#because nobody questions it if the mortician just

[theunfriendlyghost]

HQ Characters Most Likely to Date a Mortician

(Coming from a mortician)

A/N I know this is so niche and specific and nobody cares but I need this for my own mental health 😭😭also will probably do a pt. 2 because there’s a couple other characters I want to do

Sugawara Koushi

✨I don’t know why but he just seems like the type of person to have a funky taste in people (in a good way.

✨I think he would specifically date people he found to be exciting and interesting and when he found out about your job, he thought it was fascinating.

✨Sugawara also cares heavily about people as a whole. He’s a teacher, so obviously he has a lot of empathy. I think he appreciates the fact that your job requires a lot of empathy and care

✨initially, he probably thought it was a cool and creepy job but as he got to know you, he realized that the job takes a lot more skill than he initially thought. He appreciates the artistry that comes with it as well as the charisma required to do a good job.

✨This man literally tells EVERYONE about your job. He doesn’t care that people think it’s weird. He literally thinks it’s the coolest thing in the world.

Kageyama Tobio

✨This one actually took quite a bit of thinking for me but I think that after his grandpa died, he had a lot of respect for people in the funeral industry.

✨As someone who also went to funerals of family members growing up, it makes you a lot more open to the idea of death. I think he probably has a lot of questions but he’s willing to listen to the answers.

✨Probably felt weird about it at first? Possibly wasn’t as open with his friends about your job until later on when he understood it a bit more.

✨Probably also has virtually 0 idea of what you actually do at work. He appreciates it and knows it’s an important job but most likely doesn’t want too many details (which is fair and normal)

Kozume Kenma

✨This one might literally just be me holding on hope but I feel like he’d be fine with it?

✨Like to him, it’s literally just a job. When you told him, he probably just kind of said “okay?” And moved on. Wasn’t a big deal and he was confused as to why you thought he would be weird about it

✨Definitely wants to stream mortuary assistant with you so you can judge how accurate the game is to the actual job. Values your input quite a bit.

✨when he sees videos on TikTok about morticians, he always sends them to you even if you have no idea why he sent them. He just thinks you’ll like them even if he doesn’t understand 😭

Suna Rintarou

✨he gives me the vibe of someone who initially just liked your job for shock factor and then gradually realized there was a lot more to it than just that.

✨He finds it extremely interesting and asks questions often.

✨He reminds me of the type of person that used to spend his time smoking at cemeteries to be edgy and you had to tell him it was disrespectful 😭😭he thought you were overreacting at first but realized the reasoning behind it

✨I don’t pin him as the most empathetic person in the world? He appreciates your empathy for people but to him, it’s just a job.

✨Probably not great at comforting you after tough days (SORRY 🫨🫨). Probably just encourages you not to think about it too hard which sometimes does do the trick.

✨Although he’s fine with your job and thinks it’s really cool, I get the vibe that he would not step FOOT in your place of work. For some reason he’s superstitious about it? When he drops you off for work, he drops you off at the corner and drives away as fast as humanly possible but will literally never admit it.

[fran-in-the-deep]

Another spark

Shoko Ieri x Reader (Canon)

~600 words | fluff and comfort | established relationship | Reader is a sorcerer

The lighter clicked, its faint flame flickering in the late night breeze. Shoko brought her hand up to shield the fire, but it got extinguished before she got to light her cigarette. With a sigh she leaned back against the concrete wall of the morgue behind her, looking up at the clouded sky.

“Well, fuck.”

The lighter clicked, clicked, clicked again, only emitting sparks. Stupid thing. Shoko had never been fit for the character of the dark brooding mortician, mysteriously lurking in the shadows and exhaling cigarette smoke. She smoked because she was stressed and was up late at night because the work just never ended. Be it the dead, dying or living, they kept her busy at all times, although the latter were by far the most exhausting.

The metal door creaked as it opened and Shoko took a step back from it, irritated. Nobody but her ever used this side exit, as it let into a dead end. She didn’t have too much time to think more about it as an all too familiar figure stepped out onto the gravelled ground. Shoko crossed her arms in an effort to hide her tension.

“Did something go wrong on the mission?”

You were back early. Being back early usually raised more deep red flags than running late, because it meant that someone hadn’t kept up for long. With usually more difficult missions assigned to sorcerers of rank initially too low for it, it happened regularly, as there simply weren’t enough people. But you were back. You always came back for her.

“It was alright for once. Nobody got injured. We were lucky.”

You came over, the gravel crunching under your shoes, yet Shoko was busy looking you up and down, making sure you were really free of any injuries. Some only ever showed after battle. Not that she could see anything under the crappy light of the only exterior lamp above. The moon didn’t feel like showing up from behind the clouds today apparently. Not very romantic.

“Good.” Shoko also wasn’t very romantic.

“Not smoking today?” You leaned against the wall next to her, shoulder to shoulder. Shoko fumbled around to store away the cigarette and lighter in the pockets of her lab coat with a sigh.

“Guess the universe was on my side. Lighter was out of gas just as you arrived.”

As much as Shoko was in dire need of a cigarette right now, she craved your presence even more.

“Isn’t that my side? Not wanting you to smoke?” You asked as you took her hand, which made Shoko arch even closer, resting her head against you.

“It saved me a shower.” Shoko didn’t want you to pretend not to care about the smell the cigarettes left on her. She knew you did, which was why she was on her ninth attempt to fully quit. So of course you had to catch her with her one desperate cigarette. At least she got to be close to you now.

Too much thinking. She closed her eyes. It had been a long day. A long week since you were gone, not once having enough time in between missions to return. Yet somehow you always came back, all to adept at lighting up the space where that dark, deep loneliness inside her chest usually resided. You were the answer to the question of who would heal the healer.

“How about a coffee instead?” Your hand-holding had turned into a gentle hug. Shoko opened her eyes again, giving you a genuine smile. She liked the idea. You made the best coffee, one cup was enough to get her through any given day or night.

“Sounds good to me.”

Although now you were there, Shoko didn’t even need the coffee.

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

A/N: I'm back with my agenda of being the change I want to see and there isn't enough content solely focused on Shoko out there so I'm going to write it myself and have a fun time writing.

[inkher0]

In the middle of making a oc for origin ,I have a few questions

•could u further elaborate what harvesters do

•do they live on earth among the people or like in remote areas or the arc

•what do slender ones actually do most of the time like other then praising the lord

•give us some pointers for making a slender one oc ,some things we have add to their story and some things to avoid

"Praising the lord" LMAO

I'm putting this under a readmore because it might be spoilers

Harvesters live primarily on Earth, but they usually travel around for certain resources and to check on the places where they'd taken resources already. There's not many of them, and that's because they're given a special tool to teleport elements from Earth to The Ark. It's basically a gun that shoots black holes, so it's not a job just Anyone can have. You have to be an incredibly talented marksman, and you have to have an extensive knowledge of the Earth's restorative cycles.

If you're a Harvester, your job consists of shooting at an area with, like, a lot of copper. It just teleports the entire chunk of the wall to The Ark. You then spend the rest of your life maintaining the area you just took from, making sure what you took is able to regrow.

Slender Ones actually live pretty average lives, depending on what class they're in. They don't even spend their time doing anything really culty? If they do it's for an excuse to do Drugs, for sure. It's not a good idea to have attachments to humans- Normally if they have any free time, they just meet up with another Slender One to party lmao

I guess if you want to be in canon, your Slender One would have to have been born before 1980. There's thirty of them right now- 15 men, 15 women.

Slender Sisters (named): Rouge, The Shroud, The Ghost, The Siren, The Pheonix, NiGHTLiFE, Nurse Ann, The Mortician

Slender Brothers (named): The Basher, Dr. Locklear (Aka The Physician), The Marksman, The Mechanic, The Bloody Painter, The Bartender, Cat Hunter (unnamed but he is one), The Crow(s)

I feel like I've forgotten some, but like I've said before, I've intentionally left some of them unnamed so that people can skootch their oc into canon if they wanted to. If I do ever come up with fifteen of each, they'll be named, but you can also just write that your Proxy was an older Gen One that aged out, like Nathan The Nobody was.

Lemme know if you have any other questions! I'm sorry if I'm not giving good enough answers, I'm not sure how to explain it without infodumping.

[rabbit-exe]

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

tagged by the generally very cool and good @argyleheir for purposes of question-answering; here we go baybeeeee

1. Are you named after anyone? technically! it's not actually anyone I knew well, but my first instance of hearing what would become my name (rowan) was some random boy that lived in my neighbourhood. so, changeling-like, I stole it from him without remorse.

2. When was the last time you cried? I don't remember, I don't really keep track - more than a week ago, I guess, because I don't remember doing it recently.

3. Do you have kids? no, and I do not ever intend to! I don't dislike children with any great degree of vitriol, it's just not a responsibility I'm keen to take on.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? a fair bit, but only in a playful, bastardly manner.

5. What sports do you play/have played? I used to do horse-riding, before my entire body decided to really lean into the chronic illness.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people? I don't. as soon as I encounter a person my brain retains no information about them at all because I'm trying to figure out how to interact with them successfully and not say something weird, which is a problem, because I have an internal clock that counts down whenever I'm in a social situation and when it hits zero I inevitably say something weird.

7. What's your eye color? grey-blue

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Scary, baybee! I'm a big wimp, but I love horror as a genre, even if I can't really watch a lot of the films because I have such an incredible startle response that it makes jumpscares intolerable.

9. Any special talents? I'm decent at writing and drawing, and I used to be able to balance up to twelve spoons on my face simultaneously until I got older and the shape of my face changed, which is a shame because it was my one party trick outside of listing facts nobody wants to hear about parasitoid wasps. I also apparently have a very good ear for music.

10. Where were you born? scotland, in a hospital that no longer exists.

11. What are your hobbies? writing, drawing, ttrpgs, reading, makin' little guys to write and draw about, amateur taxidermy, playing music (piano and ukulele) and singing (autism bonus round: learning about parasitology, corvids, vultures, mortuary science and the funeral industry, medical history and hilarious history in general, interesting diseases, animal facts)

12. Do you have pets? yes; a tiny little cat called Sigyn (full of violence), a much older and larger cat called Varjak (full of soft big man), and my mother owns a horse named TJ (full of hay).

13. How tall are you? 5'8"-ish

14. Favorite subject in school? english and biology

15. Dream job? I do not dream of work, brother (as a child I wanted to be a doctor, but now I'm aiming for mortician - I say aiming, because my body and brain are in a state of hilarious disarray what with all the various ailments and I'm borderline confined to my bedroom)

tagging people (with no expectation that they should do this, just a little suggestion, like poking a frog away from a road): @onearthbrieflygorgeous @theleastgothgoth @crisis-response-specialist @ziracona @star-rott and anyone else that follows me that wants to give it a go, feel free to tag me in your own responses

[dalchiid]

A couple of things, that I have to say.

1. Isn’t funny that the one with the “lust” saliva is the one who wouldn’t use it in its “girls”, while in the same topic, would you deep dive into why he is into necro?? I have so many more questions about it.

2. It kinda reminds me of “Diabolik Lovers” A LOT, like the whole dynamic of the story, Jimin and his obsession is giving Kanato and his dolls, Hobi is like a mix between Laito and Ayato.

3. Idk if is because I’m me and I have thought about it, but if it was me trapped there I would just wait until they are out, go to the maze and ✨delete myself✨ just so I can be free, cus I know there’s no possibility for YN to escape.

1. I can any answer any question regarding Jimin. I'm not sure if I'll ever elaborate his story any further than it already is in the story but I'm willing to write about him through here.

Jimin's interest in necrophilia started pretty young. At first it was something as simple as open casket funerals. He loved seeing the dead and enjoyed how cold they were to the touch.

There's this girl he had a crush on when he was younger. One day she was killed in an accident and it left him feeling like shit. He did attend the funeral and when he approached the casket he realized something awkward. He had a hard on he knew he had to take care of it and quick. He ran to the nearest bathroom and took care of himself. Once he was done he realized something and that is he'd have sex with her if he could. As he grew older he dealt with the urges and so the maids that he'd feed from, especially during his frenzy, were to not make noises and to keep their mouth closed. He would fantasize about having sex with dead bodies this way but it wasn't enough. Until one day he meets a woman who is a mortician. He had wandered through the building until he was stopped by this woman who asked him if he needed something. They hit it off quickly.

As more time is passed between them the stronger their bond became. They would have sex together in exchange of doing it in the morgue. She said okay but only if he promises to turn her. Despite lacking the ability to do that Jimin agreed. And over time, yet again, a new deal was made. He expressed to the mortician about how he's always wanted to have sex with a corpse. Coming down from her lust filled high she agrees without question and only reminds him to change her when it's time.

And that is how Jimin became a necrophiliac!.

2. I've heard about that! It started off like an otome game right? It looks really interesting. I might have to give it a watch/read to check it out!

3. It's the sparkles around delete myself that did it for me lmao. Y/N is running out of options and for a brief moment we saw how she didn't want to be alive any more because of the stress. It's a possibility but let's hope not! Nobody deserves a shitty end like that. Let's stay as strong as possible and fight our way through along with Y/N 💜

[xoteajays]

ღ + Wedniya?

the babies~ consider this a blend of their teen romance and future domestic living.

who’s the first to wake up in the morning: probably niya, but she’s not getting out of bed until wednesday does.

who’s the one to make breakfast: i don’t know that wednesday can actually cook unless it’s poison, what niya cooks is at least edible but she’s a vampire, she doesn’t eat regular food and thus can’t really tell the flavour.

who’s the one to serve the other breakfast in bed: niya, on special occasions. or when she feels like it. probably something her father taught her since he was human once.

who would suggest a quickie in the morning before work: STRICTLY WHEN THEY’RE ADULTS, niya. she’s affectionate.

who suggests they both ditch work to lay around all day: niya. i assume for whatever wednesday chooses for work after nevermore (writer, private investigator, grave digger, mortician, something something gothic profession), she actually enjoys going to. niya, on the other hand, is technically rich already and doesn’t need to work.

who chooses the movies: they trade off since niya (mostly) enjoys wednesday’s taste in movies and wednesday tolerates niya’s.

who initiates kissing during the moving, thus distracting the other from the movie all together: depends on the movie. if it’s something that spooky niya, she’ll make a move. if it’s something wednesday finds particularly awful (90s girly movie, some action-y thing niya’s chosen), then wednesday will.

who orders lunch: niya, since wednesday would happily live off quad coffee otherwise.

who steals food from the other’s plate without asking: niya doesn’t eat people food, so kinda non-applicable.

who curls up next to the other and falls asleep due to a full tummy: niya will, she’ll just sploot across wednesday’s lap.

who distracts the other from trying to work at home: depends on what the work in question is, if it’s some investigation niya knows wednesday is serious about, then she won’t, she’s more likely to try and help out. but if it’s not as serious or wednesday is getting obviously stressed about it, then niya will try to get her mind off it for a little while.

who asks to go get ice cream like a five year old: niya, most of the time to get wednesday out of the house. she convinces wednesday to try specific flavours and explain them to her since she can’t actually taste it. more accurately, enid would be the one to drag wednesday and niya into getting ice cream.

who takes pictures of their partner eating ice cream: probably neither. wednesday eating ice-cream is too ‘normal’ for her to allow anyone to have a picture of.

who makes a s.exual joke about the dripping ice cream on their partner’s face: neither? it’s not their kind of joke.

who cooks dinner: like breakfast, probably niya, though i think wednesday might know some recipes learnt from morticia or either of her grandmothers. since wednesday’s grandmothers were both witches, i like to imagine they have some few recipes that niya can actually eat. it’s very romantic and touching the first time wednesday cooks her something she can eat.

who cleans up the kitchen afterwards: they both do, though niya usually uses her vampiric speed to get most of the work done and leave the least for wednesday.

who stays up until 2am reading: both. they’re both avid readers after all. they usually end up accidentally mixing up their books, or niya will read wednesday’s most recent novel draft and give her thoughts.

who stares at their partner while their sleeping: also both! niya does obviously because she thinks her gf is beautiful and doesn’t technically need as much sleep as a human; wednesday because she can be soft when nobody’s around or awake to witness it.

who kisses their partner while they sleep: niya to wake wednesday up some days, very ‘mwahmwahmwahmwah’ all over her face and wednesday says she hates it but makes no action to ever stop her. wednesday once, in a very snow white/sleeping beauty type fashion while niya was snoozing. 

[solarisligatus]

It was certainly something he'd never thought would be in the cards for him. Perhaps nobody ever had. But regardless, he was happy with his life. Or perhaps- because of that he was happy. Incredibly so.

"Yeah, I can definitely see what you mean. I've had a lot of fun going around and exploring, don't get me wrong. Some places are just way friendlier. Liyue happens to be one of them."

