maybe I can spend my precious time in the afterlife hanging out with people who I can feel close with emotionally as well as physically? Maybe now that I'm in a very different phase of my life than I was when I met them (turning-30-realness) I should cultivate relationships that fulfill me where I'm at now -- people I can share exciting work news, poems, and pictures of my cat with, yes, but also people I can unravel the secrets of the universe and the pros and cons of major life choices with.

I've spent a lot of the quarantine either in solitude or staying connected to / reconnecting with friends who make me feel good. Who listen to my advice, who give me advice and encouragement in turn, who share similar interests with me, who do not call me "unique " "weird" "soooo alternative" over and over again (either in admiration or jest). Who have understood and interpreted and lived out the COVID thing in similar ways as me. 

And look -- I don't mean people who have had the same privileges necessarily! Some of the people I've gotten closer to were just as social as the folks in this group +/or worked jobs where they had to be on the frontlines and couldn't barricade themselves quite as much as me and my husband did. But they respected our decision to take as strict a stance on this whole thing as humanly possible, did not call us "sensitive" or "conservative" at any point along the way, and when they asked us to hangout, did so in ways that felt respectful of and empathetic towards our boundaries. It’s not that this group made different choices than I would have, it’s that they, by contrast to my other friends, treated me with judgment, derision, and disrespect for my decisions. I promise I’ve not done the same.

I'm purging a lot of things from my life right now. Leaving my toxic-ish job at the end of April. Trying to lose the last 5 lbs. Getting rid of as much clutter in the house as possible.

As I start to prepare and dream for a life outside of quarantine, I think about  who are some of the first people I want to grab a drink with, go for a walk with, celebrate an occasion with. And for the most part, it's not these people.

Y'all are funny, interesting, intelligent, engaging, and a good time. But I don't feel like I belong here. And I often leave hangouts with the group feeling stressed or upset.

Moreso, in my life I feel I've gotten much harder. Cynical, crabby, pessimistic, aggressive, barbed, judgmental. Like, really had those parts of me take over. And I'm almost certain this group being my main group was a contributing factor. It's behavior that's, if not required, then encouraged to be a member here.

I thought about writing a message in the groupchat to explain myself instead of ghosting but a few things occurred to me:

9 times out of 10 when I try to be earnest or express any feelings that aren't straight up enthusiasm for something with this group, I feel ignored at best or patronized and shut down at worst. 

given the pervading sense of devil-may-care cavalierness in this group, i figured most of you wouldn't notice/care anyway

I thought of folks like [X], [Y], and [Z] who have been in/out of this groupchat for years, all of whom have since faded away, and none of whom felt the need to say anything. Since there's a precedent, I figured I'd follow it

I'm extremely self conscious about this decision -- I'm worried it comes off as self-absorbed, self-righteous, selfish, etc. and I don't think I know a way to ensure it doesn't come off that way when trying to address it head on.

I'm kind of a coward about this kind of thing (awkward social interactions) anyway. So this is a kind of cowardly way to do it. It fits.

I've been thinking about doing this for so long that nothing anyone can say will convince me otherwise, so why invite a dialogue?

If anyone asks (which my husband assures me they won't): 

“Oh, I left the group chat a little while ago, so if you're trying to reach me, specifically, text/phone call is the best way to do so. Email works too. No shade to you or anyone in particular, I just found the energy of the group as a whole to be kind of toxic, and have so for some time now (even pre pandemic).”

Then, maybe:

“I thought about saying something but I honestly couldn't think of what to say that wouldn't come off as arrogant or dramatic or weird. Maybe it's weirder to ghost... but I never seem to accurately gauge how people in this group will react to things I do and say, and I didn’t want to be misinterpreted and cause more stress. There's no good or codified way to leave a friend group, so I just did the easiest, path of least resistance way I could think of.” 

And if there’s time:

“And that's the other thing, I didn't want to like, break up with any of you as friends. I'm not going to say no to every game night invitation or avoid people altogether IRL or anything. And I'm hoping and planning to have 1x1 or 2x2 hangs with some of y’all in the future. So I didn't want to invite any truly nasty energy between me and any of the individuals in the group. I'm just excusing myself from the overall 'zeitgeist' of the groupchat, and okay with probably getting invited to fewer outings as a result.” 

Or at least:

“I didn’t mean to offend, I just did what I thought was best for me in a way that I hoped would cause the least amount of harm to everyone involved. And I did think long and hard about it, so at least I hope no one can say it was a completely thoughtless decision.”

I'm taking this impending re-entry into society thing as an opportunity to prioritize the relationships that have felt enriching, healthy, fruitful during it. And I’m excited to chase down hobbies and events at work, post pandemic, with the goal of making new friends who I can be more myself with.

