#legitimately i say pass and parse the same way

[zimms]

wait actually, sick and twisted au where parse is actually british and he got his nickname because his juniors teammates (jack included) were mocking how he called "pass" across the ice

[lailoken]

Hello Lailoken! how can someone who's 'new to all this' tell if the entities they’re contacting in visions, dreams or any other 'otherworldly journey' are, indeed, fae to be trusted, or if it's just 'tricksters' and they’re being intentionally misled, or meant for harm? Are there any signs? what's your experience with discerning spirits' intentions? (divination aside, I feel any divination done by myself to try to unravel this would be 'tainted' or come untrue, but do correct me if I'm wrong! I also don’t want to depend on other people’s skills on divination to be able to do this safely...)

This is honestly a rather dense subject, but I will do my best to respond to some points you brought up here.

Firstly, here are some tips to keep in mind when attempting this kind of work:

— Learn to identify when and how you are experiencing legitimate numinous communications to begin with. Once you feel confident that you're dealing with real contact, then you can begin to work on parsing out what feels hinky and what feels trustworthy. Working on meditation, dream recall, divination, and other such techniques can do a lot to help you strengthen these skills.

— Use/develop wards that can be put in place when attempting to interact with spirits. Someone could write a whole monograph just on warding techniques, but suffice it to say that you're going to want to be proficient in warding before attempting to work with most spirits. At the least, I think it's important to have wards in place against physical harm, psychological contamination, and deception, as these are the main things one generally has to worry about if interacting with a dangerous spirit. Learning to employ these wards when divining is also an important part of how you learn to trust more in divination for looking into this sort of matter.

— Keep close track of your interactions and suspected interactions with spirits. Doing this helps to give a more "fleshed out" sense of the Wight in question, by allowing you to look over the record of their behavior. This also helps with identifying any possible lies or inconsistencies put forward by the spirit.

— Set clear boundaries with any spirits, and be wary of wights who disregard or consistently push those boundaries. Sometimes, spirits can help push us to grow and evolve, even if it's not always comfortable. But just like mundane relationships, numinous relationships that demonstrate a consistent pattern of forceful and/or manipulative behavior are troubling.

There are also certain red flags I think are worth watching out for when attempting to work with spirits:

— Have caution if a spirit always seems to say exactly what you want to hear. Having a good relationship with your Spirit Kith is a wonderful thing, but I tend to be untrusting of a spirit who consistently reflects back exactly what I'm hoping to see—particularly if said spirit is always clamoring for my attentions.

— Beware of consistently confusing or contradictory communications. Spirits can be coy or even downright confusing, but that isn't a red flag in and of itself. After all, numinous wights experience the world very differently from us, and their attempts to communicate can become "jumbled" when passing through the lens of our conscious understanding. Whats more, they sometimes speak in riddles for their own reasons. But if a spirit tells outright lies, or if they seem to pull you every which way based on cold whims, that's something worth being concerned over.

— Be on guard if a spirit starts out by acting very gentle and affable with you, but becomes progressively controlling and aggressive over time. Abusive humans have a tendency to show their true colors gradually as a way to draw in and then trap potential victims, and this same tactic is often seen with spirits as well.

— Suspicion is in order if you tend to become fatigued, dizzy, and/or confused when/after interacting with a spirit. To be fair, these experiences can be a normal part of spirit work, in general, for many people—especially if you're new to it. But if it's pervasive or extreme, or if you start to also experience pain, then it's usually worth being wary. The same goes for other troubling physical symptomology, but these are the most common symptoms I've come across.

— Something isn't right if bad things frequently happen in relation to the spirit. If you've been having terrible nightmares ever since the spirit came into your life, that's concerning. If you or your loved ones always seem to become sick or injured when you do something to displease the spirit, then that's worrisome. If you've been experiencing continual hardships or traumas since the arrival of a spirit, that's alarming. Especially when these things somehow funnel back into you giving the spirit more attention and energy (asking them for solace and protection, for instance.)

[doberbutts]

Thank you for talking about the “able to get to the door but unable to stay inside” thing re:stimulation. My issues are less severe than yours were (creates chronic fatigue instead of severe meltdowns) but it’s kinda the first time I’ve heard anyone discuss them as a legitimate disabling barrier. I still have this “if I just try hard enough” mentality that I’m trying to overcome, and it helps to have someone else go “no, this is a real problem.”

Honestly the brain injury really opened my eyes because I do have ADD and had childhood epilepsy (been seizure-free since I was 8 tho) so we were somewhat conscious about sensory stuff but a lot of it was like. Okay every once in a while you will touch something that is Bad Texture and you will scrub your skin raw about it for the next couple of hours. Annoying repeating sounds fade into the background for you but God Forbid anyone talks while you're concentrating because now they've ruined everything. You'd rather starve than put Tastes Bad into your mouth and have gone to bed with hunger pains many times as a result. etc etc etc for me it wasn't so disabling but largely that was due to my mom knowing how to manage my symptoms and teaching me from a very young age how to cope.

And then with the seizures my major warning sign was a colossal headache that refused to go away which was a sign to go lay down somewhere quiet and dark for a few hours until it passed or else a lightning storm would happen in my skull :D

But the brain injury... that really upset everything. Which is commonly reported, when I was finally able to speak I told my neurologist that I felt like a completely different person and not in a good way and he said that most TBI survivors have said this.

Honestly the best way I can describe it is that. Hmm. Imagine... your TV is too loud. When I say too loud I mean like. It hurts to be in the same room as the TV, it's bordering on the edge of so loud that it makes you physically take a step back. When the TBI first happened, that was any and every stimulus to my senses. My clothes touching my skin was Too Loud. Tasting my food was Too Loud. The ambient light coming from my window was Too Loud. And so on and so forth. Because there was an actual damaged piece of my brain, it was really struggling to parse any more information than "oh, no, ow, make that stop".

I wore blacked out glasses inside because I couldn't stand to keep my eyes open otherwise. I would ask my roommates to whisper several rooms down if they were going to talk to each other or on the phone because even just hearing their footsteps was like someone was taking a hammer to my forehead. I was usually naked because the feel of my shirt against my back would set me off. There's a lot I can't remember from that time but I remember being so frustrated as I hid under my covers from the light and the ambient noise of living with a bunch of people and their pets that "trying harder" and "pushing through" honestly just made everything worse.

It's a lot better now. It'll be 5 years in July. But every once in a while something will still set me off and I will be back in that place, frustrated with myself as I feel my brain hurtling towards a Very Loud Meltdown that I cannot get to stop.

I just don't appreciate being told that it's somehow lesser because my legs work. Especially considering TBIs are so common, and they happen so fast. All it takes is one good knock on the head and then you'll be just like me.

[bleachbleachbleach]

Life (aka Bleach) is Fire Emblem

We finished rewatching TYBW so we could watch new TYBW! Which we legitimately did attempt to do in advance of new TYBW airing, but in classic B3 form that did not remotely happen. And now there's another episode??

My relationship to TYBW has always been to "yes and" whatever logic it lays out, like, sure, we'll roll with what you're putting down. If that's what you say happened, then that's what happened! You do what you gotta to do tell your story, TYBW. I gotchu.

But this time I was like, maybe I should actually try to parse some of this, because in my mind TYBW is a vacuum ice wall and maybe like three other things, despite having both read it and watched it a couple times. I've come to the conclusion that purely at a logistical level--eschewing narrative and whatnot--TYBW does not actually make any sense. I say that in a completely value-free way. It doesn't actually matter to me whether TYBW makes sense or not because I am here 1) to support my blorbos and their almost unilaterally plot-inconsequential scenes, and 2) for the glorious sadvibes.

Some of my favorite characters in TYBW, though, are the Joe Shinigami. That panel where it's just the disembodied voices of the begging, terrified soon-to-be-dead, as heard by a trapped Ichigo powerless to save them? Probably my favorite panel in the entire arc.

And I'm just like, yoooo. Despite knowing that over a hundred First Division Joes got wiped out in seconds, along with Sasakibe, the Gotei's response to this was to make a bunch of other shinigami stand by some more doors??? No fortifications, no clever traps, no bolstered defenses? We're just gonna make Kajoumaru and Kira et al stand by doors and get obliterated? Imagine being so blinded by grief over your Vice-Captain/life partner that that's what passes for tactics! YAMS, WHAT. (This is my story for why this happened this way and I'm sticking to it. JUSTICE FOR MY MAN SASAKIBE.)

But then I was ALSO immediately like, "lollllllll that's totally me tho. That's definitely how I play Fire Emblem." Like, that is the exact logic I've historically deployed when my guys get blown out of the water and I restart the chapter and proceed to execute the exact same formations. And I'm just like "but THIS time it'll work" for the next 7 identical tries.

My ability to command armies is just like Yamamoto for real 😎

[whisker-biscuit]

The Birds, The Bees, and The Bottles

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T for mild language and discussions of underage drinking

Summary: Two teens are caught trying to sneak into a bar. Bob finally has a conversation he’s held off for far too long.

Because herbaphony is not the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family.

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

Bob’s phone rang at two in the morning. Judging by the jolly ringtone of Helmut singing Strawberry Fields Forever, it was his personal phone instead of his work one, and that was the real tip off to things being very, very wrong.

He woke up and groggily pulled out of his still-slumbering-husband’s arms to answer the little thing going off on his nightstand.

“H’lo?”

“Bob!” Truman’s voice came out far too loud for the time of night, and far too stressed. “Bob, I’m so sorry to wake you, but something happened with Lili. I need you to pick her up for me, please.”

The older man sat up, much more awake as worry and fear immediately rolled in his gut. Helmut finally began to stir beside him, sensing his partner’s agitation.

“Truman, what’s going on? Pick Lili up from where?”

“The city’s police precinct on Abbey Avenue. She – she called me, but I’m out of state and I wouldn’t get there for hours at least even if I left this instant. She’s not in danger!” He added hastily, hearing the concern before Bob could even voice it mentally. “She didn’t get hurt! She’s just…”

The way he tapered off, the way he hesitated, said more than words could.

“She just got herself into some trouble, and she needs someone to go get her.”

Helmut was sitting up now, and Bob felt the question cross their mental link.

 What happened?

 Truman needs me to pick Lili up from the police station.

“I’m up, I’m on my way right now,” He responded to his nephew verbally, heaving himself out of bed. His husband followed suit despite still looking extremely puzzled, bless him.

“Thank you so much, Bob. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The older man waved a dismissive hand even though Truman wasn’t there to see it. “Family is s’pposed to do that for each other anyway.”

“Did I hear that right? Our peppy petunia had a run-in with the law?” Helmut asked as soon as his partner hung up. He paused, and in a lower tone – “she didn’t kill anyone, did she?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Bob said, pulling a coat on over his sleep shirt. “But something tells me we still have a few things to worry about. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Ohohoh, no, don’t even think about hoofin’ it without me. We both know I’m the better driver.”

“Neither of us are very good drivers, Helmut.”

“Exactly! That little bit makes all the difference!”

The herbophanist sighed, charmed despite himself and the situation. “Alright, alright. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

The police precinct was nearly dead at this time of night. While it would’ve felt eerie to anyone else, Bob was grateful for the lack of people, and not just because he was still an introvert of the highest degree.

Two teenagers awaited them in the lobby, sitting on a bench together. One was hunched over and burning a hole in the ground with his downcast eyes. The other sat straight up, defiant, holding a glaring contest with the officer standing over them. When Bob entered the room first and met his great-niece’s eyes, her self-assuredness wavered for a brief moment. She hid the slip-up behind a wall of indifference.

“Lili,” he said softly. Then, just as softly but with a gruff tinge of surprise; “Razputin.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but the former scowled harder and the latter looked like he wanted to employ his invisibility. Bob studied them both a moment before his husband appeared and broke the tension with his mere presence.

“We’re here to bust you out, kiddos!” He announced with spread arms, cheerfully ignoring the looks he received from every person in the room.

“Are you Truman Zanotto?” Asked the officer who finally broke his gaze away from Lili to give them a disapproving once-over.

“No, I’m uh, I’m Bob Zanotto, and this is Helmut,” came the awkward reply. “Truman called me to pick Lili up. She’s my great-niece.”

A few seconds of silence passed as the officer made no move to do anything with that information. Bob cleared his throat.

“We’re, uh, listed in her emergency contacts for school?”

“I see. If you can just fill out some paperwork first, we can release her into your custody.”

The herbophanist watched the way Raz seemed to sink further in his seat at the mention of family contacts. The Aquatos were also out of state right now too, if he remembered correctly. Perfect timing for two minors getting up to mischief.

Well, up until they were actually caught.

“And…Razputin, too?” He asked, catching the teen’s startled gaze and giving him the mental equivalent of a thumbs-up.

The officer raised a brow. “Is he related to you, too?”

“Well, uh –”

“Yep!” Helmut interrupted, strolling right up to Raz and giving him a merry clap on the back. The teen had a physique comparable to most adult Olympic athletes, but even he nearly toppled forward from the force of such a big man. “He’s my third cousin, twice removed. Big family. Very close. Holidays are an experience, lemme tell ya!”

“Fine,” the officer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, okay, I’ll make sure he gets cleared for release too. I’ll be right back.”

He stalked off, muttering something about it ‘being too damn early for this’, and the older couple turned to face Raz and Lili. Helmut steepled his fingers together to rest against his mustache.

“So! Now that Officer Spoil-Sport is gone, are we allowed to know what heinous crime has been committed in the night by my favorite pair of mischief-makers?”

The two glanced at each other. Raz was the one to break their silence.

“We, uh…got caught sneaking into a bar.”

Cold heat rushed through Bob’s core. Helmut blinked once, twice, then let out a boisterous chuckle.

“That’s it? Jesus! From the way you two were acting I thought you’d robbed the First National Bank.”

“…Helmut.” His husband murmured. The psi-king lost his mirth as he caught Bob’s eye.

“Ah…w-well, y’know, while I’m certainly glad we won’t hear about a righteous homicide in the news tomorrow, forgery ain’t exactly a humble hobby either.”

“It was just two IDs,” Lili muttered under her breath. “Not a big deal.”

The ice in her great-uncle’s heart turned frigid, but before he or Helmut could say anything to that, the officer was back. He shoved a handful of forms under Bob’s nose and the herbophanist fumbled to grab them before they all tumbled to the floor.

“Uh, uh, thank you.”

“Alright, we’re putting the pause on this conversation to make you free citizens again, but don’t think that means we’re done with it.” The Psi-King gave the teens the sternest look he could manage. “As soon as we get in the car, you two will have a lot of explaining to do.”

“O-Okay.”

“Uh-huh.”

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

No one spoke a word as they got in the car and started the drive back.

Raz seemed content to continue his efforts to blend in with the background of his seat, still not meeting anyone’s eyes, and Lili stared out the window with her chin in her hand, leaning against the car’s backdoor and letting the lights of the city bathe her in neon sickness.

Helmut, bless his soul, dutifully kept the radio going while he drove, changing the station to something more mellow whenever a song started getting a little too upbeat for the collective mood of the vehicle. Bob sat in the passenger side with his arms folded awkwardly. His brain was buzzing, dreading the inevitable conversation he needed to have with his great-niece and trying to figure out how he was going to go about it.

It surprised them all when Raz spoke over the music.

“It was my idea.”

The two adults glanced at each other, then through the rearview mirror at the fidgeting teen.

“Your idea to go looking for a drink? Or to sneak into a bar to do it?” Helmut asked, turning off the radio.

“Both.”

He still wasn’t meeting their eyes. Bob sighed through his nose.

“I don’t believe you.”

Razputin’s head finally snapped up to stare at him in shock for the fast call on his bluff. “I’m telling the truth!”

“I think you’re only telling part of it, kid.”

“No! I’m telling all of it.”

“Razpu-”

“Oh, come off it, Raz,” Lili snapped a little too loud, making the whole car jump. “Quit trying to take the fall for me. It was my idea to try the stupid fake ID thing, okay? Happy now?”

“Wh – uh, who said anything about being happy about it?” Helmut asked, legitimately confused.

“Look. Neither of us had anything to do tonight, and we were bored, so Raz suggested getting a drink somewhere, but Adam and Lizzie are out of town so we couldn’t ask them.” She crossed her arms and spoke without any inflection. “So, we went out but no one would let us do anything cause we’re minors. I thought that was stupid, because we’re agents same as any of you, so I came up with the sneaking-in part. We only got caught cause one of the bartenders recognized Raz from a show.”

There were a lot of loaded things to parse through from that explanation, but Bob’s mind stalled on one particular detail.