Still, as he watched the two, whatever mood he'd gotten into thinking back on other experiences was melting away. He couldn't recall when his brother had so much as left home. And now he'd ventured into an unfamiliar place and found someone who he felt something for. Who seemed to feel the same way. It was certainly heartwarming to see.

For his part, Lukat would lean more into the caressing touch of her hand. His own holding onto hers as she spoke. A soft laugh escaping as he nodded gently at her question. Finding, if only for the moment, just how to phrase his question.

"I think you'll find that I am, Miss Hu...but, maybe I should phrase it more properly?" He laughed, closing his eyes for a moment. Just enjoying the touch. The closeness. And when he opened them, he'd lock eyes with her.

His heart felt like it was racing. But it felt at peace at the same time. What a strange and gorgeous feeling, really. "Would such a wonderful...and beautiful mortician do this knight the honor of allowing him to take her on a date?"

Gwyn truly was the adventurer he was claiming to be. Even Hu Tao felt a twinge of jealousy for a small moment. And yet she was happy to hear the younger twin was fulfilling such a dream. It wasn't too often she left Liyue, but when she did she would be sure to make each trip to a new region memorable in some way.

"Oh? You have been to Inazuma, too? I can certainly attest to a similar experience when I was just simply there to deliver prayer cards and coupons to the shrine," she remarked with a light hearted chuckle.

Even more so she felt bemused at the fact Lukat was being compared to that of a puppy. It was rather endearing. And yet suddenly..within the main lobby of the inn Hu Tao witnessed the knight finding more of his own courage around her. The same one who would blush at even the slightest tease was now gently and confidently placing a kiss upon the back of her hand.

Why was she the one getting flustered instead?? Before she had so much confidence with friendly advances that bordered on the line of flirting with no problem. This was new...and exciting territory for her. Who was to say there needed to be a set amount of time to pass to realize her true feelings? Even for someone she just met hours ago. Was it really that possible to hit it off that well with someone like that?

Her other hand remind at the side of his face, softly caressing her fingers over his skin. Right she had to gain that usual confidence back. She sucked in her in breathe slightly.

"Aiya I haven't even scared you off...and yet with all these kind words how could I now even if I wanted do?" she remarked with a soft sigh. Her dark orange eyes studied over his features. "So tell me, my dear client...are you formally asking me out on a date?~"

[starrysupercell]

Second paternal-centric piece, centered on the highly dramatic Graveyard Fam! The patchwork family <3

Do I put way too many serious thoughts in things? Maybe. But I am a storyteller.

Heavily headcanon based that I've mentioned before.

Warnings: mentions of formerly living in a toxic and neglectful environment, and a current abrasive and struggling relationship between Mortis and Frank.

Ask to tag.

~

🧟‍♀️📱 Picture Perfect 🦇🎧

Emz awoke naturally, opening her eyes, and blinking away the sleep. She stared up at her ceiling blankly. What a good day's sleep!

She pulled her arm from the tightly wrapped blanket around her and slipped it under her pillow to grab her phone.

She held it above her face to replace the ceiling as the point of interest in her line of sight. It was around 1:30 pm. What have people talked about ever since she went to sleep earlier that morning?

She began to scroll through posts, ready to begin her morning regime of giving only a few hearts to a handful of posts, and maybe even one or two coveted comments from her. (It was best to leave them wanting more!)

However, she froze in her browsing when she quickly noticed a trend in today's posts. A long winded paragraph by some random of how lucky they were, a meme about single mothers, grilling pictures.

Oh, today was no day to lay in bed for half an hour before beginning her day! It was Father's Day. Emz twisted around, trying to roll out of her bedsheets.

"Ogh, stupid covers--!" She grumbled despite the fact that she loved twisting herself up in them. It helped her sleep at night.

The zombie rolled too far one way and gave a cut off yelp as she fell clean off the bed and landed on the ground painfully on her stomach. How embarrassing, she huffed, peeved. She slapped the ground in frustration and pushed herself up with the same palm. She sat on her knees and leaned on her bed, fixing her hair with her other hand. Okay, fail, but at least nobody saw that.

Absent-mindedly, the teen brought her phone up again and unlocked it fluidly. She scrolled through a few posts and ended up giving the first like of the day.

"Wait, no," She said, looking up. She had a plan for today and everything! Emz stood up and slipped her phone into her back pocket. First up, the gifts!

She bounded over to her closet and opened it. There they were. Two gift baskets for today. One for her Uncle, and one for Frank. Emz smiled. They were handmade of course, because premade goodie bags were absolutely lame!

As if she would settle for giving anything less than perfection. No, she hand picked what would go into each basket, decorated and placed it to be aesthetically pleasing, and wrapped it up with a gorgeous ribbon. She's even refrained about bragging about any of this online, to keep it absolutely secret. Man, was she just amazing or what? That was rhetorical, of course. She knew she was flawless already.

Like an instinct to survive, Emz had her phone out of her pocket and in front of her once more, camera open. She winked and stuck her tongue out with a smile, and took a picture. She grimaced.

Ugh, she had to go through her morning routine first and then take another picture afterwards. This was a terrible excuse for a selfie. With that thought in mind, Emz stretched properly, and strolled to her bathroom.

~

"Talk to me, Franklin. You know it's a mutual effort." Mortis said, poking Frank's cheek. He was leaning over the back of the couch where Frank was sitting at. The big guy tilted his head away with a grunt. His eyes were trained on the television as he tried his best to tune out the vampires.

"...Is this still about the dishes?" Mortis decided to guess since he refused to answer. "I'll have you know that I got started on them the other day. But then I got a call that simply couldn't go unanswered." Mortis paused and studied the lack of change in grump level in Frank. Okay. Maybe not that. "...If this is about my bats, I am not making them sleep outside. They like it in here. Only Robata likes it outside." Still no answer. Mortis tapped on his chin. What else could possibly be on his spouse's mind? It was already hard to believe that Franklin was mad at him, but he was just not budging in giving any hints. (Yet again!)

"Ugh," Frank grunted. "It's not just about the dishes or the bats." He started to explain quietly. Mortis leaned in attentively with a small smile on his face. Oh, it was such a rare treat now when Franklin opened up to him. Even if this was about an argument, Mortis adored the fact.

"It's about the fact that you still make excuses for your laziness." He finished.

Mortis frowned. Except for when he spouted spiteful lies and insults! "They aren't excuses! I'm telling you what happened. You know, you're not the only who lives here, Franklin. There's a thing called--"

"Good afternoon~!" Emz called out, stepping down the staircase with flourish.

Mortis ruffled Frank's hair and lowered his voice. "Hold that thought." With a pirouette, he shot a cheerful grin at Emz. "Poisoned Apple! Good afternoon!" The gravedigger greeted. Frank was annoyed, but he held up a hand to wave at Emz pleasantly. With his other hand, he turned the volume down on the show he was watching.

"Hi!" Emz said, stopping right before she reached the bottom. She was using the railing to hide the baskets. "You guys know what today is, right?"

"....Sunday?" Mortis questioned happily.

"I guess so, yeah," Emz said, "But beyond that."

Frank blinked and shook his head lightly.

"It's..." Emz paused for dramatic effect, and then lifted the baskets into view. "Father's Day! Look what I made!"

"Ooh," Mortis smiled, fangs glinting. He held his arms out as Emz walked forward to hand him his basket.

"This is for you and--" she moved on to Frank. "--this is for you!"

Mortis marveled at the items he could see, and turned it to see it from a different angle. The plastic wrap crinkled as he did this.

Frank smiled at her as she passed it over to him. With just a glance, he could already see some of his favorite things in there, he placed it aside and stood, prompting her for a hug as he walked around the sofa.

Emz was wrapped and lifted up in his large stature, pleasantly smiling. "I'm glad you both liked it." She laughed, muffled.

"Naturally," Mortis remarked, "Your craftsmanship is to die for!"

Emz was finally let go by Frank, landing on the floor. "Oh, tell me about it," she smirked. "I stayed up a couple of days ago finishing those up and they turned out perfectly!" She flipped her hair with an obvious flourish. "You can go on gushing," she said, only half jokingly as she brought out her phone to idly glance through any messages.

Mortis laughed in amusement. Frank smiled patiently. Emz was sharp around the edges, but she was endearingly so. As long as she didn't go too far...

"Oh, yeah!" She put her phone away. "You should both, like get dressed up. There's an event on the beach later on tonight, and I was thinking we could go out today. Like... my treat."

"You?" Mortis voiced for both he and Frank. "You have money?"

"Yeah? I save up. Don't you?" She asked haughtily. "Or do you just not want to go?"

Frank gave short laugh, and patted his stomach in jest. Mortis shrugged in amusement, catching on to Frank's joke. "Well, if you think you have enough for Frank, we'll be your guests, sweetheart."

~

"Oooh, futuristic," Mortis marveled, taking off the wide-brimmed hat he wore as the Trio walked inside. They were at the Zero-Gravity diner. It was a part of Starr Force's attractions.

A bored-looking feline straightened up in attention as the doors slid open. "Welcome, Civilians!" She greeted from her silvery podium. "Feeling low on energy? If you want to help out Colonel Ruffs in his quest against the Dark Lord, you should fill up while you've got the chance." She recited in character, "Luckily, you're safe here, and we've got plenty of foodstuffs that'll fill you up! So, how can I help you today?"

Emz scoffed. Did Kit not recognize them or something? "You could have skipped the spiel. Like, you know that we're Brawlers, right?"

The cat blinked slowly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Okay. What do you want then?"

"I've got a reservation for three, under Emz."

Kit shifted her focus to the high-tech screen right beside her. It was see through. From the perspective of the Graveyard Trio, the images, texts and buttons were flipped.

Kit pressed through a few buttons, navigating through menus, and then confirmed Emz's arrival. "Alright. If you'll follow me." She picked up three devices from her podium, and began to lead the way through the restaurant. Her tail swished as she walked along.

When they got to the table, Kit waited until they were seated and placed the devices in front of the three. "Press the blue button to activate your menus." She said.

Mortis pressed it, and a holographic screen flashed into view, akin to Kit's own screen at her podium. He laughed. "This is spectacular! We should add a horror-themed restaurant to our section. It would be a hit!" Mortis exclaimed. "What say you two?"

"Ooh, that'd be sooo cute! I can run it." Emz said.

Frank grunted, and pressed the menu button. It didn't spring to life like Mortis' did, so he pressed it again, and then once more even rougher. It broke under his strength.

"Oh," Kit reached over. "Sorry about that. You can hand me the pieces, and I'll get you a replacement menu. I'll be right back." Frank did so, a bit embarrassed.

As soon as Kit was out of earshot, Emz laughed. "Our place won't have cheap stuff like here though."

Mortis grinned. Frank was less than amused and gave a shrug. It was simply an accident, and they shouldn't be rude about it.

Kit returned and activated the device before handing it to Frank. "Here you go. While you look through that, what can I get for you to drink?" She asked, readying a tablet.

"I'll have a peach iced tea." Emz told Kit.

"I'll have a glass of Merlot." The mortician decided.

Great. Now he'd have to drive. Frank rolled his eyes, and looked through the sodas.

Mortis looked over at him. "What would you like, Franklin?"

After eyeing the selections, he pointed out his choice. Mortis made a face and looked at Kit. "He'll just have a Coke."

"Okay. I'll get that to you. A waiter will be right out to get the rest of your order." Kit said. She departed from the table.

Emz hummed and stood up. "I'll be right back. Remember- order whatever you want! I'm paying." She reminded, smoothing out the cute dress she wore and then walking off towards the restroom.

Mortis watched her go, and then moved aside the menu device.

"Okay, Franklin. Let's talk." he interlocked his fingers like this was a business deal.

Frank ignored him, swiping through the menu.

"This is a fancier restaraunt. Emz is treating us, and you can tell how important this is to her, can't you? I hope you do."

Mortis paused for any telling gesture or expression, but Franklin remained quiet. The mortician continued. "Well, it'd be great if you'd drop the pettiness, if only for tonight. This is between us, not Emz."

Frank glowered at Mortis. Pettiness? Him? The big guy shoved aside the device now. He was tired of Mortis' tone and habits and everything.

"Don't even think of causing a scene here, Franklin," Mortis tensed up. "Think about Emz!" Frank frowned.

"Here are your drinks, Sirs." the black cat returned. She either didn't notice or chose to ignore the quiet tension at the table as she put the drinks down and then left.

Frank grumpily put his face in his hand. "Fine. But you're being a dick." Frank said.

Mortis was offended. "How!?" He asked indignantly.

"Drinking without even asking me, nitpicking what I want, and those are on top of the bats and dishes. And I bet you're ready with some excuse now too." Frank listed.

Mortis clamped his mouth shut. He was going to point out that it was only one, and that plain old coke at a more fancy place, really? But, that would just prove Franklin right. "Well," he struggled on what to say for only a second before finding a string. "You always keep things to yourself! How am I supposed to guess what you're thinking? You wait and get mad and then out of the blue, you just attack me!"

Frank furrowed his brows and looked aside, feeling a bit guilty.

"Hey!" Emz arrived and sat down, and scooched up in her chair. "You guys are being an itty bitty loud, you know? I'm sure you don't want people staring."

"Uhh..." Mortis said. "I suppose not. So... Franklin." He said awkwardly, trying to think of some different topic. "I think... our Brawl Ball strategy should change." He sighed, disappointed in himself. How weak of a subject.

Emz was puzzled and looked like she wanted to say something. So, of course, she did voice her thoughts. "Weren't you guys talking about, like being mad or whatever?"

"No....?" Mortis said. "Nobody's mad here. Am I right, Franklin?"

"Uh. Yeah." The big guy shrugged.

Emz pursed her lips. "Right... So this afternoon too?"

Mortis gave a tight smile. "This afternoon?" He pretended.

Emz was merciless in completely demolishing this lie. "This morning, when I walked downstairs, Frank was on the couch with the T.V. on. It wasn't muted, even though you were beside him presumably chatting. That's some weirdo way to talk if you weren't mad at someone." She said, matter-of-factly. "You think I don't know body language?"

"...." Mortis was stunned. Frank laughed at the absurdity. She had guessed it perfectly!

Emz crossed her arms though. She waited for Frank's chuckle to die down. "So, what gives? You two are going to start lying to me all of a sudden?" She looked between the two, waiting impatiently for an answer.

".....No." Mortis said finally.

"Then?"

The vampire faltered. "It's just that... well, you know. The discussions Frank and I gave, ah, doesn't have to do with you? So... why involve you?" Mortis managed.

"Okay? But, like, why lie about it." She repeated. She had an inkling about it now, given both of their awkward glances and fidgets. Her sharp tone softened, and she sighed inaudibly. Guess it was sappy truth time.

She looked down at the table, focused on the closed menu device. "I know you two argue. Like. Duh. That's normal. And, I'm guessing that you want to pretend like everything's peachy because you don't want to remind me of... well, you know who already!" She shook her head. "But I'm okay, really. I actually wake up on my own and not from endless yelling, and I'm not picked up hours late from wherever because you never agreed on whose turn it is to pick me up.." Emz paused, feeling quite at unease from sharing this, but pushed through. This was just another step at breaking her own tough shell. "What I'm trying to say is, simply arguing isn't going to remind me of my 'parents.' You two are leagues better, okay? I know you actually care about me. So you dont have to lie to me. Bicker and argue all day until your jaws fall off. You wouldn't be my Uncle Mortis and Frank without it." She smiled up at them.

Mortis had his upper face covered, just about already to cry. "Emz... I don't know what to even say..."

Frank leaned to her and gave her a kiss on her head. "It means a lot, sweetheart..." he said genuinely. Maybe he still had things to learn... He glanced over at Mortis who happened to look up then from his heartfelt pause. "I think I speak for the both of us."

They exchanged a soft smile.

"How about a picture?" Emz asked as she held her phone up.

"That sounds grand," Mortis sighed contentedly. Frank nodded with a smile.

The graveyard family bunched in together to fit into Emz's screen that she held up for all of them. On their way to posing for the perfect picture, their glasses were knocked down. The mixture of the three drinks short-circuited the menus, stained the white tablecloth and started to drip on the floor. Kit was walking by at that moment to check on another table when she saw the damage. That troublemaking team. Her tail swished around dangerously. She pulled a communicator out of her pocket and held it up to talk into it. She never took her eyes off of the Graveyard Trio. "Colonel Ruffs. This is MerXanary Special Agent Kit. Over."

"Roger!" He answered. There were squeaks in the background. No doubt the new Private was fooling around.

"There's Brawlers here giving me trouble. I'm requesting backup at the Zero-Gravity Diner. I'm going in now. Over."

"Willco." Colonel Ruffs confirmed. Kit pocketed her radio transmitter, and readied to Brawl.

Emz's camera flashed, capturing the moment.

