#because why should i believe that it was a ghost instead of someone psyching themselves out or seeing things???

[transwolvie]

Speaking of being a cold hearted cynic, I absolutely rattled one of my friends last weekend by breaking to them the devastating truth that I do not believe in ghosts, or the human soul (kinda connected), and that there's no kind of anecdotal evidence about personal experience with ghosts that will convince me

[lydia-bell]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Happy TBTP Holidays, @mysugarglidersrox​! I wrote you a bit of AU Stragan fluff (mostly). I hope you enjoy it!

[Edit: now with AO3 link!]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Alex finally made it to the front of the line for signings. She'd let everyone else go ahead of her because she wanted to have a bit of fun without worrying that she was holding anyone else up. Handing the hardcover to the author, she said "I'm really looking forward to reading this. The chapter you read was pretty compelling."

"Thank you," he said, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. He was even prettier up close, those bright blue eyes catching and holding her attention. 

"So, to whom shall I make this out?"

"Alex Reagan." She waited to see if he would make the connection.

"Is that spelled with..." his voice trailed off. He looked up at her, his brow slightly furrowed. "Alex Reagan. Have we met?"

"No, we never did quite manage it," she replied lightly. Maybe if I'd called a twelfth time."

He actually looked abashed. It was a good look on him. "Of course. The reporter." Then his eyes narrowed a bit and he said, "I hope you aren't still trying to get me to agree to an interview."

"Nope. We wrapped on that story months ago. I just thought it would be fun."

He relaxed then and started to sign her book. "Is 'Reagan' spelled with or without an 'a'?"

"With. It used to be pronounced like the president but I guess my dad's family decided they didn't want the association. It was easier to change the pronunciation than the spelling."

He laughed, signed the book, and handed it back to her. 

"I hope you didn't take it personally when I didn't call back, Ms. Reagan. But at the time, I was very much focused on finishing this book, and in any event I'm afraid I've never enjoyed talking with the press."

"It's OK, lots of people don't."

"I presume you were able to find someone else to talk to."

"Oh, sure. Though the whole 'paranormal investigator' well ran a little dry after that. Maybe if you'd returned my calls, we could have done a whole series on it," she teased. 

"I'm sure I'm not that fascinating," he demurred.

"Oh, I don't know."

He chuckled. "You have a way with flattery, Ms. Reagan."

"Alex."

"Alex. I haven't had dinner yet. Would you be interested in joining me?"

"I think I'd like that a lot, yeah."

***

Strand—he'd said to call him Richard but she was struggling a bit to adjust—wanted some good, fresh seafood because "it's not the same in Chicago." That was fine with Alex, so they found an oyster bar a couple of blocks from the bookstore. Once they'd placed their orders, and thus run out of obvious small-talk fodder, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She was feeling oddly nervous, like this was a date with stakes instead of a spur-of-the-moment meal with a (granted, hot) former prospective interview subject.

She decided to ease into the conversation by asking about something she knew he would want to talk about.

"So, what inspired you to write your book?"

"I'm trying to do my part to encourage rational thinking in the world, against the tide of all of the forces that seem to be pushing in the opposite direction."

It was really unreasonable, Alex reflected, to be attracted to someone who talked like that all the time. But here she was. "Sure, but I meant more like, why this particular book, and why you?"

"Let's just say that I have experience with," he paused, "family members who have turned to the occult in times of crisis. It didn't provide the answers they were looking for, and it probably prevented them from doing something more useful."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

They both fell quiet for a moment as the waiter brought their food. When he'd gone, Richard continued as if he'd never stopped.

"The impulse to turn to paranormal explanations is understandable in some ways. Especially for people who have suffered trauma, or who lack a proper understanding of science and statistics. Other people have a psychological need to feel that they're special, that they have secret knowledge of some hidden aspect of the world. Some people are just looking for a break from the mundane. Of course there are other outlets that for these impulses—things like conspiracy theories or radical political movements, for instance. Either way, if people aren't careful about how they get their needs met, they can become targets. They can delude themselves. I want to prevent that, as much as I can."

"Wow," Alex said. "I guess that's...I don't know, deeper than I expected it to be?" Off his raised eyebrow she added, "That may have come out wrong. I guess I just expected something more along the lines of the videos I've seen you in."

"Ah, yes. Less human nature, more ripping apart the claims of charlatans."

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well," he admitted, "there's some of that too."

Alex laughed.

"Speaking of charlatans," Richard continued, "I certainly hope you found someone to represent the rational point of view on your show."

"We couldn't really find another person with your particular profile, but we did talk to a couple of skeptics. And a woman named Arianna Asadi called me..."

Richard groaned softly.

Alex laughed. "What? She said she heard I'd been calling around to paranormal researchers, and she wanted to make sure I didn't get the wrong idea. She warned me off of them!"

Richard huffed. "Ms. Asadi is an odd case. She purports to be a serious researcher. She even offers very well-founded debunkings of the ghost hunters and so-called psychics who prey on people looking for answers and meaning. And then she publishes books about 'historical hauntings'. I believe she's actually sincere, but it's all very frustrating."

"Well, she thinks highly of you."

"And what makes you say that?"

"That she said she admires your body of work." He actually blushed a little. Alex grinned and continued. "Anyway, you're right about the debunking. She asked who I'd talked to so far, and when I told her, she immediately listed off all these tricks they do to make it seem like lights are going out on their own and things like that. It was amazing, she basically described everything that happened with Emily Dumont and the old psych hospital. I think Dumont must do the same stuff a lot."

"Oh, I assure you, she does."

"See, it could have been you, explaining all this to our listeners," she teased.

"It could. But to be honest, knowing that you'd been talking to people like Dumont and Abruzzi, I wasn't sure what kind of show you were making or whether I wanted to be part of it. And anyway, I needed to focus on my book. I'm trying to reach as wide an audience as possible."

"Well, that episode was only downloaded 100,000 times, so I can see how that might not be a big enough audience."

His eyes widened. "I apologize. To be honest, I have no idea how many people listen to shows like yours. I'm not really familiar with the podcasting medium."

"I'd noticed."

"I shouldn't have assumed."

It was fun having him a bit on on defensive, a bit flustered. "It wasn't very intellectually rigorous of you."

"It wasn't," he agreed.

"It did help that we got a big boost from the mothership—from Pacific Northwest Stories," she admitted. "But yeah, the show's doing pretty well, and we have enough sponsors these days to keep us in plane tickets and free socks, so I have no complaints. Well. I might want to do something a little more substantial at some point. But this is fun."

"So if you were to do something a little more substantial, as you say, what would it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe people who are working on climate change mitigation. Like, we still have to think about reducing emissions, but there are lots of people who've just basically decided that's not going to work or it's not going to be enough and are figuring out how they're going to live in the new climate. It's kind of depressing? But also kind of hopeful. There's a lot of people doing that work around Seattle. A lot of Indigenous people, in particular. I don't think it would be hard to at least get a mini-series out of it."

"That's a big departure from interviewing Emily Dumont."

She laughed. "It is! Don't get me wrong, I definitely think there's room for both kinds of stories in the world. All kinds of stories. But I just feel like I want to branch out a little."

"Well, I hope you get a chance to do that show sometime soon," he said. "It sounds like a subject worthy of your talents."

OK, wow. And he'd said she had a way with flattery. "Thanks. So, um. What about you, what's next for you?" she asked.

"I had to basically put the functions of the Strand Institute on hiatus while I finished the book, so I'll work on getting that running again," he said. "Also, as it happens, I'll probably be back in Seattle a few times in the next few months."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my father lived here before his death. No condolences necessary," he said, pre-empting her, "it was almost 20 years ago now. But there are still some aspects of his estate that need to be dealt with, including the sale of his house."

"Oh, well. I can show you around, if you'd like. When you come back."

"I would like that very much."

The waiter came with the check. Alex started to say something about paying her share but Richard said "Please, allow me. I did invite you to dinner, after all." She had to admit to herself, as she watched the waiter show Richard how to settle the bill on his iPad, it was something of a relief; the prices had been frankly terrifying on a journalist's salary.

As they were walking back to her parking spot, they passed a quiet-looking bar. Richard stopped in front of it.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked.

Yes. She took a deep breath. "It sounds nice, but, I don't think that's a good idea. I had that beer with dinner, and it was a while ago so I should be OK, but I have to drive."

"Of course." He hesitated for a moment. "Although, if you don't want to drive home...you don't have to."

"Ah." It wasn't a complete surprise, but—OK, yes, maybe she was stereotyping because of his age and his manner, but he hadn't struck her as a sex-on-the-first-date kind of guy.

She must have come across as pretty unenthusiastic, because he added, "That's not why I paid for dinner."

"I know." And she did. He wasn't really smooth enough to be a manipulator...unless, of course, he was such a good manipulator that he was only faking the bluntness and questionable social graces in order to lure her into a false sense of security.

It didn't seem likely.

Did she want to have sex with him? (Well, yeah.) Did she even like him? Everybody had said he was kind of a prick, and they weren't wrong. But he wasn't just that, either. Maybe it was his obvious passion for his work, or maybe it was just that she'd seldom known anyone quite so confidently, exasperatingly himself—even if that self might be, well, a little stuffy and self-important. He wasn't even a little bit charming but he was somehow still endearing. (He'd also been very respectful to the waitstaff, and that was always a good sign.)

She was pretty sure she liked him. He was a challenge, no doubt—but Alex was never deterred by a challenge. But she had a stupidly early morning tomorrow and also, God, she hadn't worn her pretty underwear or shaved or anything, and it was silly, yes, but she liked to make a good first impression.

And then she imagined saying that out loud and how ridiculous he would find it. "The male libido," she imagined him saying sternly, "isn't deterred by those things. Women are far more concerned about their body hair than men are."

God help her, the thought made her giggle. She suppressed it, though—it didn't seem polite to start laughing right after someone asked you to sleep with them. "I'm very, very tempted," she said. "But it's late, and I have an 8am meeting for some ungodly reason."

"I understand."

"But," she continued, poking him gently in the chest, "I'm going to hold you to that promise to look me up the next time you're in Seattle."

He smiled, probably the warmest smile she'd seen on him all night. He really was very attractive, damn it. "Good."

In a couple of minutes they were back at her car. Neither one of them seemed to be sure what to do next, so she unlocked it, but didn't make a move to get in.

"Do you want me to drive you back to your hotel?" 

"What? Oh. No, thank you. I'll be fine." He seemed very distracted all of a sudden, like he was looking past her, or just a bit over her head. She turned around, but there was nothing there. Just deep shadows.

"Everything OK?"

"Of course. I just thought I saw something." 

"OK. Well. Good night?"

"Good night." A bit hesitantly, he bent toward her.

He was so tall, she had to almost get on tiptoes to kiss him. It started out light, but they both lingered and it quickly became intense. Not sloppy, do-me-right-here-right-now intense, more like... like there was a lot of feeling under that buttoned-down exterior. They stepped further into each other's space; he was so much bigger than her that his embrace was like being wrapped up in a cloak, and it could have been intimidating but it wasn't, it was warm, it was hot. He ran one hand through her hair and gently cupped the back of her head to pull her closer. Fuck, it was good.

To hell with 8am meetings, she thought. To hell with next time. She deserved some fun.

She pulled away, not far, but far enough to look him in the eye and say, "I think...I think I'd like to take you up on your offer after all."

His hand was still in her hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They got into the car to drive back to his hotel. She fumbled her keys a bit, making them both chuckle in that high-strung way of people who know something's about to happen. As they pulled away, she noticed that Richard was looking back at that same spot.

It was weird—all she could see were shadows.

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

Spencer x Ghost?

Spencer x Ghost

(AAAAA- it has been months since you sent this to me, and all i can say is im so sorry) Side note I have my friend @lethalbreadkills helping me with this one!

For reference: Maddie (maddiefriendlovesbilly) is green, Jimmy (lethalbreadkills) is red (((its 4:30 at the time i have joined this so im dead braincell wise sorry yall))) and Orange is stuff we decided together :3

Also this is so very chaotic im so sorry for this anon but this has been in my fuckin drafts for SO LONG and this is the only way its getting finished (its now 5 am uwu) im so sorry for all the shitposting i do its a mess. I shouldnt have been allowed here. (we finished at about 5:30 am its hell <3)

Sphost? Ghencer?? Sphoster??? I adore and despise them all equally.

We have decided that it should be BeanieGhost

Anyway I think this ship is really cute

They’re both so neurotic I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue

One of them starts a rant on some topic and the other joins the hell in

I’m an advocate of LETTING SPENCER INFO DUMP BECAUSE HE DESERVES IT OKAY

And Ghost would let this dream come true???

I would die for both of them and if Spencer told me I had to die I wouldn’t even complain, no questions I’d just be like “Aight.” I trust him that much.

(Not sure I trust Ghost’s judgment enough to do that unquestioningly; sorry Ghost)

Back on topic

I can’t imagine these guys on anything that comes close to society’s definition of a date

It’d be more like “hey you wanna come on this hunt with us?” “maybe, depends if there’ll be snacks” or like chilling in Spence’s room binging the entire star trek: original series in one sitting or “oops sorry about that level 11 entity that attached to my soul and is now wreaking havoc in your house, wanna make out later to make up for it?” “Fine but you also have to play three rounds of Call of Duty with me afterward”

They wouldn’t be romantic often but like highkey? I can see them throwing themselves into the line of fire for each other with a recklessness only they could survive

We can’t forget that Spencer is a more than 60,000-year-old overpowered demon/god/entity/thing, which, yes, could throw a slight wrench in this ship for multiple reasons, but I choose to make angst out of it instead.

Side note: Ghost is a chronic conspiracy theorist (and you can’t tell me otherwise) and every once in awhile Spencer will offhandedly say something like “Y’know I helped the Egyptians build the pyramids” and Ghost just goes fucking feral.

Look, I’m not saying Spencer IS touch-starved and most likely has issues creating and developing relationships and therefore avoids interpersonal connection, especially offline, but I AM saying he is prime material for it. (thats a lie thats exactly what shes saying don’t believe it) (I’m projecting okay dont judge me) (loser imagine projecting)

Imagine with me for a second: Why does Spencer willingly stay with a family who locks him in their basement with only minor complaining? He’s a near all-powerful entity just released into the world for Spence’s-sake - If he wanted to, there’s no telling what havoc he could wreak! So why doesn’t he? Why would someone so powerful, so terrifying, so dangerous that a group of people decided to seal him away forever stay with the first family he finds in sub-par conditions for years - especially someone who’s seen to be as high-maintenance as Spencer? Let me hit you with a theory: He’s chasing the feelings of validation, safety, and love - no matter how rarely it’s shown - that a family can provide. Being socially isolated for even a few years can do a number to a person’s psyche (I should know, I’m projecting onto this character right now), let alone thousands.

Now maybe Ghost can’t match thousands of years in isolation, but damn if he doesn’t have a few years of crippling loneliness on his record too.

I can see the two of them learning how to be vulnerable around others together, emotionally and physically; learning how to open up and how to talk through issues; and some third point, because points are better in threes.

(May I suggest that these losers are both trans but thats just me adding in my own projection lmao)

(You absolutely may)

Imagine the conversation thats just “so i have a murderer in my head thats an ass” “rip to u ig sounds like a you problem :///”

imo spence has trouble expressing emotions other than like,,, annoyance and haughtiness, its like sort of his go-to defence, so showing Ghost his emotions is a big step for him

I hear you, and i say yes good. (found this one headcanon that i kinda live by where he was uh, either autistic or adhd i dont remember but theres that too) OH yeah that would be at thing huh. Spencer: *is emotionally vulnerable @ ghost* ghost: oh shit im trusted??? Oh fuck uh.

Yeah so like…. Ghost and spence showing emotion at eachother is kind of :flushed: ghost be like: whats an emotion. Imagine having emotions fuciiing loser hhaha,,,, *laughs nervously*

Ghost is also very emotionally distant with most people so it would probably be like “what??? The fuck?? Emotions?????? You have those???”

Ghost and Spencer be like *gay*

So another idea is that maybe Spencer realizes Ghost doesnt play any games [like the uncultured SWINE he is] and decides he must [remedy] this and so he introduces him to like, nintendo first. (some bitches thought that said nintendo fortnite. Im bitches) and theyre playing like, mario kart or smash or smth and Ghost gets really [fuckin into it]

Ghost and spencer: *literally in eachothers laps playing fucking wii tennis*

Spooker: what are the- *TOAST FUCKING SLAPS A HAND ACROSS HIS MOUTH* shut up you dont wanna know what happens when its mentsonssbfdjfsd (sorry i had a stroke uwuwuwuw)

(Theyre in denial we don’t judge in this house)

They will not hesitate to play dirty either, they will straight up push each other over and vaguely flirt

Ghost is losing and straight up fucking goes “ur hot” and spencer actually dies and boom ghost is the winner. sparkle emoji Magic sparkle emoji

“I am Not a HomoSexual:™:” “Yeah, sure you aren’t” “Screw off”

Pet-names-ish: Asshole, Gaymer-Boy, casual insults, Mr. Spirit Bitch, Mistake, Loves Ghosts More Than His Boyfriend What A Fucking Loser aka Gay-ass

Pros:

They both open up a lot most likely. Gain someone to trust since they’ve sort of been through the same things (though on much different scales)

I can see soft hours of hanging in each other’s bedrooms

Spencer is a tsundere you cant tell me otherwise youre just a coward if you disagree

So is Ghost so this can only go well

Every time Ghost has to solve a case at the Acachallas Spence is just peaking out from his basement like “the fuck is this?? Hot Man??????”

Enemies to lovers 500k (Gets Hot and Steamy :flushed: NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!11!!!!! 18+!!!!!!! GAY LOVE StORY!!!!!!) Lemonz!!! Made from teh Sexiest of Wattpaders UWUWUWU YAOI Boys Love don’t like don’t read!! (this is so fucking stupid jkfnd) I hate this with a passion Q^Q. All my years of being a basic watpad fanboy have helped me to the moment i bring maddie to tears

The steam is just like,,,,, holding hands and being angy all the fuckin time the steam is literal because their anger translates into actual steam

Cons:

Their angst has nowhere to go and it just sits between them like two raccoons at a dumpster-style mexican standoff

They really start off hating each other huh. Like, I know this can still lead to healthy relationships but neither of them are very good at healthy relationships with people he hasn’t known for his Whole Life so that’s an Oh No.

They totally feed off of each other’s stupidity (but this could be seen as a pro too so take that as you will) as well as anger - im talking one-upping each other kinda shit

Its ridiculous honestly how intense it gets, like they straight up need intervention sometimes because they dont realize they can just STOP

Conclusions:

I think this would be a relationship that would that a lot of time and hard work to make work, but i think in the end it would be really super cute!! Like it would make no fuckin sense to anyone else but somehow they’d understand each other and help each other through their similar issues. Also theyre both big nerds in different ways and i think they’d have just ranting sessions back and forth over and over and it would be soft!!!!! So yeah, i think it would work, at least, i want it to :D

So. Maybe?? I feel like it could, but they’d need to work pretty hard to make it healthy and not constant fighting. Could be stupid amounts of cute and wholesome but also could be stupid amounts of oh no and pain, depending on how the two act. If they learned how to get along with each other and work past their differences it could be super cute and soft. Just a very, er, bumpy beginning. And middle. And end. (this makes me very nervous,,,,why did you mention an end) (wouldnt you like to know weather boy) (TvT) UFDUNS bumpy but soft . Agreeing with the loser gay, want this to work it’d be interesting :3

[ladylynse]

Part IV of Down the Rabbit Hole for the lovely @lumanae​, even though they’re currently drowning the Merlin fandom. *grins* Sometimes distractions are needed, right?

Wirt had heard a lot of stories about college, but somehow, he still wasn’t prepared for one of his roommate’s crazy friends to smuggle a hatchet into their dorm room.

(Previous) Also on FF and the AO3.

-|-

Wirt knew Danny wasn’t in the washroom, but he stepped inside and looked in every remotely feasible spot anyway, including the medicine cabinet that sat above the toilet which would be hard pressed to hold a small child.

He just…. He didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. It’s not like Danny could have crawled out the tiny window, and he definitely hadn’t slipped past Wirt and out into the hallway. It was like he’d gotten sucked into the same black hole as most of Wirt’s socks, except obviously that didn’t exist, but—

Wirt pulled out his phone and started to type a message to Jazz, but how could he tell her he’d lost her brother? He certainly couldn’t explain it. He had no idea where Danny was. Or how he’d gotten there, wherever there was.

Wirt half-hoped Danny would text Jazz and Jazz would text him, but he never heard anything, and he couldn’t find the words to say anything about this to Jazz. He’d find Danny first. Then, if Danny hadn’t already told Jazz, he could pretend this had never happened.

He could get a proper explanation from Toby after he figured out what the heck had happened to Danny.

Wirt locked the room behind him and set off at a quick walk, looking around and weaving past anyone he saw without slowing. Danny couldn’t have gone that far. If he had somehow slipped past him—

Maybe this was a prank. Danny liked pranks. And Jazz had as good as warned him not to leave Danny by himself.

Except Danny was gone, disappearing as easily and completely as the ghosts he had apparently grown up surrounded by, and Wirt couldn’t see a sign of him anywhere.

He did, however, find Wendy.

Sitting cross-legged under a tree in the shade.

Apparently doing nothing except enjoying a cup of coffee.

Wirt slowed to a stop in front of her. “Hey,” he said, though he already had her attention since she was looking up at him with a smile. “Have you, um, seen Jazz’s brother anywhere?”

“Danny? Never met him.” Wendy rose to her feet in one smooth movement. Wirt rather envied her gracefulness; he certainly couldn’t do that, at least not in the shape he was in now. “Jazz has a psych exam today, though. You won’t see her till it’s over.”

“No, I…know that. She’s out now, anyway, but still busy.” Probably. Maybe Danny had texted Jazz to get her to text him, and she just hadn’t because she was catching up with some other friends of hers after the exam. She had to have other friends, right? They could have ambushed her right after she’d texted him and Danny. “What about Toby? Have you seen him?”

“Should I have?”

Wirt bit his lip. “I just saw him and Claire.”

“Claire’s visiting?”

So Wendy didn’t know either. Not that that meant much. Claire’s visit might’ve been unexpected. Or maybe Toby had told both of them and they’d been too busy to listen? He could believe that of himself more than so Wendy, who had a surprisingly good memory. At least compared to him, who was hard pressed to remember what he’d had for lunch the day before. Or what day of the week it was. Or what he’d been doing five seconds before, when things got really crazy.