[kathyprior4200]

Kathy Prior Comforts Alastor

Another ordinary day at the Hazbin Hotel. Having died in the 2020’s due to covid, I appeared as a watered down human, not quite a demon unless influenced by Alastor’s dark magic. Originally I was going to be transformed into an angel reminiscent of my supposed spirit animal. But Heaven’s elitism rubbed me the wrong way, thus I refused to submit to God. I was banished down to Hell, living in a cardboard box. I was soon fleeing from the exterminators not too long afterwards. If they had gotten me, I’d either be killed or sent back to Heaven to be brainwashed as a white Exorcist. Then Alastor of all people decided to take me in and I arrived at the Hazbin Hotel. There I was good friends with Alastor, Charlie and Niffty, half convinced that they were the voice actors playing some kind of trick on me.

 Aside from my demon form that is activated by Alastor’s magic, my afterlife form wasn’t very impressive. I looked like I did when I was alive, except my skin was ghostly pale, my long hair was gray and my eyes had black sclera, purple irises and white pupils. Although I didn’t fit in with the other demons, I could see in the dark and my instincts were heightened.

 It’s not a lot of fun when Alastor possesses me or when he decides to swallow me whole. Apparently, there’s something powerful about me that allows him to heal, feel full and even get some rest. Often times, he sits me in front of a radio and has me listen to several of his favorite jazz songs. The little speakers start to glow and static buzzes in my head. His soothing voice washes over me and I find myself in a daze. My eyes glow red with moving black radio dials and my remaining thoughts are shoved to the back of my mind. Alastor soon has control of my body and mind. He calls the process “getting tuned in.”

 I then transform into an alligator/red doe hybrid demon named Cerva. In this form, I’m a vicious killer and cannibal who accompanies Alastor, Husk and Niffty on various missions. Using my sharp claws, teeth and some dark magic, I take down pedos, rapists, criminals or anyone that stands in the Radio Demon’s way. My scaly skin helps protect me from most attacks, though I can still be killed by angelic weapons like everyone else. When he releases control of me and I morph back, it feels like a great weight is lifted off my chest. I cannot remember what I did before.

 Like Husk and Niffty, I’m stuck under Alastor’s contract for a while. He persuaded me to work for him at the hotel and that “It’s a dangerous world outside.” Naturally I agreed.

 Today was fairly busy. Charlie had a meet and greet event to welcome the newcomers Crymini, Mimzy and Baxter. When I wasn’t greeting any guests, I helped Niffty clean the rooms, make the beds and sweep up the floors. Sometimes I would help Alastor and Niffty make tasty jambalaya (with spicy sauce) and other dishes to serve to all the clients. I wasn’t very good at poker but it was still fun to play and watch as Husk skillfully won almost every game. Often, the characters would mostly talk amongst themselves, me fading into the background, being an OC. I was fine with that…it was almost like watching the show I dearly loved on Earth…except now I was a part of it in a way.

 After I finished cleaning beer bottles at the Jackpot portion near the lobby, I heard Alastor and Husk talking not too far away by a pool table.

 The cat demon let out his usual grumpy sigh. “Man, what a ruckus. I just served dozens of drinks to these annoying tourists who didn’t even stay. What’s the meaning of that?”

 “Why Husker!” Alastor said with a laugh, “Ever since our three new demons arrived and signed up for Charlie’s program, more folks are becoming curious about it. Providing them with drinks and entertainment is surely the way to go!”

 “Without any breaks?” Husk scowled. “And why’d you make me stretch my wings and do a stupid dance onstage when I got wasted earlier?”

 “It was so funny, I had to!” he chuckled. “Even when you’re getting drunk, you can still do your new job well.”

 “I’m here to serve drinks and get my money and booze. That’s it. I’m not some fucking clown you can roll into every little scheme of yours.”

 “Hmm…maybe you are.”

 “I don’t think so. Remember I’m only here because you bribed me with booze. But even that will only go so far.”

 “Come now, my friend, why not liven up a little!” Alastor spoke in a loud voice, making Husk’s ears flinch back. “I provided you with some resources to make your life down here more…livable…or rather less dead.”

 Audience laughter came from his microphone.

 Husk rolled his eyes and muttered. “Your dad jokes make you a fucking joke.” Alastor snickered. Husk seethed, “Ugh great, now it’s rubbing off on me!”

 Alastor pulled Husk in close with his arm, much to the cat’s disgust. “Just have some fun and follow my orders and things will go smoothly. You are my good friend after all.”

 Husk’s white furry face turned red as he hissed and shoved Alastor away. “I’m not your fucking friend! You’re nothing but a red psycho freak I happen to unfortunately work under. If I had my way, I’d be a rich free man who could gamble and do whatever I want! Better yet, I’d be far away from all you morons.”

 Husk picked up a few cards and shuffled them in his hands. “I had a full house and was about to win the pot. And then you pulled me out of nowhere and placed me in this dump for your own amusement.” He pointed a claw into Alastor’s chest a few times, making him flinch a bit. “When ae you gonna get it past your egotistical head that I. Want. To. Be. Left. Alone?!”