[6ftslytherin]

An Ismarie fic

Marie Lowell's heart was in pain. For the past couple of days in fact. The girl she liked was probably happily dating her crush by now. Marie hadn't check on Ismelda since Emily Tyler had read her dairy aloud. She tried to follow her after she had run off but Marie was stopped. As it turns out, punching the girl that exposed your crushes secrets got you two weeks of detention. She was on her way to report for her punishment for the fifth time this week by way of an empty hall.

Marie knew beforehand that Ismelda liked Barnaby. She might have been the only person that she had told. She was honored to be trusted with Ismelda's secret. It was the lowest she had allowed the protective wall around her heart to fall. At the same time... Marie was jealous.

She didn't hate Barnaby. She knew he was smarter than people thought, not in a conventional, academic way. He was kind. He was handsome. Every woman's dream man. It made sense Ismelda would like him. They would look cute together. Couples that were made of opposites were cute. He was the opposite of Marie.

Maybe she had been holding out hope. Her parents were both bright and shiny people, so similar people could have a happy relationship. But there was a major problem. Ismelda never mentioned being attracted to girls. Marie knew she was gay. She had known since she was twelve, publicly out since she was fifteen.

Marie was another stereotype. A lesbian that had developed a crush on her straight friend. What was wrong with friendship? Queer girls can have same sex friends, Marie had some. So why did she have to fall for a girl she knew was Interested in a boy? There were plenty of girls she could go out with that might like her back.

Marie was worried she might actually be a masochist. What other explanation could there be? Maybe something had messed with her brain years ago or perhaps she had been born like this.

Marie realized she had been scratching at her head, as if her thick hair wasn't messy enough on it's own. If only she had inherited her dad's straight hair. Maybe touching it was a sort of comfort to her from the time she didn't have any. Chemotherapy was never nice.

Marie almost jumped out of her skin when she heard an angry scream followed by a loud smash. She looked around for where the sounds could have come from. There was a door that was barely open. Another yell and a smashing sound. A little part of her brain told her the room was full of banshees that were waiting for her (and braking vases for some reason.)

Marie slowly opened the door. No banshees, but again, a scream and a vase smashing against a wall. In the abandoned classroom was a panting Ismelda. She hurriedly used repairo, let out a primal scream, and threw it again. Pieces of vase shot everywhere as she collapsed onto her the floor.

Marie was confused. What happened with Sabine's plan? Shouldn't she be in Barnaby's arms? Sabine knew Marie liked Ismelda, but her friends had all but forced her to try and get Barnaby and Ismelda together. She said she needed Marie's permission before trying out a plan they had come up with. Marie knew she could never make Ismelda happy the way she wanted. So she gave her blessing. A blessing that had felt like she had torn her own heart out. If she had remembered right, then today was the day the plan should have gone through. So what happened?

"Uh... Is?" Marie said. Ismelda whipped her head around. Her pale face was now red with eyeliner running down her cheeks. Marie closed the door and walked over to her. Her feelings didn't matter at the moment. Ismelda was in pain. She needed to help her. She kicked some of the debris away and sat next to her.

"What's wrong?" Marie asked. Ismelda cried harder as she tried to say something. Marie did her best to understand what she was saying but her audio processing disorder was making it more difficult than it should be. All she got was "I hate them" and "I want them dead."

Ismelda laid her forehead on Marie's shoulder. Marie didn't mind if Ismelda needed somewhere to cry. She was a bit glad Ismelda trusted her like this, but she felt guilty. This intimacy with her was something she craved but knew she shouldn't bask in. She was sick. How could she be thinking like this when her friend was bawling her eyes out? Marie needed to push her feelings down and let Ismelda cry it all out. That was when she made something out of Ismelda's sobbing.

"Why doesn't anyone love me?"

It felt as if Marie had been hit by a bludger. Of course people loved her. Ismelda's family might care about her much but Marie knew people did. Last year when Ismelda had visited for the first time her parents all but adopted her. Sabine defended her when others made fun of her, almost acting like the (by a few months) big sister her own wasn't. Marie wished she was more like Sabine, the more confident and openly emotional of the two.

Marie couldn't even work up the courage to reassure her that she had people that cared about her... Or did she? She swallowed hard.

"Is?" Ismelda looked at her through her red, wet eyes. "People do love you. Sabine, my parents... me." Ismelda's face twisted in frustration. "I don't mean that kind of love. I mean the kind that makes it feel like you can see new, beautiful colors. Don't you understand? Barnaby was the only boy that has ever given a shit about me. Without him I'll die alone!"

Marie did understand. "You don't get it Marie! I'm a fucking freak!" Ismelda yelled before putting her face back onto Marie's shoulder. Was this really what Ismelda felt about himself? Marie felt nauseous. How could she? How does she not see how amazing she is? Hearing her friend talk like this was devastating.

"What are you talking about?" Marie asked before she could stop herself. Ismelda's crying softened. Marie was stunned by her own boldness. She was normally so passive. What was it about Ismelda that made her act like this? Maybe just being near her made Marie braver. If there was ever a time to tell her what she really thinks, well... she already put her foot in the door so...

"I don't think your a freak, I think your amazing. Nobody else even comes close to how unique you are. I can tell you about various ways decomposition takes place and you don't say I'm creeping you out. You even ask questions because your genuinely interested in what I have to say." Marie's face was radiating heat at this point.

"Your so much more than people give you credit for. You hexed that guy that was making fun of me. You put your scarf on me when I couldn't stop crying. You help me whenever I'm having trouble with my history homework. I just like being around you. I'm genuinely confused as to why nobody else can see how wonderful you are. Even if you are a freak, then I guess I like freaks."

Marie put her hand over her face. "A-and your so p-p-pretty." Was that going to far? Ismelda had stopped crying and took her head off Marie's shoulder. She had crossed the line. There's no way she didn't. She should leave. Marie had messed up their friendship.

"Your the one that's pretty."

Marie was frozen in place. What was she talking about? "Have you seen my face? My nose is all messed up. My jaw is too square. My cheekbones are too defined. My hair is too greasy. I'm too tall. I'm too skinny. I've got big feet and small boobs. My personality ain't much better either..." Ismelda said as she played with the hair that covered her face.

Marie felt an anger rising in her. She lowered her hand from her face. How dare Ismelda talk like that? Why? Why can't she see the beauty that is Ismelda? She wasn't beautiful like a gemstone or princess gown. She was beautiful like a masterfully made casket full of advanced spell and history books. A highly polished walnut casket with a green crushed velvet interior. The books only understandable by those that truly took pleasure in their studies. Morbid, but appreciated by those that can see the beauty in it. Marie was worried her decision to become a mortician warped her ability to think clearly sometimes, but that's how she truly felt.

"I don't care about that. You deserve love too. I promise you won't die alone. You'll find someone who can appreciate you the way you deserve. You might already know your future partner or you might not. The point is you can't lose hope. Even if Barnaby isn't the one there are plenty of people that will see how special you are and love you back. I want you to understand how great I think you are."

They both stared in front of them.

There was silence.

Marie shouldn't have said that. It was too much. Did Ismelda know about her crush on her? She ruined their friendship. That must be what happened. She wasn't saying anything because she was freaked out.

That was when Marie noticed Ismelda's hand was almost touching hers. Her hand hadn't been there before, had it? What was she doing? Did she put her hand there unconsciously? Did she want Marie to notice her? Did she want Marie to... hold her hand?

No... that couldn't be. Could it? Was she misreading the signals? She must be. It was ridiculous to think other wise.

That was when Marie felt something touch her little finger. She looked back down. Ismelda's hand was touching hers now. Part of her worried if Ismelda could hear how loud her heart was violently beating itself against her rib cage.

Would it be overstepping her boundaries if she took her hand? Would it be selfish to do such a thing? She felt like her next action would change her world forever.

Marie took Ismelda's hand into her own.

She had done it. She really did just ruin her friendship with Ismelda. She was going too far. She was going to say her sweaty hand was gross and how dare she try to take advantage of her in this emotional time.

But she didn't.

She actually squeezed her hand.

Marie squeezed back.

Marie had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? Days? She looked at Ismelda who was looking back at her.

Was the room getting hotter? Was the rest of the world even there anymore? All she could think of right now was the intoxicating pine green of her eyes and the freckles that dotted her skin like stars.

Neither was sure who moved first but both girls closed their eyes and got closer. Their noses bumped into each other and made them open their eyes for a second before going back to what they were doing. It was their first kiss.

Marie was worried her bpm had gone over 150. Her stomach was full of pixies. She felt Ismelda's hand squeeze tighter on hers. She was glad they were already sitting on the floor, even without standing her knees felt weak. Marie was sure she would wake up any moment now. That was the only thing that made sense in this scenario. Their lips left each other and they opened their eyes. They rested their foreheads together.

"Is, I like you. I like you a lot." Marie said before anything else could get in the way of her feelings. They had just kissed. She couldn't hold it back anymore. "I'm sorry." Marie's eyes stung with small drops of tears. There was no way to go back now. If only she had been born a boy. She wanted to be with Ismelda. Nothing else mattered right now except for her.

"Marie... I..." Ismelda was trying to put her thoughts together. "I don't think I'm gay. But... I think I like you? I think I've liked you for awhile.. Not like Barnaby, but close? A little different? I don't know... I think I need some time to think." She said as she ran her thumbs over Marie's fingers.

Marie felt so weird. Ismelda liked her? She was so happy. Only two people existed in the world anymore and it was them. The closen she craved was within her reach. Then Marie thought, what if she's just emotional from being rejected? She couldn't be with her if she didn't truly like her back the way Marie liked her. She was brought back down to Earth. Marie removed her head from Ismelda's and looked her in the eyes.

"I understand. You have to take as much time as you need. This isn't something we can't rush. If you decide this isn't for you that's fine. If you decide you want to try being with me than I'll be glad to accept. If you want to try being with a different girl or a guy that's alright too. But this can't be rushed. You need think if this is something you really want."

"Yeah. I've got you. Let just be friends until I get this sorted out." Ismelda said as she let go of Marie's hand. She quietly got up and walked to the door. She paused and turned back to look at Marie. Ismelda smiled a little. "I'll see you around. Don't tell anyone I was crying or I'll kill you." She said. Marie smiled back. "I know. I'll see you later." Ismelda left the room.

Marie sat in the silence.

She laid down on the stone floor.

That was when the weight of their talk hit her. She balled up the bottom of her sweater and screamed into it. She rolled back and forth. How could this really have happened? Was she high? Was she under an illusion?

Marie was panicking with anxiety. She was overwhelmed with joy. But most of all, she was definitely late in reporting to Mr. Filch.

————

"Where have you been girl? Do you think these banisters polish themselves? No! They require hard work! Something you Lowells have never had to deal with." Filch said as he roughly handed Marie a can of polish and a rag. "And wipe that smile off your face before I hang you from your feet! You Lowells always think your better than everyone else... well I'll show you..." Filch muttered as he walked away to do other work.

Marie caught a glimpse of herself in a reflective suit of armor. Her face was bright red and her mouth in the shape of a weird, anxious smile. She tried her best to force her face back to normal, but then she remembered kissing Ismelda again. Her face went back to the unusual goofiness.

She took a deep breath and got to work on the stairs, with her big stupid smile and a bit of hope in her heart for when Ismelda made up her mind.

She was really glad she punch Emily Tyler.

[woodfrogs]

halley woodfrogs lore unlocked: the only mock trial ive ever done was in grade 8 when we read the telltale heart and did a trial for the narrator. defense and prosecution were teams of five-ish and everyone else were witnesses, jury, etc. i was on the prosecution team because nobody else wanted to do it. one of my friends who was an ace attorney fan was on defense. they pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity, so the case was basically automatically lost. there wasnt much we could do to prove the defendant was Not insane when we all just read a whole story of his internal monologue and he was definitely not mentally sound.

so i essentially became the leader of the prosecution since the rest of my group sucked and didnt want to put in any effort. and my friend became the leader of the defense since he sounded like he knew a lot about law and was really into the whole activity. due to being an ace attorney fan.

witnesses were made up and not actual characters in the story because there are only two and well. one is dead. i remember there was a neighbour who overheard the whole thing and maybe the mortician? we werent allowed to interview the defendant which pissed me off - how was i supposed to prove someone of sound mind if i couldnt talk to them - but in retrospect telling a 13 year old to act like a person having hallucinations and delusions in front of a whole class probably would have been a very bad idea. so good call on the teachers part there.

we were given two or so classes to prepare and then a half hour before the trial itself. i tried my hardest to build a case and come up with cross examination questions with what i had (an unwinnable case, a story where we had the internal monologue of the defendant, two witnesses that were useless to me, and a group of people i didnt like, all slacking off). i did a damn good job if i do say so myself.

then, the day of the trial, 30 minutes before, im briefing the rest of the prosecution on their roles and what exactly they need to say and do during the trial. (because everybody needs to participate but they DIDNT DO ANY OF THE WORK.) and the teacher calls me over. and my friend is there. and the teacher explains that the defense has found a new witness. a doctor who has psychiatrically evaluated the defendant. and i was like EXCUSE ME?? but only in my head because i didnt talk unless i had to back then. it went completely against court procedure as we were taught it. one of my groupmates tried to argue that we deserve another day of preparation because the defence cant just introduce a new witness the day of, your honour! we need a chance to build our case around the new information!

to no avail. english class must move on, after all.

so i had half an hour to think of entirely new questions for a new witness that was of no use to me, then went into the trial with half my group having no clue what they were doing. we lost, obviously, and would have anyway, but i held a grudge against my friend for that for years.

and that level of last minute bullshit is EXACTLY what playing ace attorney feels like.

this case is ridiculous wdym the prosecutor, defense lawyer, AND judge are all different people on day 2 than day 1. girl nobody here has the full picture. just redo the whole proceedings atp

[corpse--diem]

You Better Watch Out | Dakota & Erin

TIMING: A few days after Christmas PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Thanks to the town’s magic going awry, someone on the naughty list crashes Erin and Dakota’s movie and dinner date.  CONTENT WARNINGS: Teenager death, Medical blood tw (mentions)

A Nightmare Before Christmas horror movie special was most definitely up Dakota’s alley. She’d always loved horror films, even back when she was a kid and her parents fell asleep on the couch while she watched The Exorcist and shit like that. She didn’t normally like doing things with people she didn’t really know, but that’s how you make friends in the world. And who said being friends with people meant they had to be close? Regardless, it was hard for her to say no to Erin based off the horror film factor alone. Plus, well, she seemed nice enough (and also not pushy enough) to hang out with while keeping at an arm’s length. Plus the prospect of dinner after a movie with this person didn’t sound awful… Especially when she was the one who had, once again, flirted her way into this situation. So, she showed up at The Nordica, maybe a few minutes early, and waited for Erin -- and yes, yes she had ordered a large popcorn to share. With butter.

Erin never minded her own company. She’d grown up the only child of two busy morticians and entertaining herself for hours on end was just… normal. Even into adulthood. The last year had changed something about that though. Maybe it was finding some souls she didn’t mind filling some time with, the multiple near-death escapades, but here she was actively reaching out to people she didn’t even know to go see a movie. Like none of the things from this year had happened. Like she could just pick up and carry on a normal life. She had to try at least, right? Why else had she survived if not to try? Dinner and a movie. She could do this. Have herself some fun with an attractive, smart woman. That was normal and healthy. Just have fun - she was sure that’s what Marley would be suggesting after gleefully teasing her for the attempt. If they were talking, at least. Another thing she didn’t want to think about right this second.

When she approached The Nordica, she kept an eye out for the description Dakota had given her as she purchased two tickets--she’d asked her out here, after all, right? Erin glanced up to see an older couple bickering as they made their way through the lobby. It was hard to miss, or hear, rather. 

“I don’t even want to see this damn movie. What’s with you and horror movies anyway? And what the hell is a Krampus?” 

“Then just take a nap, Harold, I don’t care what you do.”

It was hard to hold back the chuckle as they passed, slipping past her into the theater. Her eyes glanced around when she made a lucky guess on a dark haired woman with a tub of popcorn. “Hi… uh, Dakota?” She asked, giving a small wave. “If you’re not Dakota, I’m so sorry but I’m Erin? Erin Nichols?” She offered, a friendly smile on her lips, holding her hand out. “Nice to finally meet you, maybe-Dakota.”