Wirt just nodded. “Yeah. She came to help with costumes for Toby’s play. Do you know when it is?”

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “Since when was Toby in a play?”

“He’s in drama….” Wirt didn’t add isn’t he? but he was pretty sure Wendy knew it was there.

“Uh huh.” Wendy sounded like she didn’t believe it, but what other explanation was there? If it was cosplay, Wirt definitely wasn’t familiar with the source material, and he couldn’t think of what else it could be. No one went around in a getup like that just for the heck of it. And it’s not like Toby would think he needed to lie about making a cosplay for something. He already knew Wirt thought he was weird and didn’t judge him for it. He thought that was funny.

For that matter, so did Wendy and Jazz.

It was one of the reasons Wirt was so convinced they were involved in some giant conspiracy to troll him. Because they’d kill themselves laughing over it. They’d find it hilarious, and they knew he’d be laughing in the end, too. Assuming he got to the end of whatever this was.

And assuming he could find Danny.

Seriously, how he could have lost Danny?

Maybe he was in on all of this, too. Maybe—

“Earth to Wirt,” Wendy said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Did you hear me?”

“Um…no? Sorry.”

“I wanted to know if Toby’s talked to you yet.”

“About what?” It couldn’t be the play if Wendy hadn’t heard of it.

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you’re just playing being clueless or you will die if we reach an apocalyptic situation.”

“Uh��pretend I was living under a rock and fill me in?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Wendy muttered. Louder, “Something’s up. You know that, right?”

Was she finally admitting that they were playing a massive prank on him? Good. It had taken long enough. Wirt nodded, and Wendy relaxed. “Great. Then you’ll understand why I’m absolutely certain that Toby’s not actually in drama?”

Or not.

“Uh….”

“Seriously, this isn’t a game. College might not kill you, but there’s stuff out there that will if you’re not careful.”

The hatchet in his dorm room could technically kill him, but Wirt was pretty sure Wendy would just dismiss that if he brought it up. Or nag him about his nonexistent self-defence skills, since he hadn’t signed up for a class despite her not-so-subtle suggestions.

Wirt glanced around, but no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. That was probably Wendy’s plan. He met her eyes again, seeing no trace of a smile behind them. “You’re my friend,” she said, “and I don’t want to lose you.”

She might lose him as a friend if she kept on like this. He could only be expected to put up with so much, right? If she really believed this, maybe she needed to talk to someone. Someone who could actually help her. Which wouldn’t be him. He had zero training in that area. He’d think Jazz would be ideal if she weren’t encouraging this. Whatever this was.

“Okay, look,” Wirt said, trying to get a handle on this situation again, “if you want to be serious for a moment, why don’t you just tell me why you’re so wrapped up in all of this? Why you think I’m wrapped up in all of this?”

Anger and hurt flashed across Wendy’s face before she schooled her expression again, and Wirt knew she felt that was uncalled for. “Because I’m not stupid,” she said, her tone carefully even, “and because this isn’t my first rodeo. And because whatever you want to pretend, that Unknown of yours isn’t just a story. You wouldn’t care about all of this so much if it were, and I don’t need Jazz to tell me that.”

“You’re back on that again?”

Wendy frowned. “Fine. Keep pretending. But you can’t ignore the truth forever, Wirt. You have to know that. And even if you think it’s just to humour me, it’d be nice if you played along and prepared yourself for the day you can’t.” She pulled a small notepad out of her pocket and held it out. “Dipper transcribed some relevant spells. At least take a look at them before you throw it out.”

Wirt knew better than to ask if she was kidding. He pocketed the notepad without looking at it, and Wendy turned away without saying goodbye. He felt like a fool, but what was he supposed to do with that? If she was delusional, telling her the Unknown was real wasn’t going to help matters.

And if she wasn’t delusional….

He didn’t want to think about what it would mean if she wasn’t delusional.

He didn’t want to think that there might be more out there than what he’d faced in the Unknown, that that experience hadn’t been a fluke, that finding out Jazz had grown up hunting ghosts wasn’t going to be the strangest thing he discovered about his friends.

He didn’t want to lose the control he’d have if it turned out the Unknown was only a tiny piece in everything that was unknown.

And now he felt horrible for what he’d done to Wendy.

Sighing, Wirt pulled out his phone and dialled Toby’s number. If he could at least find out more about this play while he looked for Danny, it would prove that the world wasn’t going crazy.

XXXXXX

Toby didn’t answer.

Wirt actually walked into the drama building, poking his head into any room that didn’t have an ongoing class, and found nothing. He even tried looking around education, in case the rehearsals were in that building instead, and he couldn’t find so much as a poster advertising a play—or at least not one that would require fanciful armour.

Danny, of course, never turned up anywhere.

Wirt circled back and checked the food court, thinking Danny had probably found it and bought himself a snack, but no matter how he scanned the shifting crowd of people, he couldn’t convince himself that Danny was there.

Why hadn’t Jazz given him Danny’s number? That would have made finding him so much easier. He should have asked for it, but it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d get separated when he’d been asked to spend time with Danny.

Maybe this was just one of Danny’s practical jokes. Jazz had said he was a joker. Wirt couldn’t really think of any other way to explain his vanishing act.

Although, considering where he had disappeared from, Wirt wasn’t sure even being some kind of magician-in-training would explain Danny’s disappearance. It’s not like he happened to be in the one dorm room that had a secret passage hidden somewhere in the bathroom. There was no trick to it. And he couldn’t imagine how Danny had gotten past him, even though he must have.

Wirt couldn’t remember which building Jazz’s psych class was in, so he couldn’t see if Danny had gone to meet her there. Not that that would help him much, since Danny and Jazz would probably be long gone if they had met up, but he was getting desperate, and Jazz hadn’t texted him to ask why he’d ditched Danny—or whatever story Danny might’ve told her about what happened. He did check his dorm room one more time—in the vain hope that Danny would be hiding in there, maybe sitting on his bed with a big grin on his face, waiting for Wirt to come back and realize Danny had never left—and then went to Jazz’s. He rang the buzzer.

“Yes?”

Wendy. “Um, it’s me.”

“Danny’s not here, Wirt. Neither is Jazz. Do you still want to come up?”

“Uh, no, thanks.” He wasn’t ready to face her yet. He figured he’d read whatever Dipper counted as spells before talking to her again. Granted, knowing Wendy, she’d just do a phenomenal job of pretending the conversation had never happened, and he’d feel like even more of a fool.

“Good luck with the search, then.”

Now he really felt like an idiot. Wirt headed back to campus, not even sure where he should look next.

He walked through the food court again, standing on his tiptoes in the hopes of spying Danny among the shifting crowd of students, and eventually gave up. He checked his watch again, his stomach churning as he realized he’d been running around for over an hour. He should just phone Jazz and tell her to phone Danny and find out where he was. He could swing by and pick him up and then meet her. And then be done with this.

Of course, that would mean admitting he’d managed to lose her brother in the first place.

Hopefully, she’d just chalk this up to Danny’s love of practical jokes.

After more dithering, Wirt finally made the call. Jazz picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Jazz, um, I’m calling instead of texting because this is kinda an emergency? I might’ve, uh, lost your brother, and I don’t—”

She let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about it, Wirt. I’ll text him my location and he’ll find me. He has a bad habit of disappearing sometimes. And if he pulled this on you…. We should really talk. Meet me at the library.”

She hung up without waiting for an answer, not clarifying which library, but that was fine, because Wirt knew exactly which one she meant. And he didn’t plan to blow her off after what he’d done. Should he be flattered her brother felt it appropriate to pull a disappearing act on him? Did he only do it with family friends? She’d sounded exasperated enough that it really couldn’t be uncommon, but….

Jazz was at her favourite table in the library when Wirt arrived, the one off in one corner and half-hidden behind the shelves to the point that was hard to find if you didn’t know it was there. He slid into the chair opposite her, and she frowned at him as her eyes flicked over him. “Do you remember everything that happened? Can you tell me?”

That was…an odd first question. But this was Jazz, and she asked weird questions. And if Wirt tried to figure out why, he’d somehow wind up in a deeper hole than whichever one he was going to dig for himself anyway, so he decided to just go with it. “Yeah? We were in my dorm room. Surprised Toby and Claire— Did you know that she was in town? Or that he’s in a play?”

“My question first, please.”

Wirt blinked. “Um, right. Well, we surprised them, I guess. Toby must’ve cut class because Claire was in town to help him with costuming, and then they went to show everyone else in the group. And then Danny, uh, said he had to use the bathroom, except he didn’t come back out, and when I finally checked it, it was empty.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Of course it was,” she muttered. “Because that’s not at all suspicious.”

“Um.” She thought it was suspicious, too? What did that mean? “I, uh, never saw him leave, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t sneak by me. I mean. He must’ve. Because he wasn’t in there. And it’s not like he could go anywhere else from the bathroom.”

Jazz just nodded. “Well, I didn’t know Claire was in town, or that Toby was claiming to be in a play, but I suppose I should’ve guessed it earlier.”

“That he’s secretly a drama nut and didn’t want any of us to know?”

“No. That he might be the one I need to worry about more than you.”

Wirt raised his eyebrows. He knew Jazz was a worrywart, but that was ridiculous. “Are you kidding? He’s at least passing Wendy’s weird apocalypse classes with flying colours.”

“Which is what should’ve been my first clue.”

“Clue to what?”

“That he’s involved in something.” The answer came from behind Wirt, and he jumped. He caught a fleeting look of Jazz’s thoroughly unsurprised face as he twisted to look at Danny. How long had he been standing there? “Jazz, uh, we should talk. Not here.”

“It might have to be here, Danny. Wirt’s Toby’s roommate.”

“Uh….” Chances were Danny was right and he didn’t actually need to be here for whatever the impending conversation was going to be. Chances were—

“Yeah, but does he even believe in ghosts?”

—it would just make him feel like the only sane person in the entire world. Which he knew was an exaggeration. It just felt like an appropriate exaggeration.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Wirt burst out. Seriously, was Danny as crazy as Jazz? Okay, he probably was, but still. This obsession with ghosts was weird, even considering their parents studied it. And it’s not like Toby was involved with drugs or something bad. It was just a drama club or something like that. Wirt was planning on going to see the play, whenever it was, once he got the date and time and place out of Toby. To support his roommate.

He was really thinking he shouldn’t ask Jazz to join him. Maybe not even Wendy.

“Shh. Library, remember?” Jazz said as Danny sat down next to Wirt.

“I hate this,” Wirt muttered. He didn’t mean it, but was it too much to ask to have a couple of normal friends? He had a few acquaintances from various classes, but no one he hung out with beyond Toby and Wendy and now Jazz.

…Greg was right. He really needed to get out more. He got stuck in his own little world too often to make friends easily, and he didn’t want to think what it said about him if the only people you were friends with tended to be remotely like-minded. Becoming friends with Toby had been inevitable, and it was through his association with Toby that he’d wound up friends with Wendy and Jazz—almost without realizing it.

Except that Wendy really hadn’t given him a choice in the matter.

And he was pretty sure he still counted it as friendship now even if their first few interactions had seemed more like he’d been coerced into it.

“That’s a no, isn’t it?” Danny asked, looking between Wirt and Jazz. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his sister. “Why do you, of all people, think this is a good idea? You were pretty much skeptic of the year when we were growing up until I, uh, until Phantom started showing up regularly.”

Jazz just crossed her arms and stared at her brother.

Wirt didn’t know what that meant, but obviously Danny did. “C’mon, Jazz. He’s not overshadowed. I checked. I don’t think he’s…involved.”

Involved? In what? And what did Danny mean by overshadowed? How the heck did he check for that, whatever it was? When did he check for that?

“And Toby?”

Jazz should not be treating this like a normal conversation. It was not a normal conversation.

Danny shook his head. “Not a ghost thing. The hammer, the armour, whatever it is. That’s…something else.”

“I’ll have to check with Wendy and see if she knows anything about it,” Jazz murmured. Wirt decided against telling her that Wendy also said she hadn’t known anything about a play. Mostly because he didn’t want her to phone and invite Wendy to this conversation when it would mean explaining everything to Jazz about how he’d acted and she’d psychoanalyze him or something. As if this weren’t bad enough.

“But the girl—Claire, I guess—has a staff. Not like Freakshow’s, so don’t panic, okay?”

Wirt didn’t want to ask. Well, he did, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer, so he thought it best to keep his mouth shut. Why would Danny panic about the prop Claire had been holding for Toby’s play? It was just a prop. And he didn’t even know them.

“I caught her using it. It makes portals, Jazz. Into or through the Ghost Zone. I didn’t follow them because I wasn’t sure I’d make it back and I still can’t do that, but….” Danny shrugged. “I could check with Frostbite and Clockwork. Frostbite might have heard of it. Clockwork would know, but he might not tell me.”

“Check with Dora, too, if Frostbite doesn’t know anything.”

Fine, now Wirt was tempted to ask. “What you mean by portals?” Jazz had told him about the Ghost Zone, but a staff that was capable of making portals to the afterlife or whatever didn’t make sense.

Of course, neither did the fact that an entire town had wound up there.

Wirt really wished that had been a joke newspaper, but—

“Doorways,” Danny said flatly. “Holes in the fabric of reality. Exactly what you’re picturing.”

He shouldn’t have asked.

“Um, why do you think the staff does that, exactly?”

Danny stared at him. “What part of ‘I caught her using it’ did you not understand? I saw it with my own eyes. She’s either skipping into the Ghost Zone whenever she wants—risking Walker’s wrath and whoever else’s—or she’s taking a shortcut through it somehow, like a condensed version of the Infi-Map that she can actually control.”

Okay, he was going to pretend this conversation wasn’t completely insane. “How do you know it’s connected to the Ghost Zone?”

He expected one of them to say something along the lines of ‘what other dimensions do you know?’ or something that would make it very clear that they figured the Ghost Zone was it. Instead, Danny said, “I just know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I can feel it, okay?”

He could—? “That’s even less of an answer!”

“No, it’s not, and keep your voice down. I am not about to be kicked out of my favourite library.” Wirt groaned but held his tongue as Jazz asked, “You’re sure it’s the staff and not something else?”

Danny nodded as if that were the most normal question in the world. “I don’t know how she got her hands on it, but yeah. If I can get some of Mom and Dad’s tech to Tuck, he might even be able to make something that’ll pick up on where she’s been using it. We could figure this out that way.”

Right. So now Danny and Jazz were completely convinced that Toby’s friend Claire was some dimension hopper. Like it was normal for people to jump through dimensions.

This definitely explained why all his friends kept bringing up the Unknown. They really didn’t think it was just a story. But he’d sound like an idiot if he changed his story now, right? He could at least wait until they brought it up again. He didn’t have to volunteer this information right away. Especially not when Jazz’s brother was around—because even if he would clearly believe it, he didn’t need to know everything.

“How did you get past me in the dorm?” Wirt asked.

For once, Danny looked uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck and slouched. “I just sneaked out when you weren’t looking,” he mumbled.

“I was still standing in the hallway when you went into the bathroom,” Wirt said, “and then I went into the room and closed the door and you weren’t….”

“I’m…good at illusions?”

It wasn’t even a good lie.

“I ducked around you when you weren’t looking. I used to do it to Jazz all the time before she left for college. It’s not a big deal.”

Wirt expected Jazz to chime in with support, but she didn’t.

He swallowed and looked at her. “The truth’s gonna sound like a story, isn’t it?”

“A story for another time,” she said by way of agreement.

He would’ve preferred silence. What the heck was really going on here? What was Toby involved in? What was Danny not saying? If the Ghost Zone and the Unknown were somehow connected, and he definitely didn’t know if they were, and if Claire and Toby could access it, why would they need armour? The Unknown might’ve had one room schoolhouses and paddle steamers and stuff, but it wasn’t so far off their own time that anyone required medieval armour.

Not that Wirt actually knew if it was supposed to be medieval armour.

Not that he was completely abandoning the idea that Toby was really in a play, either. Because he certainly could be. That would make so much more sense than all of this. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this. He shouldn’t be. And yet even Wendy had said—

Something’s up. You know that, right? This isn’t a game.

You can’t ignore the truth forever.

“I don’t know if Wendy knows anything about Toby and Claire,” Wirt said slowly, “but she definitely knows something.”

This time, Jazz read something in Danny’s expression that Wirt missed and shook her head. “She’s not overshadowed. I’m confident in that much or I would’ve had you check her out, too.”

Wait.

Wirt pointed at Danny. “Is that why you wanted me to babysit him?”

“You weren’t babysitting,” Jazz said at the same time Danny exclaimed, “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“So you’re not denying that the entire reason you wanted me to hang out with him all day was so he could check me out for whatever this overshadowing thing is?”

“Wirt—”

“What did you even do?”

“Library,” Jazz hissed, and Wirt rolled his eyes.

“Just tell me the truth! Then I’ll be quiet.”

“You want the truth?” Danny asked. “When you aren’t even telling them the truth?”

“Seriously? Is there anyone you haven’t told about that stupid assignment?”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “Yet you’re the one who keeps mentioning it, Wirt. Not me.”

Right. He’d walked into that, hadn’t he? Fine. “You want to pretend it’s not just an assignment? Then let’s pretend it’s not just assignment. Let’s pretend it’s real. I went to the Unknown with my brother. It’s another dimension. I faced demons and made friends and nearly died trying to get home. Your turn.”

Jazz’s expression didn’t change. Danny looked around, maybe to see if anyone was looking their way after his earlier outburst. Jazz’s favourite little nook was fairly secluded, but there were tables nearby, equally as hidden, and the seclusion was more artificial than anything else. Still, apparently they hadn’t disturbed anyone, since Danny was grinning when he faced Wirt again. “I’m the tragic victim of a lab accident,” he said. “Safety wasn’t exactly our parents’ highest priority, but like I said, it was an accident.”

Wirt raised his eyebrows. “So?”

“So that’s how I got past you earlier. And that’s how come I know you’re not overshadowed. And that Claire’s staff has ties to the Ghost Zone.”

Wirt glanced at Jazz, but her face betrayed nothing. Danny was a lot easier to read. He was having fun with this. There was a definite note of sarcasm in his tone. But he also looked perfectly sincere, even though Wirt had no idea how a lab accident was supposed to explain all that. “So you, what, burned yourself on a Bunsen burner? Accidentally smashed a couple of test tubes of chemicals and stepped on the glass? And that made you the annoying prankster you clearly are?” He could think of several more choice words to call Jazz’s brother, but it was safer to stick with Jazz’s words. If Toby really was wrapped up in something, Wirt didn’t intend to burn all his bridges before he could help his friend.

Jazz snorted.

Danny’s grin widened. “Not exactly,” he said.

And then he disappeared.

He just��disappeared.

Wirt was staring at him, and then he was just gone. He didn’t move. There was no distraction to catch Wirt’s attention while he ducked under the table or hid somewhere in the stacks. He was just there. And then he wasn’t. And this was a bloody library; it didn’t have mirrors or whatever else would’ve been needed to make an illusion. And Danny had pulled out the chair to sit down, so it wasn’t some kind of high-tech hologram, and—

“I’ll call Wendy,” Jazz said, “and warn her that we’re going to reconvene at our place. You can think of exactly what you’re going to say as we walk over.”

-|-

(see more fics | next)

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 4: a samurai, an alleged witch, and a convicted murderer walks into the courtroom. He’s the prosecutor. 

I spent an entire month hung up on this chapter. Take it. Take it. 

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

--

“I’m Apollo Justice and I’m fine!”

“I’m – I’m Athena Cykes and I’m fine! — Hey, that does help!”

“And I’m your boss and probably paying your fines for disturbing the peace.”

The question at the ready, Mr Wright what are you doing here, sputters out on Apollo’s tongue. Phoenix looks like someone else entirely, or maybe who he always should have been, like a lawyer, in a blue suit (iconic, almost) and a lighter blue vest, the jacket folded over his arm. He looks good, like there's something alive again behind his eyes. "What's with the suit?" Apollo blurts instead, and he doesn't know if it's rude to point out that he's never seen him look like he belongs anywhere in a courthouse except the defendant's chair. 

But Phoenix laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly just as uncomfortable with being here. Apollo tries to imagine how he must feel and can't. How many people must still think him corrupt, a forger and a liar? The place on his lapel where a badge should be is almost conspicuous. "Oh, this? I'm – well, I'm planning on retaking the Bar soon."

"Yes!" Athena crows, jumping up and punching the air. Her wide grin is accentuated by a whoop from Widget, whose simplistic expression matches Athena’s face. "I knew you would!"

"Why now?" Apollo asks. It's been half a year since his name was cleared, and he hadn't seemed exactly eager to put himself back behind the bench then. 

"Let's just say I've been given the feeling that I'm going to be needed back here again."

"That sounds ominous," Apollo says.

"Yeah, I've been told I have that vibe even when I don't mean to," Phoenix says with another awkward laugh. "What I do mean to sound ominous is, I didn't tell you about the prosecutor yesterday because I didn't want to psych you out too far in advance."

Oh. So he's aware of the shitshow happening at that office. "The one who's a convicted murderer?" Apollo asks. The grin still plastered on Athena’s face vanishes.

“You’ve heard of him?” Phoenix asks. “I guess me putting off mentioning that was pointless, then.”

“The detective in charge yesterday warned us,” Apollo says. He doesn’t even have the energy to be mad that once again, Phoenix made the assumption that holding back information was the best call, without consulting Apollo, without taking into account everything else he’s already faced. “That, and something about him and psychology? Can you tell us anything else?”

“Back before,” Phoenix says, with a wave of his hand that implies everything it needs to, “he was very good at extracting confessions from even the most reluctant witnesses. Power of suggestion, manipulation – very tricky, so I’ve heard.”

“And probably scary now,” Apollo says. “Considering – prison inmate.”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix says. “The rumors about him – they say he’ll cut you down if you talk too much.”

Suddenly, the distance between the benches doesn’t seem like anything at all, and Apollo expects when they step through the doors that he’ll find himself face-to-face with a monster. The courtroom has taken the shape of a gladiatorial arena in his mind, him unarmed, and the prosecution with a blade. “That’s, uh, that’s – some kind of metaphor, right?” he asks. “I knew this was gonna be bad but that’s – right?”

Phoenix winces in sympathy. “I’m not sure it is,” he says, “considering the other rumors. They say he’s a witch.”