“Adam and Lizzie give you two alcohol?”

“Not…often,” Raz admitted. “Just once or twice, when we asked.”

“Do you mean like, a literal once or twice, or a…an estimated once or twice?”

“Did Dad put you up to this?” Lili shot back. “It was just a few times, like he said. What’s with the inquisition?”

“…Lili –”

 “Raz.”

“Okay!” Helmut proclaimed as he slapped his hand against the steering wheel in boisterous aggression. “Who wants some ice cream?”

Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Cause I’m really feeling some chocolate-vanilla swirl right now. Basic bitch style. Right? Who’s with me?”

Silence.

“Great! Look at that, open Dairy King right there, better take advantage of this opportunity before it slips through our fingers like the melting ice cream we’re all gonna have in about five minutes!”

The psi-king swung into the parking lot in a frenzy and herded the car crew inside before any of them could come out of their shock long enough to protest. It was only as Bob was staring up at fifteen flavors of oversaturated sugary goodness that he realized what had just happened.

He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief over his husband’s diversion. The tension that had been boiling over was cooled significantly by the sudden non-sequitur, and while the teens were rather half-hearted about picking out their sweet treats, there was no longer a risk of an explosion happening.

Metaphorically and literally.

Helmut caught his spouse’s eye with a meaningful look at Lili the moment all of them had their orders in hand, then slung his arm around Razputin’s shoulders and steered him away. “C’mon my lad! Nothing like the cool night air of three in the morning to keep your Hurricane ™ properly chilled!”

The poor boy had no choice but to let himself be pulled outside, leaving the two Zanottos standing awkwardly in the dingy restaurant. Bob gave a nervous scratch at his chin under his beard.

“How about we, uh, find a seat somewhere?”

Lili couldn’t fully cross her arms while holding ice cream, but she did a good job of making it work anyway. “Sure.”

They sat in a booth in the farthest corner from the front counter. Both great-niece and great-uncle stared at their respective sweet treats as if they could teleport them out of this situation. Bob glanced out the window and saw Helmut and Raz standing outside of the car. The former was on one knee with his hand on the teen’s shoulder, speaking earnestly but inaudibly, and the latter was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt.

“Are you going to lecture me?” Lili finally cut through the silence.

Bob turned back to her. “No. Not really.”

“No?” She broke her gaze away from her ice cream just a little bit, eyeing him with surprise. “Then why did Helmut take Raz and leave us alone?”

She was so perceptive, so smart. And yet, still so young.

“Well, I… I still want to talk to you about what happened. I’m just not very, good, at this kind of thing.” He took his spoon and absentmindedly began drawing a flower in his soft-serve. “You already know what you did wasn’t a good idea, right? So I don’t think a lecture would help things any on that front.”

She didn’t respond. He continued.

“It’s less about the fake ID and more…the reasons you made the fake ID. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so, but I know what I’m doing, Uncle Bob. I’m not going to drink irresponsibly.”

The herbophanist shook his head. “But you’ll do irresponsible things to be able to drink in the first place.”

“That’s not –” Lili didn’t have a good rebuttal. She folded her arms and grumpily started eating her cherry chocolate delight. “Whatever. It’s two different things, anyway.”

Against his better judgement, Bob began picking at his own food as he thought about how best to bring the subject back up without making the teen defensive again. Spoons clicking against teeth was the only sound between them for a solid minute.

Finally, an epiphany.

“Did Truman ever…tell you anything, about your great-grandma?”

The girl paused with a bite halfway up to her mouth. She frowned, confused. “Grandma Tia? Not much. Just that she died when he was a baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.” He ran a tired hand over his face. The ache in his heart might have long-since healed into a scar, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when pressed. “She passed away when I was nineteen. The doctors told me it was liver failure.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Lili’s mouth thinned and she put her spoon down, uncomfortable.

“When I…found out the reason behind her death, I was horrified by it. It didn’t make sense to me why she would willingly do something that hurt her so badly, especially when I was right there to love her and help her. It felt like a betrayal that she never got help or made herself stop. I was…disgusted by the mere thought of doing anything like that.”

Bob took a moment to breathe and wipe his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but better safe than sorry.

“It sounds pretty hypocritical when I say it now, doesn’t it?”

His great-niece only gave him a hesitant look.

“Anyway, uh, where was I…” He worried his lip. “Oh, right. I told myself that I’d never touch the stuff after that. I was angry at what she’d done, and I was determined not to have the same ‘weakness’, so to speak. As you know, it, uh, it didn’t last long. I was at a college party barely a year later when I was invited by some friends to drink with them. I didn’t make human friends very easily back then – actually, I still don’t – so I was a little desperate to keep them. It turned out to be pretty hard whiskey, so I got hammered.”

The man leaned back in his seat, staring at the patterns in the booth table.

“Back then, no one really knew how alcoholism could run in a family. Everyone thought it was a personal choice to keep drinking. It wasn’t even classified as an addiction yet. So I didn’t know how susceptible I was, or how careful I had to be. I’d spend months not having a single drink, thinking I was fine and could handle myself, and then I’d get plastered for a week at parties and bars and God knows what else, and it would take me even longer to get myself to stop again. It was like that even when I was with Ford and his gang. It wasn’t until I started dating Helmut that I started trying to change those habits. I’d never met anyone who loved me so unconditionally that I wanted to be a better person for them, until him. And it worked for a while.

“Well, barring our wedding, of course. I got shitfaced at the reception. It was embarrassing afterwards, but Helmut told me it made our cake-eating ceremony a hell of a great time.”

Lili snorted, and it was accompanied by a tiny upturn of her lips. Then it dropped as her expression became solemn. “And then…everything with Maligula happened, right?”

“Yeah. I think you know the rest of that story.”

“Uh-huh.”

Great-niece and great-uncle sat together for a while, just thinking about it all.

“I know I have to be more careful drinking than a lot of people, Uncle Bob,” Lili finally said at length. “My dad warned me about it when I was old enough to ask.”

“Truman is a good dad,” he murmured in response.

“The best dad.”

“Definitely the best dad.”

More silence.

“I didn’t mean to worry you and him,” she continued. “Or scare you. I know it was dumb to do what we did tonight.”

Bob looked at her, and she gave a conceding sigh.

“Okay, it was dumb to do a lot of what we’ve been doing with this stuff. That doesn’t mean I’m not being careful.”

“Kid, it’s not always just a matter of being careful. I thought I was being careful. I thought that for years and years, and when I finally realized I wasn’t, I convinced myself I could stop any time I wanted to, and kept up the same patterns anyway. That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I’m just worried about you.”

Lili closed her eyes with a grimace. “I know. I’m sorry, Uncle Bob.”

“Hey, kiddo, look at me.” He waited until she did so. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed, either. That’s your dad’s job. I get it, is what I’m saying. It gives you a buzz, and it’s fun and exciting, and you just wanted to have a good time with your, uh…”

Bob leaned in a bit, and dropped his voice to a stage whisper.

“Is Raz still your boyfriend?”

“Wha –” her cheeks went red. “Yes, he is!”

“Alright, sorry, I’m just always out of the loop. No one ever tells me when these things change or not. Anyway,” he continued before she could get brighter than the cherries in her ice cream. “I’m just saying that you gotta be more than careful with this kind of thing. Everyone should be, really, but especially people like us. Plants aren’t the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family, unfortunately, so we just have to be aware of it and act accordingly.”

The teen turned this over in her mind. He could practically see the gears moving. When she looked at him again, it was with a slow, contemplative nod.

“No more late-night bar-hopping?” Her great-uncle asked.

“No more late-night bar-hopping.” She answered, sincere.

“Good.” He looked outside. Helmut and Raz were both lying on the front of the car, pointing out stars to each other. The sight made him smile. “Come on, we’ll work on that whole thing about Adam and Lizzie giving you alcohol another time, when it’s not three in the morning. For now, let’s rejoin our boys again and go get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” Lili slid out of the booth and tentatively took her family member’s hand. His fingers squeezed hers in reassurance. “And...thanks, Uncle Bob.”

“Well, what can I say. Us weird Zanotto plant people hafta look out for each other, right?”

“Right.”

They walked out together, hand-in-hand.

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

A/N: I knew from promotional material that we'd be going into the mind of someone struggling with alcoholism, but Bob's Bottles punched me hard in the gut. It's probably my favorite mind in the game, both because it's visually gorgeous and because it hit a little close to home with some of the themes, like generational alcoholism and how the addiction can make someone a shell of themselves.

I wrote half of this three weeks ago and then found myself really struggling to finish it because it brought up a lot of old feelings I thought I'd sorted through a long time ago.

Psychonauts, man.

[vitaliskravtsov]

fantasy casting OMGCP, using only hockey players (NHL & NWHL) part 2

Ollie- they play the same position, I think they look vaguely similar, and mostly, he is such a frat-boy looking human, you can't say that Mitch Marner doesn't look like he'd fit right in at Das Haus.

Wicks - Ollie's other half! He also plays wing. Another "he could pass as just Some Frat Boy" pick... meet Mikko Rantanen

Connor Whisk- I think I'm funny and that's the whole justification I have for picking Nathan MacKinnon to play Whiskey (yes I'm echoing the mackinnon/Crosby narrative with my casting SHHHHHH)

River Bullard - a THIRD smile-based pick... Andrei Svetchnikov (with a wig)

Lukas Landmann - they're both Young, I think they're both wingers (?) aND they're both blonde!! A win all the way around! Meet Kaapo Kakko!

Alexei "Tater" Mashkov - I'm not kidding when I say this is 100% based on their noses and camera/media personalities.... Evgeni Malkin!

Georgia "George" Martin - Sarah Nurse, who played the same position George did! Yes this is 99% of the reason I chose her. Also she does kind of look like George which is super cool

Kent Parson- okay yeah they do actually look kind of similar (so long as he doesn't have his beard), Gabriel Landeskog and Parse are both blonde wingers!

LAST BUT NOT LEAST, WE HAVE.....

Bad Bob Zimmermann- not only am I connecting my fantasy casting narratives YET AGAIN, I am also legitimately convinced they look alike. Also, unlike the man I cast for his son, Mario Lemieux's first language is actually French!

That concludes part two, but if you want, for some reason, to see me cast more people, drop character names into my DMs or asks and More Shall Occur!!

[thefeelswhale]

The Nervous Energy in Everything - Part 3

AN: I have relearned how to do a text cut! I apologize for my giant blocks of text in the past. Trigger warning for a narcissistic parent. He’s not too bad, but I got a few bad moments writing him so I’m tagging it just in case someone else has those same buttons. 

Hitoshi sat in the backseat of a Didi rideshare bracketed by his parents. 

If he’d had one wish it would have been to have his uncles instead, but that wasn’t an option. Both of them had been called out to work. Uncle Mic had legitimate hero business and while Uncle Shouta did too, he had also gotten a call from a police friend regarding two of his current crop of hero students that had been caught out after curfew. So they needed the everloving shit scared out of them and Eraserhead was the man to do it.

Hitoshi’s mother sat turned away from both of them as she watched the buildings and other cars pass by. His father was on the phone with one of his soulmate’s parents.

“...just trying to understand how this happened.” His dad was saying. “Our son’s a great kid…” that was a phrase he’d never heard leave his dad’s mouth without being followed by the word ‘but’. “...but this is just really sudden, you know?”

Then he was quiet for a minute as the other person talked.

“Is… is that even possible?” Hitoshi’s dad swallowed and continued on, sounding a little strained with forced cheer. His tone was so ingenuous that it was any wonder the other person didn’t reach through the phone to smack him. “If it happened, it happened. I believe you; we got a handprint on my kid to prove it.”

A cold hand slipped around Hitoshi’s where it rested on the carseat and he stilled, but his mom didn’t look over or do anything else. He relaxed after a minute and gave it a little squeeze. They sat like that for the drive. Hitoshi tuned his dad out because this was not a time to be upset. He was on his way to meet his soulmate.

He could tell they were getting close when he started losing little bits of time. It was the first time he’d ever been glad for his mom’s quirk because he came back online the last time in the middle of trying to open the car door while it was still moving. His dad had him by the shoulders and was saying something Hitoshi decided he didn’t want to try and parse. 

“The child lock is on.” The Didi driver assured them over his shoulder. 

His mom gently caught him by the chin and turned his face towards hers. Then everything was sort of pleasant and blank for an undetermined amount of time. He was sort of aware of her leading him out of the car, up some stairs, and to a door. The closer they got to the door the less her quirk was able to hold him. Being pulled in two directions like that made it so he was almost aware right up until the last minute before he laid eyes on his soulmate.

The last thing he remembered was the faint crack of light around the edges of the door and maybe a flash of a soft little woman’s surprised expression. 

Then he was inside and looking down at the best face he’d ever seen in his life cradled between his palms. Blood was singing in his ears and his heart hammered underneath his soulmate’s palm where it rested on his chest. 

His soulmate was a boy. That wasn’t entirely a surprise. Whatever small crushes Hitoshi had gotten over the years tended to be on other guys; primarily the cute-type members of boy bands. It seemed that there was a reason for that.

His soulmate had round cheeks, fluffy green hair, and bilaterally symmetrical freckles in diamond-shaped patches on each cheek catty-corner to his eyes. Hitoshi was happy to see that even in a fugue, he hadn’t covered those up. They were adorable; just like kitten whiskers.

“Hi.” He breathed and his soulmate smiled up at him, closing the hand on Hitoshi’s chest into a fist to hold onto his shirt. Hitoshi could kind of feel the edges of what his soulmate was feeling, but everything blended together while they were both touching so it was hard to tell if that was Hitoshi’s awe and near pathetic levels of gratitude to be this lucky or if his soulmate was the one feeling it.

The one thing he could say for sure was that these were not platonic feelings. 

“Hi.” His soulmate echoed. “What’s your name?”

“H-hitoshi.” He gulped. His normal levels of apathetic chill had abandoned him. This was not fair. If there’d ever been a time in his life when he’d needed to act cool it was right at that moment and he was failing. “It’s Hitoshi.”

It didn’t really matter though because his soulmate smiled like he was the best, most eloquent person he’d ever met before. 

“I’m Izuku.” He breathed.

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Scythes And Stories - Chapter 6 - Twists Of Fate

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

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

“So you’re telling me that… you are the escaped princess of Solis?” Alastair said slowly, trying to parse out the truth of the words. Ariadne nodded. “And that this is the infamous assassin, the Lady of Death?” Thomas continued, cutting his gaze towards Anna. “I’m flattered that you’ve heard of me, all the way here in Luna.” Anna chimed in. She was currently sprawled across the couch of the boat’s hold, playing with a bone dagger. “Of course we’ve heard of you. You’re either more stupid than you look, or truly ignorant of how much you’ve been employed by the Luna Council.” Alastair smirked, clearly reveling in Anna’s widened eyes and shocked expression. “I’m going to continue this discussion, because obviously these two nitwits wouldn’t bother too.” Cordelia interjected, grinning in response to Alastair’s glare. “If I am correct in my assumptions, you are Lucie Herondale.” she said, gesturing towards Lucie. “That is correct.” Lucie said, mock-curtseying. “So you must be the mysterious and handsome stranger she eloped with.” Cordelia finished, raising her eyebrows at Matthew. “That would be the truth. I am so very pleased that the general knowledge of me is my dashingness.” Matthew said, tipping his hat. “Ignore him.” Lucie stage whispered. “His ego’s gone to his head a bit of late.”

“Well. This is certainly news to me. Everyone thinks you are dead, Princess, and nobody knows the whereabouts of you, my lady.” Thomas said, standing from his seat. “I do wonder what casualties shall befall me if my husband and I decide to give you shelter.”

“Oh I swear we’re nothing but the utmost fun.” Anna said with a smile as sharp as swords. “I can vouch for her!” Matthew chimed in, mischief in his eyes. Ariadne and Lucie sighed in unison as Cordelia snickered. “Yes but they don’t trust either of you, so shut up.” Lucie said, laughing. “All we ask for is shelter for a bit. The world outside is quite chaotic and it would be good to take a breath.” Ariadne said, eyes pleading. “We will take you in.” Thomas finally agreed. “Only if you promise to participate in our drinks night.” James said, mock seriousness in his voice. “You’ll have a far harder time convincing those two to stay away now that you’ve mentioned it.” Ariadne said, gesturing towards Matthew and Anna. “Now, if you wish it, we will retire to our chambers and cause you no more trouble.”