Dakota didn’t really know what she was getting herself into when it came to Erin. She seemed normal, and the concept of the night truly did sound like a typical thing to do with a friend. Watch a movie, eat some popcorn, small talk. Dinner afterwards. But Dakota was quickly realizing that the more time she spent in White Crest, and the more people she spent time with in White Crest, the more wild everybody seemed. With Marley, she’d dug herself into a shitstorm of crisis. Morgan made her question what the hell she knew about blood as well all physical, organic, biological happenings—which, that reminded her, that she should probably ask the medical examiner about what’d she’d seen. But all of that was just to say that she’d realized that whoever she talked to here in White Crest always had her confused in one way or another. She chalked it up to either everyone in this damn town was ass-backwards, or she was. Erin had approached her at just the right time, though, because the more she thought about it, the more worried she got that this woman would end up being a fucking crazy person. But the moment she thought about taking the bucket of popcorn and hightailing it back to her place, the woman appeared right in front of her. Erin. Erin Nichols.  “Oh, uh, yeah. Dakota Grant.” She’d shook her hand, and then awkwardly tilted the bucket of popcorn in her direction. “Real butter. I thought you said something about loving this place’s popcorn. Plus you bought the tickets, so.. I thought I could at least buy the snacks.” And they’d probably arm-wrestle for the bill at dinner.

“Oh, so you were listening,” Erin smirked, cheekily plucking a few popcorn kernels from the bucket. Nodded approvingly as she chewed. “Mmm, yep. Just as good as I remembered. I don’t get over this way as often as I usually like so this is a treat.” She held one in the air like a mini-toast. “Hope you enjoy,” she added and chomped on another, pulling out the tickets for the movie. It felt weird now, standing here in front of this stranger, trying to pretend she was normal. She was. In comparison to more than half of the people she knew, she was on the normal side of that sliding scale. From what she knew of Dakota so far was that she was a quirky CSI that wasn’t hard on the eyes. Maybe just her brand of weird enough to get along with. “Krampus is the only thing playing right now. Hope that’s alright with you,” she smiled and handed her the ticket. Tilted her head, nodding towards the hallway that led further into the theater. “Ready when you are?”

“Believe it or not, I’m a great listener.” Well, so far, so good, right? Dakota had to think that Erin couldn’t be all that crazy if so far all she did was eat some popcorn and ask if Krampus suited her fancy. Which.. Well, at this point in her life, she was just so happy to get out of her house and talk to someone that it didn’t matter what they watched, because Dakota would have gladly sat her ass through some sappy rom-com if it meant not having to be alone wracking her brains about a case or.. Well, worse. Truth be told, she actually really liked Erin already just based on the fact that she owned a funeral home—and, given that this get-together didn’t end in awkward words or sliced fingers—she was already planning on asking for a tour. It didn’t take them very long to find their seats and get situated. They were early enough to not miss previews, but it seemed like the place was practically dead anyways, which Dakota would prefer so she could talk a lot of shit about the movie in real-time. “So.. You’re from White Crest, then?” she asked, popping a few pieces of the buttery goodness into her mouth.

Erin slunk into her chair--outdated ones that probably hadn’t been replaced since she was in high school herself. They were tiny, only barely reclined and were more likely to be found around a stage theater than in a movie theater. “Born and raised. Pretty boring stuff,” she nodded, growing more comfortable. The theater was on the emptier side, which she had planned for. One of the perks of growing up here was that she knew exactly what times this place would be dead. “You said you recently moved here?” Propping her feet up on the empty chair in front of her, she reached into the bucket to grab a handful for herself, munching one at a time. “What in the world brought you here?” She asked, trying not to sound judgmental and held as much of a curious, getting-to-know-you vibe as possible. “I just mean, you know, I’m glad you are! There’s just... not much here, even though it feels like outsiders are rolling in by the busload. I just don’t know the draw.” That wasn’t entirely true. Erin had learned what exactly that draw was but she didn’t know if Dakota knew what it was.

Erin seemed so.. Laid back. And maybe that’s sort of what intrigued Dakota about her, because she was so fucking wound up all the time that she didn’t know what it was like to just… Lean back, eat some popcorn, and chill the fuck out for a few minutes. But, like she’d said, she was born and raised in this town, and that had to be some pretty boring stuff—although she didn’t really see how that could be boring when Dakota herself was investigating scenes left and right, yet nobody seemed to be surprised by that. But, of course, she then wanted to know what brought her to this place, of all places on the map, and the only person she’d ever told the truth to was Morgan. And, to be fair, a movie theatre didn’t seem like the best place to spill her guts. “Just needed to get out of the city. I grew up in Detroit—like you, born and raised. It’s a big city but everyone knows everything about everybody like it’s a small town. So… I picked a town that seemed the most boring, packed up all my shit, and.. Well, sayonara.” The previews were just beginning to show, and of course a lot of them were old reels that probably nobody bothered to change before showing a movie, and there was a sort of nostalgic easiness in that. “I don’t think there’s much of a draw. Maybe the schools, the cool bar scenes. Me personally? I threw a dart at a map and made the decision.” Half-truths aren’t still considered lies, are they? “So you’re telling me in all your time living here there hasn’t been one crazy thing that’s happened? Clearly it’s not all boring.”

Erin could understand that feeling--wanting to get out, get away. “Good for you. Sometimes you just need to get away from it all. You know? Start fresh. I get that. Really.” She’d almost done the same thing a year ago, when she’d gotten to the point where she thought she’d reached her breaking point. It was almost laughable how low that bar was at time. “Crazy? Here?” Erin visibly grimaced at Dakota’s last question, a hint of a smirk that let on more than she was probably willing to share at the beginning of a blossoming, normal friendship. “Well--no. Okay. It’s not all boring. It’s actually not boring at all. For small town standards, anyway. I mean, you heard about that tornado in the common the other week right? Or that huge sinkhole that swallowed up some buildings?” She popped a few more pieces into her mouth before point a very serious finger Dakota’s way. “I know I’m going to sound nuts saying this, and I hope I’m not the first person to warn you, but stay away from the mimes. They’re an actual fucking menace to this entire town. I don’t know how they’re still allowed but you’re better off walking down an alley on Amity Road alone at night than approaching one of those fuckers.”

Dakota arched her brow as Erin talked, though for the most part she was just listening. She had heard about those things—the tornado, the sinkhole. But those were natural disasters that could happen to any town. Erin did get a little intense when she started to talk about the mimes, which made Dakota laugh—actually laugh. “Nobody’s warned me about any mimes, and I’ve never seen any, but when I do, you’ll be the first person I tell. Fair?” she asked, finally relaxing into her seat a bit more and popping pieces of popcorn into her mouth. The theater was still fairly empty save for a few people scattered around, and the previews slowly came to a close as the opening scene finally started. Dakota didn’t think that this was going to be a formal movie watching event, so while her eyes were still on the screen, she kept the conversation going. “Didn’t you say your funeral home burned down or some shit? What was all that about—electrical fire? Arson?”

Erin sat up at Dakota’s laughing. Oh, no. She thought she was joking. A fair immediate assumption, she supposed. The fact that this was something she had to warn people about was reasonably humorous but the reality absolutely was not. “No, I’m serious!” Still, the infectious laugh that shook her own shoulders couldn’t be helped. “I’m serious. Okay? Just--be careful. Don’t you dare say you weren’t warned.” She didn’t know how to emphasize that anymore without making it seem even weirder than it already was. She tried, at least? Of all the phobias she thought she’d develop, this wasn’t one of them, but it still had nothing on the fear that struck her at Dakota’s last question. Dakota, the crime scene investigator. She nodded, her eyes stuck on the movie as the opening credits started. “Yeah, it did. They couldn’t determine the cause, so they had to label it as an accident. They think it was the faulty wiring. It was an old house, it makes sense, I guess.” She shrugged, trying to move past it quickly. “But it’s almost rebuilt. Thankfully the whole place didn’t go down.”

A jump scare almost got her--almost, but she played it cool, blaming the slip up on only half paying attention. Not everyone was so lucky though. The older man in front of the startled, the same one from the lobby, making good on his word on his nap. Erin didn’t pay too much attention when he muttered something to his wife, eyes wide and fearful, like he’d woken up from some sort of nightmare. “Harold, shush, it’s just a movie--” she heard his wife say, hushing him quickly, eyes never leaving the movie. He grumbled and said something else before settling back into his seat.

Her eyes flicked back to the movie--and yep, there he was. Krampus himself, ready to scoop up one of the family members. Something shadowy seemed to move behind the actual screen but she chalked it off to the old movie reel or the old theater itself. “I’m, uh--surprised you weren’t on the case for that one. You’ve been in town… how long again?” She asked, unworriedly snacking and drank a heft sip of her water to wash it down. “Do you see that?”

Well, at least Erin had warned her. It was weird, because she’d lied about never being warned before. In fact, this was probably the third or fourth person in this whole town to warn Dakota about the mimes and she still didn’t know what the problem was. The French street performers didn’t scare her, and neither did the shadow that passed in front of the projector. She thought nothing of it, and nothing of the old man muttering in his sleep. If she were being honest, Erin was probably the only person she’d laughed with so far, so she was far too busy trying to keep conversation alive to care about the shadow moving behind the movie screen.

“I could have taken it, but uh.. Ya know, I was on leave. Not.. Real leave, I guess. I just sort of shut myself out from the world for a few months, no big—” Do you see that? And Dakota did, in fact, see it. A large shadow moving behind the screen of the movie… Normally she would have brushed it off, determining some employee was back behind the screen for some reason, or a projector malfunction, but… The silhouette didn’t look.. human. “I, uh.. Yeah, what the hell is that?” She wondered, both aloud to Erin as well as to herself. It didn’t take long for shit to hit the fan, though, because there was a loud ripping noise, and when Dakota looked up, there was a giant slash in the silver screen, and a beastly looking… What the fuck is going on?

She was stunned, though. Stunned enough not to know if she should be scared or amused, or if Erin knew what the fuck was going on. But regardless, she was definitely stunned still, frozen in place. “Erin… Please tell me this is part of the movie…”

Erin would have preferred to continue the conversation--she would have preferred just about anything than what was currently unfolding in front of them. Screams ripped through the small theater, the loudest coming from the teenagers who had managed to sneak into an R-rated movie up in the front row. Christ. She couldn’t even get through one night, one night, She popped up in her seat, knocking over the popcorn between them. “I don’t know, I don’t--” A roar bellowed louder than anything in the room, followed by the slash of the staff in the thing’s hands. When her eyes adjusted, they landed on the horns sticking up from the top of his head. The movie continued to play, flickering over the behemoth in the most eerie light.

She froze when her eyes locked onto the shadowy figure. It was Krampus. The Krampus on the screen was the same one ripping through this goddamn theater. She didn’t have time to even think about the how’s or why’s of it. God damn fucking magic was the only thing that crossed her mind, over and over. Just reached into her bag for the hefty knife Nic had left her, and the same one she brought with her everywhere in this stupid town, thanks to situations like this. “We gotta go,” Erin managed, starting to guide Dakota up. And she was about to run for the exits, let someone else deal with this, when one of the teenagers let out a blood curdling scream. Krampus was going for the kids. Of course. Of course. “...Fuck,” she cursed under her breath. Glanced at the exit one more time, glanced at Dakota, then back to the violent scene at hand. Someone was already helping the teenager who had been slashed but the thing was going after someone else. “You should go,” she nodded and ran over to help.

Dakota would have preferred just about anything other than whatever the fuck was happening. She would much rather enjoy her pseudo-date with Erin rather than witnessing the traumatizing event unfolding right there in The Nordica. But she couldn’t think about what she wanted, even if it was light banter and orange chicken at The Red Dragon. Especially not when there seemed to be an actual monster standing in their presence. In her whole adult life, she’d seen a lot of horrific bullshit. Bloody scenes, cruel murders, victims practically mauled to death in front of her eyes—but nothing terrified her more than the events unfolding right here, right now, at this very moment. At first, she believed it was just some prank or some weird theatrical spin on Krampus—god, how badly she wanted to believe that still—but it was probably the way Erin tried her best to get her out of her seat, the soft-spoken We gotta go, and the blood-curdling, terrifying scream ringing in her ears that convinced her more than anything that this wasn’t a joke, nor was it a performance, and if it were, she was never speaking to this woman ever again. A critical decision had to be made, and she had about three seconds to choose between fight or flight. It was weird because she didn’t necessarily feel her legs moving, but she knew she was following Erin into the chaos unfurling. She didn’t quite know exactly what she was doing, but she knew she needed to help the kid on the floor, despite the other person being there. She tried to help stop the bleeding, she heard herself yell for more help, but it was fucking everywhere—she’d seen loads of blood before, but Jesus Christ, it was fucking everywhere. Dakota would regret what she did next for rest of her life, probably, but she left the kid with the other strangers trying their best and ended up at Erin’s side, not sure exactly what the fuck she was doing, but was ready to do what needed to be done. Amongst the mayhem, someone had pulled the fire alarm to alert authorities, and Dakota found herself fighting to be heard amidst the noise. “You gotta plan?!”

A plan? Erin’s eyebrows shot up, not just from the shock that Dakota was still here, but that she was actually looking to Erin as if she had any idea what she was doing. There was a palpable ire from the small crowd garnered from the slashing of a young teenager. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. There was enough in this town that fought the townsfolk. Eventually there became a point when people just became pissed. As Erin watched the scene unfold, it became clear this was the case. The monster was roared, only just a little louder than the cut of the staff through the air as it swung--and often hit the other patrons. Blood splattered across the ripped screen. “Don’t die?” She offered to Dakota, though immediately regretting her choice of words. Her heart clenched at the pain in the poor kid’s face. She brushed his hair back, feeling the cold sweat building on his forehead. Fuck. He wasn’t looking good at all. “Can you get him out of here?” She asked, hopeful that there was still time. That anger in the room filled her and she found herself standing, moving to join the crowd who was doing anything they could to fight back against this monster that mirrored the one still playing on the screen behind them. It would’ve been comical, with the way purses were being slung, drinks were tossed in its face, trash cans rolling under their feet, if there wasn’t a very real threat of death with every swing of its sharp staff.

The Krampus creature shrugged off the few people around them, focusing on the woman he’d slashed, now crawling away a few feet from them. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she grumbled between grit teeth. With the monster’s back to her, she gripped the knife in her hand and booked it. The staff was in the air, ready to slash the woman on the ground again when the knife dug in between it’s shoulderblades. It roared, dropping the staff, immediately jerking and throwing Erin off of it. It howled in pain, growing desperate and angry. One of the patrons managed to kick away the staff, earning a swipe from the creature that sent them into a row of seats. The knife was still sticking out of his back as he set his eyes on Erin, who was scrambling away. The other woman was bleeding but she’d managed to pull herself somewhere safe.

Fight or flight. When presented with something that instills fear, stress, anxiety, or anger, the amygdala sends a distress signal. What did Mr. Fredericksen say? Right—amygdala, hypothalamus, adrenal glands, adrenaline. The hypothalamus activates the sympathetic nervous system, and then the automatic nerves haul ass to the adrenal glands, which then respond by pumping a shitload of epinephrine—Or adrenaline—into the bloodstream. Textbook.  

At the end of the day, it was all textbook. It all boiled down to physiology—just a bodily reaction that occurs when in the presence of something that is mentally or physically terrifying. The last she checked, Dakota had never seen a fucking… Whatever the hell this thing was. And she also never stood in a crime scene before it was finished being made. So...Terrified? Understatement of the goddamn century. She tried not to think about it too much, though. The specifics of it all. What the creature was, the point of entry...because the more thought she put into it, the shakier her hands became, and it was really fucking hard to pick up some lanky teenager and drag their nearly-lifeless body somewhere relatively safer when your hands were shaky. It didn’t really matter, though, because she’d seen a pool of blood that size before, and spoiler alert—the vic’s never made it out alive.

It all just… It happened so fast. One minute she was trying to stop the bleeding, the next she was asking Erin what the plan was. In a mirage of memories, she could only assume that she’d started dragging this kid out of the way moments before the roar. She hadn’t seen, it all happened so fast. The staff, though—she heard it clang to the floor, a grunt and then a thud, and by the time she looked back, Erin was on the ground, scrambling away, just.. Jesus, they were all just fighting for their goddamn lives. Fight or flight.

She didn’t think. Dakota didn’t have the capacity to think—a trauma response working itself out in real-time. One minute the staff was on the floor, just far enough away from the beast to maybe grab, and the next it was in her hands. She let out the breath she’d been holding for what felt like an eternity, and like ripping off a band-aid, she’d charged towards the beast, using its own spear to impale him—steak right through the heart.

Erin barely rolled out of the way of the creature’s huge swipe radius in time to earn a shallow gash along her arm instead of her stomach, where the thing had originally aimed. She was waiting for the next blow, hands covering her head as if it would help--but it didn’t come. Another roar shook the small theater and when she looked up, she heard the squish of flesh and she was greeted with a gush of blood. When the creature fell, pathetically and angrily squealing on its way to the ground, she saw Dakota standing there. Had she really just delivered the killing blow? Her eyes shot up, finally realizing how hard and fast her heart was pounding in her chest. So much was happening, and still happening, that her mind was still trying to catch up. That’d just happened right? A fucking Christmas monster had just… hopped out of the screen and attacked them all, right?