“No!” Apollo yelps, and it’s a purely instinctive reaction before the words really sink in, and if he had himself pulled together he would have responded any other way instead. He’s supposed to be the one who Athena can rely on, who Phoenix can trust to be competent at his job, not the one shrieking at shadows and rumors. “You’re joking! Mr Wright, please tell me you’re joking.”

The expression written on his features is uncharacteristically readable, and uncharacteristically solemn. “I’ve never met him – I can’t confirm or deny any rumors yet. But I’d say to be concise and pick your words carefully, just in case.”

“Um, Mr Wright?” Athena is fidgeting again, tapping her earring and searching vainly for something to do with her hands. Apollo almost passes her his file of case information out of pity, even though she has all of it scanned into Widget already. “What – what does it mean if someone’s a witch?” She shifts her weight from side to side, foot to foot, her ponytail swinging as her balance changes. 

“Technically, it refers to a human who has an ongoing contract with a patron for power,” Phoenix explains. “Realistically, it—”

“A patron?” Athena interrupts. Apollo feels an overwhelming pang of sympathy for her. Her first trial as a full-fledged attorney, and she has to deal with this for the prosecution. If last year he had been standing here having a conversation with Mr Gavin about this – well, he’s not sure what he would have done. 

(Who was the prosecutor on that trial, anyway? Apollo has no recollection of a face or a name. He thinks maybe he’s tried to remember before.)

“One of the fae,” Phoenix says. “A fae patron.” Athena’s eyes narrow in something like confusion or suspicion. “Realistically, though, ‘witch’ ends up being a catch-all for anyone vaguely magic; could be one of the fae themselves, or someone with magic from a different source, or a blessing with noticeable effect, or hell, someone who’s totally normal but has the wrong vibe. Hell, I’ve been called a witch plenty of times before.”

“Oh.” Athena’s eyebrows relax a little, but the nervous energy is still obviously coursing through her veins. “So he might not actually be anything at all!”

“We can hope,” Phoenix replies lightly. Athena squints at him, like she doesn’t actually believe he has any hope for the situation. “I’ve not met him, but I’ll be up in the gallery, so we can debrief when it’s over.”

“That would be really helpful,” Apollo says, trying not to sound as surprised as he feels and probably failing, as if he could hide anything from Athena anyway. A debrief, an explanation, answers, would have been just as, if not more, helpful a year ago. Maybe Phoenix is revising his strategies after the past year. 

“You’ve just gotta survive Prosecutor Blackquill, first,” Phoenix says with a small chuckle. “Good luck!”

And he’s gone, leaving the two of them to step into the ring. Athena slaps her fist into her palm. “Alright!” she says. “Let’s do this!” Her new smile looks a little forced, not that Apollo can blame her. But yesterday she threw a grown man about ten feet, so unless Trucy has been hiding the fact that her Magic Panties could swallow a man whole when threatened, Athena is the person that Apollo wants at his side to deal with this prosecutor. 

(Though he really, really hopes it wouldn’t come to a physical fight. They’ll be having several problems if that’s what it comes to.)

“It does not appear the prosecution is ready,” the judge says, frowning at the empty bench. “Is the defense?”

“The defense team is ready, Your Honor!” Apollo calls. Readier than the prosecution, and glad to have a moment to breathe inside the courtroom, too.

“Ah, Mr Justice, it’s good to hear from you again,” the judge says. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m afraid I don’t recognize the young lady with you, though.”

“I’m Athena Cykes!” she says brightly, bouncing on her heels to be a little taller. “Mr Justice’s junior partner, just out of law school, and ready to go!”

“Excellent, excellent,” the judge replies. “It’s always good to see new faces behind these old benches here. Sometimes I worry about our perspectives becoming stale with the same people arguing cases – which I suppose must include me, for however long I’ve been here – how long have I been here? – so I’ll never protest having someone new to shake up any complacency that’s developed.”

Athena nods several times, a lost, desperate look in her eyes as she glances at Apollo. “He likes to talk,” Apollo whispers. “And go on tangents.”

“Sorry about the wait!” 

They both jump; Athena nearly backhands him in the face, her flinch reflex more like lashing out. Fulbright, loud as ever, plants himself behind the witness stand. “We’ve got to bring Prosecutor Blackquill over from prison, of course, and the scheduling for it hasn’t gotten itself aligned just yet! We’ll try to get the timing right going forward so he’s not late again!”

Again. Not a promising word to hear in this context: how many times is Blackquill due to stand in court? What point is supposed to be proven with this farce? “Ah, I had almost forgotten,” the judge says lightly, like it’s a simple matter of having misplaced his keys or leaving something off the grocery list. “Prosecutor Blackquill is an inmate, isn’t he?”

Apollo considers screaming. 

(“This is not fine!” seems like a good refrain for the situation, would he not blow out Athena’s eardrums and then get held in contempt of court.)

The double doors behind the witness stand swing wide and two guards enter, each at the elbow of a man who can only be Prosecutor Blackquill. If there's one thing Apollo has learned from the last year, it's that appearances can be deceiving through his own human eyes, but even with those lessons he wouldn't hesitate to agree that this man is a witch. He towers above his escorts, even with his head bowed, and his long black hair and black clothes set against his skin make him look even paler and gaunter, like a skeleton, like a ghost, like a shadow of something that once was more substantive. With each step, the shackles around his wrists clink.

Iron, surely. Hopefully. If magic is the only thing that makes him dangerous, then maybe there's a way through this – but the chain between the cuffs is long enough to give some freedom of movement, and he's still physically imposing, enough that Fulbright's assurances of yesterday, that he is here to provide protection, seem hollow.

"That's..." Apollo's mouth dries out before he can get to a second word.

"Prosecutor Blackquill." Athena folds her arms tightly across her chest. "I'm certain."

He's softer-spoken than Apollo expects, his words rigid and carefully articulated and absolutely none of them promising anything but boredom and disdain for every single person in the courtroom, including and perhaps especially, the judge. That the judge makes the opening statement for him is barely even manipulation, but blatant uncooperation and insult, with just a smattering enough of flattery that – well, maybe that is manipulation, of the crudest sort that probably wouldn't work on anyone but the judge. It reminds Apollo of a sharper, crueler version of Athena getting information from Fulbright, quick words that scramble the situation to their advantage.

And Blackquill does have the advantage, right off the bat: having the judge repeat the charges against Mayor Tenma might already be swaying him toward the prosecution's argument, without any evidence yet being argued. Apollo has had this dream before, back when he was in law school, where the prosecution has the upper hand and then threatens to murder him for the sake of proving a point, but Blackquill is the waking nightmare, with a motion of the way one might draw a sword from a sheathe on the hip. His movement is truncated by the chain pulled taut, and even people willing to put a convicted murderer behind the prosecution's bench wouldn't let said man have a sword, but Apollo's heart is still pulsing wildly in his throat. 

Tell me those shackles are made of iron and would stop him casting a spell, if that's what he's trying. 

It takes another surge of willpower for him not to look up into the gallery and find Phoenix, glean from him some indication of whether they're in danger. But his job is to get to the truth, no matter who he's up against, fae or witch or convict, and they need to start this cross-examination before Blackquill can smear the mayor and influence the judge further.

Nightmare remains an apt descriptor, the shadow of the yokai hanging over everything, the charms on Mayor Tenma's head and the rumor that he wishes to release Tenma Taro, the charm in Apollo's pocket and the rowan on his wrist and iron on his finger, Blackquill's laughing dismissal of yokai as figments of the imagination. Nothing signifies his statement as a lie; but wouldn't a witch believe in yokai? Maybe he isn't a witch – or maybe he knows something more than even Phoenix does. Apollo doesn't even have the mental space to ponder that too. The contradictions he finds let him take one step forward and then two back as Blackquill sets him up to solve them and undercut his own arguments. Athena suggests that a monster was the killer and Apollo objects to his own co-counsel. And then Apollo accidentally suggests that there was a monster on the scene that only Jinxie, not Filch or L'Belle, saw.

The worst part is that it could be true. If Jinxie isn't just always imagining yokai – if she has the Sight in some form, but the others don't, then that's an easy contradiction to solve. Tenma Taro could have been in the foyer, easily. But the only evidence they have of its existence could have been faked, and all they have for testimony is the word of a terrified fifteen-year-old girl. 

Blackquill dryly acquiesces to have Filch testify, calling him "the tanuki", and dread wells back up within Apollo's chest. He can't hear animal comparisons as anything innocuous anymore. Anything, anyone, could be fae, a shapeshifter, not just a rabbit hole but a whole warren that he's lost within. 

Filch takes the stand with all the slimy flattery and shifty smiles that Apollo expects. "Y'ain't really asking me if I saw a monster go running by?" he asks. "Scary ol' witch drags me here, and you’re gonna waste yer time to ask about this yokai mumbo-jumbo? I sure don’t believe in that shit!” He pulses red, his hands, tugging at the ends of his spotted scarf. “Didn’t see nothing, and I was guarding the whole time!” Apollo sees red, again; lies, right from the start of the testimony, easier to hone in on.

“Mr Filch,” he says. “Can you repeat that last bit for me – you say that you were watching the foyer the whole time and saw nothing?”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Filch snaps, laughably indignant over the implication that he is a liar. “I ain’t ever—”

But the entire world lights up this time, not just spots on or an aura around Filch, not just an isolated tic again. The courtroom swims in shades of red, twisting around Filch, Blackquill, Athena, the judge – and patterned across the witness stand, the benches, a funhouse mirror distortion of what Apollo should see, a shimmering desert mirage overlaid over everything, paint spilled outside of the dark lines. He claps a hand over his eye and the red recedes, fading down to spots splattered across his vision like flecks of blood. 

The shriek in his new blind spot he thinks must be Athena, but she is on the other side of him – he can see yellow and her red hair swinging – and she yelps too, a different sound. Lowering his hand from his eye makes the red return, shimmering like a distant desert mirage, the sunlight off the sand at the horizon, distorting and filtering everything, including the bird of prey that dives down toward him with wide wings and outstretched talons.

He cracks his head against the wall behind him when he springs back, squinting his one eye closed to return the world to mostly its usual colors. “What the—”

He looks to Athena. Her hands are clenched in fists, a fierce glare leveled on the hawk – he thinks it’s a hawk, though he doesn’t know much of anything about birds beyond the doves that Trucy sometimes conjures out of her Magic Panties – and that is a small assurance that it isn’t something like Vongole, near invisible to everyone else. And Blackquill shakes his head back and laughs, laughs, and the hawk, with one powerful flap of its wings that buffets Apollo’s face with cold stirrings of air, launches itself back into the air. It wheels about near the ceiling and dips down towards Filch, making him squeak and duck his face into the witness stand; with a little shriek that might be a laugh in bird, it rises again and settles on Blackquill’s shoulder.

“Allow me to introduce my trusty cohort, Taka,” he says, reaching up to scratch it under its chin with one finger. Apollo wouldn’t want his hands that close to its beak, or his neck to those talons, but the bird’s piercing yellow eyes blink shut with some level of contentment. 

“And,” he continues, turning his dark eyes back to Apollo, “my darling Taka simply loathes magic tricks like yours, boy.” Apollo can’t blink the red out of his vision, can barely tell that Blackquill’s eyes don’t turn blue. “Stand on your own feet with some evidence instead of letting someone else’s eye do the work for you.”

“But I’m not—” Apollo swallows his objection, and a scream, when Taka launches itself like a bullet back across the courtroom. He throws his arms up in front of his face to make sure it won’t simply try to claw out his eye, and everything that he can see while shielding himself is tinted red again. (Rose-colored glasses, there are not.) “This isn’t a trick! It’s just me!” 

“Apollo, what’s wrong?” Athena has him by the shoulder with one hand, the other swatting at Taka. He fears she will be bitten or clawed, but the bird, or Blackquill, seems to decide they have been harassed enough in this moment and returns to the other bench. “Did it claw you? Are you bleeding?”

He thinks he should be, from the way the world looks, splattered and drowning in red, but there’s no physical pain, nothing on the surface, nothing but a headache brewing. “You know I explained to you yesterday how I can see lies?” Apollo asks. Athena nods. The red across her face doesn’t look like a filtered light, but again like a spray, spattered across her skin, like it has a real physical presence, dripping from her, over her eyes. “Well, Blackquill’s doing something to do it. My vision’s all haywire and I don’t – I don’t understand—”

All he knows is that this probably isn’t supposed to happen, that all of Klavier’s glamours and Phoenix’s other tricks never once interfered, but Blackquill, whatever the hell he is, is stopping Apollo from plainly seeing Truth.

Cold snakes its way up his spine and wraps itself tight. Can he request a quick recess now, race up into the gallery, and ask Phoenix what the hell they’re up against? How someone can stonewall a blessing, bleed the world red like everything or nothing is a lie?

“No animals in the courtroom!” The judge strikes his gavel several times. “Prosecutor Blackquill, if you would please—”

He can’t finish his request (though it’s easy to guess what it would be) owing to Taka taking to wing and perching, delicately, on the judge’s bald head. Apollo winces. Those talons, no matter how light they rest, must still hurt, and the threat of them is a certain kind of paralyzing terror. Blackquill has an iron grasp on the courtroom proceedings and the outcome is not favorable.

“You’d be hard-pressed to get him out of here,” Blackquill says. “But he’s simply having a bit of sport; he won’t harm you save if he’s truly famished.”

The judge’s eyes nearly roll back into his head peering up at the hawk. “Then keep him well fed, I beg of you,” he says. The hawk balances on one leg and scratches its head.

Blackquill: two. Every ordinary rule of the courtroom Apollo thought he knew: zero.

“Back to cross-examinations and looking for contradictions, huh, then,” Athena says. She isn’t looking at Apollo now but leans out over the bench, glaring across at Blackquill like she can bore a hole through his head. He, as he has done for almost all of this entire trial, resolutely ignores her.

“We’re fine,” Apollo says. Athena looks sharply at him. Were he with anyone else, he thinks he did a good job at hiding the trembling threatening to make its way into his voice, but Athena’s super-hearing cuts right through him. “We can do it the old-fashioned way.”

So they do.

A thin, battered consolation, an offering like the universe wants Apollo to keep his sanity but doesn’t really have much energy to devote to it, is that Blackquill’s hawk doesn’t take sides. It chases Filch off the witness stand when his perjury undermines Blackquill’s case, and as the bailiffs race after their fleeing witness, who may have been dismissed by a hawk but not the judge, it loops about the air, keening proudly. Its performance is almost distracting enough that Apollo doesn’t notice Blackquill, still silent after the judge asked him if he had any objections, testing the length of the chain holding his arms together, tugging his wrists apart and making it go taut. 

But Apollo certainly does notice it when Blackquill raises his arms, hands curled into fists, and slams them down on the bench. And Apollo doesn’t need Athena’s ears to hear the chain links clatter, broken, to the bench.

Apollo yelps; Athena is the one to this time smack her head against the wall. For a moment, everything is swallowed up in red, and then it returns clear for a moment. Blackquill’s lips twitch. He lowers his head like a charging bull, makes a motion again as though to draw a sword, and this time he raises his hand the whole way out and up, draws a slash through the air with his finger, and Apollo feels it across his cheek, a slice like a papercut with ice imbedded, and he reaches up and feels for a scratch, feels nothing instead. But the sensation lined up so perfectly with Blackquill’s movements, and the smirk he’s giving Apollo is one smug and knowing. Again, he is surrounded by a red aura that doesn’t touch him but shoots tendrils off into the rest of the courtroom, and again, the others are painted with it. 

Witch, whispers a voice in his skull. Witch or fae, and what’s the worse: that Blackquill is his own monster, or that there’s something out there strong or tricky enough to shackle him, the convict prosecutor, the twisted samurai, in a different kind of chains? 

(Aren’t those shackles supposed to be iron? Iron to stop magic, to prevent defendants and prisoners from trying to kill the attorneys?)

But Blackquill leans against the bench, back to the rest of the court and, over the clamor, says dryly, “I’m not in the habit of cutting down unarmed cowards.” 

He’d like to object, but Apollo is scared enough that he can’t actually protest at being called a coward; certainly he isn’t about to mention that as a convicted murderer, Blackquill probably did cut someone down unarmed, unfair, too soon before their time. (He doesn’t want to be next and he’s not sure what Fulbright plans to do if Blackquill turns truly hostile.)

Jinxie’s testimony is going to make or break the defense of her father: what, exactly, did she first see? She’s visibly shaking when the bailiff escorts her to the witness stand, shuffling a stack of warding charms in her hands like they’re playing cards and she the dealer. She eyes the bailiff, and Fulbright to the side, suspiciously, but when the judge clears his throat she shrieks and sinks down behind the witness stand, slapping another charm to her own forehead for protection from the leader of the demon army or whatever she claims the judge is. Apollo can’t keep track of all of these yokai on top of his usual fae problems.

“Now, now, little scamp,” Blackquill says, folding his arms and giving an amused chuckle that doesn’t make him look any less like a demon, either. “Let’s see your face, and I presume you must know why you are here.”

Jinxie raises herself up slowly so that her chin is level with the top of the stand. "Bags," she says.

"Bags – ah, the tanuki." Blackquill's attempt at figuring out what Jinxie means is quicker than Apollo's would be. "He'll be captured again shortly, I am sure, but yes, you are here to corroborate his testimony."

Jinxie shakes her head and stands up straighter, her palms flat on the stand, her shoulders squared. She looks that much braver even staring down Blackquill. "No, your bags," she says. "The ones under your eyes. You must have trouble sleeping." She steps away from the stand and approaches the prosecution's bench – Apollo wants to lunge forward and pull her back away – holding out one of her paper charms. "Here. This will keep Azukiarai away."

Blackquill's eyebrows disappear beneath his messy bangs. "The yokai that washes azuki beans?"

Of course the man pretending to be a samurai would know right off the bat which yokai Jinxie is referencing. "Yes," she says, stretching her arm out further. "It's a very distracting sound. He keeps people awake at night a lot, but if you stick this on your forehead you won't hear him anymore."

Blackquill blinks. "Well," he says stiffly. Then he slowly reaches out and pulls the slip of paper out of Jinxie's fingers. "W-well. Thank you."

Satisfied, Jinxie returns to the witness stand. Athena's eyes, flickering red like Jinxie is now, are darting between her and Blackquill and her incredulous gaze next turns to Apollo. "Huh," she says. "Prosecutor Blackquill got more than he bargained for."

"Mm." As Apollo watches, Blackquill turns the charm over in his fingers and then slips it into his pocket. When he looks up he meets Apollo's eyes. His glare could split rock. Apollo turns his attention back to Jinxie, hoping that Blackquill can understand the message: I didn't see anything.

Then Jinxie says that the Fox Chamber was positively filled with yokai and Apollo has other things to worry about, like his case, and the fact that what Jinxie is saying makes no sense with it, and that Blackquill is ready to throw her off the stand right from the start. Athena next to him is scrambling to keep up with Jinxie, tapping out inputs on Widget's projected screen, pulling up images of the yokai she mentions and piling them around the scan of the crime scene. "Your Honor!" she calls, lifting her head and without her eyes on it continuing to plug away at her screen. "I think her memory is simply confused by fear! But I should be able to help set her mind at ease with a quick therapy session – with your permission, of course."

"Are you sure about this?" Apollo asks. Her definition of therapy, in the middle of a trial, aside, there's an ever-growing part of him afraid of what they'll find if they keep digging. And they have to, for the sake of the truth, for the sake of their client, they have to, but anxiety knots itself up tighter and tighter in his chest. He doesn't have a plan for if they find out the yokai are real. He doesn't have a plan for if they find out they're nothing but a figment of Jinxie's imagination, either. He doesn't have a plan, period, and that's nothing new, but he wishes that it would change one of these days.

"Absolutely!" Athena's grin is big and white and the most confidence he's seen from her the entire morning, enough confidence and certainty to set him half at ease despite himself. "I know how to do this."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Ms Cykes," the judge says. "Any objections, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

Blackquill is the black eye in the center of a hurricane of red, Apollo's scrambled vision that he’s soldiering on through because he's going to look like an idiot if he goes through this entire trial squinting one eye shut, and Apollo waits for his sharp objection, waits for the hawk to strike at Athena this time. Magic tricks – Athena's said nothing to the court about her ears, the integral part that hearing emotions plays in her psychological approach, but if Blackquill noticed Apollo right from the outset then shouldn't he know there is something about Athena, as well? If he warped Apollo's perspective, wouldn't let him get away with using that blessing, then what leeway will he grant Athena to do anything when she might pull out a trick too?

But he isn't even staring straight at Athena; his eyes are fixed somewhere past her, half vacant, and when he speaks each word is a labored, pained drawl. "It makes no difference to me." If Apollo had Athena's ears, her ability to pick up the subtlest emotions, what would he hear from Blackquill? All he sees is red, everywhere, too much to know if it is or isn't a lie. Maybe her ability isn't magic; maybe it is just naturally good hearing, honed through the years, the exceptional edge of mundane. Maybe there's nothing about her that Blackquill can See to object to. "Though I doubt we shall find anything useful from it."

"Oh, you'll see," Athena mutters darkly. "I'll show you!" She swipes aside the display and pulls up a new screen that shows Jinxie's testimony and some simplistic emoticon-esque faces in the corners. The distressed-looking blue face is pulsing out of control, causing a pained buzzing noise to emanate from Widget. "So what I think is happening," she says, "is Jinxie's fear – it's causing this overflow error we're getting, basically – has her reimagining ordinary objects as yokai in her mind." She taps the new screen several times to produce a flat mock-up of the crime scene, covered in the yokai Jinxie named, burying the bodies and most of the furniture. The screens cut a clear path through Apollo’s red vision and he’s grateful for it, whether it’s just by chance or Blackquill is granting him a reprieve to follow along with Athena’s tech.

"You don't think she saw any yokai?" Apollo asks.

Athena's gloved fingers twitch over the display. "You do?" she asks.

"I don't know," he admits. She fixes her attention on him fully now, raising her eyebrows. "It doesn't seem like a possibility we can entirely discount to say that she's – what, hallucinating?" Athena nods. He should tell her about Kristoph, watching him break down on the witness stand, watching the human flake off of him and leave madness and fae behind. She wouldn't be so able dismiss the thought of monsters then. 

"We won't get anywhere trying to straddle the line and say maybe either way," Athena says. "We’ve gotta commit to something – look, Mr Wright said he's never seen a yokai, right? Even though he’s been there several times. What are the odds that Jinxie would see a bunch of them all in the same place at the same time?”

“You have a point.” Are yokai pack animals? Are they territorial? Are these ridiculous questions to be asking of creatures that might not even be real?