 An uncomfortable silence followed. Niffty briefly looked over while she was busy dusting a bookshelf with a white feather duster.

 “Looks like our pussy cat’s in his usual bad mood,” Alastor mused in his radio voice. He tilted up the corners of Husk’s mouth into a smile, which quickly fell when he let go.  “You know I love to see that smile…”

 “Shut up!” Husk pounded his furry fists onto the pool table, making the colored balls rattle. “Just shut the fuck up! I’m sick of you touching me all the time and getting into my face. I’d say you’re lost in this ridiculous musical world of yours…you think you can do anything you want but you don’t seem to be aware of who’s right in front of you!”

 The large yellow smile remained on Alastor’s face, though his red eyes looked concerned and confused.  

 “You’re delusional, thinking Hell revolves around you like some sort of audience.” Husk’s eyes had faint red veins popping out. “You may be powerful, but guess what? You can’t have your way all the time. I learned that lesson the hard way. I may be in your partnership for a while…” He hiccupped, “…but here’s what I really think of you…”

 Husk’s breath smelled of booze as the cat spilled out his previously hidden angry thoughts.

 “You’re an insufferable…”

 Every word was a jab to Alastor’s chest…

 “Egotistical…”

 He felt the shoves of surrounding boys in a long ago life…

 “Filthy…”

The taunts of “dirty boy” and the n word…being forced into a tub of water, scrubbed all over roughly and feeling like he was drowning…

 “Immature…”

 Authority figures looking at him in disapproval as he auditioned for various radio stations…

 “Maniacal…”

 Alastor slashing down his hunting knife onto a helpless victim in a snowy wood…

 “Heartless…”

 Alastor dancing and flirting with pretty women but turning away when they tore desperately at his clothes…

 “Couillon…”

 Running away as police dogs bit and tore at his legs…

 “Retard!”

 Pounding on a door in a cold empty asylum room, cold stares from the towering wardens and nurses. Words like “loon”, “wacko,” being mouthed at him as the gray walls closed in…

 A sharp record scratch pierced the air.

 A black and red gloved hand clutched at Husk’s throat. A tight grip lifted the cat several inches off the ground. He struggled to pry off Alastor’s hand, but his hold was firm. Husk struggled and gasped as he frantically tried to gulp for air. The room darkened and soon filled with radio static and floating red Voodoo symbols. Alastor’s large orbs turned pitch black, with small red dials twitching menacingly. He slowly brought Husk close to his face until they were almost nose to nose.

 He spoke in a low demonic radio voice, his mouth not moving.

 “Remember who you’re dealing with. I gave you your privileges, and I can easily take them away.”

 Just when Husk was about to pass out, he casually tossed him aside. He landed with an “oof” onto the floor. The static and symbols vanished as Alastor’s eyes returned to their normal shade of red. Husk groaned and stood up on shaky legs. He took several deep breaths and glared.

 “Guess cats don’t always land on their feet,” Alastor mused as more microphone laughter followed.

 “Get ready for another big day tomorrow!” Alastor called cheerfully to Husk as if nothing had happened. Husk flipped him a middle claw in response as he slouched away. Alastor walked on.

 “Oh Husk,” Niffty called out. “Don’t forget that you need another bath tomorrow. I‘ll be happy to clean you all up!”

 “Suck it, shrimpy bitch!” he yelled.

 “Language, kitty!”

 Niffty hopped down from the bookshelf and scurried toward Alastor. He looked down at her.

 “Well hello little darling!” he greeted to the cyclops maid.

 “Hello Alastor,” she beamed. “I was just finishing up my rounds for the day when I heard you and Husk talking. It sounded like arguing…”

 “Oh it was nothing, my dear! Just Husk in his grumpy cat mood as usual. I was trying to cheer him up.”

 “Okay,” she said. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow, so much stuff to do! Is there anything else I can do to help out, sir?”

 Alastor waved his hand, “Nothing at all. You did a splendid job today.”

 “Are you sure?” she asked, her large golden eye darting back and forth. “You know, you look pretty dirty, no offence. Perhaps you could use a nice clean…” She looked over at his staff, then stared at the area around his legs a little bit too long. “Your staff I can so easily reach…”

 She extended her hand with a hungry expression.

 “Ha! No.”

 Alastor instinctively stepped back, his frozen smile still on his face. He walked briskly past her without another word.

 “See you in the morning!” she trilled with a happy wave before scurrying off.

 The room was quiet and empty.

 What in the world just happened?

 A nagging feeling spread through me as I walked in the same direction as Alastor. It was a strange urge to go and talk with him. His tall frame strolled down the hall and up a flight of stairs. I silently followed, careful to stay a distance away and out of sight. As I almost entered my room, Room 42, the feeling compelled me to wander towards Alastor’s room instead.