A few others were poking the creature beside her, making sure the thing was finally, actually dead. Multiple prods confirmed it. “Did you--was that you?” She asked, and after a short pause, followed up with, “Are you okay?” She was a little bewildered and little something she couldn’t quite place. Impressed was a good word for it for now. She held her hand out for Dakota to help her up. “Fuck, is the kid okay?”

As soon as she’d jabbed the weapon through the beast’s flesh, Dakota stumbled backwards just a few steps, breathing heavy not so much for the effort, but more so due to the rush of it all. The commotion may have stopped once the monster had collapsed to the floor, but there was still much to process. If you would have asked her how she expected tonight to go, she couldn’t have made this shit up in her wildest nightmares.

Silence rang in her ears despite the noise happening around her. It was like white noise—she knew Erin had said something to her because she saw her lips moving, but she was crashing from the adrenaline, and shock was now beginning to sink in. Reaching down, Dakota grabbed Erin’s hand and helped her up, brushing her off and even instinctively checking her over for any more serious injuries. She came to the conclusion that she had a laceration on her arm, but the rest of the blood stat soaked her clothes and painted her face had to of been either from the kid, other people who had been harmed, or the beast’s.

The kid. That’s when her hearing tuned back in. “I.. Don’t know.” It was an honest answer to two simple questions. Was she okay? I don’t know. Was the kid okay…? “No, um.. No, he’s not. The gash was too deep. Abdominal aorta, I think...? Definitely hemorrhaging,” Jesus Christ, she just witnessed a kid die. “He was probably dead in under two minutes.”

There was silence, and then there were sirens. Officers were on their way to collect statements and paramedics were dispatched to collect the victims and tend to those needing medical attention. Looking back over at where the monster should have been laying only to see an empty space that a puddle of blood now occupied, though, forced a pit in her stomach to open up and swallow her whole. She didn’t even process the information at hand before she had mumbled something along the lines of “let’s get the fuck out of here,” grabbed Erin’s unscathed arm, and started tugging her towards the exit.

Erin felt her entire body sag at the news. The kid was dead. Fuck. It always hit a little different when there was a kid involved. More than a decade of dealing with tragedies like this never made it easy, not even for her. The thing--Krampus?--wasn’t even there anymore. It was dead presumably, gone for sure, but there wasn’t even a body anymore to vindicate the kid’s death. Magic. She didn’t know how or why this thing had suddenly appeared but the only explanation for it was fucking goddamn magic. A new surge of panic filled her when she heard the sirens in the distance. “Shit,” she muttered. The last thing she needed right about now was another unexplainable run-in with the police with another dead body. Erin nodded wordlessly, running almost solely on adrenaline and fear at this point and followed Dakota out the doors. Didn’t even feel the shallow slash on her arm, more concerned with the sirens growing louder behind them and Dakota’s state of mind. Which, from the looks of it, was frazzled at the absolute very least.

Only once they were piling out into the parking lot, the cold air was smacking them back to reality, did Erin finally take a long, wavering breath. She didn’t even know how to approach this. Usually Erin was the one getting smacked with something like this, left flabbergasted and traumatized. And while she was both of those things, she felt a little more prepared than how Dakota looked. She stood, giving Dakota another glance over--she looked fine, physically. And that’s all she could hope for either of them at the moment. Clearing her throat, she glanced back at the theater one last time and then nodded towards the other woman. “So, uh--rain check on dinner?”

[janvangouden]

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

a hunter investigates a ghost in the woods that has been plaguing the village & terrorizing the other local hunters, only to find it to be a long lost friend. longer short story, about 20 pages in normal format. written by jan van gouden.

The hunter Genjirou liked to fancy himself a bit of a local celebrity, as he brought in the majority of the food for the village– fat pheasants, meaty rabbits, even sometimes a wild boar. The village was one that did not so much pride itself on its inhabitants’ individualism as it did their sense of community. They didn’t care to have the claim to fame of any famous actor born there, nor any famous samurai… they cared for one another deeply, & silently agreed not to get caught up in any selfish ambition. The artists of Passions collaborated & worked on elaborate projects together, the children always played together, the hunters often hunted together.

Despite his self-assurance, Genjirou was actually quite unpopular amongst the villagers, & considered rude for hunting individually. They did not care for his talent, and while they ate his food, they did not do it with so much enjoyment, perhaps finding it soured by his individualism. Nobody in Passions liked to gossip, but if they did, there would certainly be some cruel words exchanged about the hunter behind his back, especially from the other hunters, who were deep-down jealous of the considerable stock he seemed to always bring back every time he hunted.

Genjirou did not pay these sentiments any mind, even as he was intimately aware they were abrew. He’d grown up parent-less and knew he at least had some of the village’s sympathy over at least that fact, & that they presumed he was so stand-offish because he felt he was alone in the world. Sometimes a pretty young maiden, Fuku, sought him out and offered him lilies from her garden, but he rejected her kindness. He did not do so cruelly, only smiling and asking if she didn’t have anybody more handsome to tend her attentions to, that a pretty girl like her shouldn’t worry over a guy like him…

This only spurred Fuku’s interest in him, & she’d secretly follow him on hunts sometimes, watching with intense interest as he played his game. Fish, deer, wild boar, & even a bear once! Over the course of a few weeks, her friends finally convinced her to stop following him & offering lilies, & she did, although deep in her heart she still loved him.

“Look at that Genjirou, there’s a storm brewing on his face,” a village elder murmured to her husband, fanning herself as the two sat on a bench outside a small store. “He’s probably realising he can’t stop pushing the world away, but is in denial,” her husband chuckled, as he knit away at what looked like a baby sweater. “He’s young, isn’t he, only twenty-two? He’s probably going through a phase… not too long ago, he used to be quite social.”

They chuckled quietly but averted their gaze when Genjirou stomped by, pale, rushing into the store. The store owner couldn’t help but to giggle when he walked in, propping her arm up on the counter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked, choosing to busy herself with dusting off some vases.

“Why did nobody tell me a man was murdered in the woods?” Genjirou exclaimed, staring at her like she was a monster. He had come across a corpse earlier that day, already purplish from decay, bloated beyond recognition, & on full display in the middle of the grounds where he usually hunted. “You would have known if you hunted with the others,” she scolded him, flicking her feather duster towards him. Genjirou grit his teeth. Sometimes the people of Passions worked on his nerves insatiably– he was introverted by nature, shy, & didn’t like to constantly associate with others like everyone else seemed to, & it always seemed to blow up in his face. Namely, everybody always knew “the scoop” on everything, while he was left blind as a bat on any news, & had to practically beg.

He already knew the shopkeeper knew the story behind the corpse. His demeanor suddenly grew much more meek, and sheepish, as he asked, “What is the story behind him? It’s odd a body just lies so disgracefully in the middle of a clearing like that.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the hunters; they told me not to tell you the story… as for why he was there…” A hum; she wrinkled her nose in disapproval and lowered her voice. “That was a mean prank; they were messing with you because you never hunt with them… I don’t like to gossip, but I think it was very rude, not to mention disrespectful to the deceased, that they did that… I think they’ll be lucky if they’re not haunted on their next hunts.”

A glint of curiosity shone in her eyes. “What did you do when you saw the body? I think I would have passed out, tee hee.”

“I buried it,” Genjirou said simply. He found it disgraceful already how the disfigured corpse was laid out in the middle of the grass, even if it was clothed in burial robes, but he found it even more disgraceful somebody had placed it there on purpose.

“You buried it!” she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “That’s even more scary… what if it wants a grave? What if it haunts the whole village? Oh, oh….” She paused. “...one more thing… please don’t tell the hunters I told you about what they did when you get with them. I have a bit of a big mouth, if I’m being honest. But, you weren’t supposed to know they moved the corpse. Only ask about the corpse itself, ok?”

Genjirou felt his mood entirely ruined, but, grumbling, he agreed, then left the store to find the hunters.

He found them easily, like they were hoping to be found, outside a building exchanging words & laughing. When Genjirou approached them, they fell silent, and the humour in their eyes turned a reproachful coldness. They wore their hair in prim and trim top-knots, as was customary, while Genjirou wore his uncut & loose, only inviting more scorn from the villagers. Scorn, scorn, scorn. He sometimes just wanted to go wild, feeling like no matter what he did, it wouldn’t matter; he wouldn’t be accepted anyways!

“Good afternoon, Genjirou,” one spoke up, putting a hand up to him. “How was the hunt?”

“What was with the corpse in the woods?”

The hunters exchanged a few odd looks with one another. “Oh, you saw it, too? Wasn’t that scary? He wasn’t someone from our village, we know that for sure.”

Genjirou wanted to ask them to cut the bullshit, but he was too polite. Still, a wrinkle in his brow conveyed his frustration. “What’s his story? Who was he? Why was he just out in the open like that?”

After a long silence, one finally said, “Choyakoshi. We’re guessing that’s his name, anyways, since the characters were crudely written in ink on his kimono somewhere.” Choyakoshi had worn a slightly tattered, dirtied white kimono. It was folded right-over-left, meaning he must have been buried in it. “Why wasn’t he buried?” Genjirou repeated his question, but worded it differently.

The hunters exchanged glances with each other, & ultimately shrugged. “We don’t know, either. We’re sending one of the morticians to the mountain tomorrow to see what he can figure out.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Genjirou said hesitantly, drawing questioning glances. “I already buried him.”

“You buried him!” one of the hunters exclaimed. “What if he isn’t happy with the burial, & he haunts our village because of it?!”

“Then let him!” Genjirou spat. “I’ll be happier with that!”

He stormed off, blocking out the commotion the other hunters caused in his trail.

Did you hear that? I know Genjirou isn’t very social, but I think he totally hates us!

How dare he! We haven’t done anything to him, & now he’s practically wishing some ghost would come haunt us?

What nerve! What if this Choyakoshi is a cruel and vengeful spirit?

Genjirou didn’t let their words get to him– he knew that no matter what he did, they’d find some reason to dislike him. Same old same old.

At least, he thought their words didn’t get to him. That evening, nobody touched a lick of the considerably-smaller-than-usual bit of food he’d brought to the village dinner, and not even Fuku attempted to say a word to him, averting her gaze when he pleadingly looked over at her. She giggled instead with her friend, ignoring him as he stared emptily at his plate.

In times of good weather, the village always insisted every dinner be shared, outside, and the village leader would make a big deal about having a vast space cleared out, and every person who could cook or hunt or farm bringing something to the great potluck. Genjirou attended because he felt obligated to more than anything, but after quietly finishing his food, his sense of obligation disappeared, along with him, as he receded to his house.

It was considered very rude to leave before everybody had finished eating, and of course, there was a tiny uproar and a string of murmurs as Genjirou left. He’s so cold; what’s his problem?

It’s bad enough that he already hunts alone… does he really have to make such a point out of being an outcast?

I wish he would just be friends with us already. Can’t he see how hard we’re trying to help him fit in?

Parents or no parents, you’d think that after twenty-two years of living here, he’d know how to behave. Tsk.

Genjirou felt immensely weak and pitiful as he brushed tears from his eyes that night, silently sobbing himself to sleep. He didn’t get out of bed the following morning to hunt as he usually did, finding he couldn’t work up the energy nor the passion to. In fact, he slept until about noon, and even when he officially woke up, he just lay there, contemplating if in fact he was very rude and dislikable, and whether he should work on his personality. He self-consciously fretted, melting into a puddle of his own thoughts, and crying, for a good two hours, unable to piece together just why he was feeling so miserable.

He was fairly well-off from what money he did make selling furs & other homemade goods from the leftovers of his prey to other villages & sometimes the villagers. He was very fit, & had someone who he knew had a crush on him, even if he wasn’t interested, so he couldn’t be ugly. He didn’t feel particularly sad, so why was he still crying? If nothing else, he was very thankful no one from the village could see him in such a pitiful state.

Right as he thought this, a knock sounded at the door and he stifled a yelp, quickly wiping as much from his eyes as he could. The knock sounded again, more urgently, and he squinted as he opened the door, the sun glaring at him from up above. “Genjirou, I don’t want to sound accusatory, but–” It was the shopkeeper, Toyo, rapidly fanning herself. “–have you been hunting today?”

“I just woke up,” Genjirou said so earnestly she knew he wasn’t lying. “Oh, it’s just terrible… the hunters sent me to come get you; they want you to come to my shop…”

“Why didn’t they come get me themselves?” Genjirou asked, irritated. Toyo fanned herself, hiding the lower half of her face, eyes shifting to the side. Genjirou didn’t ask again. “Fine. May I at least know what happened?”

“They wanted to tell you themselves… don’t tell them I told you already, but the hunter Hideto died today… he’d been pierced by an arrow! Please follow me… they’re trying to blame you for it; they’re very sore right now.”

Genjirou didn’t bother cleaning up, & garnered some odd looks as he followed Toyo through town, still wearing his sleeping robes, hair disheveled and eyes heavy. It was clear that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, he had just gotten out of bed. For the villagers, who usually operated on a clock from eight A.M to nine P.M, this was very unusual. At the store, Genjirou was immediately confronted by the remaining seven of the eight hunters. “Were you out hunting today, Genjirou?” one spit accusingly, jabbing a finger against his chest. “I was not!” Genjirou immediately defended himself, covering his chest, half to protect it, and half self-consciously, as he realised it was mostly bare.

Toyo pretended to be busy in the background, feverishly organising some trinkets on a high shelf in order from small to large and then back to large to small. The hunters glared at him suspiciously, but like Toyo, they had no reason not to believe the man who looked like he’d just woken up. Good thing I wasn’t, he thought to himself, thinking back on his profound moment of sadness. As awful as it had been, it saved him from getting tangled up in these accusations. “Hideto died,” another hunter lamented, fiddling with an arrow from his satchel. “He was shot by an arrow, like this one… but it wasn’t any of ours.”

The men all suddenly seemed very sheepish, and looked downwards, realising how pointless it was to question the man. They knew he made an easy scapegoat, and they knew they were accusing him for no reason. Not all seemed to let the matter go so easily, however, as one suddenly spoke up, “It must be that Choyakoshi ghost! He’s probably furious he wasn’t given a proper burial!”

The other hunters were quick to agree with him, and again, Genjirou was put in the negative spotlight, this time blamed for the hypothetical haunting. Now he was the one hanging his head low, not having the energy to argue with them. Instead, he quietly trudged out of the store back to his house. The hunters took this as a victory and yelled behind him, but this time he truly paid them no mind, only wanting to sleep again. At least when he was asleep, he didn’t have to deal with any of the villagers’ drama. When he returned, he noticed a trampled bunch of chrysanthemums scattered in front of his house. He paid them no mind.

The following morning, he woke up with a splitting head and stomach ache, and remembered he hadn’t eaten, let alone drank, a thing the day before. He pulled on a proper robe and fixed his hair, hoping to be able to make it through the village unbothered. He left his bow and arrow and his swords at home, still not having the energy to hunt, and also not wanting to risk any more serious accusations. On his doorstep, he found a fresh bundle of pure white chrysanthemums, bound by a silk ribbon that smelled of lilac.

Smiling and suddenly feeling much better, he picked up the bouquet and carefully set it in a long-empty stone vase atop his dresser. He made a mental note to thank Fuku for the kind gesture later.

He purchased a bowl of soup, a lamb chop, and some water from Passions’s inn and restaurant. The shopkeeper had a sort of sad look in his eye as he watched Genjirou eat, and Genjirou avoided looking at him at all– he knew well what his reputation was in the village by now, and this man, like the rest of them, surely either pitied or hated him. He wanted to associate with neither sentiment. After he finished eating, he set out to find Fuku, walking a few rounds around the village in hopes of catching her outside. He found her, but when he did, she avoided his gaze and acted like she hadn’t heard him after he called out for her, instead turning to her friend and murmuring something. The two giggled and Genjirou froze, not daring to approach them anymore. He hated how timid he was sometimes, but decided it was better to be the dog with its tail between its legs than the lamb on the cutting board.

Still, it was perplexing. Why would she leave him flowers, then not even acknowledge him? Complicated feelings, maybe, or her friend didn’t like him. Whatever. He already had more than enough stressing him out as it stood; he certainly didn’t want to trifle with yet another thing.

As soon as he got home and was about to close the door behind him, a sandaled foot wedged itself in the doorway. Toyo! “Genjirou– I really hate to bother you again, but you-know-who is asking for your presence again in my humble shop.” She muttered, “Why don’t they do this stuff in one of their own places, anyways? I’m seriously about to ban them from entering more than one at a time.”

“Let me guess,” Genjirou huffed. “Someone else died?”

“Actually, yes.”