“We’ll adjust course if we glean something new,” Athena says. “For now let’s start with the yokai Jinxie seems most afraid of.” She pushes the projected screens to either side of her so that she can lean over the bench and better make eye contact with Jinxie. “Jinxie,” she says, her voice raised, “can you tell us a little about the cat yokai on the ring of fire?” 

Apollo leans back to look past Athena to her mockup of the yokai-infested scene. The cat in question hovers near the ceiling, over where the table and the mayor’s body would be. “That’s a kasha,” Jinxie says. “They steal the bodies of the recently deceased! It was there for the alderman!” She speaks now with the same fervor as when she and Trucy were chattering about wrestling, her shyness abandoned, but the wild look in her eyes is of terror and not excitement. 

“That would actually make sense,” Apollo says. 

Athena frowns. “It does,” she says. “That’s exactly how it works, though; that her mind is filling in something that makes sense, to her, in place of the reality. Now.” She frowns and taps her earring, sending the crescent moon swinging back and forth. “If she’s mistaking something for a kasha, what do you suppose it could be?”

Reaching again toward the image of the crime scene, she has barely started to enlarge it before Apollo thinks he has something. “Jinxie!” he calls. “Do you think the kasha you saw could have been the light fixture here?” He gestures to the image. Jinxie’s eyes go wide. “It’s circular, with the flame design—”

“Oh?” She flinches, several of the charms slipping from her fingers and drifting to the floor. “Oh! The – the light!” For a moment more she looks dazed, and then her shoulders square toward Athena, though her voice drops to a mumble. “The light.”

“That sounds promising,” Athena says quietly. Then, louder, “What about this wall-like monster on the side?”

“Nurikabe!” Jinxie’s confident posture slumps forward, her arms around herself, protecting herself, again, her warding charms clutched tight over her heart. “It’s a wall monster! It’ll block you or lead you astray!” 

“It’s a folding screen right there, see?” Apollo points to the left side of the crime scene, the folding screen with foxes detailed on it. Jinxie’s eyes widen again. She doesn’t react like Apollo expects someone being told they’re seeing things would; maybe she knows or expected, in some sense already, and needed someone to help her pick through it. He hopes that she isn’t being bowled over by Athena’s interpretation of the situation, that if she doesn’t agree she’ll stand up for herself. 

He’s reassured, a little, that Athena might be right, of Jinxie’s grasp of the situation, when as they piece together the rest of the “yokai”, she pushes back about the raccoon-dog. “It wasn’t just one,” Jinxie says, and Athena begins immediately updating Widget’s display. “There were two tanuki.”

“Weren’t there two statues?” Apollo asks.

“No, one was broken,” Athena says, spinning the angle of the scene recreation about to show the doors and swiping it over in front of Apollo. “There was just the one intact.” Her frown deepens and her eyes narrow. “Was Filch there? Could he have been there?”

“The statue might’ve been broken after Jinxie left,” Apollo says. If they’re pursuing Athena’s psychological route, then what she said is right and they should commit to the mundane explanation, so that’s what he’s going to do.

“The Fox Chamber doors are very heavy,” Jinxie says. “And if you’re not careful they’ll bang up the walls behind them.”

“Filch has been acting very suspicious, though,” Athena says. “And he already looks a bit like a raccoon, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for Jinxie there to be remembering him as one.”

“Wait,” Apollo says. “You aren’t saying that Filch is a shapeshifter and was on the scene as a tanuki, just that Jinxie was imagining him as one—?”

“Yeah,” Athena says. “That seems more likely of the two, doesn’t it, than him actually turning into one?”

Oh. So she was looking at it from the mundane perspective anyway. Apollo’s head starts to spin. They’ll have to ask Phoenix about Filch, too, and the matter of his precise level of humanity. He should have been writing down what he needs to ask Phoenix. He’s not sure he’ll be able to recall most of the thoughts he’s having in the middle of this Blackquill-induced, migraine-inducing storm.

“It doesn’t matter,” Blackquill says. He looks bored; Athena might be the lawyer in this trial who is high-school aged, but Blackquill has all of a high schooler’s disdain for a boring class, his elbows on the bench, head slumped over and chin propped up on his fists, eyebrows raised and eyes half-closed. At least he’s bothering to face them this time. Taka has relocated back to the judge’s head.

Athena slams her palm down on the bench. Every time she does that, the proximity of the sound is jarring, because for all that Trucy acted almost as a lawyer, she never picked up her father’s mannerisms, and Apollo is used to being the only one at this bench doing the hitting. “What doesn’t matter?” she asks, her voice clipped and sharp on every word. 

“Everything you’re doing,” Blackquill replies. His mouth curls at one side. “But if you must know your specific faults for today, now, surely it did not slip past those ears of yours that our shifty tanuki does have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

“Oh.” Athena visibly deflates.

“He was with Mr L’Belle, remember?” Apollo says. Truth be told, the matter had slipped his mind as well, with all the talk of tanukis, and he wonders if it’s possible that Blackquill set them up to trip over that matter by emphasizing that particular moniker for the man. Like no matter where they run, they’ll just stumble into traps that Blackquill has laid elsewhere on the road. 

“And furthermore,” Blackquill continues, now fully grinning, “as you’ve wasted this time deciding whether what the little scamp saw is or isn’t real, I suppose even you must have realized by now that she has, neither as real nor hallucination, named Tenma Taro as present in that room.”

And it’s Apollo, this time, feeling the ground plummeting from beneath his feet. “Uh, Jinxie?” he says. “So, now that we cleared up the other yokai, do you remember now if Tenma Taro was also there?”

Jinxie blanches. Her answer is clear from that alone, that she knows what the better answer for her father’s sake is, but can’t truthfully speak to it. “No,” she says. “I didn’t see any Tenma Taro in the Fox Chamber.”

And Blackquill laughs, and it doesn’t sound like Kristoph’s laugh, like spiders down the back of his neck, but it’s still ice in the air, something dark and wicked coursing through the echo. Apollo slumps onto the bench. Fine, he thinks, fine fine fine, so the entire presumption of our case has fallen apart, fine, fine—

“Apollo!” Athena smacks not just her hand but her entire wrist – that must hurt – down on the bench next to him. He jumps, snapping his head back up and staring at her. Widget around her neck has turned red with fury; so have the backgrounds of its screens. It isn’t just his twisted vision making them that color. “We’re not sunk yet! There’s still some other discord in Jinxie’s voice.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She still hasn’t remembered everything! We need to hear her testimony again! What happened when she first went into the Fox Chamber!”

But what Jinxie remembers, the key she took from the chamber, just sinks them further. It leaves Athena dragged under by the lifeline she tried to toss to their case, leaves her snarling her frustrations wordlessly, loud enough that even the judge remarks on it, and Apollo only feels more sympathy for her. He didn’t start on a case like this; when his back was against the wall, it was because he was trying to duck out of the way of the barbs that Phoenix and Kristoph were throwing at each other. It never felt like this in this way, this hopeless to their client with the prosecution just chuckling at their plight. 

(He really can’t remember the prosecutor on that case.)

“Athena, are you all right?”

“No!” Her face twists in a snarl, her hands curl to fists, but there are tears in her eyes she can’t blink away. “I know Mayor Tenma is innocent, but nothing we say helps! We don’t have enough to make them listen!”

Blackquill watches them silently for a few moments, out of his heavy-lidded eyes, and what he’s thinking Apollo couldn’t begin to guess. He can’t even be certain that it would be disdain. “Cykes-dono,” he says curtly, still nothing more behind his eyes than a corpse. “Allow me to put you out of your misery.”

“Erm.” She lifts her ponytail away from her neck and fans her skin. Her mouth twists. Blackquill’s words are a threat, but his tone – some of the least inflection Apollo has heard from him – isn’t, and with her ears if there’s more to ponder, she must be pondering it. “No thank you?”

That smug smirk crawls its way back onto Blackquill’s lips, and the red that spins throughout the courtroom, the background radiation of today’s trial, forces its way back to the foreground, twisting so brightly and so quickly that Apollo thinks he might be sick. He closes his eyes to the liar’s red bleeding into the air and hears chains clink, hope that movement isn’t a precursor to another attack of paper-sharp wind. “Abandon your client and your misplaced faith in him,” Blackquill says. “Let the relief of a clear head and clean conscience finally greet you. The man before you is nothing more than a murderer, no trace of a withered blackened soul left to save. Give it up. Let it go. This will make the inevitable guilty verdict far easier to accept.”

He’s not even trying to do his job; he’s trying to win by convincing the defense to give up on their jobs. “Don’t listen to him,” Apollo says. His eyelids are heavy, hard to blink open. Everything feels weighted. “He’s just twisted.”

Just is a bit of an understatement, and even more of one when he sees that Athena’s determination, her confidence, has fallen away, replaced by a perplexed daze, her head frozen tilted to the side. Is Blackquill able to deliberately mess with her ears, or is she just picking up on the undertones anyone else would give her, trying to psychoanalyze the prosecution, understand what the hell is happening down that dark and winding road. “Athena?”

“I’m – I’m fine!” She shakes her head wildly, her hair flying, trying to shake herself out of a stupor. “Just – just could use a lap around the courthouse. I’ll be back!” 

Apollo slams his fist on the bench. “Objection!”

-

The verdict isn’t declared, not today, but they don’t get a chance to talk to their client in the lobby, immediately whisked away by officers and bailiffs as he is for claiming to be Tenma Taro possessing Mayor Tenma; and so Apollo, fleeing the courtroom as quickly as he can in the hopes that his vision stops tormenting him, still feels that they lost today.

[emptymanuscript]

You ever get into something real complicated, ask yourself why the hell you’re doing this, and then realize the simpler version is right there >_<

For some reason I got it into my head to make a hardness scale for magic. And I was piling in all this stuff for a spread sheet, with Gandalf in Lord of the Rings as a control and... why the hell am I doing all that. When if I look along the bottom, there’s a much more usable scale.

So... my noodling for a Hardness of Magic - a scale of 1 to 10; 1 being least hard to 10 being most hard. ...I believe that softness should actually be a different scale instead of 1 being the ultimate softness. I feel like hardness measures a likeness to science while softness measures something like the explorations of psyche or society. But I dunno. I’ll deal with that later. Hopefully much much later or never.

1) INFERABLE - The Magic happens in a way that is inferrable but not observable The phrase “Peice of Cake” in the movie The Labyrinth.

2) OBSERVABLE - The Reader can observe the magic that is cast The Force is an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together - and somehow it lets you hear ghosts, predict your enemies, and use telekinesis. You can see it. There is a spell X. How it works or how it relates to other magics may still be unclear.

3) RELATIONAL - The Reader can infer how multiple magics relate Gandalf keeps casting light spells all the time - it’s almost as if light is a theme of his magic. Perhaps his ability to make fire and fireworks is related. But we are never told for sure. X and Y relate, so Z that shares some features may also relate.

4) RUBRICAL - The Reader can observe the rule by which multiple magics fit together Vancian Magic in D&D with its classes and levels of magic or how Voodoo Dolls work in fiction to control a person’s motion or give them pain but can’t hypnotize them - it’s about the explicit rule of spell X fits into magical school Z but spell Y doesn’t because only Z-ish spells fit. The school of Necromancy is the school of magic relating to death. A light spell wouldn’t fit.

5) CLASSIFIABLE - The Reader can observe the reasoning of the operation of the rule by which multiple magics fit together A Voodoo doll works by the laws of contagion and sympathy, what has been a part of someone is always connected to them and what you do to an image of someone is done to the real person. So because a person’s hair is separated from them but on the doll, the doll is now connected to the person by contagion. And because the doll is now a image of that person what happens to the doll happens sympathetically to the person. So the reasoninng of the rules - this connects to that, and manipulating this manipulates that - is explicit. Spell X fits into school Z and Spell Y doesn’t because of principle A. Only spells that directly affect the currently dead fit into the school of necromancy - so a spell that would kill a living person wouldn’t be considered necromancy in that paradigm. While a spell that made a body look alive would still be necromancy.

6) PREDICTABLE - The Reader can use the reasoning to predict another peice of magic that would fit the rule(s) by which the magic fits together Because a doll works in part by the law of contagion, the hair of the victim allowing a connection between doll and person, we can assume that you can use hair as a method for a different spell that connects, like a tracker because the laws of magic tell us that part of a person is always connected to them, and we can guess that before we are explicitly told that ultra-conservative jewish women burned their hair to prevent magic being used against them before they had any contact with the stories of Voodoo because an idea like contagion is in both cultures. The rule is predictive. Because of principle X we can expect magic Y to cause Z effect. If saying someone’s true name gives you power to control them, and you learn the true name of a river, the reader can expect that you can exert control over the river.

7) ASSESSABLE - The Reader can use the essential reasoning of the magic to evaluate different uses in relation to each other - allowing you to judge whether one iteration is better at a goal than another. In Fullmetal Alchemist, the same transmutations cast at the opposite ends of the story have radically different results and the story displays why they are different. Edward has a different understanding of the tools at hand. In such a way that the audience can observe and infer things that make certain transmutations better than others. This is even in the beginning though with Edward able to make a circle with his arms as opposed to drawing a transmutation array on the ground. It’s recognizable as the same basic art, he’s just showing an expertise that others, even skilled others, don’t share. Because of that information, the audience can recognize the power of varying alchemists by the complexity of their arrays and that more complex spells require more complex arrays. A more complex array for a simple spell would show us before we were ever told that the user was an inferior alchemist. X is true, therefore Y is superior to Z for purpose A.

8) VALIDATABLE - You can determine relevant or true information from irrelevant or false information. Let’s take FMA again.  The power level, sophistication of magical array, and knowledge of the subject are all important to the ability to transmute. But the fundamental driving force of magic is the law of equivalent exchange, you cannot create something that requires more than what is put into the exchange. This is the real reason why resurrection spells fail, because no one puts enough in to the exchange to equal what they want out of the exchange. Life is more than matter. And because of that principle we can spot improper spell use without being told it is improper spell use. If someone does something that otherwise looks completely correct but violates that most relevant piece of information, we know that something else besides just transmutation is going on. Which is also why some of the later big twists in the series make perfect logical sense, the fundamental relavence of information has been shown, so we have been prepared to logic out truth from appearances. If X is absolutely true and Y contradicts X, we can expect Y to be false even if Y feels generally right.

9) MODIFIABLE - The principles are understandably transposable for use in different expressions. This is a little like #6 in that it is predictive. But more than being predictive it is showing an underlying core principle of multiple effects. In the same way that light is different colors for the same reason that sound comes in different pitches and also that if you drop a rock in water you will get ripples. While they might appear on the surface to be very different, the fundamental way things work is the same - disturbing a fluid causes a wave, bigger disturbances cause bigger waves, more waves in a given period produce higher frequency phenomenen, less waves produce lower frequency phenomenen. And yeah, that’s science but I can’t think of a book that does this. Avatar the Last Airbender brushes against this with the idea that the principles of flow mechanics of water bending carry over into the principles of direction mechanics of pure fire / lightning. Energy redirection was essentially the same no matter what element was being bent or what type of bender was doing the redirection. But where this sort of thing is most common is in Role Playing Games where it is possible for the player to design their own powers / magic. Pretty much the entire GURPS Powers book is about using this level of hardness in a single system to produce radically different expressions in a game space that will interact predictably for the purposes of arbitration.

10) PARALLEL - An Alternative Science. At this point there’s not much hardness to be gained anymore. The fiction presents a set of fundamental laws and extrapolates from them to get the effects the audience percieves in the fiction. The laws are identified in such a way that the audience can determine for themselves how magic works in such a way that they can, if they choose, extrapolate and predict powers before those powers appear and are demonstrated because all the tools to do so have been given to them. Character errors in how magic works can be caught because the established rules provide an error-check framework. If a reader knows fire can only be created or controlled with a magic word that starts with an I because human magic was stolen from a latin speaking demon, we know the guy who promises a village an ever burning bonfire by speaking the word Aeternum into the bonfire pit is either a charlatan or an idiot. But he may possibly be an immortal charlatan or idiot since he knows the latin word for eternity. 

Or, in nice chart form for my Mohs sci-fi scale rip off:

A Proposed Hardness Scale for Fantasy

I think this would  make most fantasy hang out around hardness 3 to 7 with a few outliers which seems like the way things should be.

And... what a waste of time, oy.

[hk-stain]

Bad Blood

🔪 The bar was dim and hazy with the prevailing scent of liquor and fried food.  Just the place for a Hero to lose himself.  No one here cared who you were, they only cared about the game that was on and the beer in their hand.  Opening the door, Stain boldly stepped inside.   As expected no one, not even the bartender, looked up when he entered, the game was in sudden death. His target sat alone in the darkest corner nursing his one drink.  On several occasions, Stain had observed that even with wanting to drown his worries in the bottle, the UA teacher was stricter with himself than he was with his students.   Walking over to his table, Stain pulled out a chair and boldly sat down.  Ignoring Eraserhead’s insistence that he wanted to be alone. To ensure he would be heard out, Stain pressed his blade into ex-Hero’s groin.  “You quirk won’t save you here.  I only need you to listen.  If I were to press any harder you would bleed out before help could arrive.  Don’t make a fuss.  Drink your drink and listen.  I’ll even buy you some food.  Doesn’t UA feed their staff?  You looked better in your Hero days.  Hear me out, then we both can be on our way.  Agreed?” 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

Dull, tired eyes didn’t show any sign of fear as the Hero Killer placed themselves at the table. Though, Aisawa did set down his drink. It would appear he wouldn’t get any peace today after all. That was annoying.

“It isn’t U.A.’s job to feed their staff,” he replied. “We’re grown adults. Though we can always eat from the cafeteria if we pay.” His tone was irratated, as if someone had asked an incredibly stupid question in class.

Shota sighed a bit, but he didn’t move, pull away, or yell. Stain was correct, there was an important artery there, and if Aisawa was bleeding out, who knew if he’d move to another target. “What is it you want, Stain? If it’s information on my students, or the school, you can pry it from my cold, dead hands.” This, too, was said in the same bored manner in which the teacher appeared to say everything. No emotion.

🔪 Stain narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Eraserhead’s quick response.  But it was not out of character.  The teacher was known to be distant and often cold to his students.  Level headed and somewhat bored were other terms used for the has been hero.   “Don’t care about your school.  Or your students… right now.”  Stain grinned, voice jovial and full of humor.  Stain was sure that while the teacher looked indifferent, he had Aizawa’s full attention.  Stretching, he leaned back in his chair, blade not wavering from its position or level of pressure.  “Boy, aren’t you a stick in the mud.  Cold, dead hands… esh…  Don't give me a reason to make that statement prophetic.”  he ended darkly.   “Are you as cruel as they say you are to your students?  Bored with heroics and teaching alike?  Because I heard you only took the job to so you get paid to lay around.  That you push your student to failure then expel them when they don’t measure up.  Some role model you are.  Abusing your authority.  How could you be trusted to care for anyone, especially children?” he sneered the grin returning. 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

Aizawa's hand twitched, but he bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t stupid. He immediately figured Stain was attempting to goad him into a fight. He would not give him the satisfaction. Still, who spread rumors like that? Was that how his co-workers and students viewed him. Shota felt a slight twist of pain in his chest.

“If you believe rumors spread around in dark alleys, then you are not worth my time, Hero Killer,” a sneer of his own stretched across Shota’s face. “Do you believe all the fairy tales your sleazy pals tell you?”

Something irked the teacher. Stain still hadn’t explained what they wanted from him. “Perhaps you are hard of hearing: I asked you, what do you want?”

He reached down next to him and grabbed a folder, from which he produced a stack of ungraded papers and a red pen. Even with the blade there, he began to grade the work. A quiet sort of “screw you” to the killer.

🔪 Aizawa reaction was exactly what he had hoped for.  Stain’s heart raced.  This was thrilling.  Even the not so subtle snubbing was perfect.  He grinned so widely that his extremely long tongue slipped out as he laughed.  It was a dangerous thing he was doing.  Even if no one recognized him and called other heroes to come, there was Eraserhead himself.  A very dangerous foe to be carelessly poking. Abruptly Stain stopped laughing, his expression serious and intense as he leaned in.  “You want to know what I believe? his voice a harsh whisper that only Aizawa could hear.  “… I believe you push your students so hard because the world will not be kind to them.  It will push even harder to break them.  I believe you expel those who do not have the drive to succeed.  You will not let anyone graduate to be a ‘Hero’ who could not handle what’s coming.” Leaning back Stain draped his arm over the back of the chair.  “Tell me..”  his tone back to being light and friendly.  “What is your honest opinion of All Might?  Not asking for secrets, mind.  Just your opinion of him. 🔪

EREASERHEAD‌:

Shota didn’t respond right away. He focused on a students paper, taking all the time in the world to answer. He refused to let this man probe and poke him. Once the paper was graded, he looked up, directly at Stain. Though, he didn’t use his Quirk. Just peered at him. “I will not deny nor confirm your statements, but I will say this; had you been my student, you would not have turned out this way.”

Aizawa had said for a long time that the education and the system for heroes was out-of-date and should be rectified. To him, Stain was a perfect example as to why. His Quirk could have made for a good hero, but, because his cries for help were ignored, he fell to villainy.

“Why are you so keen to know my opinion on All Might?” Shota asked. He figured he was digging for information to use against the symbol of peace. Aizawa would not let that happen.

“I don’t exactly agree with All Might’s constant in-the-spotlight life, but I understand why it is that way,” he eventually said. “He’s a good hero, tries his best to save everyone, no matter the cost.” Shota didn’t look away as he said any of this. “He takes every failure to heart, and carries it with him.”

Aizawa looked down. “I’m proud to know him, even if we disagree, and I know he does what I can’t.”

🔪 ‘… had you been my student, you would not have turned out this way…’ That comment had Stain seething with anger.  Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the teacher.  “I went to UA.  Everyone likes this system.  They can’t see it is creating more problem than it fixes. No one listened.  You think you would have?” he spat out, daring Aisawa to deny it.   Rising out of his seat, Stain leaned in close.  His brown mismatched eyes alight with suppressed fury.   “Would you have supported me in persecuting the Hero that killed my family by setting fire to my Apartment building, just so he could be seen by the media, rescuing people?  That is what he did, you know.  Had his friend start a fire so he could rush in to save someone. He used me!  I begged him to save my family!”   For one moment the fanaticism felt his eyes and he was that scared little boy he used to be.  Stain dropped back into his seat, head lowered.  Deflated. “He used me…” his voice broken and small but full of grief and anger. “He said no!  He said NO!  They were screaming!  Burning! But he wouldn't save them!  Not till the media is watching!” 🔪 

EREASERHEAD‌:

The teacher couldn’t hide his utter shock at Stain’s words. They hit him like a bullet and got his full attention on the killer. So. This is what had happened to make him this way? He set his pen down. A hero had allowed his family to burn in a fire for media coverage? Shouta felt a heavy stab of pity, followed by his regular irritation with heroes and the media.