 His room was across from Charlie’s and Vaggie’s, not too far away from Angel’s. The black door was etched with red Voodoo symbols and had a golden deer knocker. Strangely enough, he left it slightly open. I inched closer and peered through the opening into a dim room.

 “Come in, dear.”

 The door opened wider on its own, revealing Alastor sitting in a dark red throne-like chair on a small balcony. He was facing the sunset sky, but must have sensed my presence. He had taken off his red pinstriped suit and had it neatly folded on a chair, near where his staff was. He appeared to be wearing a dark red old fashioned nightgown with slippers made of deer fur.

 In the room, there was a king-size bed with red satin sheets on it, an elegant bedside table and dresser to match. A small chandelier made of bones hung from the ceiling in the center, illuminating blood red carpets decorated with small golden eyes and antlers in rows. There was a large vanity mirror framed by round theater lights and an array of softly lit candles here and there. And of course, there were old fashioned radios all over the room in various sizes. A four-eyed deer head stared back at me from a plaque on the fancy red wallpaper. More disturbing were the various skin-stitched Voodoo dolls and skulls hanging from the ceiling.

 A cool soothing evening breeze met my face as I stepped outside into the inferno air. I sank down into another chair next to Alastor. The sky was painted a brilliant red and orange, the magenta pentagram glowing and moving above like a revolving clock.

 “I didn’t mean to disturb you sir…” I began. A small radio sat beside Alastor, emitting radio noises and various sound clips. Strangely they sounded almost the same every time I heard them. In fact, his habit of using his microphone for sound effects…it was almost like a comfort mechanism for him.

 “Well usually at a time like this I do prefer to be alone, but since you were nearby…”

 “I just…wanted to make sure you were alright.”

 “I’m perfectly splendid, sweetheart, no need to worry.”

 For a millisecond, his eyes told a different story. Not only did I have better senses, I could read expressions and sense intentions better as well.

 “I believe there is more than that. I heard you guys arguing. Frankly, Husk was being a bit of a jerk.”

 Alastor waved his hand. “That’s what he does.”

 “But it was different this time, wasn’t it?”

 Alastor just shrugged.

 “Charlie and I were talking today and we both can agree: you can’t hide your feelings forever.”

 “Whatever are you talking about?”

 “I can sense that you are lonely, deep down. You want to find a place to belong but your sadistic nature makes others afraid of you. You’re afraid to trust other people.”

 He turned to me with a deadly glare but I remained where I was. “If you’re planning on killing me, there’s no point as I’m already dead. Hear me out for a second.”

 He paused and leaned back to listen.

 “I’m not saying you should reveal your sad secrets to everyone. I’m just saying you should embrace the fact that we all have vulnerabilities and bad days. It’s perfectly okay to cry once in a while. Perhaps your search for entertainment is more than just that. It’s a search for your mother, your friends, a search for your true place on the stage of life.”

 “I’m never fully dressed without a smile,” he seethed with his plastic smile. “End of story. Since when has an audience member gave the star of the show directions?” he inquired, eyebrow raised. “You don’t know anything about me.”

 “Well perhaps you need a better script,” I added, arms folded. I stared at his long yellowed nails, his gloves off for a rare moment. “And serious bodily care.”

 A brief silence. Had I been anyone else, I’d be a pile of ash.

 I continued. “Husk did have a point, though. He wanted to be left alone but you still decided to invade his space. You told Charlie that you want to see people fail, despite her not wanting to hear it. Plus, I’d expect an evil killer like you to take joy in the fact that people run away from you in fear. But you don’t like it. Because you seek something more.”

 “I don’t need to hear your delusional words.”

 “I’m more observant than you think. You created me to be submissive, but also tough and smart. It’s my duty to serve you and the hotel right now. And you bet your bottom dollar that me and your friends will try and do what’s best for everyone.”

 More silence as we watched the sunset in deep thought. After several minutes, I turned to him and couldn’t believe what I saw. I spotted a stray tear fall from Alastor’s eye…and his smile slowly faded.

 I covered my mouth with my hands as I let out a soft surprised gasp.

 His look alone told me that I’d be demon meat if I told anyone else. Fortunately, I never break my promise.

 I thought of all his behaviors I noticed and it suddenly clicked. There was the feeling again, a sense of a peculiar deep connection between me and him. And I figured out what it was.

 “Alastor…do you know what autism is?”

 He gave me a perplexed look. “Stop making things up.”

 “It’s a real thing…but I imagine no one talked about it in your time. Autism is one of many developmental disorders that impairs socialization. Your behaviors appear to be very similar.”

 Alastor growled, teeth bared in warning. “I can assure you that I’m perfectly talkative enough. You call me dumb and I can easily…”

 “I know because I have it too.”

 Alastor’s eye twitched. “What?”

 “Do any of these traits sound familiar to you? Being a nerdy child lost in your own world? Being preoccupied and very skilled in your many talents as you grew up? Never quite fitting in with your peers no matter how hard you try?”