He immediately went pale, biting his lip. “Why do they keep bothering me about it?! I’m very sorry this is happening, but at the rate things are going, I might not even want to attend their funeral!”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Toyo hissed, fanning at the air as though she were combatting mini-ghosts. Her kimono was a brilliant white, decorated with koi and tangerine trees. The white reminded Genjirou of the corpse’s burial clothes, & he wondered if maybe this really was a haunting, & if he really was to blame. He suddenly blushed and apologised for his rudeness. “There’s no need to apologise; I don’t think they’re ghosts, yet… I say, you can do or say whatever you want as long as you know you won’t suffer any consequences. That’s why I’m very careful with my words.”

Right, Genjirou thought. How many secrets had she let loose in her lifetime?

“Anyways, please come with me… as you can imagine, they’re very bitter, and I’m sure it’s better you meet them in my store, which at least I know they don’t want to burn down.” She laughed nervously, looking the house in front of her up and down.

And so, Genjirou once again trudged to Toyo’s store, and he was once again chewed out. “I saw the ghost!” one hunter declared, putting up an arm high above himself. “He was this tall, but was definitely the corpse from the other day… he was armed with a bow and arrow surely laced with evil energy, and shot down poor Genta…”

Again, a finger was jabbed against Genjirou’s chest, with such force it knocked the younger man back a few steps. “...this is your doing, Genjirou!! If you hadn’t buried him… what did you do, just dig into the dirt a little and toss his body in there?!” Genjirou flushed a deep shade of crimson. That was exactly what he had done. “It’s better than letting his body rot out in the open!” he half-heartedly asserted, knowing there was no way he’d win this argument. “Tell that to Genta and Hideto!” the hunter sneered. The remaining six of the eight hunters seemed very self-assured they wouldn’t be the ones to die next, all their noses stuck in the air with a sort of pretentious air as they confronted Genjirou.

Deep in his mind, Genjirou couldn’t help but to ponder if anyone had even died at all, or if this was all just some twisted scheme to get back at him for hunting alone. The hunters didn’t seem particularly fazed beyond rage at their friends’ deaths; then again, they rarely ever showed any real emotion, and liked to poke fun at men who did, insulting them by calling them womanly. Genjirou always wondered if they were at all self-conscious of how insulting it was to find womanhood a “bad” trait, and if they were, if they cared.

Having no comeback, Genjirou dared himself to quietly retreat. Seeing that the hunters made no effort to stop him, he ran back to his house, not caring that they saw him as a total coward. Let the negatives stack up. A coward, a traitor, a bringer of evil, an asshole… what difference does it make if there is another bad thing said about me, when there is already so much? Genjirou, rolled up inside his blanket, found himself sobbing again, unable to control it. He had always felt at least tolerated in Passions, but now he felt outright disliked. The only pleasant thought he had as he drifted yet again into sleep, having nothing else to occupy himself with, came with the whiff of his chrysanthemums’ scent drifting by, evoking images of Fuku, who he felt was his only possible friend in the village.

He woke up very early in the morning, and found, yet again, by his doorstep, a fresh bundle of white chrysanthemums, tied with a silk ribbon. He managed to squeeze them next to the other bundle in the vase, and added some water. It was six in the morning; nobody in the village was awake yet. Feeling emboldened by this striking solitude, Genjirou retreated to put on his hunting clothes and grab his bow and arrow, deciding that he’d either confront the ghost or do what he enjoyed, hunting, without letting himself be dragged down by his fears & insecurities.

& so, with only the light of the barely-rising sun, he set out to go hunt, secretly hoping he wouldn’t encounter anyone in the woods, let alone this allegedly fearsome, murderous spirit. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a ruse. Genta and Hideto were probably hiding out somewhere in the village to throw a scare into Genjirou, & maybe even to keep him away from the mountains, since the hunters were always jealous of how much he brought in by himself.

The dew of the grass brushed against his sandaled feet and the air smelled crisp and fresh. He drank some water from a river to refresh himself, then hunted marvelously as ever, carrying, two hours later, four pheasants and a boar. He found the site where he’d buried the corpse and leaned by it, frowning as he dug down a foot or so, revealing the rotting face. I really did bury him poorly… I hope he isn’t actually insulted, Genjirou thought, deciding then & there to dig a deeper hole. He shuddered a bit, feeling as though somebody was watching him… he shook the feeling off.

This time, he carefully placed the body in, taking care to fold the arms over the chest and neatly adjust the burial clothing. Satisfied, he placed a pheasant atop the body, then carefully covered it in dirt again. He’d taken a chrysanthemum with him to put on top of the grave, which he hoped was this time less crude. He said a quick blessing, then found a nice spot next to the river to enjoy the spoils of his hunt alone. He knew this was an area of the woods the other hunters rarely visited, so he felt confident starting a fire to roast a pheasant there, until he heard a clamour in the distance, coming closer.

Genjirou scrambled to put out the fire and panicked when he saw the silhouettes of the hunters in the distance. Unable to find anywhere to hide, he dove into the river behind a rock, breathing only when he was certain they couldn’t see him. He cursed that his pheasants and boar had been left behind, knowing that the hunters would surely take it as their own. It was unlikely they expected him to have regained his confidence so much as to go hunting, let alone dare to to begin with given the recent events. Genjirou vigilantly listened. He heard some laughs, as they engaged in idle chatter, and some excitement as they stumbled upon what was supposed to have been his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and then some. He then heard shouting.

Looking behind the rock, his eyes locked with one of the hunters. Terrified he’d been seen, he submerged himself in the river, holding his breath for his dear life. Even through the water, he could hear the shouting on land had gotten louder, and cursed himself for being alive. Why? Why’d they just have to come out hunting so soon? Why couldn’t I have finished my meal in peace?

Unbeknownst to Genjirou, Fuku had followed him into the woods as she’d done in her lovesick days– however, her motive wasn’t as sweet as it once had been. Gento had been Fuku’s cousin, & following his death and the rumours in the village, she’d grown awfully cold and suspicious towards Genjirou, & secretly followed him to see if he was up to anything suspicious. So far, her surveillance had been futile, but that day, as she followed him into the woods, she was certain she’d catch him in the act of killing, confirming her, & the villagers’ suspicions.

She got more than she bargained for, however, as she had to put her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream when an arrow pierced through one of the hunters’ shoulders out of seemingly nowhere. Scrambling to find the source without giving away her position, her eyes went backwards from where the arrow had landed, resting upon an awful-looking creature hidden behind a tree like she was. Its aim was off; it seemed to have been distracted by something in the water. It drew another arrow from its bow and aimed steadily at the same hunter. Fuku wanted so badly to call out to the hunters, but she didn’t allow herself to, and before the next arrow could hit, the six of them had already started to run out of the woods, screaming and cussing and hollering.

Ghost!! They quickly told the villagers, running around like mad. The hunter whose shoulder had been pierced barely even paid it any mind, too thankful he was alive, and too frightened, to do so. It’s an awful, evil, vengeful ghost in the woods of the mountain... it’s going to kill anybody who enters them! Once is a coincidence, twice is revenge, but three times…. It’s evil! It’s an evil spirit that won’t rest until every one of our villagers is dead!!

In those very woods of the mountain, Fuku was still standing behind the tree, hands over her mouth, doing everything in her power not to scream as she watched the ghost emerge from behind the tree. She found it horrifying– its skin was a sickly, corpse-ish grey with tinges of purple, and it had long, wavy, unkempt black hair, which it tossed over its shoulders with its hand as it strode forth, picking up the prey the hunters had dropped. It wore a flowing, tattered white kimono, burial clothes. Moving more quickly, it waded into the river, grabbing an object… Genjirou!!

In the heat of the moment, Fuku had totally forgotten the entire reason she’d come up the mountain in the first place! She wanted to cover her eyes, terrified to watch the surely gruesome scene that was sure to come unfold, but couldn’t, hands glued to her mouth and eyes to the ghost. To her surprise, no gruesome scene came– the ghost carefully lay Genjirou upon the ground, pressing firmly on his chest. Genjirou sputtered water. Water, water, and more water… he would have surely drowned if the ghost hadn’t pulled him out.

The ghost disappeared for a minute and Fuku’s heart dropped, certain it had sensed her and was going to kill her. Maybe Genjirou was controlling this cruel mountain spirit? No… she immediately shook the thought out of her head. She was bitter over her cousin dying, certainly, but she wouldn’t so quickly assign blame now that she had no proof. Besides, this was the man who she still secretly loved… she knew him, to an extent, and she knew he was a very simple person, absolutely incapable of something as sinister as the dark arts. Revenge on the hunters for talking badly about him was so silly, anyways. She felt embarrassed for having taken part in his ostracisation, knowing that more than anything, he needed at least a friend, if not a romantic partner.

She reminded herself to be more friendly to him.

When the ghost returned, she’d expected it to come maybe with a knife, or a sword, wanting to kill Genjirou personally and watch the life drain out of his eyes… but all it returned with was a handful of chrysanthemums. It shyly placed one in his hair, and then one on his chest, scattering the rest around his body as it played with his hair, running the long black strands through its scraggly, ashen fingers. Fuku couldn’t believe her eyes.

A short while later, Genjirou’s brow furrowed and he coughed. As quickly as it had come, the ghost ran away, leaving Genjirou alone. Determining the scene was safe, Fuku ran out from behind her cover to Genjirou’s side, placing a hand on his cheek. He grabbed the hand and flared his nostrils, recognising her by the scent of lilies. “Fuku?” he mumbled, managing to pry his eyes open. “Yes, Genjirou!” Fuku breathed, beaming. “Are you alright? You almost drowned…”

Genjirou promptly sat up, wide-eyed. “The hunters! I… I saw them earlier; it’s why I…. oh, it’s a long story. Are they alright? The ghost didn’t come again, did it?”

In her gut, Fuku felt even worse for doubting Genjirou. He was stand-offish, but not a selfish person, & even after nearly dying himself, was more worried about what became of the hunters. She couldn’t help but to nervously laugh. “The hunters are alright… Genjirou, I– I’m really sorry about how the villagers have been treating you, including me. I’ll be honest, I came up here because I saw you leaving to hunt, and wanted to see if I had any basis for my suspicions… I didn’t.” She stood up, and bowed deeply. “I’m very sorry.”

Genjirou wanted to stand, as well, but didn’t have the strength to. “It’s alright; I’m sorry, too…” He also laughed a bit. “I really am too stand-offish, to be honest, I’m not good at socialising at all!” Fuku elegantly sunk to her knees again. From the crisp condition of her kimono, you would never have guessed she’d been running around in the woods. “Then let’s be friends!” she suddenly declared, holding a hand to her chest. “I saw everything… the ghost, it did appear, but… it missed; it only shot one of their shoulders.”

“That’s very good… say, Fuku. May I ask two questions?”

Fuku nodded.

“One–” Genjirou picked up a chrysanthemum, spinning it between his fingers. “Are you the one who’s been leaving these flowers at my doorstep the past few days?” Fuku bit her lip. She knew none of the women in the village grew or sold white chrysanthemums; in fact, up until that day, she had never seen anybody who had them. She hated lying, but this was too good a moment to let pass. “Yes, I am,” she said shyly.

“Two, are you the one who saved me from the river?” Fuku prayed internally the ghost wouldn’t come to her house personally and beat her upside the head. Please forgive me, ghost, but this is the man I really love!! She couldn’t even verbalise the lie, this time just nodding, blushing more. Genjirou thought it was because she was shy, but really, it was because she couldn’t stand to lie! Genjirou smiled, gently touching her hand. She allowed him to hold it. “Then may I ask you a third question, Fuku?” She nodded again.

“May I kiss you?”

Wide-eyed and blushing profusely, she turned to him. She’d been waiting to hear that question her whole twenty years of life! “Yes! You may!” Genjirou delicately pinned her to the ground, his wet, but soft, long hair falling over her kimono as he kissed her, placing a hand tenderly behind her neck. Fuku blushed even more profusely, hugging him. She wanted to kiss him forever and ever, but she eventually let go, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking up at him in awe and disbelief.

“You’re wonderful!” she felt awkward as she blurted this, and immediately put a hand over her mouth. “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?”

It was a silly question, for she’d known him his entire life, but still felt the need to ask to be sure. “I haven’t,” Genjirou affirmed her knowledge, and she embraced him again. “Could I be yours?” she asked suddenly, letting the heat of the moment spur her on. “You may!”

She kissed Genjirou again, and the two walked down the mountain to the village. Fuku braced herself, anticipating all the while that an arrow would be lodged into her back, but no such thing came, and she let herself relax as the couple strode into the village safely. “Genjirou is innocent!” she declared, attracting the attention of some people sitting outside. “He is innocent, and he is mine! The ghost haunting the woods is beyond any of our control, & is ungrateful for the beautiful burial Genjirou gave him!”

She needed to say no more. Faithful to their tradition, the people of Passions spread the news around like wildfire, and within that single day, Genjirou’s reputation was restored & renewed, & he was even met with praise, for pairing with such a fine woman as Fuku. That evening, after the village dinner, they were wished well as they went arm-in-arm to Genjirou’s house, where they engaged in passionate affairs until they fell asleep, content in one another’s embrace. While Genjirou slept peacefully and deeply, his troubles seemingly behind him, Fuku slept lightly, certain she heard a weeping outside, but not daring to look.

She took care to rise much earlier than Genjirou– at four in the morning, she crept outside, and found outside his door a bouquet of fresh white chrysanthemums, tied tightly by a silk ribbon. She snuck to a farmer’s house and discarded the flowers in a pig pen, a pang of guilt coursing through her as she did so. She shook the feeling off. What business would a ghost have with a human? It would be better for the both of them if he just passed peacefully and left him alone!

Still, as the weeks went on, her guilt only grew stronger every time she had to throw away the chrysanthemums, or pretend she’d gotten them for him, making up some tale about someone from another village who grew them just for her. One day, she couldn’t stand it anymore, and while Genjirou slept, she snuck into the mountains, surrounding herself with the most positive energy possible, hoping she wouldn’t be torn into shreds by the ghost. She hadn’t dared bring a hunter with her as the ghost seemed to carry a special vengeance for them, but as she ventured further and further, she felt dumber and dumber she hadn’t even brought some sort of a spiritual weapon.

“Ghost?” she called out, clinging onto a chrysanthemum she’d brought with her as she stood by the side of the river. Her face was painted ghost-white with crimson red eyeshadow and lipstick, and she wore her finest clothes, hoping that by putting such extra care into her appearance, she did not insult him by appearing in any way unsightly. One could mistake her for a geisha, but that she was most definitely not.

“Misses… or, erm, Mister… Ghost?” she called again, fidgeting with the chrysanthemum, pulling on a petal. She froze as she felt a firm hand over hers just as she was about to pull. “Mister Ghost,” said a voice that was too pleasant to be able to belong to that terrifying being she’d seen in the woods, and Fuku yelped, staggering forward a bit, almost falling face-first into the river. The ghost grabbed her and steadied her, and she slowly turned to face him, doe-brown eyes locking with his, bloodshot and ebony. Up-close, he was almost handsome, but the fear factor still won out in her mind, not allowing her to appreciate any aestheticism. “Have you come to return these to me?” he murmured, gently taking the chrysanthemum from her.

“Are you the one who has been leaving them at Genjirou’s doorstep?” she asked, her voice wavering even as she tried to make it as firm as possible. “I am,” the ghost admitted, staring at it distantly. “Do they smell good?” Fuku gathered all her resolve and nodded. “They’re very nice… where do you find white chrysanthemums?”

“I used to grow them,” he sighed, handing the flower back to Fuku. “I thought ghosts couldn’t touch things,” she suddenly blurted, then immediately felt embarrassed. Her fear made her speak her thoughts out loud. The ghost laughed a bit. “I can if I want to, just like I can make myself seen if I want to. As for the white chrysanthemums– I grow them in a village on the other side of the mountain, where the weather’s much better for them.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been throwing them away,” Fuku almost whispered, pulling at the petals again. “I came here to tell you that… I won’t say I’m sorry because it won’t do anything; I have been acting out of selfish desire & will accept it if you kill me like you killed those hunters if it will let you rest in peace.” She kneeled, head lowered. Fuku was very spiritual, and believed, more than anything, in the importance of a peaceful death, & felt she had disrupted this somehow.

The ghost’s expression suddenly darkened. “Get up,” he said in a voice so commanding Fuku didn’t dare object, shakily getting back up on her feet. In the background, leaves gently fell from the looming trees of the dark woods. His hair, ivory black and long, shone slightly in the moonlight, & his white burial clothes, for as dirty as they were, had an eerie glow to them. The odd, off-putting kindness from before had somewhat dissipated, and Fuku was met with a slap across the face– it wasn’t hard enough to be disrespectful, or hateful, but it was firm enough to sting slightly, and cause her to pay very close attention. “Genjirou loves you, doesn’t he?” the ghost asked coldly, glaring down at her. Fuku pondered this, then felt silly for doing so, & nodded. “I think he does, yes.”