“I can’t tell you what would have occurred in my classroom,” Shouta finally said, “but, had you come to me, told me your story, I would have listened and helped in any way I could.” He sighed, suddenly feeling even older than before. “I’ve said for years that heroes shouldn’t be in the spotlight. That it caused too many problems. I, myself, avoid the spotlight as much as I can. Hence, why most of my class didn’t even recognize me as Eraserhead at first.”

He hated what he was about to say next. It was so cliche, so empty, and had never helped anyone before, in his opinion, but still. He had to say something, “I’m sorry that that happened to you, Stain. You, nor your family, deserved that.” He paused, “Is that why you are here?”

🔪 The truth was Stain had never received condolences before.  When he woke up in the hospital all people could talk about was how brave Grey Ghost was saving him and how he should be grateful.  When the police came to the hospital to get his statement the officers said the landlord had condemned the building and we were all squatters.  We were lucky it didn’t happen sooner.  He tried to make the police listen.  Begged them to investigate!  They told him they had.  And I should thank Grey Ghost for being my hero, endangering himself to save me instead of spreading lies.  

No one felt bad for him that he lost his entire family.  Mother, Father, Grandmother, even aunts, uncles, and cousins. A dozen people in all.  His family said he was the lucky thirteen.  Only he never felt lucky.  Doctors, Nurses, even the police thought he was an ungrateful brat.  Spreading lies to get attention.  After locking him in the psych ward, he had got a little too mad at the police officer, he even heard someone say his family was breaking the law and they deserved what happened.    

“Thank you.” he said his voice still calm and flat.  The glimmer of the sane person Stain used to be fading as his thoughts pulled away from his past into the now.  “No one has ever said that to me.  But you are right, that isn’t why I am here.”  Would this one help him? Stain took a moment, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he considered the hero Eraserhead.

Suddenly Stain jumped up and crouched on his chair, leaning over the table.  “You said you would have helped me.  Will you help me now?  A righteous cause for a Hero?  To save people.  Will you listen and work with me?  Or will you let more people die?” The passion returned to Stain’s voice.  “Before you ask, think.  If I took this matter to the police they wouldn’t have listened.  They would have arrested me.  Or tried to.  You know that is what would have happened.  So Hero… will you help me save a few people?” 🔪  

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Aizawa didn’t say anything. Just regarded Stain quietly for a minute. This could be a trick or a trap. He could be luring him to kill him off somewhere. However, if Stain was telling the truth, and Aizawa didn’t get involved, people could die. Innocent people. Shota couldn’t let that happen.

Stain was right about the police, too. They wouldn’t listen to him about anything. He would have to work with the Hero Killer.

“I’ll work with you.” He replied, somehow managing to look even more worn out. “What’s the situation? What do you mean more people?” He felt a stab of alarm. Had people already died?

Eraserhead was one of the few heroes who had worked with small-time criminals in the past. As long as no civilian was injured, he would look away.

🔪 Grinning so wide Stain looked comical or just creepy, his tongue flopped out of the side of his mouth. Plopping back into his seat he looked at the breadsticks the waitress just set on the table next to Eraserhead.  “You going to eat those?” he asked as he licked the top two, ignoring the look Aizawa gave the wet bread, then him.  Snatching up the two he licked, Stain stuffed them into his mouth.  “Mmmm… Themmse are good!  You shmmmmould try themmmm.”

His stomach no longer rumbling, Stain could think.  He wanted to tell Eraserhead what was going on but he wasn’t sure he could trust the teacher yet.  While he had heard good things about Aizawa he had also heard a few bad things.  There was the fact that All Might had once said Eraserhead was one he could count on.  And that was high praise in his book.  But he wasn’t sure in this case if Eraserhead could help. Snatching up the teacher's pencil and the top paper waiting to be graded, Stain looked it over.  “Badodo?  Bakodo?  Eh… he did have much to say.”  Tearing off the bottom half what wasn’t written on, the killer wrote out an address, then handed it to Aizawa.  三田市, HYOGO  

“Come as soon as you can.  Alone!  Do not wear anything openly hostile or flashy.  No guns or knives where they can be seen.  No flamboyant hero costume or you will learn nothing and more will die.  After we discuss what we each think is going on then you can bring someone else in if needed but not without my ok.  These people are scared.  They will defend themselves if they feel threat…”  A whoop of a siren approaching interrupted Stain.  “Geeze, guess the waitress didn’t like me eating her gift to you. Oh, she baked a note inside,” he whispered.  Unrolling his tongue, Stain dropped a damp piece of folded paper with smudged ink, onto the table.  “Love note or ‘if you need help’ instructions?  Hmmm I wonder.”

Then he was gone.  Angry voices and clattering dishes marked which way he went. 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Aizawa pushed the food in Stain’s direction with a finger. No way in hell was he going to touch that now. He listened to Stain’s blathering, then gave the killer an openly hostile look as they took Bakugo’s paper and tore it. How was he going to explain that? Still, when the paper was passed back to him, he took it and shoved it into his pocket.

Stain had the right idea, running. Unfortunately, Shota couldn’t. He had to appear innocent. Running would simply raise questions, so he remained in his seat, allowing the killer to flee. Though, the man did gather up his grading papers and put them away, placing Bakugo’s at the back.

The police came and sat at the table. They didn’t arrest Eraserhead, or take him to the station. They simply sat and asked the teacher what occurred. Aizawa edited the truth, telling them Stain came rambling about heroes and ripping at his papers, asking if he was a true hero. This was his official statement. Then they left, with a warning to Aizawa about being careful. Shota left, stopping by his car to leave the folder, before heading for the address written.

He didn’t use guns. Ever. And his ‘costume’ was just his yellow goggles, which were tucked away in the gray fabric of his scarf. All the things he used were in the pockets of his belt. Aizawa never stood out. So the man headed to the address given, using rooftops as his mode of transportation. When he arrived at the address, he sat perched on the roof across from it, watching carefully and staying out of sight.

🔪 This was the edge of the city.  Train tracks ran this way and that like battle scars across the earth.  Beyond them was a huge decrepit factory.  Many of the lower walls and windows were broken.  Tents and shacks made from any material that could be scrounged filled the ground floor of the factory.  People went about their lives, working in a small garden or on vehicles.  Inside faint inconsolable crying could be heard.  

There was something off about these people.  Upon further surveillance, he realized what it was.  They were the dregs of society.  Vagrants and the homeless.  Misshapen from odd quirks.  People deformed by wounds or missing limbs.  Not a one was whole or what would be considered normal even among a society full of unusual quirks.

On the street below, a rummaging sound and clinking of glass could be heard from within a dumpster.  A long, thin dirty white tail lashed about caught by the closed lid.  The lid started to bounce several times as if something was trying to get out.  There were a few disgruntled sounds and a paper bag was pushed out.  It fell and split when it hit the ground.  Rancid leftovers spilled out over the sidewalk.  

A tiny child no bigger than his forearm pushed its way out from underneath the lid. It had wild, long, curly dirty white hair and fur on its arms and legs.  Spying the bag with it’s spilled contents, it let out a squeak of dismay as it got trapped by the lid.  Frantic kicking and squirming got the large collar it wore free and it leaped out and landing on the ground next to the bag.  Whimpering it gathered up the spoiled food and shoved it into its mouth.  🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Aizawa’s eyes widened. That was a child! A starving child! What was going on here? Why were these people here? He looked all around. There had to be something- rummaging in his pockets, he produced a crumpled sandwich he’d been saving. Without hesitation, the teacher dropped it down to the child before stepping back into the shadows, where he couldn’t be seen.

Were these people tossed out to live here like this? Shota was unsure what was happening. Could he get closer? There was an awful lot of them. Chances were at least one of them had had a run-in with Eraserhead. It was risky. Still, he had to know what was going on here.

Eraserhead dropped down into an alley, careful to make little noise, and crept towards the dilapidated factory. He made sure his goggles were well-hidden in his scarf before crossing over and peering in through a broken window. Hopefully, he’d hear something useful.

🔪 A squeal of delight could be heard, then growly noming noises like a hungry kitten.  

The inside of the factory looked like a trash village.  People moved about doing daily activities.  But there was an air of sadness.  People sat in front of their hovels cradling items, grieving.  While others tried to console them.  

“You can come in, you know.”  A frail old woman with nasty acid burns across her face gestures for him to follow her.  “This is a safe haven.  As much as we can make it.  Dark, Evil things move and hunt in the shadows under the cover of night.  You do not want to be caught outside at night if you can’t defend yourself.  Come in.  You will be safer with us.  We don’t have a lot but we will share.  When did you hear the…”

A soft trill came from behind them.  The tiny child crept closer on their hands and feet like a baby monkey.  It trilled a query at the man and held something out to him.  Suddenly it cried out in pain as several rocks hit it in the forehead, cheek, and throat.  Bleeding, it whimpered, large hurt eyes and quivering lower lip then it turned and fled. Weeping as only a heartbroken child can, as it ran, leaving behind the wax paper with half his sandwich.  

“Nasty little varment!” the old woman growled.  “All this trouble started around the time it showed up.  Wolf in sheep's clothing.”  The woman prepared to throw another handful of rocks after the fleeing child.   🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

“Hey! What are you doing?! That’s a child!” Aizawa stared at the old woman in shock. Why was she attacking a child?! What was going on?! “Just- Don’t!” He held up his hands, ready to plead with the woman.

“I really don’t understand what’s going on here…” He muttered, eyes wandering again. “Ma'am, please explain what’s going on.” Would Aizawa have to forcefully take the rocks from her? He didn’t want to.

Shota suddenly realized the child was hurt. He bent and scooped up the sandwich, looking after where the kid had gone. He could stay here and get answers, but…..damn!

Without warning, and against his better judgement, Aizawa took off after the kid, running away from the older woman.

🔪 “Eh?”  The woman stepped forward as she looked up at the newcomer.  Light from above revealed her ruined eyes.  “That is no child.  It is a monster.  A bogin sent to tempt us into the night so we…” Hearing his retreating steps.  “Sir!  No.  She’ll get you too.  Come back!” The child ran across the tracks back, to the building where a deep crack in the brick provided it some safety.  It heard the pursuit and was afraid that it was going to be hurt by more than just rocks.  Scooching backward as far as it could into the crack, the child held it’s throbbing, bleeding head and stuffer it’s tail into its mouth to muffle it’s crying. 🔪

CFFEEXERASE‌:

Shota didn’t listen to the woman. Perhaps he was making a mistake, but….a kid? Out here alone? It just wasn’t right. He heard her shouting after him, though. She? Who was ‘she?’ This kept getting crazier and crazier, and Eraserhead felt he might be in over his head.

Aizawa chased the child all the way to the deep crack where it hid itself. He could still hear it’s soft cries. Panting, the pro crouched down, holding out the partly eaten sandwich and a packet of crackers. After a moment, he set them down and backed up a bit, giving the child space.

Oddly enough, the teacher was treating the child the way he’d treat a wild stray he was hoping to lure and take home. He began to speak in a soft tone, trying to comfort the kid. “Hello, I’m Eraser. Are you all right?” He paused, tilting his head, “Can you speak and understand me? I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re not to badly hurt.”

[journeysintowebcomics]

Stand Still Stay Silent Liveblog #48

UPDATE 48: That Was a Hectic Day

Last time Sigrun, Mikkel and Emil managed to survive being surrounded by a mass of tentacles and half a dozen blobs with long legs. Now they have to walk for a couple hours to reach the tank, so it’s possible this won’t be a breeze at all. Let’s continue.

It’s their lucky day, they won’t have to talk for so long. Tuuri stopped the van on the railway tracks, waiting for the rest of the team to catch up to them. The first thing she does is apologize for disobeying and continuing her mutinous streak, but Sigrun says it’s okay...this one time. She must be really tired and wanting to get the day over with if she’s willing to let this go. She’s not an unreasonable person, but she’s not afraid of tearing into others if they do something that can cause trouble or put them in danger – a category Tuuri waiting for them could fit into.

Time to drive and look for a good place to camp. Meanwhile, some distance behind them, the ghosts just reached the beached water troll. There’s nothing the troll can do while the ghosts approach, extend their nasty ghostly hands towards it, and...well...I suppose they’re literally sucking the life out of it.

It’s pretty scary stuff, honestly, the kind of thing that should have stayed isolated in a place instead of being disturbed. If Mikkel hadn’t gone to look for the origin of those vaccines, these ghosts wouldn’t be following them now. That’d be one enormous, incredibly dangerous problem less to deal with. As I see it, the only hope the crew has is that they didn’t leave tracks for the ghosts to follow, because otherwise it’ll be really difficult to outrun them unless they’re constantly moving around.

In the tank, I suppose everyone is sleeping, Reynir included, and this time he has another dream/mage experience. It’s not the same field he was at last time, so...he’s not anymore in his safe dreamspace?

This looks like a church of some sort. There’s pews, there’s stained glass windows...the dog is sleeping, so maybe that means there’s no hostile presence nearby, something that’s good because judging by the words in there, it seems there is somebody else here other than Reynir. Can’t be Onni or Lalli because the story wouldn’t make that a mystery so...hmmm...another mage character, perhaps? Somehow? Or a spirit that won’t try to kill them?

He doesn’t get long to look around; he wakes up almost immediately. Hm. Narratively, that setting has been established, so it’s likely he’ll be back at some point.

And the chapter comes to a close, with everyone sleeping. I don’t see any dangers lurking, there are no ghosts coming to feast on their souls, and there are no trolls dragging themselves to eat the tank or anything, so...yeah! A peaceful night. They’ll appreciate that. This chapter ends, so what comes next is some worldbuilding, right?

First, there’s one that’s rather relevant to recent events. It’s about the Sjodraug trolls, a type of troll that’s found in water, its main characteristics is that it’s largely immobile, bloated, and it seems they don’t attack unless they’re disturbed.

Sounds like what the crew encountered along the way. It wasn’t treacherously mobile on land like the text here indicates, that’s for sure, but other than that, it seems to fit this to a T. I wonder if the name means something?

I went to search, and it t’s related to mythology. It’s a Scandinavian, maybe Norwegian word. According to information I found in the very erudite and totally reliable website known as...um...DeviantArt – sorry, my search didn’t show anything better – this is useful info:

Sjødraugen which is a character in norwegian (scandinavian?) mythology. He has a head made out of seaweed, long arms and legs. He sails the ocean on his boat which is cut in half, and it's believed that if the fishermen looked at him, their boat would go under. You could hear him scream, and it would sound like someone drowning or in need, but if you were tempted to look your boat would go under.

I think this is where Ms. Sundberg got the name from. This legend sounds similar enough.

The next page is about fylgja, the equivalent of luontos in Iceland. They seem to follow the same rules, pretty much. Also, way to sound dismissive about Finns, calling them heathens and what not.

New chapter. The introductory page already shows some positive stuff:

First of all, Lalli is awake! Emil’s going to be so happy. Second, everyone is going together, and look rather happy. I suppose they’re exploring a place without much danger. They even have their non-immune crewmembers here. Finally, the cat sure grew fast! Look at her, there’s no way she’ll fit in anyone’s hand or in anyone’s pocket like just two chapters ago.

The chapter starts with a rather dreamy page featuring Lalli and what seems to be a spiritual lynx. His luonto, most likely. I remember, back when he was bursting the bags of flesh many updates ago, it was shaped kind of like this.

Oh look, Lalli got his Luonto back. Good.

...oh. Oh? Wait, was that what was going on? Is that why Lalli wasn’t waking up, because he lost his luonto? I...hm. Okay, to be honest, I missed that particularly important piece of information. Curses! I should have guessed something like this was going on. My bad, everyone.

Now that he got back what’s pretty much part of his soul and/or psyche, Lalli wakes up, being immediately greeted by Emil, who is excited to see him. What’s a heartwarming moment turns odd when I notice the dialogue boxes are missing those little flags that indicate language, meaning they’re speaking the same language right now, and that is...pretty abnormal. I doubt losing your luonto makes you understand other languages once you get it back, clearly there are shenanigans afoot.

Hey would you look at that, Lalli now understands Swedish and everything is wonderful. Wait, hold on a sec...

Is it a dream, then? A dream where Lalli dreams Emil welcomes him back to the world of the living, and immediately takes him to meet the others? I see. Way to throw Lalli into the perils of socializing right after he woke up, Emil!

Sigrun is immediately appreciative of the camping spot Lalli got for them at the cost of his luonto. Okay, this is definitely a dream, because that top-notch camping spot has been left behind, and, uh, given what happened with the ghosts and how Reynir said there were some in the royal residences there’s a small, small chance Sigrun won’t like how Lalli left them in a place where ghosts were nearby. That’d be if she chooses to believe in ghosts, which she may not.

The dream continues with everyone being rather nice. Sigrun praises Lalli, Mikkel offers to cook a feast, and Reynir will get rid of his dumb hair. Looks like Lalli doesn’t like braids. Tuuri tries to translate what everyone said, and Lalli stops her.

Oh my god...is this Lalli’s inner wishes? Does he want to be able to understand everyone, to be able to talk with them? I knew he wanted some appreciation for his work because he clearly has a lot of pride for what he does and for his skills, but I didn’t think he had such longing to communicate with the others. He always seemed to dismissive and aloof, I didn’t think he harbored such wishes. That’s sweet and sad at the same time.

And it gets even sadder when, well...

When he wakes up and it’s nowhere close to what he hoped. Emil isn’t there. Things aren’t going to get any better once he goes outside and finds out they’re not in the camping site, that Mikkel surely isn’t making any feast, and that Sigrun is unlikely to receive him with praise. Poor Lalli. If only Emil had been there at least he’d have the consolation of having something he had hoped for, he just had the bad luck of not being there when Lalli woke up. Emil better be happy and rush towards Lalli once he steps towards where the rest are at, wherever that is.

I suppose Lalli’s disappointment will have to wait for next time.

Next time: next update

[dandelionpie]

Okay @mentalwires all I can say is you fucking asked for it. This is

Madeline’s Lengthy and Mostly Very Positive Track-by-Track Review of

Off to the Races

by Jukebox the Ghost

(feel free to follow along at home on your Personal Listening Device; it’s all on Spotify or wherever)

(and I’m not going to follow any formatting rules because this isn’t being graded so fuck it quotes are in italics)

I don’t know if it’s just because I listened to it over and over again, but this album is an album. Friends, there are motifs in this album. There are themes. There’s something that’s not quite a narrative, but a strange awakening to the crises that plague people who have reached a certain stage of human development just beyond the beginning of real adulthood. 

1. Jumpstarted

Our speaker is awfully self-aware for someone who admits to a chronic lack of self-awareness. This song is like the “I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You” by Tom Waits for a new generation, except instead of tragic it’s just, like…incredibly goofy. It also follows in the footsteps of many other songs (the Temptations’ “Just My Imagination” springs to mind), it rehashes a very familiar theme: Young Man sees Young Woman*; young man becomes instantly fixated on an imagined future with her; young man admits that his imaginings are the product of his deranged imagination but, though he fully admits to his own emotionally compromised state in great detail (and your gravity / my depravity / won’t take my advice), he refuses to relinquish the fantasy and face reality, even as he does so in the utterance of the lyrics. Rather, he accepts his eventual heartbreak to be as inescapable as the laws of physics - what goes up must come down, after all, and as foolish as his infatuation seems, it’s even more foolish to try to change something as immutable as that. It’s too ridiculous to be properly sad, but we feel for him all the same.

There’s definitely a gender element happening here. I’ve been that guy, but far more often, to greater and lesser extents, I’ve been that girl. We have this idea in our culture that women are obsessed with love and will throw themselves into relationships with men at the drop of a hat, but I’ve seen it played out far more often the other way. In my (limited! human! biased! don’t @ me!) observation, women may throw themselves into the emotional side of a relationship, but the planning part (this person fulfills everything I want from a spouse/life partner/parent of my anticipated children) and therefore it must be Fate)…well, I haven’t done that since I was about ten. I’ve seen grown-ass men do it on multiple occasions, to me and many of my female friends. So like…make of that what you will.

The song also does that cute thing where it name-drops the title of the album in the lyrics, and I love that.

*the object of the speaker’s affections in this particular song remains mostly ungendered except for one she pronoun in the bridge. If you ignored that one tiny “she” (or changed the gender of the speaker), it would be easy to make this song about a very real and serious problem facing today’s LGBTQ Youth: Queer and Here syndrome**. That is, when you see another person of more-or-less your persuasion and they are around your age, breathing, and moderately attractive, you tend to fall in love with them regardless of actual chemistry or lack thereof. Again: I have been the speaker, and I have been the object.

**EDIT: Ben Thornewill, who wrote the song…might be queer? I can’t find any info either way, except for he helped with a fundraiser for Everyone is Gay one time. Someone with a longer attention span should google this for me.

Enjoying this nonsense? Click below for the rest!

2. Everybody’s Lonely

This track continues the theme of powerlessness in the face of one’s own self-awareness (dragged into another heartbreak / like a moth into a flame) while implicitly making the way for a gentle interrogation of the music industry. Are we programmed for broken romance? Probably, but we’re sure the hell not going to stop singing about it. And we have to admit, it’s more than a little diverting. The singer is having a marvelous time with the vocals for how much he’s complaining, and the track switches up the speed and time signature more than once (there’s some sophisticated musical term I’m failing to call to mind here, but dammit Jim I’m an English major not a music doctor).

The title itself is a simple statement on the nature of humanity, and a somewhat comforting one (to me, anyway). It’s hard, but if everybody’s lonely, then…well, no one is, right? And, of course, the lyrics could also be read (heard?) as a comment on the content of this very album, as well as the greater Jukebox the Ghost canon, which, self-admittedly, mostly concerns either love or drinking too much (and often both). Lampshading? Probably a little, but I think it works.

3. People Go Home

I will admit: I hated this song until I saw the album performed live. It’s just so damned cynical, and at the same time describes a lifestyle (car! boss who wears a watch! wife and children and a house and a dog!) my generation seems to have given up on aspiring to. Because the American Dream is an illusion, etc. But the thing about it is, despite its dour outlook on the life of its subject, the song itself is just so much fun.