 Nothing was heard but the sounds of radio glitches. Orange light glinted off his monocle under his right eye.

 “Those with autism are often very knowledgeable, setting their minds to something and never letting go of it. But they have a hard time seeing things from another person’s perspective. It’s not that they are antisocial and heartless. Rather, they feel things deeply…but they don’t know how to communicate properly with others around them. Some of them aren’t interested in romance, either.”

 Alastor rolled his eyes. “I have shows to plan for my demonic audience. I don’t have time for feelings and…”

 I continued on. “You’re content with living in your own world of radios, music and murder…because for you, it was the only way to survive and make yourself known in your previous life. Communicating through the radio, playing music, dancing and singing on stage… that is when you feel truly alive. Because your listeners hang onto your every word, not caring who you are on the outside.”

 His pupils grew slightly. “You’re making assumptions. You’re forgetting about murder…”

 “Bringing joy to others outweighs bringing suffering...at least that’s how it should be. There’s nothing wrong with doing what you love…except when it causes harm to others.”

 “Demons kill and eat other all the time. Surely you must know that sometimes death and torture are necessary.”

 “You do have a good point. But…I’m talking about your previous life, and why you were sent down here…”

 “I killed those racist bastards for good reasons. When you discover there’s an afterlife full of magic, you go out of you way to make deals for power. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. It’s impossible to be sinless, for sinners lost their chance to ascend the moment they died on Earth!”

 “But it doesn’t have to be that way. Say we take the necessary steps to prove Heaven wrong…”

 “Heheheh, there you go, sounding delusional like Charlie.”

 “Just be glad I’m not as distrustful or hateful of men as Vaggie.”

 “Angel Dust is probably worse…”

 I chuckled out loud at that. “Personal space isn’t in his vocabulary.”

 I took a breath. “Look Alastor, I’m not saying it will be all be rainbows like Charlie claims. I’m just saying it’s not impossible to redeem sinners. Back to the main topic: we both have autism. Your special interests are radios, entertainment, murder and dark magic.”

 Alastor made a face and shook his head. “That term you mentioned didn’t exist when I was alive,” he said. “Anyone who was considered strange or deviant were ignored at best. At worst, they were arrested, killed or thrown into asylums. If it weren’t for my beloved mother…I would’ve wasted away a long time ago. And despite enjoying the company of beautiful ladies, I’ve never had much interest in intimacy. My broadcasting career was my life.���

 This time I listened quietly. He continued. “I’m only telling you all this because you technically don’t exist in the Hazbin timeline. And because…I can trust you enough, like Charlie and Rosie and Mimzy…”

 He sighed again. “Like a skilled actor, I learned not just how to present myself on the air. Thanks to my mama, I learned how to socialize and mimic others around me. It was a way for me to be confident in the face of daily disdain. Smiling became my way of life…my survival skill. If I were to cry and appear weak, who knows what might’ve happened to me. Eventually I became famous for my broadcasting and my music all throughout Louisiana, but it still wasn’t quite enough. I then found another coping mechanism…”

 The aura around him grew red…

 “One that made me feel like I found my place in the world. How good it felt when I could hear their screams…see the life leave their eyes. How from the moment their bodies turned cold, I knew they could never take advantage of me and my family again…”

 His black antlers arched slightly past his face. He lowered his head as static faded in and out. Here was the infamous and ferocious Radio Demon pouring out his secrets to me. I almost didn’t know what to say.

 He covered his eyes with his hands, long fingers in claw shapes almost tearing at his pale gray skin. His voice broke in a record scratch…and this time he spoke without the radio effect, barely audible: “I miss her so much.” His fluffy ear tufts briefly drooped as he conjured the loving smiling brown face of his French Creole mother in his head.

 We sat in silence for a while. “I hope you can see her again,” I said. “But…you need to have faith. Not in Charlie’s program per se…but in yourself. I know change is hard…I’m not saying go play with dogs and use new technology. I mean, don’t be afraid to explore your feelings, figure out what you truly want in your second life.”  

 Alastor’s remaining tears sizzled off his face and his tufts lifted back up. “That’s easy. I want to entertain others and have everyone do what I want…endlessly feast on flesh and never be bored…”

 “We both know it doesn’t work like that. What you want is nothing compared with what you need. You need love. Friends. The joys of music and a purpose. Instead of killing individuals…you need to kill off your own barriers.”

 “Easier said than done. What if I don’t want to change?”

 “You’ll either spiral downward into madness, or you’ll slowly change for the better while still retaining your good qualities. If you want to see your mother in Heaven, you’re gonna have to put in some effort. I may sound like Charlie when I say this but…I know you can do it.”

 Alastor gradually relaxed, his antlers retreating back to their usual stumps. He soon stood up, anxious to have some space. “Thank you for this lovely chat. Now I’m off to read my scripts and go to bed for a little.”

 I stood up and followed. “How long do you usually sleep?”