“Then how dare you offer your life so lightly!” the ghost wailed, and Fuku noticed he was sobbing, odd, white streams of a heavy gaseous substance oozing from his eyes. “How miserable would Genjirou be not to be loved? You must cherish him more deeply! You must think more heavily before making such rash decisions! To be in love with him, you must tie your heart to his with an iron chain that will cause both to burst if it is severed! Do you understand?”

Fuku seldom considered the somewhat taboo fact that men could fall in love with other men, but she considered it deeply as the ghost spoke to her. It suddenly struck her that the chrysanthemums likely symbolised more than respect or an innocent friendship, and her face flushed a bit, hidden under the heavy makeup. She hadn’t known she’d acted so rashly she’d snatched away another person’s love, even if he was a ghost! “I understand,” she breathed, aghast.

“Then return to him– love him like no other, and remind him of how much he means to you every day… spoil him not with gifts, but with words, and raise his self esteem, so that your relationship may be meaningful like no other! Kiss him every day and linger so that he knows you do not wish to part ways, and hold his hand so that he knows he is not alone… drown him in sweet nothings that grow to be somethings, so that in old age he can look back on all these moments and say, I was a loved man!”

The guilt Fuku felt was so great she almost wished the ghost had just killed her the second he saw her, but she took his words to heart, just nodding along, still holding the chrysanthemum. She wondered why a ghost was so attached to Genjirou…. had they known one another in a different life? No, it couldn’t be; she would have surely seen him. Everybody knew everybody in Passions. Still, she ventured to ask, “Before I leave, Mister Ghost… may I ask your name?”

The ghost hesitated, before he answered, “Chikayoshi, although that name has not been spoken in years.”

She had no desire to ask how he died, nor why he killed the hunters, deciding she’d probably done enough damage, and that she should definitely head back. As she turned around to leave, the ghost implored of her one final thing, “Please do not mention this name to Genjirou… he will be tortured, & I could never forgive myself.”

She said nothing, unable to lie and say she wouldn’t, & quietly left, ultimately leaving the chrysanthemum with Chikayoshi. She couldn’t put the thought out of her mind– she never quite understood the concept of a man falling for another man, but if it were indeed true that this happened… oh, how cruel she was, how heartless she’d been, throwing away all those chrysanthemums & taking credit for the rescue, forcing Chikayoshi to watch as she did just that! She had never ventured before to think it was anything like that! She slid back into bed– it was only four in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep, haunted, quite literally, by Chikayoshi’s words & the expression he’d made when she offered herself to him.

Chikayoshi. Chikayoshi. She held onto the name like a prayer, determined not to forget it. After Genjirou woke up, things proceeded like normal– she was met with an array of kisses, the two went out to get breakfast, then lazily hung around the village. Nobody dared go into the woods for the time being, and the village leader was making arrangements with a self-proclaimed “expert of spirits and the supernatural” from another village to get rid of the ghost. Of course, this news spread around town like a wildfire, and the second it hit the couple, Fuku absolutely had to ask.

“Genjirou,” she whispered, as the two flipped lazily through texts in the library. “Could we go home? There’s something I really want to tell you.”

Genjirou raised a brow but put up no objection, and the two returned to his house. “Have you ever had any friends I haven’t known about?” she asked, biting her lip. She didn’t dare to ask boyfriend, the word not seeming right on her tongue, let alone seeming terribly informal. “Not that I can think of, no,” he replied earnestly, pouring himself a cup of tea from what remained in the teapot from that morning, placing a cup in front of Fuku as well. She ignored it, shifting uncomfortably on the mat. “Do you know the name Chikayoshi?”

Genjirou nearly spat out his tea, his eyes turning a terrible dark Kufu had never seen before. She immediately regretted the question, but it was too late now. “Why do you know this name?” His voice was calm, but some deep-rooted emotion was masked behind it, threatening to come out like a storm from a drizzle.

“It’s…..” she whispered, staring blankly down at her tea. “I– please promise you won’t be mad when I say this, Genjirou…” She also regretted saying this, knowing it was an infamously useless phrase. Genjirou only nodded. If he was going to get mad, he would get mad. She was prepared to handle the consequences. “I… I wasn’t the one who rescued you from the river, and I’m not the one who’s been leaving you chrysanthemums… that was Chikayoshi.”

“He’s back?!” Genjirou exclaimed, something wild about his expression. Fuku shook her head. “No, that’s – he's... the ghost on the mountain. Please don’t take this the wrong way, or think that our relationship is built on a lie, but I only took the credit because I thought it would be better for the dead not to interfere with the living…. I didn’t want to shock you.” And I was being selfish, she thought but did not say, leaving Genjirou to make that determination. There was a terrible period of silence, and when Fuku dared look up, she saw that Genjirou was sobbing silently, streams of tears pouring from his eyes as he wrung his hands aggressively, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

With a long sigh, he responded, “I haven’t taken it the wrong way, and I appreciate the sentiment…” He seemed to be mulling over his words, choosing each one very deliberately. “I don’t think you’re a liar, Fuku.” His eyes were filled with an indescribable sort of sadness, as he looked over at the vase of chrysanthemums. They were old, as Fuku had thrown away the ones from the past few days, and their petals fell to the surface of the dresser. “I have… I had… a friend you didn’t know about.”

THREE YEARS EARLIER

Chikayoshi struggled to catch his breath as he and Genjirou rolled and rolled and rolled in their special corner of the mountain, the exact center of the walking distance from the village of Passions to the village of Water’s Blessings. Genjirou placed kisses up and down Chikayoshi’s torso, who in return curled his toes in pleasure, wrapping his legs around the other’s hips. The two had met a year earlier during a hunt, or, in Chikayoshi’s case, a scouring-of-the-mountainside for flowers. They’d hit it off and become wonderful friends, only realising it was something more when Chikayoshi had sprained his ankle while Genjirou chased him. Once Genjirou caught up to him, he carefully tended to the wound, kissing it jokingly afterwards. When smiling at Chikayoshi, he was met by a cold, terrified gaze, & recognised it as longing. Daring himself, he moved his face closer– & closer– until he was finally met by a trepid, evolving into passionate, kiss, and the two realised their friendship was no more.

They made careful sure to not be seen by anyone else– Chikayoshi’s parents wanted so badly for their son to have a loving wife and have children, and Genjirou’s village wasn’t known as the most tolerant, infamously once having had kicked out an esteemed samurai after he flirted brashly with a male shopkeeper. Just as Chikayoshi was halfway through undoing Genjirou’s robes and the two felt daring enough to take the next “step” in their relationship, they froze as they heard the crackling of branches not too far away. Chikayoshi rapidly withdrew and Genjirou pretended to be busy with some mushroom, but it was too late; the two had been spotted by a hunter from Genjirou’s village who’d ventured further into the woods than his peers, and was met with quite the shock as he saw one of his fellow hunters arms-up with a strange man in the woods. Convinced his friend was of the female persuasion and that this was an assailant, he swooped in, throwing Genjirou as far as he could, sending him tumbling down a bit before he landed against a tree, and passed out immediately from the blunt trauma.

Unbeknownst to him, the other hunter had already drawn his bow and arrow, but too late– Chikayoshi took off like a mad dog into the woods, and the hunter chased after him, calling to his peers to help. They searched, and searched, and searched, all convinced Genjirou had been violated and that this man must die, but could not find him anywhere.

Just as how in the future, Genjirou hid from those very hunters in a river, Chikayoshi hid as well, but waded too deep into the water, and, unequipped with the ability of swimming, drowned. His corpse resurfaced soon enough that the hunters found it, and they buried it gracelessly in a ditch, leaving it to rot.

Chikayoshi’s body did rot, and his bones were taken away by wild animals. His spirit was very weak, and it took him three years of constant wishes for vengeance to manifest in a way that he could take on a physical form. He immediately sought out Genjirou, and also, his revenge, stealing a random corpse and marking it as his own– however, he was not at all well-written, & did not realise he had misspelled his name.

In the meantime in those three years, Genjirou distanced himself from his peers. The hunters agreed not to speak of what had happened to him in the mountains, finding it too shameful, and Genjirou could not stand to hunt alongside them anymore, choosing to hunt alone, hoping all along he’d encounter Chikayoshi, though he never did, & drearily presumed he’d been chased away by the others. The villagers started to grow cold towards Genjirou as they realised that he less and less interacted with them, let alone the fact that he so arrogantly hunted by himself– at least, they found it arrogant, as they did not know the true reason the hunters left him alone.

PRESENT

Fuku pursed her lips as Genjirou had only told her what he knew, personally– that he & Chikayoshi had once been involved in an affair, only to never see one another again after the incident on the mountain. Neither of the two had a clue as to how he’d died, but they didn’t want to think about it, knowing deep in their hearts it had to do with the hunters. “You must think I’m very silly,” she finally sighed, slightly laughing. “That I would so persistently chase after you even when your heart belonged to somebody else…” she blushed a bit. “I really do feel very foolish.”

“Don’t feel foolish,” Genjirou said pointedly, holding her hand in his. “Women should never feel foolish for trying to make their feelings known to a man… it shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about, & I do appreciate you wholeheartedly for your support.” Fuku’s gaze was a bit empty, & that word was written across her brow: FOOLISH. “Please don’t think I’ve used you in any way,” he added, tightening his grip slightly. “You were not just a body for me to cling to, a soul for me to pour all that missing love into. Your friendship was always meaningful to me, and I always appreciated your reaching out to me where others wouldn’t, and our relationship was wonderful. You’re an amazing person, Fuku, and I wish nothing but the best for you.”

Fuku’s grip tightened in his. “We’re over, aren’t we?” she whispered. She had a gut feeling, even before she knew exactly how close Chikayoshi had been to Genjirou– she had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to love her anymore, knowing what he did. “Please don’t find me superficial,” Genjirou pleaded, searching her eyes. Fuku smiled wryly, reading his every facial feature. “I don’t,” she responded quietly. “I think in another life we would have paired quite nicely.”

“I think so, too,” Genjirou whispered, then stood up, taking the tea cups. He disappeared that same day, not offering Fuku a good-bye, as he knew it needed not be said. He did leave Fuku his house and possessions, and with that, she knew he would never return. She wished to have a love so powerful it could bring her back to life… she eventually got her wish, as, a couple years later, she met a beautiful, kind man from another village, who showered her every day in his affections and never failed to remind her how much she meant to him, even in the hard times, or when they argued. They never fought, making them a couple rather envied by a large sum of the villagers, who couldn’t seem to go a few days without fighting with their spouse.

The two married, and after their marriage, Fuku found a magnificent bouquet of chrysanthemums by her doorstep, wrapped in a silk ribbon….

[viviae]

9, 12, and 15 for the magic asks for your choice of characters please? Thank you!

Choice of characters means all three of the kids in my house, thank you for the ask <3

9. What would their Dungeons and Dragons (magic-wielding) class be? Bard, cleric, druid, paladin, ranger, sorcerer, warlock, or wizard? Explain and elaborate, please.

Celica: Cleric! Probably a death cleric but because she uses her magic mainly for healing with Necromancy and has a close tie to her patron arcanas it fits. I could also see her as a warlock because she already made a deal with her patron arcana and she does change which arcana she has as her patron. Maybe a Warlock/Cleric dual class because I use necromancy as a very religious magic as well

Nefeli: She’s a bard 100%, she has thematic elements with music and other arts and is clever with her words as well and can excuse her ability to use magic but it isn’t the default. She’s much more likely to try and talk her way out of a situation rather than combat fitting Charisma based builds

Sidereus: Sorcerer, his magic is very powerful due to it being inherited and him being a prodigy is a big deal which fits how Sorcerer’s work. He also does not rely on deals to amplify his magic or other deities. Also he frequently distances himself from other magicians due to the “darker” nature of his magic to most magicians by referring to himself as a sorcerer in canon. Similar to how Nefeli is also fitting for charisma based builds so is Sidereus as he refers talking out of a situation rather than fight.

12. How would their magic translate to a modern setting? What kind of job would your character have?

Celica: Celica is a mortician in modern au’s typically. Occasionally I make her a medical examiner if it fits a story better but they are different jobs. Celica runs a funeral home typically which fits her necromancy and especially the more emotional side of working in a death industry.

Nefeli: Because Nefeli’s magic is chaotic and hard to control there isn’t exactly a 1:1 to her magic and most classifications. However like how in Muriel’s route being forced to use her magic to create something and perfect creating that shape, in modern au’s part of her therapy process is picking up hobbies that require her to use her hands. Normally that is just painting.

Sidereus: Sidereus’s magic and how he tends to reverse engineer things with his curses. Normally however I make him an anthropology professor because collecting and examining objects from other cultures fits closer into his job of collecting cursed objects from around the world and justifies his need to travel.

15.  Taking into account their particular brand of magic, what kind of responsibilities would your character be given as Court Magician at the Palace?

Celica: Celica’s Necromancy is not helpful in a place of politic’s but the training it takes and the questions of ethics are. She has a slightly odd view point because as the effects of her magical amnesia lessen she can return to communing with the dead. So gaining counsel from the previous counts, merchants, and nobodies who perished at the Lazaret she has rather unique advice to give. However if asked to do anything showy? It’s a loss 

Nefeli: Nefeli does not work as a court magician, rather Muriel in her end canon starts working with Nadia and she is more reclusive working on her poetry and music with the occasional social events where she continues to be the socialite she is by blood. Her chaotic magic is probably a huge reason why she isn’t a court magician out of her own insecurities and it’s generally unimpressive and dangerous.

Sidereus: Oh, Sidereus. Curses are generally frowned upon by the general public due to their inability to understand what they are exactly but he can make quite the hassle as a Court Magician. He has experience in politics and especially in using his magic to be a bother to other people, that is what gave him the unflattering nickname “The Weasel”, and while he tends to step away from it now he also cannot help but make the rude baron that refuses to Nadia cursed to spill his favorite drinks on himself.

[Link To Ask Meme]

[cjsmalley]

Mawwige:

It was the event of the millennium.

The Ghost King was taking a bride.

Not just a bride but a Mortal Bride.

It’s a circus. It had to be a circus.

Because the King was to be wed.

A Queen was to be crowned.

Sam had been given to the Dead, her family going through the traditional mourning and funerary rituals.

A psychopomp escorted her. The coach a hearse drawn by four pale, skeletal horses.

Her burial shroud a ragged dress, her makeup done by a mortician.

Danny was dressed in full regalia, crown, ring, and cloak so long he had to float.

Sam was led to a special chamber where she was bathed and anointed with fragrant oils; her virginity was checked and she was questioned on everything about herself.

The tribunal of ghost women in charge of her preparation found her sufficient as a bride and the preparations continued.

Danny was in war councils up to the moment he was needed for the wedding; some of his vassals were not happy with a king that was only half-dead, regardless of his credentials.

Then Clockwork came to collect him, “It’s time.”

The church was the rundown ruins of a priory long dissolved in the mortal realm, every pew in the chapel was filled.

Some by friends, some by foes, all by ghosts.

Clockwork officiated.

Sam was the only living being involved.

Clockwork spoke at length about love and marriage and duty and then a ghost brought an iron cord to the front.

“With this chain I bind you together for eternity,” Clockwork intoned, lifting the cord in his hands, “through joy and sorrow, pain and relief, life and death. With this chain I shall bind you, speak against it or forever hold your peace.”

Nobody said a word.

Without another word, Clockwork wound the chain around Danny and Sam’s forearms, fastening them together.

Immediately, the chain started biting into both, but both bore it and let their ectoplasm and blood mingle.

So chained they were declared wed; as a deference to the fact that both were still alive in some way, they were allowed to exchange vows and rings.

In departure from tradition, as the King was allowed a harem if he so chose, Danny pledged his undying devotion to his wife and swore to take no other into his bed willingly.

He pledged that his Queen would be his equal partner, not a broodmare.

Sam returned the vow of fidelity and swore the same, though her vows held a little more weight because infidelity would lead to her death and then imprisonment for the rest of her afterlife.

They both pledged to raise their children as one and to present a united front to outsiders; to love and cherish each child born or adopted to the marriage regardless of gender or sex.

(This caused a minor scandal because even in the Realms boys were favored heirs).

It was only after vows were exchanged did they consider themselves married.

Then they signed the marriage contract.

After that was the feast before they were sealed into the King’s chambers to consummate the marriage, which they did, vigorously.

(For their human wedding, they just went to the nearest courthouse; one circus was enough thank you very much.)

Wished Away 4

Do The Research (or, How to Sell Your Sister's Soul):

The Ghost King paused, blinking, “You’re not actually trying to sell her soul?”

“No!” Buffy shouted, “I want to sell my soul for her!”