“Is there anything else we can get you while you stay here?” Thomas asked them as they strolled through the city streets. The brick roads were baked in the heat, worn by the feet of a thousand steps. Spices laced the air - nutmeg, basil, and fresh fruit. Thomas had quite quickly fallen into the role of gracious host as Alastair and Anna bantered and the others chattered. “Not unless you can bring back my long lost brother from the abyss.” Anna answered, and silence fell. Cordelia turned to Anna however, brows furrowed. “What does your brother look like?” She inquired, concentration deepening as she gazed at Anna as if she were a puzzle. “Well, he has purple eyes. And he would be around my age, maybe a bit younger.” Anna answered, clearly baffled. James stopped walking right in the middle of the street as him and Cordelia made eye contact. Thomas and Alastair also exchanged gazes. “Is there anything you four would like to share, or are you going to continue to communicate telepathically for the rest of the day.” Anna asked, shifting. She was quite unfamiliar with the warm blooming in her chest like a rose, shining and glowing like a weapon fresh off the forge. It was hope, hope that maybe she wasn’t crazy for the first time in her life.

Shaking herself, Cordelia turned to Anna. “Unless there’s a large amount of purple-eyed teenage fugitives on the run for our kingdom…”

“We have your brother. He arrived just a few days before you. Shivering and sweating and grinning like a banshee. He also claimed to have murdered the king of Solis. On that precedent alone, we allowed him to stay. He’s in his quarters now.”

Anna froze. She could feel the frost of shock spreading slowly over her skin as she struggled to form words. After all these years, all this time, she found him. Her brother with his love of science and the rare, genuine smile that always summoned a smile from her in return. A warm hand slipped into hers. Turning her head, Anna’s eyes met Ariadne’s. The silent encouragement in Ariadne’s eyes nearly brought Anna to tears. “May I- May I see him?” Anna asked tentatively, afraid some cruel god would snatch him away before she could see him. “Of course you can.” Thomas said, understanding in his tone. “Just this way. We’ll arrive back at the castle in approximately 15 minutes. From there, I’ll give you a guide to his rooms.”

“Thank you so much.” Anna whispered. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

“None needed, Lady of Death. Everyone deserves loved ones to hold close. Sadly, sometimes the world has other plans. We’re just glad you made your way back to the hearth.” Alastair said quietly, and the others all nodded. From that point on, they were all friends. After all, a friendship forged when you are the version of yourself you hate to show are the strongest friendships of all.

“Mr. Christopher, you’ve a visitor.” the guide called, knocking on the heavy wooden door embossed with a crescent moon. “They may come in.” Came the response from within the room, and Anna’s eyes widened. If there had been any doubt in her mind, none was left now. The decades passed and sands of time could not erase the sound of her brother’s voice from her head. Anna opened the door, and slipped inside, closing it behind her. The boy on the bed looked up, hair messed over his eyes and papers strewn over every possible surface. It didn’t take long for the question in his face turned into confusion, then shock, then wonder. All in the span of just a few moments. “Christopher?” Anna breathed, not daring to take a step forward lest he should evaporate like a mirage. “... Anna? Is that you?” Christopher replied, voice also quiet and strung through with lights of amazement. “Yes, it’s me. It’s Anna!” she replied, joy cracking her face. Christopher’s face morphed again then, and he stood and strode forward. Finally, after so many miles of pain and oceans of blood and battle, they were here. Embracing in a hug and words left unsaid flew, the pair had found each other again.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too! I thought I’d never see you again….”

“I thought the same! They took me away, and I wasn’t able to look for you.”

“That is ok. I doubt you would recognize the me you found anyway.”

“The same could be said of me. It took me years of planning and work, but I finally struck back.”

“And I am more proud of you than I could say. I too have blood on my hands, but I hope that staining them deeper won’t ever be necessary again. If needed, I will fight to make it so.”

Drawing back, Anna examined Christopher and smiled deeply. “You’ve grown into a fine young man. A far throw from the gangly boy I knew. If only mother and father could see you now…” Anna trailed off as a shade of grey permeated the otherwise yellow bright moment. “And you as well.” Christopher said, his wonder saving the memory. “You’re glowing. You look happy. Content.” he added, grinning. “I am… I’ve found a life worth fighting for. But more about me later. We have much catching up to do, dear brother.” Dropping into the armchair by the fireplace, Anna relaxed. Christopher sat on the bed, only succeeding in making his piles of sketches even more messy. “Tell me. What have you been doing these past years we’ve been apart? I am quite certain it’s a grand tale.”

“Now I must confess I’m dying to know how you ended up on the run with the most infamous assassin in five kingdoms.” James said to Ariadne as the two, accompanied by Alastair, Thomas, and Cordelia sat in the royal common room. It was a set of large and comfortable rooms for the royal family to relax and have fun in. Ariadne chuckled quietly, thinking over the chaos of the tale herself. “I couldn’t hardly put it into words for you myself. I had been long since questioning my parents’ actions and the way they behaved around anybody without a large purse or a legitimate heir. I just didn’t know what it was I could do about it. I trained myself, yes. In bladework and poisons and a myriad of other things. But these skills languished in my arsenal, so to speak. I was not allowed to do anything I loved, contained in the palace and all it’s parties.” Ariadne paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The day they forced me into an arranged marriage with somebody I despise was my breaking point. Anna appeared, and it was like she was the escape I was looking for. The escape dressed in black with a dagger, that is.”

Cordelia’s thoughts raced, connecting the dots quickly and smothering her grin. The way Ariadne used Anna’s first name, how her eyes and voice softened at the mention of her, how she would always smile. The quick gazes and hidden laughs. Turning to James, she raised her eyebrows and nearly fell over laughing at his responding smirk. James was observant and had apparently also been quick to notice what she had. “I wish them all the happiness and wishes.” Cordelia vowed, before tuning her ears back into Ariadne’s story.

“So, I agreed to go with her. I set fire to the barracks before we joined up with Matthew and Lucie. Lucie was confined within a loveless marriage, so she was also eager to leave. Anna staged my death, and we set sail. Matthew delivered the note and… here we are.” Ariadne finished, leaninging back in her chair and smiling. “Not the most exciting tale in the books, but it’s my story, so I will cherish it within my heart.”

“On the contrary, I believed that story most riveting.” Cordelia piped up, leaning forward. “There remains only one question.” James said, standing. “Would you and Lady Anna be interested in joining us for dinner tonight? Christopher is also invited, of course”

“We would be most honored to have you.” Thomas added.

“I would be delighted to.” Ariadne smiled. “Anna is I’m sure still talking to Christopher, but when she returns to our chambers, I will extend the invitation.”

“Tell her there will be wine and games!” Alastair called to Ariadne as she exited. “I will tell her. I could never forgive myself and I doubt she would forgive me if she missed out on such an opportunity.”

Once Ariadne had vanished down the hall, the four sat in quiet. “I like her.” Thomas finally said, his voice betraying how deep in thought he was. “I do as well. I’m very glad she was able to find herself a place where she’s truly happy.” Cordelia added. “As much as I’d like to stay and gossip about our new arrivals, I’ve some matters to attend to.” Alastair said, standing. “I’ll come with you.” Thomas replied.

Sighing with a bit too much gusto to be believable, Alastair nodded assent. “I guess we will get these chores done quicker together.” he said, accepting Thomas’s extended hand. “Yes I’m sure that’s why.”

“O do shut up.” Alastair shot back, and soon their voices faded.

“Would you like to take a stroll with me, my fine warrior?” James asked Cordelia, eyes twinkling. “I would love to, James.” Cordelia replied, a small smile twisting her lips. “Well, then, let us go. The winding paths of the park await us.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” Ariadne said as she flopped onto the bed of their quarters. Matthew and Lucie had been assigned a door across the hall. “Life does bring us much surprise.” Anna shot back, kicking off her boots. “Did you and Christopher have a pleasing chat?” Ariadne ventured cautiously. “We most certainly did.” Anna replied, slipping back into that soft smile. “He’s grown up so much, Ariadne. So much. And it hurts and heals my heart simultaneously to see it.” Anna said, much quieter this time. “I know you grieve for memories lost, and I understand it. It is right to feel pain, right to grieve. Just make sure you’re not missing out on a chance to make new memories while grieving the past.” Ariadne said, once again gently holding Anna’s hand. “What did I do to deserve you?” Anna asked. “You set me free.” Ariadne answered, and Anna grinned. “And I am very glad I did. Now, what’s this dinner party you mentioned?”

“Oh yes! We are invited to dinner with Cordelia, James, Thomas, and Alastair. Christopher will also be there I believe. Alastair requests I tell you that there will be wine and games.”

‘Well in that case, I’m in.” Anna said jokingly, and Ariadne laughed again, a musical sound to Anna’s ears. “In that case, I will see you in about a half-hour at the party.” Standing, Anna kissed Ariadne softly before breaking apart and bolting for the showers. Sighing and filled with happy butterflies, Ariadne also stood and began to change. “It’s the beginning of a new age. And I’ll be damned if I keep wearing the shackles I just escaped.”

“To new friends, and old. To shining futures and pasts laid to rest in unmarked graves. This is now, and it’s for living and love. I give thanks for the wondrous new souls we’ve met, and the tales they brought with them.” Thomas toasted, raising his champagne elegantly. Everybody else raised their glasses in silent succession, toasting to everything Thomas mentioned and more. And then, the party began. It was in the private royal dining room, and it came with a ballroom. Thomas and Alastair had invited some other close friends and family, and Cordelia and James had done the same. All had been instructed on the situation, and planned to be discreet. A large number of suits and dresses had been delivered to Anna, Ariadne, Matthew, and Lucie, along with a note saying they could choose any one of the options. The rooms were full of life, shining and glittering and shifting. Champagne sparkled and fragrant scents of roasted meats and delicate creamed desserts rose up. Lively violin music flowed from the ballroom, and each person was a vision in velvet and satin, a walking kaleidoscope of dancing and laughing and color. Anna and Ariadne danced, quick as quicksilver and breathless with happiness. Anna was wearing a finely cut suit of ebony and snow white, while Ariadne was resplendent in a twilight blue gown that sparkled with stars and twirled as she did. “You are as gorgeous as an angel.” Anna called as she twirled Ariadne. “And you look like a goddess sent to Earth.” Ariadne called back, cheeks flushed with the blush of life. “Oh stop I might actually blush for once.” Anna said, bringing Ariadne close before dramatically dipping her. “What a sight that would be.” Ariadne mocked, laughing. “Maybe someday, I’ll get to witness this amazing phenomena.”

“You can keep hoping, Princess.” Anna replied, laughing as Ariadne lightly smacked her. “I think I will. After all, we’ve got plenty of time.”

The previous song had ended with a dramatic flourish, paving the way for a slower and more romantic piece. Alastair and Thomas slowly danced, staring into each other’s eyes. “What a week it has been. And it’s only been the first week.” Thomas said as the pair revolved on the dance floor. “Indeed. It might be awhile before we have any semblance of peace again.” Alastair replied. “Even you can't deny that you like our newcomers.” Thomas snarked back, no true bite in his voice. “I do, much to my dismay. I can admit they are fun and Anna especially is very fun. At least she knows how to drink and have fun, unlike you.” Alastair shot back, chuckling. “Oh shut up you. I'm plenty of fun.” Thomas said, affecting a wounded air. “I suppose you can be, but-” Thomas cut Alastair off and kissed him, holding him even closer. Alastair, drunk on happiness, held Thomas close as they kissed and the violins played a song of hearts broken and mended, souls torn and sewed back together.

Cordelia and James sat along the wall, laughing and joking with Lucie and Matthew. The squad had quickly become fast friends. Cordelia leaned forward and kissed James, while Matthew wolf whistled and Lucie slapped her hand over his mouth to shut him up. The scene could be described as perfect, if such a thing exists. Music and songs and beauty and, most importantly of them all, new beginnings. What the future held was a mystery, and what the past held was unchangeable. But the now… well the now was whatever the people living in it made it. And everybody present at that party had chosen to make it something glowing with love and happiness and the treasured thing that is friendship. Twists of fate and acts of free will were what brought these people together, but it was their choice to stay. They could’ve shunned each other, torn themselves to bits and pieces while laughing. They could’ve betrayed who was supposed to be their enemies - stabbed them in the back and ran before they could be found by the accusing eyes of their victims. They could’ve done all of this, and more. But they didn’t - they chose to do the opposite. To nurture the compassion in their souls, the love blooming in their hearts. To make friends and lovers and family who would stand by them through the storm of the future, the unknown, and anything else that could be thought of.

[silvokrent]

Slings and Arrows

Some wrongs cannot be righted. It’s a lesson Pietro learns a lifetime too late.

[The rise and fall of Dr. Arthur Watts, M.D., PhD.]

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number—” The rustle of papers was followed by a sigh. “—test number sixty-four. Initiating.”

The monitor on his desk whirred to life. Pietro watched the numbers on the holographic screen climb as the program ran the simulation. Thirty seconds without anomalies. A minute. He knew better than to get his hopes up, but the longer the systems operated without rejection, the harder it was to suppress the mutinous optimism at the back of his head. Maybe, this time, he’d finally found the right—

The monitor let out a dejected-sounding beep, and the screen flashed.

Insufficient variables. Analysis results too unstable for implantation.

Only when he slumped back in his seat did Pietro realize how tightly he’d been gripping the arms of the chair. He tapped at his scroll and activated the audio function.

“Test number sixty-four was unsuccessful. The simulated Aura was deemed too structurally unstable to survive grafting to a biotechnic lattice. Recommend recalibrating the values for ω, λ, and ρ to increase viability. Describe what mistakes were made.” Pietro contemplated the scroll in his hand, before lifting it to his face and smacking it into his forehead. Repeatedly. “My mistake was deciding to pursue a degree in bioengineering, followed by the even bigger mistake of my alma mater handing me a diploma. All other setbacks are incidental. End recording.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Pietro called up the diagram from earlier. The hologram cast his office in various shades of blue light that, while it had a calming effect on him, unveiled the minefield of loose papers, folders, and post-it notes that had become his workspace.

For a moment, he considered setting aside a day in his schedule to reorganize his desk. Only when he couldn’t find his calendar did he remember why it had gotten so bad in the first place.

His calendar was buried somewhere underneath.

Brokenly, Pietro stared at the untamed bed of chaos before him. On one hand, he needed to clean his desk. On the other hand, incineration was faster, and the chemistry lab had a blowtorch.

“You look desperately in need of this,” said a voice from behind.

The unexpected drawl startled Pietro out of his thoughts. He swiveled around in his chair to the sight of Arthur Watts leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in each hand. Judging by the amused smirk, he’d been there for some time.

“Arthur!” Pietro minimized the program with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

His friend stepped inside and carefully kicked the door shut with his heel. He strode across the room and reclined into the vacant chair opposite of him, ankle propped on his knee. He held out the second mug. “Kuo Kuana roast. Extra cream, and enough sugar to give you every cardiovascular disease known to man.”

Pietro accepted the offered drink, and for a moment simply held it to his face. The aromatic scent was blue water and white sand, and it never failed to make him nostalgic for the coast. He let out a long, quiet exhale that took some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, “but how did you—?”

“I saw the lights on under the door and took an educated guess,” Watts said. He took a draught from his own mug before continuing: “The janitors left at the end of the day, and no one else is unhinged enough to stay after hours.”

Pietro arched a brow. “Apart from you?”

Watts snorted. “I had a meeting that I couldn’t reschedule.”

“At ten o’clock at night?”

“I made the mistake of postponing one too many times. They couldn’t be dissuaded.”

They lapsed into companionable silence. Pietro indulged in his coffee while Watts picked up a folder and flipped through it at random.

The company was a welcome respite, and not just because it came bearing gifts.

Their office arrangement had started off rather unextraordinarily, all things considered. Handing off paperwork, returning a piece of equipment, passing along department memos—the sort of banal normalcy one would expect between colleagues. Pietro hadn’t begrudged the unexpected interruptions from Watts (quite the opposite, in fact), and Watts never protested when Pietro ventured into his space long enough to drop something off.

Only a few months after becoming acquainted did Pietro notice the shift in their interactions. It had been subtle at first: an animated conversation during a faculty meeting that led to Pietro following Watts back to his office to continue the topic. A request from Watts for a second opinion on a patient chart, which led to Watts loitering in Pietro’s office long after he’d humored him. A day where Watts had cleared his schedule to allow Pietro to vent about his latest experiment following an incident in the labs.

It hadn’t taken long for the intrusions to devolve from legitimate reasons to half-contrived pretenses. The reed that broke the Dromedon’s back had been a memorable afternoon where Pietro’s office door swung open, and Watts—bag strap slung around one arm, a stack of documents tucked under the other—announced that he needed somewhere to hide from his interns, and no one would think to look for him here.