 “Thirty minutes,” he shrugged. “I rest by the wall with my eyes open.”

 I gasped out loud and bared my teeth. “Not on my watch, mister. Get into bed, now!”

 “Deer don’t need sleep.”

 I put my hands on my hips. “Everyone needs sleep, especially you! I promise nothing is going to happen. Your shadow will guard your room and suck the soul out of any intruder. Plus you have several friends and kingpins who are loyal to you. You want to truly be the star, Alastor? Start by taking care of yourself. You are the most important person in your life.”

 Alastor smirked. “Like I don’t already know that.”

 “Good. Now rest.”

 I turned to leave before I freeze. Gathering my courage, I turned to Alastor who sat on the bed. “Alastor…may I give you a hug?”

 He stared at me, taken aback. No one had ever asked him for a hug before. He almost flinched when I slowly walked toward him.

 After a moment, his face softened. “Just this once.” He leaned into my arms and chest. I got over my brief surprise by returning the embrace, my eyes closed, tears falling. I opened them and saw to my utter delight, his fluffy red and black deer tail wagging a bit! We soon parted and he wiped the tears from my face with his fingertips.

 “Now darling, don’t forget to smile! You’re never fully dressed without one.”

 I laughed through my tears. His charm worked every time. “Hey, don’t forget to ask people if they want to be touched before you do so. That’s lesson one.”

 “You’re my servant, not my teacher,” he spoke up.

 I spread out my arms. “This is Hell, Alastor, we can be anything. The world is a stage after all!”

 Alastor chuckled, but I sensed that he wasn’t content with taking my advice any time soon. But I had tried nonetheless.

 We bid our goodnights, me feeling slightly better. Just before I closed Alastor’s door and headed for my room, his whisper of a voice floated by my ears:

 “Thank you Ms. Prior. Stay tuned.”  

[bounward]

mmt2.6 ⟨ canto the second ⟩ 👨‍🚒 < re: knuckles, o’malley, tanya ;; attn: dawson

How do so many people die?  All of them, at once.

“Ain’t so hard to imagine, is it?”

His brows are furrowed, he can’t look at Knuckles while he continues on:

“I mean, like, natural disasters. Accidents -- you know, somethin’ like -- like that time that huge office building caught fire with lotsa folks trapped inside. Shit like that, causes a lotta casualties, er- well, not when I was around, but-”

We get it, if there’s one thing you’re actually good at it’s your job.

“... well, no use thinkin’ too hard about what exactly happened. All’s we need to know from all that ‘s that Summit’s ... like Prix said, ‘s the place where we died. Whether it was an accident or not -- which... I dunno [Knux]. Don’t really see a lot of us jumpin’ at the chance to do some weird Summit death experiment for, what, extra credit? I mean shit I might if my grades were in the shitter and I was boutta get kicked out, but --”

He clears his throat. Not exactly a fun thing to think about, but when you’re in his line of work...

“Sounds more to me like- ...”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We got our memories wiped to make this whole experience more, uh... real. Authentic. It was supposed to be part of the ‘work training’ shit, like Dola said, show us how bad this shit is.”

A pause before he turns to O’Malley, shaking his head.

“Prix said unless Sugar’s in a different department from her, she ain’t workin’ with her full stop. Prix also said at the end of all this, all of us eventually go to the same place -- like, me, you, the people who died before us, but Sugar ain’t workin’ to get us there. Seems weird for two people workin’ for the same, like, I dunno, afterlife company or whatever to be workin’ against each other, yeah? Sugar’s goals don’t match up at all with what Prix says is supposed to happen, so I really don’t think they’re on the same side. 

“Don’t explain how she was able to get so much, uh... shit here, but Prix also mentioned, like... said somethin’ along the lines of ‘You’d be surprised about the copyright laws in the afterlife’ or whatever when we asked about the park and why it’s so shitty. Makes it feel like Sugar’s place is actually linked to the living world ‘cause we were able to like- watch Naruto and shit.”

A firm nod, his frown deepening at the talk of resurrection. Why? Call it a gut feeling. A neutral one. But one that’s compelling enough to almost distract him before Lucita catches his attention.

“...Get all of us in the same place. [Chirin]’s been kinda antsy about it -- ‘bout what Sugar and the traitors might try to pull, ‘specially if we’re all gathered up, now that Sugar knows she’s able to pull the strings ‘n make it so we’re able to die.”

He shrugs his shoulders, turns to Tanya.

“Nah, [Lucita]-san’s got a point. Dawson said he wanted to bring us -- well, y’all -- here to discuss; said at least if he’d ended up killin’ Basil. But... took it kinda far, y’know? It ain’t like Basil was on the verge of death after the shock, so why’d he have to kill him? Why’d he have to go as far as bring it to trial? When you’d be forced into a spot where you had to vote right or get executed -- every single one of you? Or, what, is Dawson suddenly the type of moron who went ahead and dragged y'all all into this without realizing he was puttin' y'all's lives on the line?”