The metaphor of the calendar pages being torn off and thrown away would be a bit too cliché in a more serious track, but the irrepressibly catchy beat makes it work somehow. The repetitiveness is really artful - of course it’s repeating itself; it’s a song, but it also evokes the passage of time and the subject’s own mortality (the tick of the clock / and the tick of the clock / mark the moments ’til the ticking stops). And the abrupt end of the song is…well, actually a little unsettling in light of its lyrical content.

Another motif arises: are we becoming who we hate? Is it inevitable that we should do so in growing up? And, again - if there’s nothing we can do about it, should we perhaps make an effort to enjoy the ride?

4. Fred Astaire

First, a confession: this song is primarily for me about the Blupjeans pairing in The Adventure Zone, so like…I’m gonna do my best to ignore that aspect in my analysis but no promises.

I love this song.

I think it’s the strongest track on this album From the very first bars, it’s psyching you up for something, and the powerful opening vocals do not disappoint. This is an excellent showcase of Ben Thornewill’s raw vocal power.

I’m also a huge sucker for the “man who has landed the partner of his dreams hardly daring to believe his luck” trope (cf: Blupjeans, Jake/Amy from B99, tons of other cute pairings I can’t call to mind just at the moment). There’s something so beautifully pure about watching someone realize how fortunate they are to have someone great in their life. In this case, the speaker seems almost playfully resentful as he wonders at his partner’s inexplicable admiration of him - “what are you even doing with a dork like me?” he seems to ask.

But in the bridge, he contrasts that playful exasperation with a genuine admiration of his beloved’s clarity of insight - when I lose myself / there is no one else / who ever sees through me quite like you, he points out, and something about his tone feels genuinely grateful. So for me, this resonates on a personal level as well - in my life, I’m continually astounded by the people who have seen me at my worst and continue to refrain from telling me I suck.

Well, that was distressingly sincere. Don’t worry; I turn back into a snarky pumpkin in just a sec.

5. Time and I

If previous tracks have hinted at themes of growing up and having way too many feelings about it, this track drives those concepts home with a freaking sledgehammer. I have less trouble with it than “People Go Home,” but it’s still a bit too relatable if you ask me. There’s a deeply sympathetic undercurrent of frustration (try as I might / it ain’t no friend of mine) - this guy’s been making an effort, and he’s announcing a sort of surrender, even as he continues to beg time to slow down for him.

I’m intrigued by we’re not the way we used to be - is he talking to a third party, or to time itself? If the former, the feeling t is one of those universal heartbreaks we all go through at this point. People don’t just change - relationships do too, and that can be even more frustrating and harder to pin down. And if it’s the latter, isn’t there something too beautifully futile about the act of begging an abstract concept to act against its nature?

This whole album is so wonderfully human.

Overall, the lyrics feel a bit weaker than the rest of the album to me, but I love the way it sounds. The vocal tracks in the bridge layer on top of each other one by one in this really evocative way, piano is perfect for a track like this - since it’s both percussive and melodic, it invokes bittersweetness of the inexorable passage of time. Maybe? I dunno, just spitballing here.

6. Diane

I hadn’t actually paid much attention to this track until I saw it performed live and the singer got the audience to sing part of the chorus for him. Neat trick, dude. I still didn’t like the song all that much until I saw @mentalwires​ spin very enthusiastic rope dart to it. Anyway - like many songs by Jukebox the Ghost, it would be downright obnoxious if it weren’t such a jam.

What really grabs me about this song is the line about not being able to focus. Maybe it’s just an ADD thing, and it’s certainly not an original thought - of course you can’t focus, dude, you’re basically worshipping this chick - but it’s true that people we like are distracting, and it is highly inconvenient. And it’s way more fun than most of the other inconvenient things that afflict our little species, so that doesn’t help matters. I relate similarly to I can’t sleep / why even bother, although that probably has more to do with my insomnia than anything else.

Damn I love power pop. 

It’s another self-imposed tragedy — our dude doesn’t know how to let go of the idea of this girl, but how well do they actually know each other? The bridge (You make me feel like I’m alive / you make me feel like I’m the only one) brings home what the speaker’s been hinting at since the start of the track - it’s much more about how he feels than about the person he feels it for.  Sometimes / I don’t even think you know my name could be read two ways - either she knows him but acts like she doesn’t (rude), or they’ve never even actually met.*

All the while, he begs her to tell him her thoughts, but does he actually want to know? And if they haven’t met, then how could she tell him she’s thinking about him at all? How is she even going to hear what he’s saying? Well, of course, she can’t - the classic futility of the pop ballad returns. So much in this song is about being unheard, and that fascinates me.

An observation: Songs in this vein hardly ever give any detail about the ostensible (usually female) subject. This is probably at least a little bit to make it easier for everyone involved to identify with them, but it also makes it clear that the speaker’s love has far more to do with his own hang-ups than with the supposed object of his affections. And doesn’t the way we love say so much about us? Maybe that’s why I’m such a sucker for romance.

*The tertiary Queer and Here interpretation makes itself available yet again. I mean, the whole bit about sweaty palms goes all the way back to Sappho, you guys.**

**Fuck I’m such an English major send help

7. See You Soon

Imma be real with y’all for a sec - I couldn’t handle this song at first. It’s about losing a person, and not even in a way that’s final. It gives me sort of the same feeling as “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop (read it; it’s short and will tear your little heart from your chest). In both that poem and this song, the ambiguity of the addressee’s identity makes the loss all the more poignant - is the speaker addressing a lover or a friend? Is it both? And which is worse?

The painful wisdom imparted by the passage of time is another motif that keeps coming up in this album. Our dude used to get mad at the small things, and he’s realized what’s actually important, but like every lesson learned the hard way, it’s too late to apply it to the situation in question. And perhaps he never would’ve come to that revelation without the accompanying loss, but that doesn’t make it any less excruciating.

Remember when your life felt like it would be never-ending - if you enjoy the particular kind of masochism brought about by that sentiment, I’d encourage you to check out “I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers. Not to get too philosophical, but grown-ups have this thing where they lecture kids about how they think they’re immortal. And we don’t believe it when we’re kids, at least I didn’t - I wasn’t particularly inclined to take dumb risks, or so I thought. But (dammit) somewhere, we actually do realize that life isn’t permanent, that the place we grew up isn’t the entire world, and that there’s so much of that world that we’ll simply never experience. Wondering how a relationship could have gone differently is more than just a painful (and arguably necessary) experience - it also calls to mind all the different directions our lives could take, and forces us to watch as all those paths converge into one.

It’s another special mid-20s crisis - by that age, we’ve had a few close friendships and relationships, and we’ve experienced the end of some of them. And after that end, we have to change, both as a result of the loss and - you guessed it - the unstoppable, unbending passage of time. If I say it enough it might come true, the speaker says as he leads into the final repetition of the chorus, and we get the sense that he almost believes it. Is it denial, willful self-delusion, or genuine hope?

8. Boring

This is the track that really got me thinking about this album. If “People Go Home” stands on a soapbox wagging its finger at The American Dream™, this song drunkenly embraces it in a bar a few hours later. And, like “People Go Home,” I sort of hated it until I noticed what a great time Tommy Siegel was having with it.

We begin with the inexorability of time again - the seasons are changing / but my world always stays the same. Of course, the use of “lame” to describe undesirability is crummy for obvious reasons, but it also reads as delightfully teenage - our friend is desperately clinging to whatever vestiges of youth remain to him. There’s also a charmingly youthful tendency to exaggerate - I guess they’ll procreate until they die / everyone is boring / everything is lame / everybody thinks they’re not the same could have come straight from the mouth of a fourteen-year-old in the back of a car on a family road trip.

What I love love love love about this song is how smoothly the speaker seems to come around over the course of it. He begins with a distressing observation: all my friends are having kids / but nobody’s sure why. And by the end of the song, he’s worked out exactly why. He’s a little ashamed to say that he’s figured out just what the big deal is. And he’s going through some internal conflict, but that doesn’t mean he’s got to be shy about how he feels.

After wondering for a minute how he got this way (I webmd myself but somehow nothing’s ever wrong has to be one of the most #relatable lyrics I’ve ever heard), he smoothly switches from lambasting the Nuclear Family™ to flattering his addressee:

Baby let’s get boring

Let’s get old and lame

Let’s get a house and kids and change your name

‘ cause I don’t think you’re boring

I don’t think you’re lame

Let’s get a house and summer up in Maine

(kind of a lazy rhyme there at the end, but still sorta cute)

While he acknowledges his frustration with his desire to become that which he most detests, he also acknowledges that the alternative is much worse: I’d rather rot in hell / than watch you become someone lame with someone else.* And yeah, growing up resolves a lot of exciting questions into formulaic predictability, but if you find someone to share it with who’s interesting, you can enjoy it anyway. It’s either a cute little bit of poetry or the most adorably fumbling marriage proposal in the history of time.

We could be so boring, he promises his intended, and he sounds, well, sort of excited about it. Because if everybody else thinks they’re not the same, he asks, why should we bother pretending? It’s not important if we’re actually boring. It’s that I don’t think you are. And I think I agree  - the most important parts of any relationship only matter to the people in it.

I’m not sure what he’s doing to that guitar at the end there, but he sure is doing it.

*There’s another reading that he’s settling but I’ll go with the optimistic one thank you.

9. Simple as 1 2 3

I found this to be sort of a weird tone shift, but the more I listen to it, the better it fits. The lyrics are all about how you can’t fall in love without taking chances - a played-out theme that still meshes beautifully with this track’s youthful simplicity. When I saw this performed live, the singer literally counted on his fingers while he sang and played the piano, and it managed to be incredibly charming. Or maybe it was just his pretty pretty eyes.

When you feel your pulse / knock you over like an animal is so simple but so vivid and I’m not sure this is going anywhere; I just wanted to point it out.

The second verse,

So take a risk

and find a little love

hidden where you didn’t see it

‘cause the time you have is all the time you’ve got

briefly brings it back to the existential crisis that dominates most of this album, but it’s somehow much more optimistic with this new spin - life is short, so you might as well give the whole falling in love thing a whirl. And if it goes badly, hey, there’s always Track 7.

Lyrically, the bridge doesn’t do a whole lot, but I like how it just sort of sits there building on itself - it increases the tension, like, well, the moment of waiting in a corner before going over to talk to someone - and when the musical track drops out to leave only the singer’s voice, it’s like the strange silence that seems to accompany a difficult utterance, and okay, I’m definitely reading way too much into this. Whatever. Death of the author.

10. Colorful

So this is gonna get pretty sentimental, because that is the sort of track this is, and for that I halfheartedly apologize. In an album full of glibness and cynicism, this song stands out relatively devoid of artifice or dire warnings of death.

This song, to me, is about being an artist, and an aggressively happy one at that. I dunno if you’ve seen my art, but, well, it’s downright obnoxious. I mean - Wanna feel like a light in a dark place? Why yes, as a matter of fact; where do I sign. And For the lovers and the broken-hearted feels almost like a call to action - it’s important to bring out the beauty of the world for the people who want to revel in it and for the ones who might be too sad to notice it. All that stuff about trying to paint the world in a new way is probably meant to be a metaphor, but I like taking it literally. It makes me feel better about how I’ve chosen to spend the vast majority of my free time, dammit.

And while this track is pretty repetitive, it forms a perfect conclusion to an album that’s just as much about the ways we talk about romance as the romance itself. It’s one more frame to fit around the first two, if you like.

The bridge is a blatant and transparent excuse to show off Thornewill’s vocal range, for which I can hardly blame him. That man sings like a god.

Bonus Notes:

Stay the Night (single)

I know this one didn’t make it onto the album but I fucking love it. It’s so catchy, and I love that it doesn’t sound like “Pretty Woman” or “Come on Eileen” - I don’t feel like the guy is being coercive or weird. Sure, he’s lamenting that he can’t sleep with the object of his affections, but it’s very much a lament of circumstance - he can’t stay the night because they don’t have time, or they’ve got work in the morning, or it’s only their first date and they’re taking things slow, and you get the sense that he understands from the second verse - I’m singing Journey on the highway / I’m still believing; I’m still believing / that I’ll wake up beside you one day - it almost feels like a reassurance.

It also brings home a lot of themes that come up later in Off to the Races. We’re not getting any younger, and yeah, we might as well have fun with it. But again - I’m not getting a “To His Coy Mistress” vibe here. It’s feels much more along the lines of “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” Perhaps it’s just the evolving sexual mores of our society, or perhaps it’s that the speaker spends absolutely no time convincing his date - he simply states the obvious. It’s that universal thrill of something starting, and I am, as they say, here for it.

Anyway that was approximately 2.73 million times longer than I meant it to be. I guess I like talking about poetry? Who could have predicted this? (Really, I actually had a lot of fun with this, so if you liked it, let me know and maybe I’ll do it again sometime. Although, fair warning, it is liable to be about Fall Out Boy.)

[barbecuedphoenix]

Say Gardienne had a bad life, wasn't close to her family, no real friends, etc. What would the boys do if she reacted to their little potion stunt with happiness instead of despair, since now she really doesn't need to return, with no one to miss her.

Well this is an interestingtwist. 0_0 It makes me wonder if this should have been canon. Because it caninstantly resolve the conflict on what to prioritize: a.) honoring theGuardian’s life in the human realm and avenging the injustice of her staying inEldarya, or b.) leaving her to discover her destiny in the faery realm, matureas a person, and build a new life, persona, and relationship there with noqualms.  

Frankly, given that it’s adating sim with episodic updates and not a visual novel with aplotline determined in advance, the logical solution would be to focus onOption B entirely. Apologies to the Earth First! party in the fandom. >_>

So I’ll be happy to experimentwith this alternate plot-twist, Anon. ;)

Note: Below you’ll find amixture of in-game facts picked up from Youtube walkthroughs of Episode 13, andsome personal expansion (such as the way the potion works, laws governing itsuse, etc.) It’s headcanon, not canon. ;)

Note #2: For a full diatribe dissection on why I think an angsty Guardian accepting the potion willingly has a lot of potential for the game’s storyline, check out the analysis/extrapolation here. And feel free to leave your own thoughts. :) 

Ezarel

What does he know about the Guardian’s past?  

Only a little. From a fewpassing, deadpan references, he knows the Guardian has lost people close tothem. Yet he never bothered to ask further: these days, who hasn’t lost loved ones? And from the waythey carry themselves– straight-backed, matter-of-fact, and unfailinglyconsiderate to others (very Valkyon-esque, now that he thinks about it)–Ezarel is inclined to believe that he doesn’t have to worry about them. They’rea smart character with excellent control of their own emotions, and no need fortranquilizers to get to sleep. So as far as he’s concerned, he has no reason topry into their lives, professionally or personally. Let them keep theirsecrets.

How does he react to Miiko’s order to ensure the Guardiantakes the potion?

It feels like a nzmabe’s handhas reached into his gut, and is throttling it for all its un-life. Miiko can’tbe asking this from him. Though hewas responsible for some pretty horrific concoctions– explosives, acid baths,and corrosive lime mixtures for El’s never-ending war against the wilder fey–,this potion violates an entirely new set of ethical principles. She wants himto turn an ally into a living ghostas opposed to a traditionally dead one, without their knowledge or consent; tosever the cognitive and emotional bonds of a living community, again sansknowledge or consent. This course of action violates the basic autonomy of asentient mind and an individual identity; in a time of peace, it’s practicallyillegal.  

Only Miiko is now exploitingthe pinpoint-sized loophole in the ancient laws of the land: if the drinker willingly participates in the creationof the potion, then they would have given their consent. Ezarel promptlycorrects her: ignorant consent doesn’t count as willing consent. And it’s thisprinciple– among others– that he’s prepared to defend with fire. In the backof his mind, he wonders what he once saw in his old colleague when he supportedher ascent to leader of the Guard.

Then it dawns on him thatMiiko is intent to see this through;if he declines to help, she’ll find someone else to goad the Guardian intopreparing the spell. Perhaps even an amateur alchemist armed with just lethalresolution… who might have no experience with a volatile reagent like theWaters of Lethe. One misstep won’t lead to just the erasure of their memoryfrom other humans, but faeries as well; a concentrated dose would even destroytheir own memories. And that’s an accident that Ezarel can’t allow to happen ingood conscience.  

So he accepts this unsavorytask, with a bitter taste in his mouth. Never has he imagined applying hisskills for this when he took the helmof the Absynthe Guard. He can only hope that there won’t be a reprise withinhis career. And that no one else will learn of the crime he’s committing topreempt a deeper tragedy.  

How will he react if the Guardian, on knowing the truthabout the potion, actually accepts it?

Ezarel will actually splutterfor a moment: don’t they understand the ramifications of this ritual? It’sbeyond alchemy: a potent spell encapsulated in a bottle that effects humanpsyches in a vast cascade across the energy network of emotions, feelings, andmemories that starts with them, and will permanently sever their sole link tothe human world. They’ll become a living ghost. They need to understand thatthis is a horrible idea.  

But when they flatly tell him thatyes, they’re sure, Ezarel– still flabbergasted– starts to get ticked off: howcan they be so calm about this? Theremust be something critical they don’tunderstand. Hell, if he’s in their place and knows what’s about to happen,he’ll flat-out refuse. (And if he lost this fight, he’ll summon a lawman, andthen call up a trial no matter what for this technically illegal procedure.)

He starts energeticallyexplaining to them– again– why they should refuse, now going against Miiko’sorders. If it comes to it, he’ll even let them sue him for conspiring with that nutcase kitsune. But the Guardian cuts him off and tells him, with a wan expression, that he doesn’t knowa thing about the life they left behind. Becoming a ghost won’t be a tremendous change.

That finally shuts Ezarel up.And he starts to listen– still shocked, but intent onunderstanding this perplexing puzzle– to their life’s story. He learns aboutthe loss of their parents back when their age fell under two digits: one fromnatural causes, the other from government intervention when they proved apt at ignoring their child. Though by then, the damage was done to their hearing from an untreated infection in one ear, and their scalp from when they had to shave it from sequential lice infections. He listens to the cycle ofdisplacement, neglect, more secondhand abuse, and eventual abandonment thatplayed out over and again as they grew up, shunted arbitrarily through fosterhomes, and along the systems of welfare ostensibly made to help other cast-offslike them. He hears about them falling through the cracks in life when theygrew past the age when the city would look after them: their health tenuous,their finances worse, their higher education shelved. Still keeping that rovinglifestyle as they searched– on their own– for a place to stay and makesomething of themselves for anything more than six months. And he remainssilent as they explain the patterns of loss– in both figurative and literalsenses– for family, friends, and the people they could have called both, untilthey learnt to rely on no one, and expect nothing at all from the rest of theworld.  

The telling takes over anhour. Ezarel has to get up twice to trim the wick from the nearby lamps, but hekeeps listening.

By the end of their story, hehas no words. Humans have very peculiar ways of causing misery to their ownbrethren. It’s a broad crime beyond anything that can be helped.

He doesn’t try to convincethem again when they break their silence, requesting the potion one more time. Thoughhe does make a half-hearted, half-joking final check on whether there’s any soulthey’re remotely sorry for leavingbehind. For liability’s sake. The way they smile wearily, and joke back thatthose they feel for probably half-forgot about them already, makes Ezarel wantto bite his tongue in half. This is definitelypast the time for jokes. The more he scratches the surface, the moresadness he’s bound to uncover. And he has no idea what he can do to help.Beyond giving the Guardian what they’ve asked for.

How will he help the Guardian with the potion?

So Ezarel offers a quiet apology, mentally kicks himself a second time for mouthing something soinadequate, then shuts up for good as he prepares the drink, with the scrupulousattention to detail that’s second nature for him once he walks into a lab. Heconducts a final check of the potion’s efficacy (exactly 0.005 moles of theessence of Lethe; they did well all right), pours it into a sterile tumbler,disposes of the rest of the batch to avoid misuse, and serves the tumbler tothem. And then retreats to the corner of the bench, keeping a respectful distance.

When they take the cup, he reelsoff an intensive, final explanation of the immediate and residual effects ofthe spell, as it ruthlessly sets out across the ether to eliminate theirpersonal signature from the collective network of thought and emotion. It’s anexplanation that he formerly intended to withhold from them; but now it’s theirright to know, and he has no fear of their reaction. When they thank him– witha minute smile– for his full disclosure, Ezarel shrugs it off with a lump ofunease in his throat and a faint joke: there are plenty of other things theycan thank him for in the near future; this potion isn’t his idea. But this is their decision, and their life from here on.

Still, he finds his fingertipstwitching and his eyes skittering down when they drain the cup in one quickswallow, like knocking back whiskey. Whether it’s from lingering guilt at thetotality of the Guardian’s departure from their world, or discomfort at theirdisturbing certainty, he can no longer tell.

Nevra

What does he know about the Guardian’s past?  

Next to nothing, and thatrankles him a little: he’s not the head of El’s information network fornothing. But this Guardian is particularly canny in redirecting conversationsaway from their past, even when lubricated by faery wine and among friends. Sowhat information he has picked up camefrom observing their habits: their unspoken familiarity with locks, the waythey stick to the peripheries of a group conversation and scan a room like ahawk before even taking a foot inside, the peculiar times that they takeshowers, and how they never leave their food and drink away from their own eyes.All without the Shadow Guard quite training them.  

They have a past, he can tell.And because of that, Nevra doesn’t dig more than usual; it’s information that’sbound to be sensitive, and warped with rumor if it comes from anyone else’s lips.The Guardian will need to trust him first before they can disclose their life’sstory to him.

How does he react to Miiko’s order to ensure the Guardiantakes the potion?

Nevra is very much against Miiko’s decision, and he doesn’t mince his wordswhen he tells her. She’s ordering them to invalidate a life that’s still beinglived– an innocent one of all things–, and sever nearly all their worldlyconnections without their knowledge or consent. She’s ordering them toreconfigure the minds of a hundred or more people unable to fight theirdecision, erasing what love and experiences are there, and embed a new truth inthem. He doesn’t know where her scruples are taking residence right now, but that is wrong. And that’s coming fromthe head of the Shadow Guard.

But here the constraints ofsaid position spring up to choke him. Nevra soon realizes that if he publiclyprotests the decision, and turns against it, what little unity is left in theGuard will be shaken. People will wonder if the Shadow Guard can be trusted tosupport El if its own chief defies orders from the top. His rivals vying forhis seat will finally find an excuse to band together and depose him, ensnaringhim on false charges against his loyalty to El. And if he loses the trial, he’llhave to leave El and the Guard. And bring Karenn with him back into thehinterland, because she will follow him anywhere, even fight viciously for him…and he’ll no longer be able to protect her in El’s toxic environment on stepping down.Provided that he isn’t arrested and excommunicated first.