There were, admittedly, more unconventional ways to start a friendship, though Pietro hardly minded. Especially not after Watts had treated him to dinner as an apology for the inconvenience.

It was an aspect of their relationship Pietro was both fond of and deeply appreciated, though he was tactful enough to not comment on it aloud. Watts wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. (Though the steaming mug in his hand begged to differ.)

He watched as the other man returned the folder to its original spot in exchange for a file.

“No luck, I take it?” The question was as much rhetorical as it was a tacit invitation to brainstorm. Pietro gladly accepted.

“I had a thought after yesterday’s meeting: ‘What if it’s quantitative rather than permutational? Maybe we only need to adjust the inputs rather than the sequence.’” He shot a rueful glance at the monitor. “You can imagine how that went. It feels like the answer’s staring right at me and I’m too stupid to see it.”

“If you were stupid”—Watts turned the page, not bothering to look up—“we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.” He took another sip from his mug. “Sleep-deprived, on the other hand…”

“Can you blame me?” Pietro asked.

This time, Watts did look up.

“We’ve been at this for six months and have nothing to show for it. We’re running out of time.”

Watts set the file down. “James never stipulated a deadline,” he murmured.

“No,” Pietro agreed, “but he’s not the only person we have to justify ourselves to.”

“If this is about the lien, I wouldn’t fret. As long as our funding comes from the military, they’re not going to pull the plug.”

Pietro frowned at the drink in his hands, at the contemplative reflection that mirrored his own. “James may have greenlit the project, but that doesn’t change the fact that the military budget comes from tax revenue. The other councilors get a say in how that money is allocated. And if they think our research is a waste of public resources…”

An uneasy quiet fell between them, and it was telling that Watts didn’t immediately refute him or attempt to assuage his concerns.

For lack of anything constructive to say, Pietro sighed. “For thousands of years we consumed willow bark as an analgesic. When people learned that salicin was the culprit, a chemist learned how to make it from scratch. Pharmacies around the world now manufacture and distribute that medication to millions of people.” He leaned back into his seat. “How is it that we figured out how to make an artificial compound, but we can’t figure out how to make an artificial Aura?”

“Well—” Watts motioned with his drink in a vague sort of gesture. “That might have something to do with acetylsalicylic acid being a synthetic chemical, and Aura being the manifestation of the soul. They’re not exactly analogous.” He stroked his chin. “It would also be remiss of me not to point out that up until a few centuries ago, pneumatophysicists were regularly executed for heresy. It’s not as if we have the breakthroughs of our predecessors to build upon.”

A weak, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. Reflexively, Pietro combed through his hair.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” Frustrating might have been putting it charitably. Pietro still had half a mind to fetch that blowtorch.

A knowing look crept across his handsome features, though Watts deigned only to shrug in response. Obstacles and setbacks were held in a similar estimation to success; they seldom bothered him. Nonetheless, he offered, perhaps by way of consolation, “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for possible,” said Pietro, “and right now, we’ve hit a dead end.”

The holographic diagram from earlier rematerialized over his desk—a simulated Aura field superimposed atop the three-dimensional render of an android. He parsed through the accompanying schematics with a wave of his hand, calling forth and highlighting relevant segments of data.

“We know that Aura is related to the sum product of a person’s neurological pathways, because it’s the same system responsible for generating consciousness.” Pietro activated the synaptic filter. A branching web of neurons lit up the hologram in tandem with the Aura field. “Here’s the problem. Functionally and behaviorally they’re similar, so you’d think replicating one system would mean the simultaneous generation of the other, right? But it doesn’t work like that.” His brow furrowed. “Not only is Aura’s reliance on this system facultative, but it verges on metaphysical. It means that we’re missing something. You can break down the physiology of the CNS and PNS into all the various electrochemical signals, but the second you try to do the same thing with Aura—”

He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist, and slumped in his chair.

“I’m starting to think James picked the wrong proposal,” he quietly admitted. “At least yours didn’t hinge on reconciling a decades-long conflict between pneumatophysical models and—”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you.”

The brusque statement startled Pietro out of his rambling. It only took a second of being subjected to Watts’ flat, unimpressed stare before Pietro ducked his head.

Watts snorted under his breath. “For better or worse, the general picked your proposal. You have an obligation to not fail, so I suggest you pull yourself together.”

Embarrassment quickly faded to mild annoyance. “You’re as sobering as a cold shower. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Watts’ expression softened. “Sometimes a little cold helps to clear the head.” There was thoughtful pause before he unhooked his ankle and leaned forward, elbows braced against his legs. “You know,” he began, “success isn’t always contingent on understanding.”

Coming from the man who actively condemned ignorance, that surprised him. Pietro stilled with the mug halfway to his lips. “True,” he conceded, lowering the coffee back to his lap. “But I don’t think we’re in a position to trip over the answer like it’s a sleeping cat.”

Another pause followed, longer than the one that preceded it.

“What if we had a way to circumvent it?”

“What do you mean?”

With a soft thunk Watts set his mug on the desk. “Your proposal requires grafting an Aura onto a mechanical vessel. It never specified where that Aura came from,” he said. “Whether it was artificially created…or acquired from somewhere else.”

He laced his fingers together.

“Someone else, perhaps.”

He’d been told more than once that he had a terrible poker face. Clearly that hadn’t changed, if the way Watts pursed his lips was anything to go by.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not suggesting we go abduct people and harvest their organs in a back alley.” He rolled his eyes. “I would hope you’d have a somewhat higher opinion of me.”

“You have a way with words, Arthur. A questionable and slightly terrifying way with them.” Pietro fidgeted with his tie. “Let’s, for the moment, ignore all of the potential obstacles involved. Like receiving an extension on our funding to cover any unanticipated costs. Or getting approval from the Atlesian Ethics Committee to perform an unregulated and untested surgery on a patient. Or even finding a candidate who would willingly consent to such a procedure. Even if we hypothetically resolved all of those issues, we’d still be left with a problem.”

“Only the one?” asked Watts. He arched a slender brow. “Very well, I’ll bite. Enlighten me.”

Another frown tugged at his lips. “Even if we found a way to perform such a surgery, removing even a fraction could be fatal. You can’t survive without Aura.”

“That’s not, strictly speaking, true.” The mug had made its way back into his hand. Watts idly traced the rim with a finger. “I’ve treated patients with Chronic Aura Degradation before. It’s not uncommon to see cases where up to 45% of the Aura was eroded. And in every one of those cases, the patient survived with weekly EMF-DS therapy.”

Pietro shook his head. “You, better than anyone, know that ‘survived’ isn’t the same thing as ‘cured.’”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Forgive me if I insinuated otherwise. I only meant that regular treatments resulted in a negligible impact on their quality of life.”

“I’m not denying that.” Only when Watts stilled his hand, and began circling the rim in the opposite direction, did Pietro realize he was staring. He snapped his head up and cleared his throat. “But that’s an archotheronotic disease. You’re talking about using Auratic intercision to create a manmade version of CAD. There’s no telling what that would do to the donor, or if the amount of Aura donated would even be enough to sustain an entirely new person.”

Watts conceded with a sigh. “It’s just a thought.”

It wasn’t the most outlandish thing Pietro had heard—the staff breakroom regularly churned out weirder ideas on a weekly basis, and gods knew he’d contributed to quite a few of those himself.

Still…

“I’m not opposed to alternatives,” he replied at last, “but I can’t imagine anyone condoning a surgery that mimics a Grimm-based illness. The controversy alone would be a nightmare.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.”

Watts made a noncommittal noise as he stood.

“Scientific progress has always been controversial. What matters is how we deal with it.” He lightly clapped a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. The residual warmth from the mug lingered; it was oddly soothing. “Do me a favor, and try to get some rest?” He smirked, and the hand retreated. “Sleep on my suggestion. See if you’re not better disposed to it in the morning.”

Pietro sipped at his coffee, eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll pass on the sleep for now.” He motioned with the cup. “Keep these coming though and you might just persuade me.”

Watts let out a low chuckle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned on his heel for the door, tossing a parting glance over his shoulder. “Good night, Pietro.”

Pietro smiled into his drink. “Good night, Arthur.”

“—has to be something we haven’t thought of yet.”

“We could give the pneumatograph another go. Run the Dust vortex generator with different configurations.”

“And waste more Dust in the process. Repeating the same tests isn’t going to get us any closer to generating an Aura.”

“Okay. Well, what about Grimm exposure trials? We could map out field fluctuations and look for any biopenumatic discrepancies.”

“After what happened last time? We’d be lucky if the Grimmoire loaned us a bloody paperclip, let alone a Boarbatusk. Try again.”

Will pulled a face as he crossed out a line on the clipboard, before tossing the pen back to Watts. He cast the cages lining the wall a glum look. “I guess we could go back to rodent models,” he said.

The mice Pietro was feeding began to squeakily protest. He lapsed into momentary silence before agreeing, though not without some reluctance. “It couldn’t hurt.” Not in the technical sense, anyway. But if the thought of their work regressing back to animal trials didn’t sting a little. Given the dwindling list of alternatives, however, he wasn’t about to object.

One of the mice nosed at his hand, and Pietro obligingly scratched it between the ears. “I’ll fill out the requisition forms. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get the approval.”

“As long as the technicians remember to give us an Aura-active batch,” Will added. “Last time they forgot.”

Their conversation petered out, replaced by the high-pitched din of the mice and the clink of the pellets in their food bowls. Pietro sealed the latch on the enclosure and placed the dispenser on the nearby counter, thinking.

“Even in a worst-case scenario, if the rodent models end up not working out, we could always repurpose our findings for later studies. Once the Penny Project is over”—though whether or not they succeeded, he chose not to theorize on—“if we can get the grant money for it, well, who knows? Apothymetics is relatively uncharted territory, and it’d be a shame to see all those mice go to waste…”

Watts slowly lowered the chart in his hands, and pinned him with the full intensity of his stare. “You want to run tests…on the mice…to see if you can unlock their Semblances,” he said. He broke apart his sentence as if he were running it through a translator.

Pietro shrugged. “It’s theoretically possible. If an animal can unlock an Aura, by extension it should be able to acquire a Semblance. Haven’t you ever wondered what that would look like?”

Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to speculate on the possibilities of the hypothetical. Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to see what sort of face his friend would make. Watts had yet to disappoint.

He watched with delight as Watts squinted his eyes, as if the mere idea were an affront to common decency. “No,” he said, “I haven’t wondered what that would look like. Perhaps my imagination isn’t as vivid as yours, but I’d rather not contemplate the horror of a 700-kilogram polar bear learning how to run at Mach 1, let alone a lab rat.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur,” Will chimed in, in a voice far too casual to be anything but. “Think of all the possibilities. Telekinetic service dogs. Self-cloning chickens.”

“We could solve world hunger,” Pietro said. This time he was unable to suppress a grin.

It took a second for Watts to register the look on his face; his expression evened out, and he let out a loud sigh. “Stop enabling him, Will. He doesn’t need a co-conspirator.”

“I thought you were my co-conspirator,” said Pietro, feigning a look of wounded betrayal.

“No. I’m your impulse control. And I seem to doing a rather poor job as of late.” Watts jotted something on the chart in his hands, his brow momentarily furrowed in concentration. “Those mice are supposed to be euthanized anyway. I doubt they’d let you repurpose them for another project, even if you pitched it as a financial incentive.”

Pietro considered. “I can be persuasive.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

Will set the clipboard next to the dispenser and leaned back, his amusement tempered with intrigue. “I know you were kidding—mostly—but eventually, someone else is going to ask the same question, and they won’t be. Sooner or later, it’s going to be proven or disproven.”

“With any luck, they’ll disprove it,” Watts replied. “It’s already bad enough when people unlock their Semblances.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Huntsmen need those.”

“Huntsmen, certainly. Their line of work requires it.” Watts glanced up from the chart. “The average person, on the other hand, would frankly be better off without.”

“Come off it, Arthur. I know we’re supposed be scientists and demystifying this stuff, but…” Will shrugged. “You can’t deny that it’s a little exciting for someone to try and imagine what their Semblance might be.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right. It’s very exciting when someone with no training accidentally unlocks their Semblance, only to discover they now wield the power of fire, and proceed to give themselves a second-degree burn.” He clicked the pen, and pocketed it in the folds of his lab coat. “That was last Tuesday, by the way.”

Will crossed his arms. “I take it you wouldn’t want to find out what yours is?”

“If I was going to do something that permanent and that irrationally stupid, I’d get a tattoo on my left—”

A scroll dinged. Will jumped like a tasered cat, and fished through his pockets until he found it. “It’s Meg.” The sudden tension eased from his shoulders as his eyes darted over the screen. “She just wanted to let me know how the appointment went.”

Pietro’s eyes lit up. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s due in another nine weeks.” Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from his scroll. “Since I need to call her, now seems like as good a time as any to take a lunch break.” He started for the door. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Do either of you want anything?”

“Pastrami on rye. Toasted,” Watts called after him.

“If they have any tuna salad left, I wouldn’t say no,” Pietro added.

Will gave a parting wave as he slipped out the door, the scroll already held to his face.

There was a brief silence, filled by the squeaks of tiny mice.

“So.” Pietro side-eyed the other man. “Where did you say you were putting that tattoo?”

Watts swatted him with the chart.

With nothing else to distract them for the time being, Pietro dug out his scroll and consulted his schedule.

“Busy this afternoon?” Watts prompted.

“Nothing too exciting. The hospital wants me to review some patient files and see if I’d be willing to consult on them. And around three I’ve got an appointment with a new client needing cybernetic optimal implants. The insurance company approved her for a fully-integrated interface, similar to the model James has.”

“Which reminds me…” Watts turned his attention to his own scroll. “I need to notify him about his follow-up. His prostheses are due for inspection.”

“Good luck getting him out of his office.” At his inquiring look, Pietro elaborated: “The Vytal Festival’s next month. He’s been busy overseeing the travel arrangements for his students.”

“Damn it. I forgot that was coming up.” Watts pinched the bridge of his nose, before skimming back over his calendar. “Well, at least I’ll have one appointment today that won’t be akin to pulling teeth.”

“Oh?”

“A new client by the name of Rainart. It seems he needs treatment for acute Dust poisoning.”

“Collier?”

“He didn’t say.”

Pietro tagged a file on his scroll and dismissed it from the queue. “We’ll need to meet with the rest of the team and make sure our schedules are coordinated,” he stated. “I think tomorrow would—”

“Hold on.” He hadn’t realized Watts was reading over his shoulder, and didn’t register the proximity until he felt a puff of air on the side of his neck. The sudden presence startled him. “Go back to the last tab.”

He shot him a puzzled look, but obliged him all the same. “This one?” He tapped the screen and enlarged it.

“Why did you pass on this case?” asked Watts.

Pietro peered at the text. “‘Name: Mia Atelier. Age: 19. Patient is in a hypothermia-induced coma and has been unresponsive to all attempts to resuscitate.’” He frowned. “There’s nothing I can do that the hospital staff haven’t already tried, I’m afraid.”

Watts took a step back, his eyes narrowed. After a moment he returned to his scroll. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number seventy-one. Initiating.”

The monitor gave a powerful thrum as the simulation booted up. Other than the pneumatic hiss of the internal fans, their silence was uninterrupted. A hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder, though Pietro didn’t bother to find out whose it was. He didn’t dare look away.

As quickly as it began, the program aborted. An all-too familiar error message flashed counterpoint to the readouts on the screen.

The team let out a collective sigh.

Pietro willed himself through the motion of activating the audio function on his scroll.

“Test number seventy-one was unsuccessful. The recalibrations based on the gravid murine analysis didn’t provide the missing variable for the Aura simulation. It’s possible that the in-utero pneumatographic scans failed to identify the unknown factors necessary for generating and implanting an Aura. Recommendations for subsequent tests are…” It dawned on him midway through that he didn’t know where to go next. “…The team will reconvene to discuss further options. End recording,” he finished.

For lack of anything better to do, Pietro buried his face in his hand. Around him the voices of his colleagues stirred, their chatter sounding strangely far away.

“I really thought we had it that time.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. We modeled it after a gestating animal. What the hell could we have possibly missed?”

“Maybe the issue is what we’re modeling. What if we replicated the scans on a more complex organism?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure the guys in obstetrics would love that. ‘Can we borrow one of your patients for nine months? We just want to run some non-invasive tests.’”

“Hey, Will, how do you feel about offering up your firstborn child in the name of science?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“I suggest we go down to the pub on Baker Street and put our funding to good use.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to do that after you succeed, not before.”