His eyes narrow.

“There’s another thing. Could just be a coincidence, but ‘s just kinda... weird, ain’t it? Sugar was always there to meet one of us when we wound up at her place, but all of a sudden she’s got a meeting to attend to, ain’t nowhere to be found when the detective shows up. The timing’s all kindsa weird if you ask me. But, eeh. ‘m just runnin’ my mouth at this point.”

His gaze slides towards Dawson. Looking.

[roadtohell]

@mynamesdrstuff​ thank you ur brain is so big, i had like 10 moments of revelation while writing this

A Labour of Love- or, How to Write a Song That Makes Me Want to Lie Facedown On The Floor

Four decades separates the respective rises of singer-songwriters Hozier and Bruce Springsteen, nearly as large as the gap between the worlds in which their public images reside. According to popular myth, the former is the tall, near-ethereal Bog Man, half in this life and half in the next, who rose from a fae-inhabited woodland after 1000 years of slumber to find he was able only to mourn his lost love through song; the other is the Boss, a hardy yet compassionate working-class hero permanently streaked with the blood and sweat of a marathon shift, toiling endlessly alongside the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, hard-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, Viagra-taking*, love-making, legendary E Street Band. The domains of fen and factory may appear to be irreconcilable, but in reality the musicians have many things in common:

Broadly speaking, they both create wildly variable mixes of folk and rock, often with particularly strong Irish and African-American influences.

Their lyrics are poetic and commonly reflect on social issues with a progressive voice.

Songs about romantic relationships typically portray them as complex and difficult but remain respectful, sometimes near worshipful, of women.

Their characters yearn, long, pine and crave more often than not.

They both really like to use religious imagery.

They enjoy and return notable amounts of wlw love.

Representative of many of these are Hozier’s “Work Song” and Springsteen’s “Maria’s Bed”, two songs with close thematic parallels. Each is ostensibly told from the perspective of an exhausted labourer who dreams of returning to his lover. In a twist, however, “Work Song” is a melancholic love story, while the upbeat “Maria’s Bed” is a subtle tale of death; the opposing moods are complex reflections of these underlying narratives. These songs have Hozier and Springsteen skilfully intertwine the concepts of love, death, freedom and spirituality, creating two deeply moving portrayals of desire** that never fail to eviscerate the listener after 10pm.

Though the songs differ in overall lyrical structure, the similarities in narrative are evident from the first few lines:

Boys, workin' on empty / Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? / I just think about my baby / I'm so full of love I could barely eat

Been on a barbed wire highway forty days and nights / I ain’t complaining, it’s my job and it suits me right / I got a sweet soul fever rushing round my head / I’m gonna sleep tonight in Maria’s bed

The audience can gather that each character works in a harsh environment where they are exposed to the elements. Their work is likely in manual labour, but the details are skimmed over because the narrators don’t particularly want to think about the details. Pushed to their limits, each instead copes by preoccupying himself with thoughts of his lover, though it makes him literally lovesick.

I’d never want once from the cherry tree / ‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be / She gives me toothaches just from kissing me

She gives me candy-stick kisses ‘neath a wolf-dog moon / A sweet breath and she’ll take you, mister, to the upper room

The worker recalls his lover’s kisses as being vibrantly sweet, sweeter than nature. So, too, is her company- in contrast to the grim situation he is currently in, she is something to be savoured. Sugar cravings, an innate biological compulsion, come to mind; his hankering for her is likewise deep-seated and out of his control.

The reason for such devotion, the narrator reveals, is that she saved his life at a time when he had already resigned himself to death. He believes he was undeserving of such a deed; Hozier describes “three days on a drunken sin… she never asked me once about the wrong I did,” while Springsteen’s character recounts being “burned by angels, sold wings of lead / then I fell in the roses and sweet salvation of Maria’s bed”. In other words, his state of ruin was at least partially self-made, and her care seemed completely inexplicable. He eagerly returns her love, perhaps feeling that it’s the least he owes- but he still doesn’t quite understand where it came from.

True to both songwriters’ styles, these lines are direct allusions to the idea of redemption in Christianity: God sheltering a faithful person from the literally hellish consequences of their wrongdoing, through no merit of their own. However, the worker is notably dismissive of traditional doctrine:

My babe would never fret none / About what my hands and my body done / If the Lord don’t forgive me / I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me

I’ve been out in the desert, yeah, doing my time / Searching through the dust for fool’s gold, looking for a sign / Holy man says “hold on, brother, there’s a light up ahead” / Ain’t nothing like the light that shines on me in Maria’s bed

His faith rests not in God but on his lover; she is his religion now. Her act of grace already gave him a new, better life- he doesn’t need biblical promises when her love is tantamount to anything heaven might offer. This implication conveys a staggering depth of feeling, particularly to a religiously raised listener. Spirituality is, at its core, emotional; combined with the values and customs of religion, it is a force that can exert incredible influence over a person. The worker doesn’t reject spirituality itself- it’s an intrinsic part of him- but he has put all that power in the hands of the one he adores. It may make him vulnerable to her (that’s love!), but he is certain that she will give him the strength he needs.