The King blinked some more, “But the ritual sells Dawn’s soul, not yours.”

He stopped floating and poked at the ritual circle, pointing out, “You used the right runes to sell her soul, not yours.”

“I wanna sell my soul,” Buffy assured, almost desperately.

“Okay, time out,” the King made the motions needed, “why are you trying to sell me souls? What for?”

And so Buffy explained and the King listened attentively, asking questions as needed and obviously already planning an offense.

The King, Danny, clapped his hands, “Okay, so here’s how we’ll play this. I’ll accept Dawn Summers’ soul—ah, ah, ah, hear me out, Buffy—like I said, I’ll take Dawn back with me to my dimension while we all work together on this Glory situation. After the dust settles, I’ll send her back. I don’t actually want her soul. So I’ll technically own her soul but we’ll do…shared custody? If that’s okay with you?”

He thought some more, “I’ll also pay her bills; like child support.”

The Scoobies boggled.

“That’s it?” Xander finally asked, “you wanna…adopt Dawnie?”

“Yes? That’s how we treat any kids I get sold. Adopted. Ours. Dawn would be my fourth child, second daughter…although I would probably just act as her uncle in this case. Her care and keeping would still fall to me.”

“Buffy,” Anya spoke up, “take the deal. I don’t think he’s lying.”

“But—”

“Slayer,” murmured Spike, “he isn’t lying. Bloke’s bein’ honest. Take the deal, protect the Nibblet.”

“What do we tell everyone while I’m gone?” Dawn asked.

“That you went to yer wanker of a da,” Spike answered quickly, “he took ya away from Sunnyhell, finally answered his phone after yer Mum died.”

“We’ll pack some things, make it look good,” Willow added, “we’ll pack a lot of your things, like you really are moving out.”

“Everyone will be upset you’re gone,” Tara agreed softly, “so it’ll be an easy charade.”

“I do want copies of her medical records,” Danny spoke up mildly, before asking, “So, Buffy Summers, do we have a Deal?”

“Dawn?”

“If he can help with Glory—”

“If I can’t, I can find someone who can.”

“Then I’ll go with him.”

Buffy nodded, squared her shoulders and said, “Then we have a Deal.”

Danny nodded, “Well, then Dawn Summers, welcome to the family.”

Within the day things were packed and the needed files were gathered.

The Scoobies met Dawn’s new family, or, well, part of it.

Who quickly absorbed the entirety of the Scoobies into the family, very few questions asked and most of them about allergies and favorites.

Even Spike was accepted, though the King’s parents had questions for him about his biology.

Eventually, though, it was time to say goodbye and Dawn was taken through a portal.

Danny and his eldest son—who refused to give any other name than ‘Chat Noir’, or, in English, the Black Cat—stayed behind as the atmosphere shifted into something decidedly more…tactical.

[calleo-bricriu]

It's not Monday but I ended up falling down a rabbit hole of listening to videos & podcasts about things morticians put up with and I would like to tell a recent family story that both explains a lot about me and about my entire family.

...and why I have so damn much fun NPCing some of my relatives as Calleo's relatives.

This one involves, no surprise if you've read the title, the death of a relative.

An Uncle on my mom's side had a pretty rapid decline and death after a terminal diagnosis; not surprising, he was a life long heavy smoker and drinker.

There are some things to keep in mind here:

1) He and his wife lived in a very remote part of very Fucking Nowhere, Northern Wisconsin. It was a good 20 minutes to the nearest incorporated town and about an hour to the nearest hospital and about 3 hours to the nearest town with a funeral home and crematorium. The latter being most important, as my uncle was clear that he didn't want anyone "staring at him" in a casket and that those things were a waste of space and money.

2) My cousin, for purposes of this, I'll call him John, is like a weirder, older, slightly more unsettling version of me, right down to being ridiculously stubborn about everything and being able to find all sorts of loopholes. He got expelled from high school in the mid 1980s for breaking into the computer systems, changing his grades, then leaving what amounted to a “Your systems are really fucking insecure you should fix that. - John” file on them.

3) The Uncle in question did not want a viewing and wanted to be cremated.

So, my Uncle died at the hospital; really, he died at home but he was officially pronounced DOA once the ambulance reached the hospital an hour away.

At this point, for some reason, the doctor had not signed the death certificate.

This will be important (and I'd also like to not that while my mom was telling me what happened--keeping in mind that the uncle who died was her brother--she's trying very hard not to fall into hysterical laughter).

Cousin John had been up from Big City 6 Hours Away for awhile to help his mom out while his dad's health was declining and had the thought of, "Why pay to have the body delivered to the crematorium 3 hours away, I have a pick up truck and bungee cords."

Now, you might be thinking, "Wow, that's probably illegal, what's wrong with your cousin, who would even ask that?"

The answer here is yes, and nothing more than what's wrong with me; I can tell you honestly he was legitimately thinking of practicality, not wasting the time of others, and cost savings. After death a body is just a body, its inhabitant is gone; that's the general viewpoint our family takes.

So, Cousin John goes back to the hospital, somehow convinces the staff there that it's cool for him to load his dad's body (in its fashionable Hospital Morgue Bag, and WITHOUT A SIGNED DEATH CERTIFICATE) into the back of his pickup truck, bungie him down like a deer, and drive him to the crematorium 3 hours away.

Doctor says he hasn't got around to signing the death certificate just yet but to come back once he drops the body off and he'll have it ready.

You might now be thinking, "This is definitely not legal" or "What the hell was his plan if he got pulled over?" or "Why did no state trooper along the stretch of highway notice a body bag bungied down in the back of a small pick up truck?"

Yes, and knowing John he would have just straight up said, "I'm taking my dad's body to the crematorium in $City," like that's not a completely insane thing to say, and I don't know are the answers to that.

So John drops his dad's body off, the crematorium accepts it DESPITE THE LACK OF A DEATH CERTIFICATE AT ALL (let alone a signed one), simply on the word of John saying, "The doctor hadn't signed it yet, he said it'd be ready when I get back so I'll bring it tomorrow."

You might still be thinking, "No part of this is legal or sane" and, again, correct, but we're not done yet.

John heads back to the hospital, doctor is gone for the day, since that was the only attending physician and the body is now gone from the hospital, nobody else can (or will) sign the death certificate. Now, suddenly, protocol is to be followed, I guess--I mean it’s not like they helped John load a body into the back of a pickup truck 6 hours prior or anything.

They tell John to come back tomorrow to talk to the attending physician to get the signed death certificate.

Now, repeat the part about the doctor "forgetting" or "not having time" to sign the death certificate for FOUR. ENTIRE. DAYS.

And the crematorium calls John, tells him they don't have refrigeration facilities, THE CORPSE IS NOW STARTING TO LEAK AND SMELL as corpses tend to do after a few days, and that they have to have the body--that nobody has a signed death certificate for--to a funeral home that does have refrigeration facilities and that'll add $800 for storage costs to the bill.

And again, you might be thinking, "Surely, no funeral home would accept a body under these circumstances!" and you would be incorrect, because one did.

So now, John is mad.

Not mad that the corpse of his dad has been actively decaying and stinking up a crematorium, mad that there's $800 more on the bill.

Priorities!

So he goes to the hospital, refuses to leave until he gets the signed death certificate and starts going ON, as loudly as he can to the point that other people are just...staring...because John has never looked, let's say, stable.

He has wild, long, wavy black hair, those sort of huge bug eyes you get when you're a combination of hyperthyroidsm and Polish, is about 5'3", and while he's usually very quiet when he gets really into a rant he's very, very animated.

He’s a perfectly stable, generally quiet person, which I know nobody believes at this point because this story is how I’m introducing my cousin to you all.

So this short, balding, frizzy haired, bug eyed, wildly gesturing Polish man is yelling at a doctor for letting him take a body out of the hospital without a signed death certificate, regales everyone listening with the whole saga of the crematorium, rotting body, and funeral home, and demands not only the signed death certificate (which he shouldn't have been able to take the body without having in the first place) but also that the hospital cut him an $800 check immediately to pay off the funeral home that they never should have had to use because of the delay in signing the death certificate.

...he got the certificate, got the check, paid off the funeral home, PUT THE BODY BACK IN HIS TRUCK (because fuck paying them to deliver it when he could just bungie it down and drive it back across town I guess), drove it back over to the crematorium, dropped it off (with the signed death certificate) and stood there, refusing to leave, until they got the cremation done and over with.

And the worst/best part is as my mom is telling me this story and trying not to laugh the whole time, my dad just sits there shaking his head because his side of the family is strange too just not...quite in that way...and the first thing out of MY mouth was, "Yeah, that sounds exactly like John."

[werewolves-blog]

SnapDragon’s Merchant Thoughts

So the game started a day late which made me very sad but whatever. Then I woke up from my nap and realised the game had started. I looked at my role and discovered I was a merchant. I spend the first five minutes wondering what the actual fuck, but that is besides the point.

Merchants huh? That is new. My objective is having the most money at the end of the game as living Merchant. Which is in fact an interesting concept but not entirely new. It debuted in ext-300 under the name “Bandits” but instead of working together we work against each other and we don’t know who we all are.

We get money by selling items. And we spend money by buying them. So my initial prediction is that we are here to play stock market and that items are the stock. In my honest opinion some items will be worth a ton and some will be worth nothing. For example in my opinion Protection items will be worth a lot so merchants have to chose between keeping them to protect themselves or selling them and get lots of gold. The same applies to weapons because it can be used to eliminate loot piñatas.

We are also the literal definition of loot piñatas. As in the role personified. Therefore claiming will be risky if not doing it at all.

So now a LOT of setup speculation. “You are a Merchant. You are here to exploit the chaos and make your fortune” is the fluff text. Therefore I’m gonna assume this is going to be a slow game with roles that can exploit the loot piñata mechanic. No extras joined so that rules out Undead since they cannot abuse loot piñatas. Vamp however live on recruiting loot piñatas so that is my lock-in for evil faction. Vamp however need a supporting evil faction. Coven fits this role to a T. With 18 players I’m going to assume 1 VM and around 4-5 coven. There is also the supporting cast of more merchants. My initial guess is there is more than 2 but less than 5 so 3-4 is my guess. The amount of merchants also influences the amount of coven there is.

On the topic of village roles. We talk about a loot piñata game. Therefore we talk about Thieves. Thieves will be the bane of our existence since it will make keeping items risky as all hell. Then we have some RuneSmiths, apothecaries and blacksmiths.

My final idea of a setup will be VM+1 Harpy, 1 Witch, 2 Djinns, 1 Furie, 3 Merchants -> 8 evil/neutrals. This leaves room for 10 villagers. With 3 merchants I’m going to assume 2 thieves, 1 runesmith, 1 apothecary and 1 blacksmith and 5 random roles that are going to be close to Vampire and Coven related roles. Stalkers/Militias/Gravediggers/Revivers and the lot. My guess is going to be 1 Stalker, 1 Militia, 2 gravediggers, 1 reviver as the final village roles. I exclude seers because they are too swingy for this setup. Except for maybe the novice seer because they would also see us as neutral and give us an incentive to claim.

On to some more merchants discussion since I think I barely scratched the surface at this point. I as a merchant want to win from the other merchants which means both staying alive as long as possible while making the largest amount of money existing. But I think there are also some drawbacks to buying and selling. I think that every merchant gets the same night options offered with no price visible. Therefore if we all want to buy the same items the price will be high because competition. If nobody wants to buy an item the price will be low. The trick I think is going for items that are not as desirable as other items but still better than the bad items. Avoiding the competition, going for the bargains. My other guess is that craftable items are worth near nothing because… well… they’re craftable. The obvious exception being Armour items (If they are craftable, I don’t have much knowledge of the BlackSmith yet).

My second thought related to merchants and selling is that selling to a fellow merchant will inflict penalties of some sort. Either being that you sell for low or sell for very high and they lose money. The other option being a bonus in that selling to a merchant will make money for both of the merchants. On that topic of protection items. I think they sell for high, but giving them to a fellow merchant is not something you’d want to do because they then can sell them the next night for also a lot of money. Then another thought. If items decrease in amount over the game they will become more valuable. That is if they end up in the GY or get used or anything.

That brings us to the next topic. What items are we able to expect over the course of this game? My guess is mainly consumables and renewables. Runes + Armour + Weapons + Potions. I think Demonic Relics are out simply because they’re rare and they would be worth a fk tonne to the lucky soul who winds up with them ergo they swing the market too much. On the same note wolf items are out too assuming a vampire. As for starting items I think Merchants will start with some. Armour + a random item. This is because we have to buy N1 and will lose money if we don’t sell so we need to have the option to sell N1.

This also brings us to the 3th Merchant thought: Trade-routes. My guess is continuously selling to the same person brings a bonus or malus depending on the items being sold. The idea being that selling to the same person establishes a trade route which will give more money depending on if you sell different items to them but less money if you sell the same item continuously. This gives us Merchants the dilemma of having to choose between maintaining a trade route or selling for gold.  

On another item topic: Popular buys will become more expensive to buy as the game progresses. And as the game progresses the items we will be presented will also increase in value. This brings me to another point that I previously didn’t even consider. There may be relic items in the game and we get the option later on to buy the relics that can trigger/remove their effects (Demonic Eye and Heart of Hades). The flaw with this is that we as merchants may decide to not buy the relics so a possible DemonCult can never trigger them. And the possible demonic items that are in the village may turn out to be useless if we never buy the trigger items. This is a very specific scenario though.

On to the next topic: Council. I think council is in the game and every merchant worth their salt wants to be on it. This is because Council can generate items out of thin air.

My last thought: Outlaws. If we try to sell to an outlaw they will just take the item and we will generate no money.

 To the last point: Strategy, I’m going to employ a high-risk strategy. With potential thieves etc keeping items is a waste of inventory. This also makes sure I can buy high later on when I believe the value of items increase.

 N1:

Okay so apparently we’re able to leave the fking town. This puts dirt in my setup speculation since I do have to eliminate coven over a numbers issue. Perhaps if it was more than 20 I would have allowed coven to remain as a viable option. If all supposed 3 of the merchants are able to leave -> 4-basement, 5-coven 6 village with the 3 loot piñatas leaving. Merchants I think are balanced around them becoming loot piñatas at all points in time which allows for the coven. Instead I’m putting in a subfaction war. Subfaction war also fills in with the chaos because subfactions want to finish each other off to detriment of the village often. There is also no council which is kind of disappointing. Then again it’s maybe good because whoever as merchant gets on the council has a definite advantage. My proposed setup is this:

VM, MS, IL, 2 GD, 1 Stalkers, 1 Militias, 2 Thieves, Novice Seer, 3 merchants, RS, BS, Apothecary, LM, Mortician.

I’m also given the Potion of cleansing buying option so I’m not gonna rule out Damned and Demoncult just yet.

I start with as predicted: Armour and a Hvísla Rune (low cost item). I’m obviously going to sell the Hvísla for 4 gold to make some money for next nights purchase. I will keep the Armour for now eventhough keeping it does not fit in my high risk playstyle. The armour is worth 31 gold at this point. I am also going to buy cleanse potions because of the volume of the items that is. All items are tier 1 items so I’m going to assume the value between the three does not vary a whole lot so 2x cleansing is more than 1x weakness eventhough weakness costs less. The other choice was Fjat Rune which costs as much as the 2x cleansing potions.

Then we go to a second alternate setup. One involving Outlaws. Merchants and Outlaws have synergy. Outlaws want to collect items while Merchants want to sell them. Therefore it would not totally be out of the question that this is a potential combination. It also poses a second neutral faction to support the vampire because both Outlaws and Merchants want the game to not finish too quickly. Collecting items and selling items etc. This poses as help for the very confirmed Vampire who wants the game to start slow even if they’re found early. This WILL eliminate the novice seer since there will be too many neutrals and instead puts in a drunk or even a regular seer. A possible setup for this would be: VM, 3 Merchants, 2 Outlaws of varying degrees, 2 Thieves, 1 RS, 1 BS, 1 Apothecary, mortician, (drunk) seer, 1 stalker, 1 militia, 2 gravediggers, whatever.

I’m not sure if I consider my ability anything strong. In general I don’t really give a crap about who I transfer items too, I just want to make bank. The only thing it does is identify potential merchants in the early game and/or find potential evils later in the game. However I’m still using the ability to generate visits AND to find a potential Merchant N1. I’m using it on the one who nukes the everloving SHIT out of the game in Gandhi who I’m also going to transfer my Hvísla to.

I have also already identified Tomyris as a potential Bandit/BoB/Merchant due to the “new faction confirmed” comment. Same with Gilgamesh referse psychologying the shit out of everybody.

On the topic of things already being proven false

-          No council

-          Price options are visible so no invisible bidding against other merchants

The rest has to remain to be seen.