To prevent all of that fromhappening, to prevent discord in the Guard and keep his own world from crashingdown… he’ll have to do the unthinkable and sacrifice the Guardian to appeasehis boss’s paranoia. Miiko points out– with unintentional malice– that he’s theone their problematic recruit trusts the most… and will suspect the least. He’ll have to help themprepare the ritual.

Nevra’s decision is clear. Buthe begins to withdraw from his social circles and even Karenn, losing sleepevery night until the day of reckoning. He’s no alchemist or sorcerer, but heknows enough about the potion’s effects to know this ritual is unequivocallywrong. With permanent consequences for a person who has done nothing to theGuard, except for being spotted by a hostile human once. And of all people, it’s someone whose affection and regard hewants to earn.

As much as his hands are tied,as real as the danger is to him and Karenn–and perhaps the rest of El– ondisobeying, Nevra knows he’s still a coward for following through.

How will he react if the Guardian, on knowing the truthabout the potion, actually accepts it?

Nevra is well and trulyshocked. For a disorienting moment, his anxiety from the past fewdays combusts in his stomach; he wonders if his lack of sleep is catching up tohim, and scrambling what his keen ears have picked up. But when the Guardianreiterates their decision, with a calm, wry smile, he has no choice but tobelieve them. Though with no small internal outcry: are they simply acceptingthis as inevitable?  

So he assures them empatheticallythat they don’t have to accept this,that they’re under no obligation to follow through (like him). That he’lleven– the idea finally dawns on him, with the two of them alone in the lab– discardthis potion, destroy the papers, and falsify what happens here to Miiko, to letthem keep their own life. And to hell with the mercenaries on their way to El; ifthey have a faery spy here, then they’ll simply leak the Guardian’s existenceto the rebels again after this ritual is finished, and the conflict willcontinue. The Shadow Guard will find another way to head them off; they have his word. Butwhen the Guardian interrupts him with a sharp ‘no’, Nevra is stunned again:they don’t just want to disappear; they haveto disappear.

At last, they tell him abouttheir life before falling into Eldarya: the uneasy home they left at a youngage, where the averted eyes and ironclad silence allowed a relative to hurtthem with impunity, forcing them to hit the streets before they were old enoughto legally pick up a cigarette. The year of scrambling on their own, sleepingin their car even as frost bit their toes, until they found an older manwilling to shelter them, love them, refrain from judging them… and who convincedthem to help him with his ‘side job’. Just until they scraped together enoughmoney for a new start elsewhere. Which was how they learnt some of therequisite skills of the Shadow Guard: hitting the streets, parking lots, andcampuses, playing off the despair and the anxious physical needs that shackledcustomers, and not sparing the kids their age who were still in school. All fora new start that was pushed back to the murky future, month after month. Untilthe law caught up to them during one campus sting; with them unable to cough upthe money for a lawyer, and their lover and partner choosing that moment to letthem take the fall, they spent the next few years learning the life of ajuvenile inmate. They didn’t even have the satisfaction of watching karma taketheir old partner: on being released, they discovered their apartmentrepurposed, and their ex in a cell on the other side of the country… and a fewmonths from parole. They knew in their bones that he was going to track themdown to ‘reconcile’ and ‘help him get back on his feet’… with whatever thatmight entail. And, given their own dire financial straits and dearth of friendsafter being released, they’ll be hard-pressed to refuse his offer of another‘new start’. Falling through a mushroom ring was perhaps the best thing thathappened to them.

By the end of the Guardian’sstory, Nevra is left with only an urge to pull them into his arms. And he doesso. Because after everything he has just heard, he’s at a loss on what else hecan do. There are some marks and some lessons that can never be erased from alife. When the Guardian stiffens like wire in his arms, the salt smell of tearsreaching his nose, he promptly moves to shush them, to reassure them (or bothof them) that from now on, it will be all right.  With him, they won’t ever have to worry. Andwhen they break into a laugh– half skeptical, half relieved– he finds himselfkissing them quiet along their hair, their eyes, and finally on their mouth,the way he had wanted to for months. And when their fingers dig into him, heobliges their need: letting them hold onto him tight as they kiss him back.

How will he help the Guardian with the potion?

Only after the tension fullyleaves the Guardian in his arms does Nevra recall he still has an unenviablejob to do in this room. Though now the situation has been flipped onto itshead. At last, he confesses his own reasons for coaxing them into crafting thepotion, and then drinking it: trading one truth for another, suddenly afraidthat they’ll question why he was involved in this sordid business at all. Because thelast thing he wants is to be seen as another treacherous man in their life.  

But the Guardian surprises himagain by forgiving him, pressing a tiny kiss to the corner of his jaw, andjoking about how they’re now doubly concerned with taking the potion to savehis job. Nevra has to shut his good eye to keep the lump in his throat fromescaping, tightening his arms around them as relief snaps the tension windinghis body like a spring for days.

When they finally move to thepotion on the lab bench, he doesn’t quite let the Guardian go. Instead, hepours the flask with one arm still looped around them, then steadies their handand the small of their back as they accept the tumbler, holding them close. Ifthey’re going to do this, they’ll finish it together.

But when they raise the cup ina wry toast, and drain it, Nevra has to press his mouth to their temple, unableto watch them swallow the drink. Instead, he breathes in the smell of theirhair, distracting himself from that deep foreboding in his chest at theinvisible forces he knows are now unleashed, erasing the Guardian in his armsfrom the lives of a hundred or more. For good and ill.

Valkyon

What does he know about the Guardian’s past?  

Valkyon doesn’t know a thing,and frankly, he suspects that he knows the least out of everyone in HQ: it’shard to miss the way the Guardian clams up around him whenever they fumble an assignment. Even though he already told them– on the day of their first panicattack in front of the ocean, and other occasions since– that he’ll neverjudge them for admitting their own weaknesses, that acknowledging them isalready a mark of bravery in his eyes. Still, some habits and some fears rundeep; Valkyon knows better than to sit his recruit down and ask what made themthis way. The Guardian will tell him on their own time, and only then.  

How does he react to Miiko’s order to ensure the Guardiantakes the potion?

His instincts are singing thatthis is not a good idea in theslightest. The Guardian won’t forgive such a profound violation of their trust,and their own right to maintain their identity and roots. But then, thequestion occurs to him on what will happen if he lets this pot bubble under asealed lid. How long will it take for those human mercenaries to storm HQ–again– and make off with the Guardian on their ill-advised rescue mission? Howmany casualties will they leave behind this time? The fort is understaffed asit is. It doesn’t take Valkyon long to run through calculations, using theestimates from last year on the enemy force’s numbers as well as what he haswitnessed on the field recently… and the final sum of every scenario is a much emptier fort. It’ll be a messy raid, no question. 

He will be failing his ownduties as the Obsidian Guard’s commander if he allows this metaphorical powderkeg to remain in HQ. Not unless he snuffs out the fuse and curtails the comingconfrontation that he has overheard with his own ears… using a very esotericpotion.

If those mercenaries only knewabout the Guardian by hearsay, then the potion is a moot point. Butone of the rebels had described them with enough disturbing detail to count asfirsthand knowledge. And that, unfortunately, meant his recruit had todisappear.

So Valkyon gives his assent,the only one of the three Guard heads to do so from the onset. All whilelocking down the doubts and the objections stirring in his chest, with thatsteely will that has earned him a local reputation of ‘Last Man to Be Trifled With’. To prevent another carnage, and tosave the Guardian, this has to be done. In fact, he’ll do the deed himself,to spare his colleagues from both the Guardian’s anger and the moral burden.

How will he react if the Guardian, on knowing the truthabout the potion, actually accepts it?  

At first, Valkyon feels a hardweight plunge through his gut as the veil of secrecy– his one shield from theGuardian’s moral outrage– is stripped away within six words: they know, and they’llaccept it. Another few moments pass before his mind registers the second halfof their answer. And then he is fully thrown for the loop, at a genuine lossfor words: this is not part of the plan. Though logic tells him that theGuardian’s knowing consent is a favorabledevelopment– because it means no resistance or worrisome grudges from hisrecruit; a clean procedure by both legal and ethical standards–, a seam in hisheart finally starts to tear, now that the armor he has girdled his conscience with has been broken. And he begins to wonder if he wants to go through with this.

They read his hesitationbefore he can voice it: gently, with a sad smile that tugs him again out of thesoldier’s mien, they tell him that they would be glad to disappear, and finallyremove the burdens that they’ve saddled their acquaintances with for themajority of their life. It’s high time their old friends let go of them. And this revelationshocks Valkyon for a second time, finally sparking a question from him, soft and astonished: why? Though he knows regret only too well, it’s another matterentirely to want to vanish from the sphere of loved ones.

At last, in a voice so soft hehas to strain his ears to catch the fall of their words, the Guardian tells him their story. Starting with the accident that took the lives of their father– theironly family– and a stranger on a highway. Sparing, with a certain black irony, only theperpetrator of the crash: themselves. 

When the Guardian’s voicebreaks at the first mention of their father in who knows how many years,Valkyon stops them, grasping them gently by the elbows to bring them back tothe present, assuring them that they needn’t tell him anymore. But they shaketheir head, lining their voice with iron, and insist that they need to tellthis story now before wiping the slateclean; this is their final chance to own up to everything.

So he lapses into silenceagain, and lets them; honoring their need to redeem what they can, to crackopen the shell they had built around themselves, and share the narrative theyonce considered criminal, or still do. 

They tell him about the dark years after the court hearing when grief and guilt worked in concert to sheathe them from the rest of the world, from any emotion at all besides sudden, precipitous drops into despair. The downhill slide from school, work, friends, and what peripheral family they had left, until they found themselves hooked onto sleeping pills and hard liquor, living in a rehabilitation center. Where they were kept afloat by the efforts of a persistent social worker, and the generosity of a grandmother with some conscience– who routinely visited to implore them to wake up and get their spine back, because it was expensive keeping them in the center. And when her predictions were realized and the money ran out within a few months, they re-entered the working world– just weaned of their vices but still not quite healed–, resorting to lonely midnight-shifts at the back of restaurants and convenience stores. At least part of which was motivated by the need to dodge a few loyal friends, colleagues, and teachers still searching for them. Their only company during those days was the social worker from the rehab center, who stopped at their dingy hostel to check on them once a week, paying for lunch and a coffee, and for an hour taking them away from the other young burn-outs who lived with them. That was the narrative of their life until the day they pulled themselves together to embark on their first hike in years. Granted, they never expected to disappear the way they did, but this potion would be a boon in the long run: one more burden off the lives of the people who still remember them.

Their voice has barely risen above a conversational whisper. But the force of their grief,and the lingering guilt, seems to pull Valkyon lower to the floor the more he hears. Until at last, when they fall silent themselves, he reachesforward– in a gesture so natural that he doesn’t give it a second thought– andgently wipes what tears have escaped with the edge of his thumb, their cheekresting in the warm cup of his palm. Which, ironically, seems to spill more; what’sleft of their stoic mask cracks, and they hold his hand against their cheekuntil the fitful trembling of their shoulders stops.

How will he help the Guardian with the potion?  

Valkyon doesn’t dare speakuntil the shivering leaves them, though he doesn’t move his hand away either. In a low murmur, for their ears only, he shares the lesson that he himself learnt: no amount of sorrow or guilt canjustify the past, or cheapen it. What has happened has happened, regardless. So what matters most is to correct oneself and one’s actions today to prevent areprise of their regrets. And from what he has seen since they arrived here,they’ve proven themselves to be a pillar of strength. Even if they don’t quitesee themselves the same way.    

When the Guardian squeezes hishand and kisses his palm, their smile still tremulous, his mind promptly takes asnapshot of this moment, then locks it away inside the vault of his memories. Onlythen does he return, reluctantly, to the task at hand, which he has beenordered to see through by whatever means necessary. Though now, with a willingparticipant, he can freely speak his mind to comfort them on the sacrificethey’re prepared to make.

The effects of the potion arepermanent, he reminds the Guardian gravely; there is no known counter-spell.From here on, only Eldarya will be their home. But if it’s any comfort, theones they love best– both passed and extant– will never leave their memories; they’ll always beimprinted in the way they speak, the way they carry themselves, the decisionsthat their heart makes to be moved or otherwise by the world around them. Theirloved ones from before have contributed the most to making who they are today. That’san intrinsic truth that this ritual– or any ritual– can never change.

When the Guardian finallyreleases his hand, it’s only to switch it to their palm. And he lets them holdonto him, their fingers laced tight through his, as they accept the flask passed to them, smile at him gently over therim, and tip it back. Valkyon doesn’t allow himself to look away: it would onlydemean the responsibility he has undertaken, and the total sacrifice that theyhave accepted. 

It’s only afterwards that herealizes that the Guardian isn’t holding his hand to comfort themselves, but tocomfort him.  

…I think I went over my writing cap for angst-per-page. It’s all your fault, Anon, for sending such a weightyrequest. ;)

If you enjoyed this three-partscenario, and even if you didn’t (which I won’t blame you for), drop me amessage and let me know what you think. My inbox is never closed to feedback. :)

[fatgirlsguidetodating]

Blog: Toxic relationships.

I've come to the point in my life that despite the fact I desperately want a partner and to have a kid that I can say to myself that I'd rather be single than be with someone who doesn't love and value me. Over the years I have seen far too many of my friends in toxic relationships, places where they weren't happy but they stayed. I watched as they often started to lose themselves and made the other person's happiness their only priority. As they put up with bullshit because they thought the pain that the toxic relationship brought them was better than the pain of losing and letting go of the person that they loved so much. Some because their culture saw other things as more important than love and happiness, some because they thought they could do no better, some because they had a kid with them and some because they loved that person so much they'd forgive anything and everything and as a result were stuck in that cycle. I've had many an argument with people over the years who say if they weren't happy they'd leave but they don't understand sometimes there's that almost battered woman syndrome affect where they just *can't* walk away. I've never been a victim of BWS but a forensic psych unit at uni really made me think and see that "just walk away" isn't that simple. And toxic relationships- some where there's no abuse as such, some where there's physical abuse, some where there's mental abuse, and some where there's a mixture- have that same cyclic response. As a friend I truly think it's one of the worst things to see someone you care about in these types of toxic relationship. You want to support them but at the same time you want to shake them and say wtf mate, you deserve so much more! So what is a toxic relationship really? How do you know if you're in one? Why do they stay? By definition, a toxic relationship is a "relationship characterized by behaviors on the part of the toxic partner that are emotionally and, not infrequently, physically damaging to their partner...a toxic relationship is not a safe place. [In essence] it [a toxic relationship] is characterized by insecurity, self-centeredness, dominance, control. [One where by staying] we risk our very being. These [toxic] relationships have mutated themselves into something that has the potential, if not corrected, to be extremely harmful to our well being." (1) How do you know if your relationship is one of these toxic ones? Well there are red flags, signs that many chose to ignore because of the cyclic nature of these relationships (more on this later including those which are abusive). Such as criticism. Not the criticism that comes from a positive place that's to help the person or relationship but more so that used to express contempt or disdain where it makes the other person feel so unvalued, unloved and worthless. There's also arguing without communicating. By that I mean over and above the normal arguments that any relationship will have, where it's more about yelling over one another and no real communication and therefore nothing is solved. Or when you avoid your partner all the time because the energy when together is completely negative. Also when you are no longer yourself. Yes you will change within a relationship, that's a given, but there's a difference when the change is bigger. (2) Something also like a constant struggle for power. Suzanne Lachman, Phd, suggests imagining your relationship as a seesaw. "If both partners understand their power (or are empowered), the seesaw stays relatively level and balanced...But if one person in the relationship has brought in a feeling of powerlessness, [they] may try to compensate by baring down on the seesaw, shifting [their] weight, and perpetually uprooting, destabilizing, or ungrounding [their] partner on the other side.” (3) And also jealousy where your partner wants you all to his/herself, so much so that you barely see friends or family because they monopolise your time. In extreme cases this also includes where they may stop you from going out with say single friends or drinking. There are also behaviours that are toxic that most people would think of as normal within a relationship. The problem here however is that, in part, many unhealthy relationship habits are baked into our culture. As Mark Manson puts it "we worship romantic love — you know, that dizzying and irrational romantic love that somehow finds breaking china plates on the wall in a fit of tears somewhat endearing — and scoff at practicality or unconventional sexualities." (4) In his article he lists the 6 behaviours that psychological research has shown are actually toxic rather than just part of the usual ebb and flow of a relationship. These include keeping score (you know the whole well you got drunk at my 21st and I had to spend the night looking after you despite it being my big night so I got revenge by flirting with my hot work colleague), excessively passive aggressive behaviour (finding small and petty ways to piss your partner off so you can feel like being mad at them is totally justified), blaming your partner for your own emotions (you had a shitty day at uni but when you wanted that sympathy and support he was busy playing call of duty or busy with work) or buying solutions to problems (a holiday will solve everything right?). Despite this these relationships aren't necessarily hopeless but if they are going to work they need a lot of hard work to be changed into a healthy relationship. The paradox is that in order to have a reasonable chance to turn a toxic relationship into a healthy relationship, we have to be prepared to leave it. (1) One reason that seems pretty common for why people stay in a toxic relationship where they are unhappy more than they are happy is cultural reasons. Culture, tradition and religion are often bedfellows in emphasising that a marriage should be for keeps which is at odds with the way the law views marriage, which is more as a contract that, if breached, provides remedies such as divorce. (5) I was talking to a guy online, I think it was "Tagged" and he told me he was married. I wasn't shocked. I mean half of tinder seems to be made up of married men and it's just as prevalent on other dating sites or apps. (Take me and Married Guy for instance.) But rather than abuse him or just delete him or ghost him I asked him why he was looking for sex online if married? He was an Indian man and he told me that the marriage was great at first, they had two kids together, but, as time went by she stopped wanting to have sex with him so he was looking for that online. I said so why not leave? He said it was his culture that they stayed. And that he loved her and they were close and happy. Just not intimate. To tell the truth that could all have been a load of bullshit, I've had my fair share of poor me my wife has no time for me/my wife is away for work a lot/my wife's no longer into sex and even one guy who claimed his wife physically couldn't have sex with him anymore but because she had a major psychiatric illness he didn't want to leave her because she would hurt herself or kill herself. (Needless to say I blocked him pretty damn quick.) I've spoken briefly about a friend who stays with her partner because he's a good provider, not because she's in love with him anymore. They do have periods in the relationship where things are happy and harmonious enough though she doesn't talk about ever being intimate (except the 3 times she was pregnant when clearly they did the deed) and by the same token I rarely- if ever- hear her talk about loving him. I know she used to talk about it- they were about 22/23 when they first met and he was her first everything. Back then she couldn't get enough of him. Now the way she talks about him is in a detached manner. And it's usually more bitching about him. He even tells her if she leaves he will get everything including the kids (unlikely), or her own mother tells her that she'd be selfish to leave because the kids get supported better within the marriage, or her own sister says she'd be on her husbands side if they broke up. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life- what could equate to another 40 plus years- with a man whom she refers to only as "[my] husband" and never talks about him with any kind of love, romance or heck even traces of feelings just because he works hard and provides luxuries for them! Probably the most common reason I see and hear for people staying in toxic relationships is they genuinely believe that they either couldn't do any better or they would be alone forever if they walked away. Whilst they might know intellectually that nobody should have to settle for less than they deserve their emotions leave them conflicted. Underneath all of these rationalizations is a deep seated fear of being alone. Think back to your childhood. We’re you given many- or even any- examples of how to be alone on tv, movies, books, or the internet? Instead the chances are it was about how to make it work with your partner rather than to walk away and be happy alone until you found the right partner. Sure there’s nothing wrong with looking for love but very few people know how to be alone and happy. Too often the pleasure they find in a relationship is the release of not being by themselves in the world rather than love with their partner. (6) As Terry Gaspard wrote “too often I hear [people] who are coupled up rationalise while they are still in a relationship when...they shouldn’t be [saying] things like ‘I know my relationship isn’t perfect, but at least he doesn’t yell at me’ or ‘he is a really good dad.’...[things like that remind me] that breaking up with someone is an act of courage.” (6) Sometimes it's the partner who has put these thoughts in their head either with subconscious actions or conscious words, but often it's the person's own insecurities at play too. Or perhaps there's still a part of them that doesn't want to believe you can do better? (7) It's even been suggested that these people just don't *want* to find someone better, an argument that's attracted a fair bit of detractors. There was even a book written by Dr Henry Cloud saying that, essentially, there are plenty of people out there if you really wanted to. Carolyn Kauffman, who has a doctorate in psychology, finds this annoying. As she wrote this is giving out the implicit message that they just need to try harder. (8) I have a couple of friends like this. In truth I have to admit I belong here too. After all I accepted a fuck buddy relationship with J1 and Married Guy because I thought that something was better than nothing. And I thought to myself well hey at least they actually *want* me unlike most of the male population. I didn’t allow myself to think too hard about the fact that I was allowing the idea that I was fuckable but not dateable. Another guy I know, D, has offered me a fuck buddy relationship too but I haven’t taken him up on that offer because I’ve decided that I have to stop settling for less than I really want. How can I expect men to see me as being worth more than just causal sex if even I don’t think I am? In my case my insecurity is mainly related to my weight, but it also goes back to my teenage years and the damage the relationship with the man I lost my virginity to did to me and my psyche. Two of my friends are in situations where I do believe they stay with a partner or return to him over and over because they think they can’t do any better. In one case she’s overweight too so perhaps she thinks like I do- or did-, in the other case she may have a couple extra kilos on board but she’s definitely not what I would consider fat- though her husband often tells her that she’s a whale! (He’s a charmer that one!) In both cases I haven’t ever really asked them why they stay or go back to someone with whom they weren’t exactly happy and who show them no love or affection and barely even sleep near them let alone have sex with them. One of them admits she can’t even remember they slept in the same bed let alone had sex. This is because he often falls asleep on the pull out bed playing xbox (or PlayStation or wii or whatever the f game console all the cool kids are using these days), in the other case he often sleeps in another room because he snores, but to me they kind of seem like excuses not to share a bed with the woman they are in a relationship or married to. A third friend is kind of a combination of a few examples- she thinks she cannot do better as a bigger person and thus puts up with her partner cheating on her and even hitting her. (I’ll look more at cases of physical abuse in a follow up blog post.) Interestingly both have said to me at various times if they found themselves single again they wouldn’t bother looking for a new relationship anywhere, that they’d just be happy enough as is, with their kids. And kids, it seems, is the third most common reason why people stay in relationships they aren’t happy in. They think it’s the right thing to do to give the children that perfect nuclear family. A former friend of mine had lost her older children so when she had another child with her new partner she went on and on about making memories and giving [the child] the “perfect childhood.” She was overcompensating and I’m sure she knew it- especially when the kid was spoilt rotten! Another person I knew stayed with his wife for something like 4 years “for the kids.” They didn’t sleep in the same room, were barely home at the same time, didn’t even really speak when they were home at the same time and never showed the other affection. One of the kids even picked up on it asking her dad why he never hugged mummy like her friends daddy’s did. But is a relationship where mum and dad barely speak, unless it’s to argue, show no affection to one another and the energy in the house is always so thick with negativity better than being in a situation where they may have two homes but they also have a mum and dad who are actually happy? According to child psychologist Kimberley O’Brien the answer to that is a big no. And that parents pretending to their kids that the relationship is fine are fooling themselves. “Kids are really sensitive to changes to things like voice tone and parents’ stress levels”, she says. (9) Yes there are many benefits to children having a mum and dad together- such as the children are less likely to divorce when older or are less likely to engage in delinquent behaviour or get pregnant early- but if a relationship isn’t working then staying just for the kids is when problems arise. (10) Because there is a bigger impact on the children in these cases than you realise. For instance the kids pick up on a lot more than adults realise (like the friend I mentioned who asked her dad why he never hugged her mum), and ultimately two happy seperate parents are better than two together yet miserable parents. (11) The final reason I see for people staying in toxic relationships that are way past their use by date is purely that they love that person more than anything and forgive them anything and everything and as such the partner knows what he or she can get away with and thus the cycle of this toxic relationship continues over and over and over and it’s damn hard to break. But it *can* be done. As mentioned up above with time and hard work it can be fixed provided both parties are willing. Madeline Fugere, Ph.D, names some of the most common reasons why we may stay in relationships that whilst not abusive are still toxic and not great for us. 1) We can be satisfied with an unsatisfactory relationships. Perhaps it’s because we have low self esteem, thinking ourselves unattractive, or that they simply have low standards from what they expect to receive in a relationship. 2) A shift in priorities. We tend to see our romantic partners positively but sometimes that is unrealistic. What this means is that effectively we view characteristics that our partners have as more important and more valued than other characteristics. Like a generous partner may make up for a partner not being thoughtful? 3) Low quality alternatives. If you perceive alternatives- like being alone or in another relationship- as lower-quality alternatives, you are more likely to stay, even in an unsatisfying relationship. 4) Manipulation. If your partner is aware that you want to leave the relationship, he or she may use different methods of manipulation to force you to stay such as emotional manipulation like belittling, demeaning or even threats of violence against you or a future partner. The distress associated with emotional abuse or the physical implications of intimate partner violence are strong enough deterrents to those seeking to leave a relationship that women who are psychologically distressed may not feel like they even have the ability to leave the relationship. 5) Investment. When you have long-term investments with a partner such as a business, a mortgage, an investment property or children it can be harder to leave. And, last but by no means least in my humble opinion is 6) Love. Psychologists distinguish among three different components of attitudes- the cognitive component or thoughts, the affective component or feelings and the behavioural component or actions. And even though these components may not be aligned with each other, such as your thoughts being negative but your feelings positive. We may continue to love our partners, even though we consciously recognize that we are involved in bad relationships. (12) Psychologists have developed something they have dubbed the “interdependence theory”, which is essentially the science of relationships. The theory states that, in essence, each partner will evaluate “[their] personal satisfaction with the relationship by assessing costs and benefits...[and as long as the] perceived benefits [will] outweigh perceived costs [they] are happy with [their] relationship.” (13) We use pros and cons list for many things these days- do we move, get a new job, go on holiday, get a new car, etc- so why not with relationships too? Relationship satisfaction relies heavily on the following three things: * They’ve already invested heavily in it, giving them the sense that the relationship must have some value. * They see no viable alternatives that are better than the current relationship. * They currently feel satisfied with the relationship. In a recent article psychologist Levi Baker et al gave some insight that might help explain why people stay in an unhappy toxic relationship and continue that cycle over and over. They note that even the best relationship is bound to have rough patches. Career changes, illness of a family member or even the birth of a child can bring new stressors into a relationship which will significantly reduce relationship satisfaction for both partners. But they remain committed because this commitment isn’t “based on a current level of satisfaction with the relationship...[but rather] it depends on the past as expected relationship satisfaction in the future.” (13) In practice what this means is that your current level of satisfaction doesn’t signal commitment. Instead it shows whether there are problems with the relationship that need addressing. Any dissatisfied feeling tells you to put more work into your relationship. In fact, says David Ludden Ph.D, “ just doing something to improve your relationship, such as devoting more time to your [partner] or seeking couple's therapy, can boost your expectation for a happier marriage in the future, thus bolstering your commitment to work things out.” But when people can’t envision an alternative that’s better than the unhappy arrangement they’re in, they may stay and try to make the best of a bad situation. These couples find ways to mitigate the strife in their marriage, ending up as housemates rather than soulmates. They may derive little happiness from their relationship, but they don’t expect it, either. And some, perhaps many, still find sufficient happiness from friendships or other activities in their lives. (13) Fatgirl. NB: as this blog post was so big I’m going to do a separate one about BWS (and emotional abuse). How can you tell if they (or perhaps even yourself) are in one of these? How do you support a friend when you know- or at least feel- that what they are doing isn't the right thing for them? And, furthermore, what do you do when the toxic relationship turns violent or there is mental abuse in play? Sources: 1.) http://www.healthscopemag.com/health-scope/toxic-relationships/ 2.) https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/www.elitedaily.com/dating/13-signs-youre-toxic-relationship-ruining-life/966801/amp 3.) https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/www.rd.com/advice/relationships/toxic-relationships/amp/ 4.) https://markmanson.net/toxic-relationship-habits 5.) http://www.herald.co.zw/divorce-clash-of-culture-tradition/ 6.) https://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4777120 7.) https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/www.theodysseyonline.com/why-you-cant-seem-find-someone-better-then-your-horrible-boyfriend.amp 8.) https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/www.psychologytoday.com/blog/psychology-writers/201304/why-finding-life-partner-isn-t-simple%3famp 9.) http://mobile.abc.net.au/news/2017-04-19/should-parents-stay-in-a-relationship-for-the-kids/8412350 10.) https://www.liveabout.com/reasons-to-stay-together-for-the-sake-of-the-children-1102599 11.) https://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/6055010 12.) https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/www.psychologytoday.com/blog/dating-and-mating/201705/6-reasons-why-we-stay-in-bad-relationships%3famp 13.) https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/www.psychologytoday.com/blog/talking-apes/201705/why-so-many-unhappy-couples-stay-together%3famp