“What about you, Arthur? You’re being unusually quiet.”

Pietro peered up from between his fingers to where Watts stood, inspecting the hologram of the simulated Aura field. Light from the projection struck the side of his face, carving out the angles in shadows.

“I think,” he said, “we should consider alternatives.”

It wasn’t an opinion shared by the majority of the faculty, but Pietro liked the distance between the buildings.

Admittedly, there were drawbacks to the layout. For example, when back-to-back classes were scheduled on opposite sides of the campus, it was fairly common to see students and professors alike sprinting between lecture halls.

Personally, Pietro enjoyed the sweeping courtyards. The altitude of the city meant a steady supply of brisk air, along with an unobstructed view of the stars that no amount of light pollution could diminish. If nothing else, the long walk between buildings gave him a chance to declutter his thoughts after hours spent cooped up in his office. Given the excuse, he gladly jumped at any opportunity to walk the grounds.

Not that he really needed the excuse, he mused, as he approached Watts’ office.

Pietro went to knock, only to be stilled by a snippet of conversation that filtered through the door.

“—understand your concerns. Rest assured, the surgical theater is still reserved for then. I spoke with the administrator at the medical center this morning, and received confirmation for the private transport. Everything else has been taken care of.”

Pietro was careful not to cause too much of a disturbance as he slipped into the chair across from him. Watts greeted him with a nod, before turning his attention back to the call.

“Certainly. We can discuss your daughter’s treatment plan afterward. I’d rather not burden you with undue stress in the meanwhile. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

He set aside the scroll on his desk. “You’re here earlier than usual,” he noted. “Either something went extremely well, or horribly wrong. Which was it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” The joints in his shoulder popped as Pietro stretched. “Remember those parts I ordered? The shipment was delayed another week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I presume there’s a silver lining?”

“Well,” he said, “the original plan was to spend the next three days working on the rotary cannon for the Colossus prototype. But seeing as that’s no longer possible…” He leaned forward, hands clapped on his knees. “I know you’re not usually a fan of ‘that hideous blood sport,’ but the doubles rounds start tonight and the matches have been pretty good so far. Everyone’s getting together later in the staff breakroom to watch. The betting pool this year is pretty sizable, too.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

Watts smirked. “Of course not.”

“But—if you’re still opposed to watching the Tournament—” Pietro shrugged. “My weekend’s free. We could make plans to do something. If you’re interested.”

Watts inclined his head, green eyes half-lidded in thought. After a pause he averted his gaze to his hands, neatly folding them atop one another. “As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I have a flight this evening. I’ll be out of the capital for a day or two.”

That caught him off-guard. “You didn’t tell me you were heading down to Mantle.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m heading to Argus.”

“You’re leaving the country?”

“Hardly. With how much the city relies on trade with Atlas, it might as well be part of the kingdom.” He dismissively waved his hand. “But, yes. I’m overseeing a procedure there.”

It took Pietro a moment to conceal his disappointment behind a consolatory smile. “Well, what can you do.” He scoured his brain for any recent mention of traveling during the last few conversations, and surprisingly drew a blank. “I’m guessing this was last-second on your part. A new patient, I take it?”

“Something to that effect.”

“Well”—Pietro hopped to his feet—“if you’ve got an airship to catch then I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you want to get out of here and pack.” He quirked a brow. “Just so you know, I’ll be very upset if you don’t bring me back a souvenir.”

Watts rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop at the hospital gift shop on my way out,” he drawled, without a hint of sincerity.

Pietro laughed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He made it as far as the threshold when a voice called him back: “Pietro.”

Watts was shuffling a stack of papers on his desk—a pointless gesture, with how meticulous his workspace already was. He spoke without meeting his gaze: “When I return, I’d like to discuss some ideas I had for your project. I might have found a solution.”

His pulse quickened. “Are you—are you sure?” Pietro asked.

The rearranged stack was pushed off to the side. “I will be after tomorrow.”

When he got the news a week later, Pietro stared out his office window, and didn’t move for a long time.

“That girl’s blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t you dare say I took a choice away from her.”

Pietro hesitated outside the imposing metal doors. Announcing his presence would have been the right thing to do—something he should have done ten minutes ago—but a sense of dread, morbid curiosity, and some other nameless instinct stayed the impulse. Instead he leaned closer, only just able to discern the pair of muffled voices on the other side.

“She was dying. What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for the hospital board to convene and debate the ethics? They would have wasted precious seconds wringing their hands and fretting over indemnification, while I had a chance to save her life.”

James’ voice was taut with the tension of a fraying rope. “And you failed.”

“People die from surgical complications every day,” Watts snapped. “We can’t save everyone. But we can try, and I did. She may be dead, but the contributions her death made have advanced our understanding of—”

“‘Contributions’? Do you hear yourself?”

Pietro nearly forgot to breathe in the deafening silence.

“You didn’t do this out of some misguided altruism,” James said. “You did it to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“I did it because she was running out of time and options. A transfer of consciousness by incising her Aura and siphoning it into a receptive vessel was the only way to ensure her survival. What other options were there?”

“Hospice.” The word was ground out through clenched teeth.

“If you’re waiting for me to grovel to you for clemency,” said Watts, “then you’ll be waiting for some time. I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, really? Is that you why you had your patient shipped to a hospital in another kingdom so you could perform an illegal surgery?”

Pietro flinched.

“As I’ve explained to you numerous times, the procedure is illegal under Atlesian law. Mistral, on the other hand, has no such qualms when it comes to the implementation of pioneering medical research.”

“Hiding behind a loophole doesn’t change the fact that you manipulated her emotionally-compromised parents!” A fist slammed against the desk. “You knew they were desperate, and you knew they would say yes if there was even the slightest chance they could get their daughter back. Their consent was based solely on the premise that your theoretical procedure might work.”

“It’s not theoretical anymore.” The words saturated the air, like the ozone that preceded lightning. “I proved that it can be done. My efforts, while unsuccessful, weren’t a failure. We can take what I learned from her death and repurpose it—”

“That’s enough.”

Pietro recoiled from the shout. Then he realized what he’d done, and quickly repositioned himself next to the door.

“Did you know…” Shoes scuffed over the tiled floor, across the sunken dais. “During the height of the Great War, Mantle oversaw the detainment of captured soldiers. In time, their wardens saw little benefit in expending resources on them if there wasn’t some use for all of those people.” The pacing stopped. “Eventually, Mantle did find a use for them. They were experimented on. When the war came to a close, hundreds of people had perished. The textbooks never fail to recount that.”

Watts took a steadying breath. “What they often conveniently omit is that many of the technologies we have today were born from those experiments. Analgesics, psychotropic drugs, new surgical tools…and neuroprostheses.”

A pause.

“The metal grafted to your body exists because prisoners of war bled for it. You can’t ridicule my work and absolve yourself of hypocrisy.”

When James’ reply came, it was dangerously soft: “For better or worse, we have that technology.”

“For better or worse, we could have had one more,” Watts retorted. “How does condemning my choices justify yours?”

James exhaled through his nose, and his tone evened out into something approximating his regular speech. “Because I don’t condone the loss of lives, or the dehumanization of people. I didn’t participate in the atrocities that brought us those advancements.”

“No. You only benefited from them. Tell me, James. How many more people do you think will suffer needlessly in the future because you stymied my research? Inaction will deprive future generations.”

“Whereas action will slaughter the current one,” James shot back. “The ends don’t justify the means. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gambled on asking for forgiveness over permission, had the girl actually lived.”

Neither man spoke into the yawning chasm that filled the space between them.

“…I didn’t want her to die, James.” An unfamiliar emotion crept into his voice.

James sighed. “I didn’t call you here to debate your motives. What’s done is done.”

When Watts spoke again, the question was accompanied by unease: “Then why did you arrange this meeting?”

“To discuss the consequences with you.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“Not presently, no,” James said. “The Council hasn’t formally issued any charges, and they won’t until they meet to discuss the matter in-depth.”

“If I’m not being arrested,” Watts ventured, “then what consequences are you talking about?”

The general’s reply was delayed. “I spoke with the Medical Board. Your license has been suspended.”

Pietro’s blood ran cold.

“On what grounds?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

“Malpractice.”

“You can’t place me on probation for a law I didn’t break—”

“Arthur.”

The interruption killed whatever momentum he’d gathered. When no more protests were forthcoming, James continued: “It wasn’t my call.”

Another gap in the conversation followed, shorter than the ones before it.

“If the Board’s intention was to simply strip me of my license, they could have easily done so without involving you. If the Council plans to do nothing yet, then this meeting is a waste of our time.” His confusion faded, replaced with wariness. “Why am I really here, James?”

“…I want you to understand,” James began, “that I arranged this meeting as a courtesy. I didn’t want you to be in the dark about events going forward—”

“Why am I here?”

Pietro could picture James steepling his hands, tightening his jaw.

“As you’re aware, the Penny Project is a classified military project. Your surgery appropriated that research, and you performed it on a civilian.”

“My research”—Watts bristled—“was based on an archotheronotic disease. Where I drew my inspiration is irrelevant.”

“The other councilors might not have letters after their names, but they’re not idiots. They saw the parallels. It’s not a coincidence that your procedure and the project both focus on Aura.”

“The difference,” Watts spat, “is in the intent. The project’s goal is to create an Aura from scratch. Mine was to separate and transfer an already-existing one. If we can separate a host’s Aura and place it within a new receptacle, then that proves we can also remove a portion of it and do the same.”

“Even if you’re right, that doesn’t change the fact that the girl’s parents went to the media and took their story public,” James said. “Soul-based research is already controversial. How long do you think it will take for people to start asking questions? That’s a scrutiny we can’t afford right now.”

The chair legs scraped over the ground as James stood.

“The reason why I called you here is because the Council believes that your actions jeopardized that secrecy. The unauthorized disclosure of classified military intelligence is a potential security breach. Which is why, until they conclude their investigation, your passport is being revoked and you will be confined to the Kingdom of Atlas.”

James sounded tired.

“The charge they intend to level against you is treason.”

Nervously, Pietro rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame.

“Arthur? May I come in?”

Watts stood with his back to the room, an outstretched hand removing several books from their shelves. At the sound of his name, he stiffened. “If you must,” he answered flatly.

“Thank you.” He was careful to avoid tripping over the boxes stacked by the entryway as he closed the door behind him.

The other man had never been particularly materialistic, but even so, his decorating was far from sparse. Awards and accreditations had hung from the walls, while shelves with medical tomes lined the perimeter of the office. Occasionally, projects from the lab migrated into the room, and had taken up tablespace by the windowsill where a lone bromeliad sat.

It was jarring to see those possessions packed away.

Watts didn’t immediately turn to face him. Instead, his head sunk between his shoulders. “…Are you here to yell at me as well?”

“Yes. No.” He ran a hand through his hair. A thousand different thoughts colored his mind like a fractured kaleidoscope. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, each worse than the last. Pietro ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside. “Look, I’m upset, but right now you need a friend, not another detractor.”

“How considerate of you.” His words were devoid of inflection.

“I’m not going to pretend I know how you’re feeling right now, but I still think you should—” Pietro glanced at one of the cardboard boxes on his desk, only to do a double-take. “What are you doing?”

“Vacating the premises.” Watts resumed packing. “Seeing as I’m no longer tenured, the institute felt this room could be put to better use.”

“I already know that. That’s not what I meant.” Pietro gestured to the lacy scrawl on the side of the box—Free to whoever wants it. “Why are you getting rid of your things?”

“I have no reason to keep them. It’s not as if I’ll be able to use them again for another employer.”

“You don’t know that—” Pietro began to protest.

“No one in their right mind would hire me. And that’s assuming I won’t be spending the rest of my life behind bars.” He folded the box flaps with slightly more force than necessary. “Seeing as you’re already here, help yourself to whatever you like. I’ll be taking the rest of these downstairs to the breakroom, once I’m done. I know Will was always partial to my microscope.”

“I’m not taking your things!” Pietro let out a long, deep exhale, forcing himself to calm down. “I want to talk to you.”

“Very well.” Watts finally turned to face him, and Pietro was struck by how ill he looked. A gauntness clung to his features, though whether from a lack of food or a lack of sleep, he couldn’t say. Stubble had begun to creep in below his jaw, and his clothes were far more disheveled than he could ever recall them being. “Talk.”

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. “You need to get a lawyer.”

“And what good will that do me?” His eyes were dull. “Even if the odds weren’t overwhelmingly stacked against me, what lawyer would touch my case?”

“I’m sure someone would, if you asked around.” Pietro hated the idea, but he willed himself to say it: “What about Jacques Schnee? You’re acquaintances, right? The SDC settles lawsuits all the time, so they’ve got to have legal experts on retainer. Maybe you could arrange something with him—”

“If you think I’ll let myself be indebted to that myopic narcissist—” As quickly as it flared, the fire in his eyes faded. Watts’ posture folded in on itself as the anger drained from him, leaving only fretful cinders behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard blink. “I was out of line.”

Pietro worried his lower lip. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Do you want to go out? Get something to drink?”

“I—” Watts cut himself off with a sigh, and shook his head. “No. Thank you. I have plans to meet with one of my former patients later. He wants to discuss alternatives for his Dust poisoning, seeing as his treatments have been…discontinued.”

Pietro cast his gaze helplessly about the room, trying to think of something. With an unpleasant lurch in his chest, he realized that he couldn’t. “I’ll leave you to it, then?” he said.

“That would be for the best.”

Despite the overwhelming urge to protest, Pietro turned to leave. He stopped with his fingers on the door handle, and glanced back. “You’ll come and get me if you need anything, right?”

Watts opened another box, and began writing on the side. “Of course.”

Save for the occasional fleeting glimpse, Pietro saw little of his friend over the next two weeks.

While his presence on the campus was a necessity, Watts seemed to be doing what he could to minimize it. Only the administrators—who refused to speak about it—and his former clients—who spoke too much about it—spent any length of time with him. His public avoidance did little to deter the gossip, which varied in accuracy and failed to account for all the details, given the clandestine nature of his termination. It didn’t help that Pietro staunchly refused to contribute to it, and told off anyone bold enough to press the subject.

When their paths did cross, Watts didn’t linger long enough to chat. He had a faraway look on his face, and his appearance was unkempt.

It worried Pietro that he no longer seemed to care about himself.

It was early into the evening when Watts visited his office.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.” Pietro glanced up from his paperwork to see Watts hovering in the doorway. Strangely, he was carrying the bromeliad. “Might I steal a moment of your time?”

“Certainly!” Pietro pushed aside the document stack and gestured warmly to the chair. To his dismay, Watts remained standing. “What can I do for you?”

Watts adjusted the potted plant in his arms. “I was wondering,” he began, “if I could ask for a small favor.”

“Go ahead.”

Pietro didn’t know what to make of the unexpectedly calm expression on his face, so at odds with his recent emotional state.

“I need someone to look after this for me.” Watts took a step forward, and set the plant on the edge of the desk. “If it’s left unattended for a day or two it’s not an issue. Any longer, though, and it begins to dry out. The care required for it isn’t overly involved; the soil simply needs to be misted with distilled water every so—”

“Wait a second,” Pietro said. “Why does it sound like you’re going somewhere?”

Watts hesitated. “I’m travelling to Evadne for a few days.”

Pietro started to rise. “Arthur—”

He held up a hand. “I’m forbidden from international flights, not domestic. The southern coast of Solitas is under Atlesian jurisdiction, is it not?”

Slowly, Pietro sank back into his chair. “It is,” he agreed. “But why are you travelling now?”

Watts closed his eyes. “I want to see the coast one last time.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

His friend didn’t comment. He merely stared at him.

“Fine,” Pietro relented, “I’ll watch it for you. But just so you know, I’ve killed plants before.”

His lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s quite all right.”

Pietro reached forward to move the pot, only to be taken aback when his hand was intercepted by Watts’. The contact startled him, so much so that he didn’t react when Watts lightly squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Pietro forced his jaws to move. “For what?”

“For more than I care to admit.”

The hand retreated.

“Enjoy your trip, Arthur.” Pietro tried to sound cheerful. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Watts opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He dipped his head in a polite nod, before turning on his heel.

He wasn’t sure why he was here.

It was the second day after Watts’ departure for Evadne. The office was unrecognizable without any of its usual décor—walls now stripped bare of his possessions, floorspace empty save for the generic chairs and desk pushed off to the corner. The open space was dissonant with Pietro’s memories of the many times he’d spent in this room, either with other members of the team, or by himself. Almost as soon as the thoughts formed, they were accompanied by a pang of nostalgia. His fingernails dug into his palm.