Theological redemption also has close ties with death, as its benefits aren’t meant to be reaped on earth. Instead, the love, glory and freedom that are promised are relegated to the afterlife. Historically, the presumed ecstasy of achieving this gave death a sexual connotation; after all, if a lover could take the spiritual place of God, then perhaps sex could take the role of death as a gateway to paradise, far away from a life of pain. Work Song embraces this analogy, explicitly linking spiritual fulfilment to the pleasure of sexual intimacy:

When I was kissing on my baby / And she put her love down, soft and sweet / In the low lamplight, I was free / Heaven and hell were words to me

The equally suggestive Maria’s Bed allows the audience to draw similar conclusions, but it accomplishes this using a far less serious method: regular mentions of the titular bed, wink-wink-nudge-nudge. Yet this light-hearted sauciness is something of a misdirection. It’s easy to gloss over the song’s references to water, but they are strong hints that support an alternative reading: Maria is not a woman, but a river***. The story, from this perspective, then becomes much more sombre- the worker is a dying or suicidal man who wishes to have his body laid at the bottom of a river that provided for him in life, and whose real desire is for the peace he hopes to find there in death.

Got on my dead man’s suit and smiling skull ring / Lucky graveyard boots and a song to sing / I keep my heart in my work, my troubles in my head / And I keep my soul in Maria’s bed

This darker interpretation arguably makes more sense than the face-value love story, as it resolves some figures of speech that otherwise seem out of place. Even so, the more obvious reading is no less meaningful****; in fact, the coexistence of these narratives is what makes Maria’s Bed an almost perfect thematic inverse to Work Song.

When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her

Hozier uses the finality of death to illustrate the strength of a man’s desire for love- his narrator embraces his own passing as he is certain not even the most permanent of barriers can keep him from his lover. Springsteen, through the personification of the river, uses the language of romance to demonstrate how fervently a man might desire death- his narrator embraces his demise because it offers a reprieve from life, just like a lover would.

All that said, no amount of lyrical analysis will reveal the clearest point of contrast the songs have: their music.

Work Song primarily draws from blues and folk music, both of which have roots in historical work songs used to coordinate physical tasks as well as boost morale. Reflecting this musical heritage, instrumentation is fairly simple, with the steady rhythm of claps and piano chords punctuating hard. It is slow and heartfelt, almost mournful; though there’s no mention of time frame, the audience has the sense that the worker still has a long way to go before he can return to his lover.  This notion comes largely from the song’s circular structure. By ending with the same music it opened with, its story is also implied to finish at its beginning: with the men hard at work in the “burning heat”, and no true relief in sight. This is furthered by having little development over the course of the song- though iterations of the chorus are more intense than the verses, the arrangements underlying both sections barely change. The worker, it seems, is never quite far enough from his reality of hard labour, and never close enough to home.

On the other hand, Maria’s Bed is relentlessly optimistic, driven by a strong forward momentum. Where most modern songs have their choruses as their most powerful feature, here the wordless refrain (“hey hey, la la la li li li li”) acts more like a transition between verses, keeping the story moving. The jaunty fiddles that fade out are quite different to the introductory guitar and organ, suggesting the worker’s situation has developed for the better. In addition, the orchestration builds continually, only briefly pulling back before the music culminates in an extended musical outro. Many of the instruments work in counterpoint, each additional layer contributing to an air of an unrestrained joy that is further spurred on by Springsteen’s high hums and whoops. The linear musical direction and overall impression of good cowboy fun results in the feeling that, unlike the singer of Work Song, the narrator is already on his way to his heart’s desire- though, in light of the lyrics, what this actually means is somewhat ambiguous. Are those final echoes him moving out of earshot… or his ghost ascending to the “upper room” of heaven?

We may not know for sure how either of these stories end, but we can feel the aching hope for something better. This longing is an emotional line that runs all the way through both Springsteen and Hozier’s work, though it never seems to get old. Combined with explorations of love, faith, life, death- that’s why we return to their music again and again; they are experts at playing on old motifs and universal themes in new and creative ways, their crafted melodies and narratives touching wild and industrial hearts alike.

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* I am legally obligated to include all these adjectives.

** Maria’s Bed seems to be sadly obscure even among fans; the one and only online forum discussion I have seen about the song refers to it as “not that deep”. Having written this whole essay- if Springsteen himself said that to me, I’d laugh in his face.

*** A random internet comment I can’t find anymore backs me up on this. It even specified that it was about the Santa Maria River in California, as quoted “from Bruce”. Obviously an infallible source 😊

**** It’s important that “[drinking] the cool clear waters” can totally be the description of oral sex you thought it was.