[ah17hh]

Satanism and necromancy via /r/satanism

Satanism and necromancy

Hi, I am paving my own road towards the left hand path and I just wanted to share what I know so far. This path I am following consist of symbolic representation of the Grim Reaper, rather than the devil, and yes it has necromancy in it. I have done great detail in search of answers of how to describe ancient necromantic rituals in a psychological sense. One being a more modern approach would be the Ouija board, pendulum, and dowsing rods. Many see these as superstitious and mystical objects, but hear me out for a second. Science has already given an answer why these things move on their one and its simple.

The ideomotor effect.

The ideomotor effect is when we as individuals use these and they move by them self. But they don't actually and it is actually unconscious movements from our unconscious mind moving and directing them by our own will.

Scientist has also proven how our own mind can develop answers to some of the questions we come across. A group of researchers gave a Ouija board to a group of non-skeptics and told them the precise details on what the ghost looked like and acted like in a haunted house they were going into. They did the expirment without knowing that what the researchers told them was all fabricated. So by the power of their own mind they got the same exact results on what the ghost looked and acted like with their Ouija board. Fascinating isn't it?

The same thing can be done with pendulums and dowsing rods because they work with the ideomotor effect as well.

You may wonder then whats the point if its all fabricated? Well let me tell you...

Though what we may experience is not real we can still contact our dead loved ones if we knew them in life. Why you may ask? Because them being such a vital role in your life has ingrained their personality, their likes or dislikes, their behavior, into your psyche of your unconscious mind. Even though you are not aware of it doesn't mean it can not be brought up during a Ouija board reading.

I am sad to say that those who wish to contact a dead relative they never met will get a fabricated story told to them by their own beliefs on what that dead person could say to them. Just like the non-skeptics in the story I told you. The best way to get actually communication from someone is from someone you knew that died.

It may even sound a little bit magical if you asked where a lost item is and they tell you and you find it. It isn't magic but you yourself have forgotten where you misplaced it, so the dead, being in your unconscious mind, can retrieve that memory for you.

Scrying can be another way to contact the dead. Have you ever look at the clouds and saw a picture? Thats scrying! And those pictures are symbols that are trying to tell you something from you unconscious mind.

There is another more ritualistic way, but I don't wan to share that one. It isnt magical or anything its just that its a personal ritual.

Another big part of my path is the afterlife.

No I do not actually believe in an afterlife, but I do use it to amplify my rituals. In this made up afterlife called Oblivion or the sometimes I call it the Void, is where the dead go to die again. The more remembered they are in the realm of the living the more alive they are in the void. Though as time goes on their flesh of their souls begins to rot and decay and they become more like mindless zombies seeking flesh to rectify themselves from rotting. Quite gruesome I know.

Thats where ancestor veneration comes in. It isn't for saving actual souls from rotting because thats only for show. Its to honor your loved ones, even the ones you never knew. My father passed away two years ago after struggling to fight for his life after getting hit by car. I certainly do no believe my father is rotting away or in pain, because he is not. But trust me you guys having an ancestral altar for your deceased loved ones is very therapeutic. I write poems and letters in the form of ritual and burn them to symbolically cast my pain away. It helps tremendously with grief. You can talk to them like they are still here and give them food they use to like when they were alive as a form of respect.

The grim reaper is just a symbol I use to help me alter my state of consciousness. I say "Hail to the Reaper!" instead of "Hail Satan".

I just wanted to post this to see what you think of this path and any tips telling what else should I do with it? Thanks :)

Submitted February 29, 2020 at 03:07PM by DLedoux98 via reddit https://ift.tt/2PDdQJc

[russellthornton]

25 Questions to Ask Your Guy Best Friend Instead of Your Girl BFF

What else is your guy best friend there for if not to give you a guy’s opinion? Here are all the questions to ask your guy best friend.

Get the most out of him and learn all the burning questions to ask your guy best friend. That is what he is there for, right?

He is meant to be your sounding board, your confidant, and well, your friend, so use him as such. If you don’t, he is just going to waste!

Why you should ask your guy best friend questions

Okay, well, I am sort of joking about squeezing your guy best friend for information on the male psyche, but also I am sort of very serious.

Naturally, if this person is your best friend, you have already asked those questions. You know, what your biggest fear is, what your main goal in life is, how much he adores you, you know, all the regulars.

But, this feature is about those questions to ask your guy best friend that only he can answer. Only he knows you well enough to give you an honest and truthful opinion on certain things. And he can give you answers that your girl best friend just can’t.

Whether it is dating advice, insight into a guy’s mind, or opinions on your style, asking your guy best friend these questions gives you a point of view you may have never even considered. And if you actually listen to his answers, you could have a more well-rounded outlook on a lot of topics.

And not even Google can give you the kind of insight your guy best friend can. [Read: Questions to ask and deepen your bond with your best friend]

The perfect questions to ask your guy best friend

Your guy best friend may not ask you a lot of questions, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask him a few, or a few hundred.

Now, don’t just sit him down and throw questions at him like you are on a game show, but next time you’re together don’t be afraid to toss one or two of these out to see what he thinks.

#1 Are you a feminist? This is something you can go years without knowing about someone by just avoiding the topic. Not only will this question give you the opening to a solid conversation, but it can give you insight into why he is or isn’t a feminist. [Read: Inspiring male feminist ideas from men around the world]

#2 What do you think my best quality is? Your gal pal can’t answer this question the same way a guy can. He can give you a whole new perspective. And I guarantee if you ask your girl best friend and then your guy best friend, this same question you will get totally different answers.

#3 What do you think my worst quality is?  Same goes for this one. If I ask my female friends this they will say I don’t believe in myself enough or take enough risks. But a guy notices different things than girls do. He might say I give unsolicited advice or hold my tongue when I should share how I feel. [Read: 5 unique traits that make a person trustworthy]

#4 Do I have any annoying habits? It sounds weird, but I love hearing a guy’s answer to this, especially a guy best friend. This person knows you pretty well and spends a decent amount of time with you, but probably doesn’t tell you when you are doing something annoying. It doesn’t mean you have to change, but it is interesting to see what he finds annoying.

It can be anything from biting your lip to tapping your foot, slurping your Starbucks too loud, or second-guessing yourself.

#5 What was your first impression of me? Another question that gives so much insight. Of course, you get to know someone after your first meeting, but you don’t often get to know what people first think of you. Sure, you are just friends, but his first impression may be similar to any other guy in the future. [Read: The importance of first impressions and the secrets to leave a great one]

#6 Why don’t guys text back right away? Girls have our own ideas about this, but a guy’s perspective changes the answer. We can overanalyze an unanswered text all day, but ask a guy and he will say it is because he is playing Fortnite.

#7 Why do guys ghost? Another interesting question, and even more interesting answer from a guy’s point of view. I have written an article about this, but every guy’s answer differs just a bit, and from my experience, this response can go one of two ways.

He will either try to make an excuse or say there really is no reason. This can also let you know if he ghosts or not. And if he does, you can let him know how it feels being ghosted from a girl’s perspective, it might give him a new perspective.

#8 Should I kiss a guy on the first date? Everyone has their own opinion on this, and you do you, but his opinion may be intriguing. Once he gives you his reasoning for whatever his answer is, it could really change how you look at things.

#9 Do guys talk about the girls they like? Girls can talk about their crushes with each other all day. And that is not a stereotype, I am a girl, I know, we do it. But, do guys gossip about their latest dates and girls they like with each other?

Sure, every guy friend group is different, but asking your guy best friend if he and his friends do that will let you know more about who he is and even about your other mutual friends.

#10 What is the most attractive thing about me? Even though you are just platonic friends it is almost guaranteed that he has thought about you physically before. You probably have too. Without things getting weird, you can ask him this. His answer might surprise you. [Read: 14 platonic friendship rules to just be friends without the drama]

#11 What do you do to impress a girl you like? You know how you can’t tell if a guy is flirting with you or just being weird and awkward? Well, finding out how a guy’s mind works when he wants to impress a girl can help you in future situations when this confusion strikes.

#12 How do you decide when to make a move on someone? I always wonder why a guy leans in for a kiss without any signals or nods or signs. So, asking a guy is the best way to find out. He can clue you in on how a guy’s mind works in that moment. [Read: How to get any guy to kiss you when you want him to]

#13 What is the best way to approach a guy? Should you be timider and bump into him or should you strut up with killer confidence?

#14 What do you think your best physical trait is? This question can actually help him out too. It is always fun to see what someone thinks their best trait is. He may say his beard, but really you and everyone else knows it’s his smile.

#15 Do I come off as confident? Even the most confident people can second guess themselves. Especially ladies. We are conditioned to take a backseat to the men in our lives, apologize when we shouldn’t, and listen when we should be speaking. Even though we know this, it still happens.

See what he thinks. Does he think you come off as confident in yourself? [Read: How self respect affects the relationships you have]

#16 Do you regret anything? Do you wonder if your ex regrets ghosting you? Do you regret drunk texting your ex? Learning what other people regret not only can give you comfort but also clue you into how guys think about their mistakes. 

#17 When you’re upset, how do you show that? I love to ask guys this question because their answers all tend to be so different. Some guys play video games, while some sleep, others lash out, and some just go quiet. This can help you with your friendship, but also open your mind to how everyone deals with stress differently.

#18 What are you thinking about when you go into a first date? Dread, fear, barfing? When he goes into a first date, does he just think that the worst thing that could happen is they don’t get along and they go their separate ways or is he a nervous wreck? [Read: How to calm your first date anxiety]

#19 What makes you the most nervous? Meeting your girlfriend’s parents? A job interview? Your future? Money? Doing your taxes?

#20 Why do guys make their profile picture their car? This might just be a personal question from me to your guy best friend, but I am sure you have noticed this. It is so bizarre, and I do not get it at all. Are they showing off to other guys? What is it?

#21 Why don’t guys ever smile in selfies? Another one I am sure you have noticed, and we just need an answer. Smiling is so much more attractive in photos, no matter who you are, so why do guys try to do this weird James Dean glare?

#22 Do you think chivalry is dead? Sometimes it feels like it, but sometimes guys actually do really sweet things that we don’t even notice. We do tend to take some sweet gentlemanly things for granted. Does he think that old-fashioned style is gone or is he still one to open the door for a woman and give a pregnant lady his seat?

#23 What is the sweetest thing a girl has ever done for you? Knowing what a guy thinks is sweet can really clue you into the male psyche. Does he think it is sweet that someone camped out to get him tickets to his favorite concert or that they stayed up to make fresh muffins for his whole family when they first met?

#24 What is the first thing that attracts you to someone? Their eyes? Their smile? Their vibe? Knowing this can help you think about what you put at the forefront when meeting new people. [Read: Understanding interpersonal attraction and what attracts us to others]

#25 What have you always wondered about girls but never asked? I LOVE this question. Guys always want to know the most random and weird things about girls, yet they never just ask because they don’t want to be offensive, rude, or embarrass themselves. But let him know it is all on the table and see what he comes up with.

[Read: Insight into the truly platonic friendship]

Hopefully, these questions to ask your guy best friend will come in good use for you. Don’t forget, return the favor and offer to answer some of his questions too. I guarantee he has some.

The post 25 Questions to Ask Your Guy Best Friend Instead of Your Girl BFF is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

[alyssaperdue-blog1]

Essay 2: Zombies and their Historical Misrepresentation

Zombies have been around in our culture for decades now. They have been used in horror films to create a scare and around Halloween. How much do we really know about Zombies and why are they stigmatized in our society to be scary? There are many different beliefs about how Zombies came to be, with each one having its own take. For one they are represented as “cannibalistic ghouls who replicate themselves through infection.” (Moreman and Rushton, 1). Although the true story comes out in New South, New Immigrants, New Women, New Zombies. 

In 1791 there was a slave rebellion that grew and lasted until 1804. Where the enslaved demanded to be free and that is where the term Voudo comes from. It is nothing dangerous or scary as it is portrayed. This was a spiritual movement that was based on the rituals of Western Africa. When they were brought back to the United States, these beliefs meshed and became American Voudou.

This is where the misconceptions start to cloud the minds of the people who know nothing but what they are told, and instead of looking for themselves they just keep these beliefs. “However, almost as soon as the Haitian Zombie entered the American imagination, American popular culture, especially Hollywood films, transformed the Haitian zombie into a creature that revealed more about the hopes and fears lurking in the American psyche than in the Haitian one.” (Kordas, 15). This seems to be the theme in most of these topics we have gone over in class. 

Whether its ghosts, witches, zombies or vampires, there is always a different story than the one that is folklore into the American culture. Americans are obsessed with trying to uncover the truths behind what these unknown things are, but the ideas get misconstrued with Hollywood and everything has to be scary and dark to create a story and make a profit.   In the reading Guess Who is Going to be Dinner by Barbara Spruce, she talks about the movie Night of the Living Dead. This movie was made low-budget. This film featured an African American actor in it, which was the first time it has happened in a horror movie. Even though he was not a Zombie, at the end of the film when the police come to try to get everything back in order after the zombie attack, the unfortunate happens. He is shot in his head and disregarded and picked up just like the rest of the zombies. 

At the beginning of the film, the woman is running frantically from the attack, she finds the male black character and instead of seeming like she was relieved she seemed scared, more than likely because of his skin color. This brings me back to thinking of the Haitian belief Voudo and how they just wanted to have their own beliefs and they were taken and made into something scary. 

I feel like the anxieties behind this are due to what happened to the slaves all over the world and how badly they were treated. Putting something scary over top can create a barrier that will keep the real story hidden and put a little jump scare to create fear of this, even though the truth behind it is far from flesh-eating zombies who intend to devour you and turn you into one of them.

In the reading Putting the Undead to Work by David Inglis, he talks about the misrepresentation zombies have and why. He states, “Most representations of zombies occur in the realms of popular fiction. But what happens when the undead escape from the confines of popular culture and enter into realms where their presence is regarded as the unwanted intrusion and uncanny intervention?” (Inglis, 42). This shows how zombies are misrepresented to be used in fictional stories… because they sell. When someone is unsure of something and it is shown to them a specific way, fear seems to generate faster when we do not know the facts of the matter. This was a religious practice turned into something uncanny to make people afraid of it and push it away. 

The societal culture and norms would not be able to handle something they can’t control or understand. If something cannot be understood or something is being hidden, the story will always change, and the truth will be locked away only for a certain few to uncover it and know what really happened. Anytime a story is changed, it usually means something tragic happened and they must have a different story to cover it up.

In conclusion, I have learned a lot. These stories piece together the anxieties of the unknown about zombies. These have a lot to do with our history and trying to mask horrible occurrences that happened long before we even heard about these stories. Someone’s beliefs can be turned into something almost demonic to make society feel a certain way about these people and outcast them such as witches. In Salem, they did nothing wrong but believe a different way than the “normal” crowd and they were outcasted and punished for it. 

I wonder why it is still like this today, although it has gotten better, society should be more open to what could be than what we are told. A little research can go a long way, but when someone was brought up to believe a certain way how can anyone tell them otherwise. Zombies have been in the American culture since about 1930 and the beliefs still have not changed. I did not know the truth behind zombies and I felt it enlightening to be able to see how they are portrayed. No matter what there will always be different beliefs about everything and it is up to the individual person to decide how they will believe themselves.

 Works Cited

Moreman, Christopher M., and Cory James Rushton. Race, Oppression and the Zombie: Essays on Cross-Cultural Appropriations of the Caribbean Tradition. McFarland & Co., 2011.

Kordas, Ann., New South, New Immigrants, New Zombies: The Historical Development of the Zombie in American Popular Culture

 Guess Who’s Going to be Dinner - Barbara Bruce

 Putting the Undead to Work - David Inglis