Adjusting to the new normal was a prospect he dreaded, not just for the uncertainties at play, but simply because he didn’t want things to change. In truth, Pietro didn’t know what the Council’s verdict would be.

And he would have been lying if he said the thought didn’t keep him up at night.

It was as he was looking around the room that he noticed something glint in the waste bin. Intrigued, he bent down and pushed aside the crumpled papers partially obscuring it. When he lifted it from the bin, Pietro was surprised to see his reflection staring back at him from the plaque’s glassy surface.

The Atlesian Institute of Technology is honored to present the Rigel Award to Arthur Watts in recognition of his contributions to the fields of archotherology and pneumatophysics.

“I know things are bad right now, Arthur, but you shouldn’t just throw things like this away…” He’d been at the reception where the award had been presented; it had been a milestone in Watts’ career.

Carefully, Pietro wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt. A stubborn resolve seized him.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the spare key,” Pietro told himself, as the lock clicked.

The first thing he noticed, as the apartment door shut behind him, was the immediate onset of cold. Ice cold. The sort of chill that settled in a person’s lungs, and caused their breath to fog as they gasped for air.

“Gods above.” Pietro wrapped his arms around himself. “I know you like it cold, but this is ridiculous. What’s the temperature in here?”

Not intending to trip his way through the room, Pietro reached for the light switch.

Nothing.

“The bulb must have blown out.” He resorted to the flashlight on his scroll. Mindful of where he stepped, Pietro moved into the hall where the thermostat was. The last thing his friend needed was to return to a drafty apartment.

Understandably, he was confused when he tapped the screen, only for the thermostat to not respond.

“Surely this isn’t broken too…?”

A nagging suspicion prompted him to reach for the next light switch in his path. The hall remained dark, even after Pietro flipped it several times.

Something wasn’t right.

The next three lights he tried remained unresponsive to his attempts. Pietro stopped in the kitchen, his scroll in one hand, the glass plaque grasped loosely in the other. What else wasn’t working?

His gaze fell to the sink. With a slither of incredulity, Pietro turned the handle on the faucet.

It was cold, granted, but not cold enough to freeze the pipes. And he refused to believe that all of the utilities simultaneously stopped working. Even if they did, Watts would never have knowingly allowed them to remain in disrepair.

His mind discarded one possibility after the next, trying to identify a pattern, an explanation.

Pietro lifted the plaque to eye level.

For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why he’d want to get rid of something so important. It was a question he’d have to ask him when he came back—

His eyes widened.

Glass skated over the tiles as the plaque shattered against the floor. Pietro fumbled with his scroll, cursing, as he bolted back down the hall.

James answered on the second ring. “Pietro? What—”

“Where are you?” he gasped.

“The Academy,” he said. “Is something—”

“Meet me in your office!” The door slammed shut behind him. “We need to stop him!”

“And you’re sure about this?” James gravely looked on as Pietro paced.

“Why else would he have gotten rid of his things?” He gestured wildly. “He already believes his life is over. He had no reason to keep them.”

Those words had taken on an entirely new meaning, one that made Pietro feel sick.

“I understand, given the circumstances, how you would've arrived at that conclusion. But is it possible you’re wrong?” He spoke with the calm, patient authority of his rank, with a pragmatism meant to ease. All it did was agitate Pietro even more. “Arthur is a lot of things, but suicidal? It doesn’t seem—”

“You haven’t seen him the last few weeks!” His voice shot up an octave. “He’s hardly eating, barely sleeping, he isolated himself from nearly everyone. I knew he was depressed, but I didn’t think…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “James, please. We need to do something.”

James leaned back into his desk, hands braced against the edge. “We should consider every possibility before we act.”

Pietro halted in his tracks. “What other possibilities?”

“Consider what you’ve just told me. He disposed of his personal belongings—things that would have encumbered him. He distanced himself from other people—social contacts that would have tied him to the kingdom. He canceled his utilities—lien he no longer has to waste.”

Pietro turned to face him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Given the pending criminal charges, it’s possible that he’s trying to flee the kingdom.”

Pietro tensed.

“Think carefully about your last conversation.” James watched him closely. “Did he indicate that he planned on coming back?”

Mutely, Pietro shook his head.

“If he wanted to leave without drawing attention to himself, Evadne would be the logical choice,” he said. “It’s a small town on the water frequently used as a stopover between the interior cities and Anima’s northern coast. It has a comparably smaller military presence, and most of its visitors are tourists. He won’t look out of place. And if he’s brought lien with him, it wouldn’t take much persuasion to stow away on an airship or a boat. Dust smugglers regularly make use of those tactics.”

Pietro started to shake.

“Both possibilities are upsetting in their own right, and I’d prefer for neither to be true. But the evidence isn’t something we can just ignore. Right now, the latter seems more likely. I didn’t notice—”

“Of course you didn’t notice!” Pietro shouted. “You were so busy trying to end his career that you didn’t realize you were ending his life!”

His words echoed around the room. In the stunned silence that followed, Pietro continued to yell.

“‘I want to see the coast one last time.’ That’s what he said to me when he left! He didn’t mean before he was arrested; he meant before he died. And why wouldn’t he? What did he have left? Either he was going to waste away in a cell, or he was going to spend the rest of his life unable to rebuild it. No one in the medical community will speak to him, no one on the team will look at him—” He doubled over with a strangled cough. “I know what he did was wrong. I think it’s wrong. But I don’t want him to die because of it! I don’t want to be right, but with everything I’ve seen we can’t wait around to find out if I’m wrong. James, please, we have to—”

A hand fell on his shoulder. Pietro wheezed.

“We’ll find him.” James’ grip tightened. “I can have an airship ready in ten minutes.”

The night was alive with the weaving bands of the auroras.

A distant part of his mind tried to find comfort in the emerald and indigo light, as it rippled through the sky amidst a backdrop of stars.

“We should be there in a few hours.” From the seat across from him, James consulted his scroll. “Our ETA will be about 6:00 AM.”

Pietro turned away from the window. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

“I have a special operative who’s currently stationed in the area. Her name’s Caroline. I radioed her as we were boarding. Her team’s going to meet us when we land and help with the search.”

He nodded.

“Before Arthur left”—James glanced up from the screen—“did he tell you where he was staying?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “He didn’t.”

“That’s all right.” James returned to his scroll. “If he checked into a hotel, the transaction will be on his bank statement. I should have access to his account history in a minute.”

“James.” Pietro steeled himself. “If I’m right…about…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “How are we going to handle this?”

“It depends on what we find, and what—condition he’s in.” James’ face was pinched. “The plan is to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else.”

“‘Anyone else’?”

James’ expression darkened. “I’ve seen situations like this before, with soldiers and Huntsmen. Sometimes they lash out.”

Suddenly, Pietro was grateful for his friend’s long military career, and the experience that came with it.

That went doubly so a second later when his scroll chimed, granting him clearance.

James read over the information as it poured in. “Well, this confirms what we already suspected—he canceled his utilities a few days ago.”

“Did you find out where he’s staying?”

“Let me see—got it. I have the name and address. It’s…” He scrolled through something on the screen. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Pietro leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “What is it?”

“Right before he left, he emptied his account.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Hang on. I might be able to trace where it went—” James trailed off.

“What is it?”

“He—” James peered at the records. “A large percentage of it was made out as a check. To the Ateliers.”

Pietro didn’t speak. If he opened his mouth now, he’d vomit.

“The remainder appears to have been withdrawn, though I’m not sure why.”

The cabin was mercifully silent as James immersed himself in parsing through the records. With nothing to do and only his thoughts to preoccupy him, Pietro returned to the window. It was several minutes before James spoke again:

“It’s going to be a while before we land. Try to get some sleep.”

When he trusted himself to not be sick, Pietro answered. “I’m okay, James.”

It was a lie. And judging by James’ expression, he didn’t believe it either.

“General Ironwood.” A woman of remarkably short stature saluted them. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

She fell in step beside him while her two subordinates took up positions at the rear. For every one step James took, Caroline had to take three.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“We’ve been monitoring the building from afar for the last half hour. We haven’t seen Dr. Watts enter or leave.”

James didn’t comment. Rather, he quickened his pace.

“Do you have any orders for us?”

“The manager will be expecting us, although she wasn’t fully informed as to why. I want you and your team to start in his room, then sweep the premises while we interview the staff.” He stopped with his hand on the glass doors, and gave her a hard stare. “Do not, under any circumstances, harm him. If the situation becomes dangerous, you are to either deescalate it or wait for me to join you. Do I make myself clear?”

She grimaced. “Yes, sir.”

A woman with a sheet of long, violet hair stood waiting for them in the lobby. “Welcome, General Ironwood. Dr. Polendina.” She offered a shallow bow. As she rose, she registered the accompanying operatives, and her eyes flickered with unspoken questions. “How may I assist you?”

“We’d like to speak with you, along with any staff that may have interacted with one of your guests.”

The manager glanced at Caroline. “Are we in danger?”

“No. Not likely,” said James.

The manager didn’t look reassured, but she didn’t protest. “Very well. Please follow me.”

She guided the small group to the front desk where the receptionist sat, their eyes wide in bewilderment. “May I have the guest’s name?” she asked.

“Arthur Watts,” James said.

Without prompting, the receptionist keyed in the name. “Uh. He’s in room 3A.”

James turned to the manager. “May I have your permission to send my team upstairs?”

“Go ahead.”

He nodded. At once Coraline and her subordinates dispersed.

The manager waited until they’d filed into the elevator before she spoke: “You said you had questions for me?”

“Along with any staff that interacted with him,” James clarified.

“I’ve interacted with him.”

The receptionist seemed to regret that decision the moment three pairs of eyes turned on them. Nevertheless, they continued: “The guy with the mustache, right?”

Pietro’s pulse stuttered sharply. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning. He left over an hour ago. Said he was going for a walk.”

It took every shred of willpower Pietro had to not run out those doors.

“Did he leave with any belongings on his person? A bag, perhaps?” James asked.

The receptionist shook their head. “No, sir. Just his wallet and his room key, like he usually does.”

Pietro swapped a look with James, before turning back to the receptionist. “What do you mean by ‘usually’?”

“This is the time when he usually goes out. He stops to talk to the receptionist—well, me, I guess—and then heads out for a few hours. Comes back around noon, grabs lunch in the dining hall, heads back upstairs. Goes out again around five o’clock, and comes back some time after seven.” They gave a helpless shrug. “I—I guess he has a routine.”

Some of the tension left James’ shoulders. “It’s possible Arthur did in fact come here just to destress,” he said.

What should have been a reassuring thought made Pietro want to sink into the ground in mortification. He could only imagine what Watts’ face would look like when he returned to the hotel, to find that Pietro had brought along the entire cavalry. All because he assumed his friend had a death wish.

Pietro was dragged out of his pity party by James’ next question: “Do you remember anything specific about his behavior? Anything that might have looked or sounded strange?”

To his surprise, the receptionist looked guilty. “Well…” They glanced at the manager.

“Whatever it is, you’re not in trouble,” she said.

The receptionist hesitated a second longer, before heaving a reluctant sigh. “You get a lot of guests in a place like this, right? So you don’t always remember all of them. Not unless they stand out in some way. He…” They paused. “He’s been nothing but polite and friendly to all the staff.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly noteworthy,” James observed.

The receptionist fidgeted. “No, it’s not that. It’s not just that. He tipped us well.” They swallowed. “Like, really well.”

The lingering dread from earlier resurfaced. “How much did he tip you?” Pietro asked.

They averted their gaze. “Ten thousand lien. Each.”

The dread beat savage wings against his ribs.

Out of his periphery, James stepped off to the side with a finger pressed to his earpiece. A second later his face went unsettlingly blank. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to speak with my team.”

Pietro dimly registered his departure. He looked between the two hotel staff, his mind frantically scrambling for an explanation other than the one he didn’t want to hear. “Did he say anything?” he asked. Begged. “Anything that you might remember could help."

They considered his words with renewed thoughtfulness. “When he’d come back from his walks, I’d ask him how he was—the regular sort of small talk you’d make with guests. He told me that he went down to the beach. When I asked him, ‘Did you do anything while you were there?’ he said, ‘Not today. Perhaps I will tomorrow.’”

“Pietro.”

James had returned.

Coraline and her team hurried through the lobby; he could just make out “mobilize search-and-rescue” being barked into her earpiece as they rushed past.

He regarded Pietro with pale, haunted eyes, before slowly holding out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A note hung from his fingertips.

After four days of searching, Arthur Watts was declared dead.

James scrubbed at his face. “I already told you, Camilla,” he sighed, as the doors slid open, “I’ll have it resolved once I—oh, Pietro. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Pietro managed a weak smile. “Disappointed to see me?” he asked, as he strode into the room.

“Relieved, actually.” James set aside some manner of document he’d been working on. “I was half-expecting another lecture.” Pietro accepted the tacit invitation to join him, and eased into the chair. “What can I do for you?”

Pietro tapped his fingers against the armrest. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Why do I get the impression I won’t like what you’re about to ask me?”

“Because you won’t.”

Predictably, James wasn’t amused, but he didn’t try to bodily throw him out of the room, so that was a good start. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

This conversation had sounded so much easier in his head. Pietro contemplated which option to take, before deciding on the direct approach: “Did you ever look over the report Arthur wrote after the surgery?”

It was brief, but Pietro didn’t miss the flash of regret James very neatly concealed behind unwavering calm. He steepled his hands. “I did,” he answered.

“Did you see the post-op notes?”

“I did.”

“But did you read them?” he pressed.

There was a hint of humor in his reply: “I read them to the extent I could understand them.”

Pietro braced himself. “I took another look at his work on Auratic intercision. He did it, James.”

When the other man said nothing, he hurriedly launched into his speech. “Even though the initial attempt failed, he managed to deduce what went wrong during the procedure. I won’t waste your time with all the technical mumbo jumbo, but I did the math. Split-Aura transfer is possible.”

He held James’ gaze. “We can finally build Penny.”

For a moment that stretched into eternity, James remained silent. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. “You want my permission, to use the same research that nearly got him arrested, to complete your project.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Pietro said.

“I can certainly appreciate the irony, if nothing else.” He narrowed his eyes—thoughtfully, not in anger. “This wasn’t an idea you came up with overnight. It’s been nearly two months. Why did you wait this long to bring it up?”

“It’s as you said: it’s been two months. The last of the journalists have retired the story. People are no longer fixated on the proceedings. No more controversy, no more public backlash. The scandal died with him.” It hurt to say, but Pietro pushed onward: “Synthesizing an Aura has proven impossible, but now, we have a viable alternative. We can’t bring Mia Atelier back. But perhaps we can give someone else a chance at life.”

He waited.

At last, James nodded. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left him. “You have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said.

“There’s just one problem.”

James regarded him intently. “The procedure requires a donor, does it not? You need a volunteer.”

Pietro straightened. “You’re looking at him.”

It had been a while since he last had the chance to sit and diagram.

A combination of blueprints, tablets, and holographic projectors were scattered about the desk. Other than the sleepy hum of the generator, and the scratching of pen against paper, his office was silent. The ambiance gave Pietro a pleasant rhythm to work to as he alternated between mediums.

He was in the middle of diagramming the thrusters when a voice spoke up from behind: “Burning the midnight oil?”

Pietro gladly accepted the mug James offered him, as he occupied the empty seat. “Just getting a little more work done before I call it quits.” He grinned. “I just finished the template for her skeleton. It’s on the tablet to your right if you want to see it.”

“This one?” James picked up the tablet in question.

“Swipe left, it’s the first file.”

The device lit up in his hands. James made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as his eyes darted across the screen.

“What do you think?” Pietro asked.

“I think”—he continued to skim through the files—“I picked the right proposal.”

He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until he felt a hot, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. He tried to discreetly dab it away.

Not discreetly enough, it seemed. James shot him an inquiring look.

“Oh, don’t mind. I’m just a little sensitive right now.” Pietro ducked his head. “It’s not every day you get to become a father.”

James wore a knowing, if somewhat bemused smile, but he was considerate enough to not say anything. He turned his attention back to the files in his hand.

“A lot of those are aesthetic mock-ups. I haven’t finalized anything, so if you want to throw in your two cents on the design input, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did he know?”

Pietro’s hand stilled over the parchment. When no elaboration was forthcoming, he lifted his head to deduce one for himself.

His pulse beat painfully beneath his skin.

The file on the screen was one of the earliest drafts for Penny’s design. It was also one of the only files to have received a color palette. Red hair hung in thick curls about her pale face. Her cheeks were flecked with freckles that contrasted just enough to be visible, just below her eyes.

Eyes that were a very familiar shade of green.

He didn’t say anything for several moments. He debated saying anything at all.

But there was no judgment on James’ face, no hint of contempt in his voice. Only sympathy.

“No,” Pietro answered. He let out a tired sigh, and set the pen down. “And he never suspected. I made sure of that.”

“You didn’t want to tell him?”

“I wanted to tell him for a long time." He closed his eyes. "I’ve spent the last four months regretting every day that I didn’t. And on every one of those days, I wondered if telling him would have made a difference.”

“It’s not your fault,” said James.

“I know.” Pietro reached for the photo on the edge of his desk, and gently lifted the frame into his hands. It was the last picture the team had taken together. “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

He lifted his eyes to the file in James’ hands, to the image of the young girl staring back at him.

“But maybe, through someone else—someone new—he can still be here.”

“Dr. Watts?”

Watts lifted his head from the chart he'd been reviewing.

At the entrance of his lab stood Hazel, his expression as impassive as ever.

“We have a meeting to attend.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Watts smoothed down the front of his coat. “Tell Salem I’ll be right there.”

Guess I've got some explaining to do. For anyone curious about my RWBY worldbuilding and headcanons:

Pietro not being disabled prior to the start of the series - We have no confirmation of this in canon, but I think that donating a percentage of his Aura to Penny has slowly chipped away at his health. I based this partly on the fact that in the show, the areas on his body where his Aura has been excised most prominently are over his legs and lower torso. If donating too much of his Aura is fatal, then it stands to reason that there are intermediary complications between points A and D - loss of mobility in his legs, chronic respiratory illness, worsening vision, and so on.

Archotherology (Gr. archo-, ruler, + -thero-, beast, + -logy, study of) - The study of Grimm.

Pneumatophysics (Gr. pneûma, soul, + -physics) - The study of the soul and its physical manifestation, Aura.

Apothymetics (Gr. apo-, derived from, + -thym-, soul, + E. -ics, from [?] Gr. -ikós, pertaining to) - The study of Semblances; a subdiscipline of pneumatophysics.

Auratic disease - An adverse condition that typically affects a person’s Aura, and by extension, their Semblance. Auratic diseases are generated by plague-type Grimm, and then transmitted to people through proximity. Watts' research simulated an Auratic disease, which is why Pietro later acquires a manmade version of CAD. You can click here to read more about them.

Evadne - A coastal city in southern Solitas. Named after the Greek figure Evadne, the wife of King Argus.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Psycho-Pass 3, Episodes 5-6

In which the specter of religion weighs heavy over the proceedings, and I consider the heart of what’s really making this season so difficult to parse.

Gods-Eye View

Continuing with this season’s theme of exploring the ways Sybil’s influence has shaped the various facets of society, the back half of Psycho-Pass 3 takes us into the plot proper by way of examining what has become of religion under this scientific order. It’s honestly kind of surprising this is the first stab the franchise has taken at exploring religion; faith is one of the most important factors in a society’s development, after all, and you’d have to figure the Sybil System’s influence would have led to some truly fascinating developments in that area. Would it stamp down religious faith to ensure that Sybil remains the one true loyalty of the people? Would it co-opt it like it does everything else and use it as yet another tool of shoring up its control? As it turns out, the answer is both; under Sybil, religion is both persecuted and allowed, like a societal pressure valve that’s turned on and off depending on the context. Heaven’s Leap is a new faith that’s founded on the worship of Sybil itself, and Sybil rewards this devotion by permitting its followers to build sanctuaries outside the watchful eye of cymatic scans. Meanwhile, other religions, highly associated with unwelcome immigrants, are being ferried into a proposed Special Religious Zone, with serves as both a safe space for people of all faith to find stability and safety and a convenient way to segregate outsiders to Japan into their own little hideaway. Once again, Sybil’s most consistently devious tactic is making it easy and comfortable for citizens to choose a path that ensures their own complacency in it.

It’s a welcome return to the kind of societal storytelling this franchise built its impressive pedigree from; once again, it feels like we’re genuinely part of Psycho-Pass’ world again. The religious leaders are all very clear-sighted about their place in the world, genuinely hoping to use their faith to give their followers a better life. But they’re not blind to the dangers of religion either; the leader of the Christian sect, in particular, understands that a good ideology means nothing if it falls short in practice. Religion can be a source of community, but it can also be a source of anger and distrust, fostering extremism and hatred and fear of the nebulous Other. Left to sour under the wrong guidance, it can become just as oppressive as the Sybil System it’s supposedly offering relief from. But at its best, it can provide for those who slip through Sybil’s cracks and find themselves at its mercy, like, say, a bunch of forced prostitution victims who can’t go to Sybil for help because it’ll designate them dangerous threats rather than recognize their trauma and need for mental care. Yeah, that’s very much the Sybil I remember making my blood boil in the first season, callously punishing the already vulnerable and dispassionately condemning wide swaths of humanity with the same unequal brush. That I can absolutely believe would happen under this fucking atrocious system, and the fact it legitimately got me pissed off at Sybil is proof that this season is actually recapturing some of what makes Psycho-Pass great.

The Impossible Burden

And yet, I still find myself uncertain. We’ve been steadily improving since the first episode as Psycho-Pass 3 has found its footing, and by now it’s reached the heights of being basically okay, even good at times. This is nowhere near as much of a clusterfuck as the second season, obnoxiously unexplained Bifrost nonsense aside (Seriously, how are they, like, manipulating all the major events of the season from behind the scenes by bidding society on a holographic dealer? If I don’t get a good explanation for what their deal is, there’s gonna be hell to pay.) But the more I watch, the more I begin to wonder if the biggest issue I have with this Psycho-Pass sequel... is that it’s a Psycho-Pass sequel.

See, what I’m realizing is that pretty much all my major complaints about this season aren’t so much complaints about its quality as a show, per se; they’re complaints about the ways it doesn’t align with the standards set by the first season of Psycho-Pass. Yeah, the cringeworthy attempts at goofy comedy would still grate regardless, but what really makes them sting is that nothing about the tonal landscape established in the first season- the tonal landscape I got invested in- feels at all comfortable with the surly over-acting, exaggerated angry freak-outs, and dating sim match-ups. Arata’s bizarre memory-tracing powers would actually be plausible enough if this were just some sci-fi show establishing its own unique toolbox of tricks, but because of how relatively grounded in logic and reality the first season was, this more fantastical element feels out of place. Ditto the more flamboyant action choreography and Arata’s almost ballet-esque parkour; if I didn’t have such an expectation of Psycho-Pass hewing close to reality, I’d just think it was some cool-ass action with slick animation. And I’ve also noticed that this season’s a hell of a lot laxer when it comes to the Enforcer/Inspector dynamics, which also contributes to how incongruent it can feel. Like, Akane and Ginoza’s positions of power over their Enforcers in the first season, and how they chose to manage those relationships, was a huge part of what made all those character dynamics so engaging, but Arata and Ignatov barely feel different from their latent criminal companions at all. Can you imagine any of the Enforcers in the first season doing something as drastic as punching their superior Inspector for trying to stop them from taking action, as Irie does to Arata in episode 6? It means part of the tapestry that makes Psycho-Pass, Psycho-Pass, is lacking, and the only reason it’s noticeable is that the tapestry even exists in the first place.

So in the end, I think my uncertain reaction to Psycho-Pass 3 isn’t just about its quality as a cyberpunk dystopia detective show; it’s about its quality as an inheritor to the legacy of the cyberpunk dystopia detective show that I came to it for. If I was able to come at this season and decouple it a bit from my expectations of what Psycho-Pass is supposed to be, would I end up enjoying it more? Is that something I even want to do? Is there value to this show not as a sequel to Psycho-Pass, but as its own thing that just so happens to share a lot of the same rules? Or is it still too beholden to the franchise’s legacy to even try making that distinction? I don’t know, and frankly, I doubt I’ll have a clearer answer by the time I actually finish this season. All I know is that for all the odds stacked against me, I still don’t goddamn want to give up hope yet. There’s still a chance for this season to bring it home, to answer all the mysteries in a way that makes sense and justify its own existence, either within our without the franchise it’s tied to. I don’t know if it’s going to be able to, but as long as the possibility exists, there’s still reason to see this story through. Bring it home, PP3. I’m counting on you.

Odds and Ends

-So judging from that description, this Bifrost group is a whole bunch of Makishimas, people who can regulate their PP levels at will? That’s probably not good.

-”On this case? Can you guarantee her safety?” God, do you hear that concern in her voice? Shion and Yayoi are totally still together, prove me wrong.

-”I’m going back in.” “You can’t be serious!” OH MY GOD SHION YOU ARE SO GODDAMN OBVIOUS

-Oh shit, Sho’s still in contact with Akane! Man, what kind of situation is Akane in where she’s holed up somewhere but can still freely communicate with active government agents?

-”I’m sorry I’m the first face you’ll get to see.” Aw, how sweet. Please let nothing bad happen to the wife. He said, biting back curses knowing the only reason they’d have such an innocent bystander character in a show like this is to imperil her when the going really gets rough.

-”Someone’s trying to reveal the crimes this country’s foisted on immigrants.” Hm... interesting...

One more session to go. Here’s hoping the final episodes can bring it hope. See you next time for the grand finale of Psycho-Pass 3!

[skinfeeler]

I watched Joker (2019) at the cinema last night. It induced in me a lot of thoughts about the film, but also about the nature of criticism and art in general. Because I respect people’s time and general sensibility, I’m putting the rest of this post under a cut. Content warnings surrounding discussion of (sexual) violence, and obviously a number of spoilers.

I left the room feeling uncertain how to interpret what I had just watched, and for this reason (and others) quite uncomfortable. As a narrative the film seemed disjointed and overly metaphorical, certainly as a movement of set-up, crescendo, climax, and denouement the film made no sense because the film for the most part utterly denied itself a clear and uninterrupted line in events. This was because of certain scenes in the film that can with certainty be said to not possibly have happened in the way they did on the screen, even with suspension of disbelief intact, but also in general the solipsism of the film— Arthur Fleck seemed like the only character in the film with everyone at most taking a rather symbolic, flat, role (Thomas Wayne) or only purposefully serving as a source of narrative unreliability and confusion (Penny Fleck). Most characters, however, were simply part of an unindividuated antagonistic bloc whose sole purpose seemed to truncate both its own humanity and Arthur's— perhaps this is what we could call 'society', or something.

It took me a moment of talking to friends to find a method through which this film perhaps not quite become intelligible, but at the very least that I could get something out of it. This method is one of doing away with the narrative and instead, trying to view it as a character study.

Certain parts of the film become immediately more palatable when viewed this way, or at least, easier to parse as meaning anything at all. For example, we don't have to accept the pop criticism analysis of that his relationship with his neighbor is something Arthur hallucinated and then realised he hallucinated. Instead, we can take each of the scenes in which she is present as something that tells us something about Arthur even if not extant in the ‘real narrative’— while he is truly and actually maligned by society, it can't be said that Arthur himself is particularly sensitive to the complicated humanity of those around him. For example, when it comes to Penny, he seems to have absolutely no regard for the simultaneous plight and guilt surrounding her character, that of a woman who, yes, let him be abused by her boyfriend but who herself was also being abused by him and presumably had her own troubled past.

Likewise, we can state that if his neighbor were to be present in the scenes in which she couldn't possibly have been (since it would defy all plausability of that relationship developing in that way), Arthur would actually have seen her as how she acted in those scenes: A symbol, at most. An anchor. Something without particular agency or drives or motives of her own, which she only reclaims in the final scene that she's in, where she is concerned with the safety of her daughter and Arthur leaving her apartment. The disparity between her as a an agent and the scenes in which her presence was imaginary (as opposed to unreal) tells us something about Arthur, even if it tells us nothing about the narrative.

When it comes to Penny, perhaps it doesn't matter so much to Arthur whether she had her own complicated reality of pain and powerlessness. In the moment where Arthur killed her, he was simply reclaiming a kind of power he never had. Arthur has no social means to power, so he resorts to presocial means, or really just only ever one, which is murder. And not just any kind of murder, not the kind of violence of slowly strangling someone, or beating someone into a pulp until they pass away as a combination of factors such as lung failure, neural trauma, and internal bleeding, but the kind of violence with a huge power differential where the moment he decides someone dies, they're already dead, a wish spoken to remove someone from this world that one immediately grants oneself. A terminally ill woman can't defend herself against smothering, and even an able-bodied adult man stands no chance in the second between the revolver being unholstered and being shot in the head.

Hypnotising, really. In particular that moment where the third businessman who was first harassing a woman on the train and then beating Arthur up is now slowly limping away as Arthur casually follows him, you can see every aspect of his fear, the sheer realisation that the social dominion he enjoys means nothing when faced with a cartridge of sufficient caliber.

I feel that this is significant somehow, the fact that Arthur is both traumatised into being unable to parse the very intricate and individual drives of the people surrounding him, and the fact that he recognises that this is happening to him, constantly, and acts very purposefully to circumvent it through means which in turn allow no resistance in any sense whatsoever. All of this can, of course, be attributed to trauma as an aspect of the character study of the film, and for this reason I believe that the scenes-that-couldn't-possibly-have-happened and the very real violence he enacts are part of one and the same network of themes.

The fact that for most of the film Arthur is simultaneously treated by the narrative as the one person with humanity (but having this unrecognised by society) but Wayne and everyone else is portrayed as not possessing it (but at the very least conditionally having some of it bestowed upon them by those around them) is an important part of this conceit.

The inherent hypocrisy of Arthur’s character as maligned but having no qualm with truncating the subjectivities around him shows us both that the way he views things is disturbed and that he is legitimately cut off from others, that he genuinely cannot conceive of why he should not act as he does, but the harm he does is real. It’s obvious that we know Arthur did not have any choice in becoming the kind of person he ended up being, but also that he's not in particular a 'good person', if that means anything at all. One could possibly draw parallels to Brad in LISA: The Painful RPG, but to anyone who has played that game I shouldn't have to explicitly draw the links.

Furthermore, this baseline of the ineluctable unpleasantness of Arthur's character helps us differentiate between the parts of the film where he can meaningfully choose what to do, actions he undertakes without the force majeure of trauma and mental illness making any other options not even appear in his head. From here we could possibly draw a parallel to the utter meaninglessness of Alex’ actions in A Clockwork Orange post-Ludivico, a film in which this particular theme is much more explicit, although there’s a contrast of the ability to be compassionate being truncated as opposed to the ability to be cruel.

(To be clear, I'm working with the framework of "what could you reasonably expect from someone who has had their psyche malformed like that?" whether it is the lack of 'good' deeds from Arthur or the lack of 'evil' deeds from Alex as opposed to a blanket condemnation/sanctification of character.)

This is where directorial fiat starts meaning anything, or from a more in-universe perspective, what little agency Arthur himself has left— Watsonian or Doylist analysis, who gives a shit, you know what I mean.

There are a couple actions Arthur took that were completely unwarranted, which were neither reactions to imminent threats or reactions to people who had wronged him in the past. In particular, I am referring here to him sexually assaulting his neighbor — even if not a real scene within the narrative, it still tells us something about Arthur as within the aforementioned parameters — and later the woman on TV.

Were he not to have taken those actions, a meaningful moral judgement — a positive one but in particularly the negative ones — could not possibly have been ascribed to him, because all of his actions could have been conceivably reduced to simple learned traumatic behaviors and reactions to impending harm. The story of Arthur could have been one of a gun cocked by SOCIETY and then exploding in its own face.

However, since not all of his actions can be placed within this framework, we can say something about Arthur for certain that I don't feel we could unequivocally have before: He is not the hero of this story. There are actions of his to which morality meaningfully applies, and in a negative light— as opposed to not being a bad person, the 'not' here referring to the futility of trying to ascribe morality to the actions of those who have certain faculties truncated from their psyche. But why opt for this in the script?

If Arthur could possibly have had all of his actions justified or at least hypothetically justifiable, he would have been the hero of the story. And 'the hero of the story' implies 'story', it implies 'narrative', it would have meant a regression to the narrative structure that the film explicitly seemed to be avoiding, at least most of the time. Joker (2019) wouldn't have been a character study, it would've regressed to a relatively standard narrative with an antihero. Thus, I think it makes sense to insert these actions as a diversion of the baseline of things which could really not have been any different in any categorical way (the killings in self-defense, general acts of revenge, the general insensitivity to the humanity of all others).

All of this is very complicated and challenging, perhaps in particular to those who aren't familiar with the larger lines of the subjectivity that is Arthur: One of a kind of mental illness that not even provisional accommodation exists for, particular economic dependence and destitution, and a general sense of being cut off from the world soul or whatever metaphysical metaphor you would like to use.

(The reason I want to use a metaphysical metaphor is because the longer you are both stuck in and at odds with society, the more everything that happens feels like a presocial fact, something that is intrinsic to you, rather than something that is occuring for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with you. One could choose to draw a distinction between saying that all of it is absurd, that the very construction of value in a Marxist sense creates an impersonal system of domination upon us all, or that the reason why things are as they are is the result of the enforced interests of certain blocs, but this doesn't really matter here. The fact that this reality is rapidly occluded from those who are subjugated to it remains, and that education to circumvent this occlusion and being reminded of what one knows by oneself and others is necessary to not keep returning to a mindset where one feels like something is intrinsically wrong with oneself rather than with society or whatever.)

All art produced by humans, even mass-produced art, is the result of the labor of those who even if they have no particular personal creative input, still levy the aspects of the contexts they are embedded in within the film. No film about a truly alien universe is possible, if it were, it would intrinsically not be possible for humans to conceive of and portray on any medium. Thus we have to conclude that this film, too, says something about perhaps all of us, and those around us.

This is very difficult. The morality of the film is so contradictory as to be completely reprehensible to anyone with any worldview at all, and trying to view it as a character study protects us from being impacted by it. It's a film about Arthur, after all, not us, a twisted person who does not deserve our sympathy. This contradiction doesn’t matter if we abstract Arthur away from ourselves.

I would call this cowardice, or at least, a kind of fear. There is a difference between consuming art from a critical, analytic distance, and really engaging with it. This is of course scary to most people, and I think many of us, even or perhaps especially those who claim to be hardcore critics and analytics are often unwilling to do this. After all, if we really open our minds and hearts to the art we interact with, we don't know how we will end up on the other side.

Will we come to question our preconceptions about who deserves sympathy? Does anyone, even, does the concept retain meaning in a world in which we are all traumatised? Does everyone, perhaps, which may be much scarier to some of us? Why do people behave in the way they do? It would be so easy to assume that the people we hate are behaving either irrationally or from a position of malice, and the idea that everyone has reasons to do what they're doing is a difficult one when we have been hurt by others.

There are a lot of questions like these that pop up when we truly take art for what it is, and I think most of us just can't be bothered. Certainly I couldn't while watching this film, or immediately after it.

This is why I think why a lot of both professional critics and more casual consumers seem to have trouble taking this film in. As a narrative, this film is obnoxious, frustrating, incoherent. As a character study, however, it is still painful, but if you dare to see it that way, you will get way more out of the film than you otherwise would. However, I feel even this is still a layer of abstraction too far removed from the meaning that the film could potentially confer upon us, but it’s one that people seem to be consistently refusing, judging by the state of discourse surrounding this film.

There are certain areas where analysis and ideology fail, or even if they succeed at a totalising idea of how to organise communities and lives, they don't suffice to let us truly perceive ourselves and others. There are certain things that can only be conveyed through art in this way, and at times, even the methodical structures surrounding art can prevent us from getting out of it what we can from nowhere else.

If Joker (2019) fails at any point, I would say it fails here, the parts where it fails to commit to disemphasising the narrative, where they return to the frame of a monomyth with an antihero, where it pulls punches about Arthur and why he does what he does, where it is altogether too subtle about the fact that there are more commonalities between Arthur and everyone else in the film than there are differences. Its cowardice makes it too easy for its audience to, in turn, also hide and scurry away from feeling what they could potentially feel, from having their psyches touched in a particular way.

There is, however, an artist whose work I feel consistently successfully eschews structures and their intrinsic problems, and whose art is extremely impactful as a result.

Play Vesp, by Porpentine.

[dndeviants]

More discovery

Linda followed after Strahd upstairs, and broke off to investigate an L-shaped piece of furniture. She looked around: To her left was a heavy oaken door, to her right were pieces of furniture that had been smashed or were rotting away. 

Books were scattered about, most of them appeared holy in nature, but strangely, they had full sun symbols on their covers, and not the half-sun that she associated with the Morninglord.

Aric followed after Linda and saw the books as well. Both of them reached for one to read...

Linda’s book was damp to the touch. She opened it and saw that the ink inside was smudged. She tried to read it, in spite of herself, and furrowed her brow at the incomplete words and passages:

...Father Sun, Auman--or, being the Ke-per of Law, S-n, and Ligh-... we are b-t serva-ts to thee...

Aric picked up a book. This one had a clear title, and it was "Aumanator, Keeper of the Sun." He opened the book to read the opening passage, some of the ink had faded in time:

Aumanator, Father Sun... being high above all other gods of T--il, are the bringe- of Law, Order...

Aumanator, He recognized the name from his extensive study of Faerunian history. He was the Sun God that helped to found the Faerunian pantheon before his death, and subsequent reincarnation as Lathander Morninglord.

He was the god of a people that came before the Chondathans, and preceded the Tethyrians, and most importantly, he was a god of a people that the Calishites had gone to war with, far back in history before the Dale Reckoning.

Odd... those people’s culture died out long ago... why would records of their god be here? Aric thought.

He decided to voice his confusion, "These books speak of a God that was worshiped by the people of Toril long ago, back to the founding of the pantheon of Faerun,” he added, “I know time flows strangely here, but I can't understand why these records are here.”

Linda raised a brow, "Who is the God?"

“Aumanator, God of the Sun,” answered Aric, “After he was reincarnated, he was known as Lathander Morninglord.”

Linda vaguely recalled from school that the reason Aumanator became Lathander was because he was not so much “Good” as he was “Law,” and that he lost several followers because of shadow magic that altered the face of Faerun... Shadow magic that ripped the Netherese Kingdom off of the face of the continent, and shadow magic that altered the Western Heartlands... 

The people who worshiped this god, she recalled, were people who were recorded as “Talfir,” by the elves. “Talfir” meaning “conquerors” in their tongue.

 "His followers were called the Talfir by the elves if I remember correctly,” Linda added, “Those people don't exist in Faerun anymore. Why is their God recorded in these books here in Barovia? Unless...."

Linda made a face in thought.

"Do you think they came from here?" Aric asked.

"Either that or the opposite,” Linda looked to the genasi, “They came from Faerun."

"I suppose either is possible,” Aric admitted, “but how does this fit into everything going on here?"

"Well...” Linda thought about what she knew about the Barovians, “It makes sense that their faith was supposed to be based on law instead of goodness. Which could be why the Abbot wasn't taken kindly to- the Barovians don’t seem to care so much about goodness.. and that may explain why the Abbot became so.... awful."

She furrowed her brow, "But why would the Abbot keep the books?"

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

Strahd let the two explore the ruined library. He paced around his old fort and noted the changes that had occurred within.

Decayed, dismal... much like the rest of Barovia. He looked at the damage to the room... A fight had happened here, long ago.

It didn’t surprise him.

When he had turned into his undead self, one of his closest companions, his faithful friend, Lady Ilona had fled here, taking up residence in this fort that he had intended for the priesthood, for his brother...

To her credit, she amassed a very decent following, and taught many the clerical and healing Art... and one of her best students was a girl, Aurica Markovia-

Saint Markovia, Strahd corrected himself with much ire. 

Lady Ilona passed on, and left the fort turned abbey to her favored pupil... but apparently, that was not the only thing that she passed on.

The knowledge of Strahd’s true nature was only known to three people: Victor Wachter, Leo Dilisnya, and Lady Ilona herself... but as Lady Ilona passed on, she gifted- or burdened, rather- Aurica with the knowledge of Strahd’s transformation, the truth...

She honed her powers, Strahd nodded to himself, made a name for herself as a miracle worker, and was referred to as a saint by the people of all Barovia. Many came to her...

Many to join her Holy Crusade. She did come for me, came right up to Castle Ravenloft... what she considered the source of all evil here-

Perhaps, in a way, she was right. Strahd admitted to himself, But it was still such a shame... I had no interest in the church, she could have lived a long life if she so chose. But no... I was naive. So long as there are the faithful here, I will never know peace.

He grimaced as he thought of their battle. Her loyal dogs fell easily, but her... He rubbed the side of his leg with remembered pain. Her, not so much.

But what is done is done, and all that remains are... her remains. Remains that he made certain would be sealed away in the crypts of Castle Ravenloft for all time... her faith had imbued her bones with holy power, and he was not allowing anyone to venerate her bones as they had with St. Andral... 

He looked back to the furniture in disarray. The priesthood here was weak without their leader. They turned on each other, all vying for power... sullying the Abbey, Ilona’s hard work... 

Killing each other. He sighed. It was long past. But in the end, the girl still had her victory. She had shaken his power for just a brief moment- and to quell the inconvenient inquiry into her disappearance, he was forced to canonize her as a legitimate saint...

He walked over to a small chest and looked through it, seeing a few magical scrolls. He parsed through them with disinterest. Nothing quite new- oh? A scroll with a Spell for Raising the Dead... Interesting. Of course, he couldn’t use it himself... but perhaps it would be a great bargaining chip in the future. He gently slid the scroll into his pack, and decided to end his stroll through memory lane.

He turned to his two companions who were having a conversation over ruined books. Curiosity overwhelmed him as we strode over to him, "Find anything interesting?"

Aric nodded, not looking up to Strahd, “These books speak of an old god from Toril, Amaunator, later known as Lathander Morninglord,” he explained, “The faith was based on law, which explains the Abbot’s odd behavior, but we don't understand why he would keep the books."

Strahd blinked, "The Abbot didn't bring anything here. These books were standard for the monastery. They are from my time as a human general... I had forgotten the name of Father Sun proper, but it would hurt me to say it... the god is from... Toril, you say?"

Linda nodded,  "He is from our world. He was an old god,” she paused, “If I remember correctly, he lost several followers because of Shadow magic that altered the face of Faerun... And he was reincarnated into Lathander."

Strahd shook his head, "The names you speak mean almost nothing to me. I fought a war here to preserve our people's religion and our nation's sovereignty from those desert-dwelling invaders, the Tergs. I spent half of my life on the battlefield in the name of that god and my father. A lot of good it did, if he ended up dying anyway..."

Strahd walked through the debris, bitterly, "And a lot of good faith did for us."

Linda shrugged,  "I still don't get how you have a god from Faerun in your history."

Strahd tilted his head, "Probably the same reason there are many countries in the Shadowfell. We were all pulled from somewhere...” he locked eyes with Linda, “Perhaps we were from your world once. Is that hard to imagine? You are speaking Balok right now."

 "Balok?” Linda shook her head, “I'm speaking Common."

Strahd raised his hand, "I didn't have to use any translation spells to understand you, like I have those from other worlds."

Linda blinked, feeling numb, "So Barovia is from our world..."

"It may be so. Or perhaps not,” Strahd shrugged in frustration, “What does it matter now? We are no longer part of any world. And escape so far has proven fruitless. In any case... it certainly did not help the Abbot that the people here have confused the faith.”

Strahd’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “Here, I am the Law, I am the Land. Gods have very little sway here."

Linda looked away from him and sighed, "Let's just look around more."

Linda stood, and walked over to the next room, Aric and Strahd following her lead. She opened the oak door...

The room had several beds... and as soon as they entered, six shadowy forms emerged from under them, hissing and clawing at the floor...

Linda leveled her gun and fired rapidly, Aric pulled out the Sunsword and it’s light evaporated the shades. It could hardly be called a fight.

Strahd and Linda groaned in unison. Strahd in pain, Linda in exasperation.

“Well, something of import must be in here for all that..." Linda muttered.

Aric noticed Strahd covering himself from the light, and quickly dismissed the Sunsword’s blade, "Sorry about that Lord Strahd, I'm going to have to be more careful about using the sword!"

Strahd shrugged his cloak away from his face, sighing,  "It's alright. It's a tool. And it is useful against such infestations like those. I'll just be mindful of you."

They explored the room. Strahd found nothing of interest to him, but Linda took a sack of silver ball bearings, good enough to use as ammunition. Aric found a pack of herbs, and stored it in his pouch for Jeeves to examine later.

They made their way over to three doors. Aric opened the first of them, and saw a plain room with a table in its center. The table was covered in blood, and there were limbs strewn about. He slowly closed the door.

Linda checked the room next to him. There were old, wrecked cribs in this room. She looked beyond and saw a nun in white and blue robes by the window. Linda blinked, and when she opened her eyes, the nun had vanished.

"Huh..." was all Linda could say.

Linda peered into the next room, finding it empty except for a raven on the windowsill. It cawed at her and flew away.

Linda turned to Aric, "Welp.... I got nothing," she grumbled, "I hate this place."

Aric folded his arms, "I found a table covered in blood and body parts. Did you find anything... less horrific?"

"I found a raven and possibly a ghost," she replied.

Linda went to check the door on the other wall, and opened it. On the other side was an open walkway that overhung the courtyard below. It seemed that someone had put up several fearsome looking scarecrows along the abbey walls. 

Linda walked out there, Strahd walked alongside her.

Aric stayed behind, as Jeeves caught up with them, and he wanted to catch up his companion.

Strahd examined the scarecrows with amused interest, "Not bad. I could do better. These would make a good prank at the Castle."

Linda rolled her eyes and ignored him. She wasn’t having a good time at the Abbey, and his nonchalant, flippant manner was starting to wear on her.

They passed by another scarecrow. Strahd commented,  "Ah another one. I've always wondered why they were deemed scarecrows... they seem to frighten humans more so than they do crows..."

Linda sighed, "And it seems they fascinate more vampires than they do humans."

Strahd tilted his head toward her,  "No. Well, perhaps... I'm just looking for things to help keep people away from my home. Less gruesome ways."

Not even pausing, she asked, "What were the gruesome ways?"

"Impaling trespassers that tried to destroy me or my consorts on the gates of Castle Ravenloft."

Linda was sarcastic, "Sounds like those ran few and far between."

"The gates are a little sparse now," Strahd admitted.

They passed another. Strahd clapped his hands together with enthusiasm, "You know what would really get them running? An animation spell on the scarecrows. Make them look like corpses... then when trespassers try to brave the gates- have them start moving and moaning...”

Strahd lowered his voice to a playful, scratchy hiss, “Turn back now, beware the Devil Strahd... things like that."

Linda looked to him and raised a brow, "Sounds like a lot of effort."

"Not at all actually. Just animate objects and a minor illusion spell- you...” He looked at her expression and quieted, “You aren't actually interested in these things, are you?"

Linda snickered at Strahd’s expression and opened the door they had reached at the end of the walkway.

Strahd huffed, and pulled out a notebook to jot something down before following her into the dark room.

The room was almost too dark for Linda to see... she heard the same violin music from before and swiveled her head to the source... A mongrelfolk with two heads and a lobster claw was chained to a desk, clutching the violin. 

"What..." She took a step toward the mongrelfolk and tripped over a stray femur. She stumbled and fell, cursing. She looked up to see a dark red chalk pattern on the floor, "What the fuck is that?"

Strahd knelt down to help her up and glanced at the chalk, "Be careful. That is a teleportation circle...” He paused and thought aloud, “I suppose we know how the Abbot was able to sneak people in..."

Linda blinked at the vampire, "What happens if I touch it?"

"You get sent to wherever this portal is connected to," Strahd replied.

Linda looked back to the chalk, "Can we find that out?"

Strahd paused, then nodded, "Let me do some reading on the circle."

Strahd helped Linda move a safe distance away from the circle as he examined the chalk on the floor. He murmured a small incantation. The chalk glowed. He turned to Linda, "I think... this is a portal to the werewolf den. I'm almost certain of it.”

He rose, calculating, “I think this is where the real invasion is going to begin... we can destroy the portal, or go through it."

Linda stood up, "What do you propose?"

Strahd listed their options, "Well, we could destroy it and throw off the invasion attempt... or we could go to them and destroy the portal on their end, and disrupt their ranks there like they intend here. Ironic victory."

Linda thought, and gave her opinion, "I think the second option will lead to a better chance at stopping the invasion."

"Perhaps...” Strahd cautioned, “but we will have to be careful going into the den of our enemies."

"Is everything alright you two?" Aric called into the room. He and Jeeves had finished on the other side, and had come to check on the vampire and the monster hunter.

Strahd folded his arms,  "Other than her almost tripping into a portal to the werewolf den. Things are great."

Linda looked to Aric and Jeeves,  "We are going to go through a portal straight into the den."

Strahd looked surprised. 

Linda looked straight into his eyes, her voice serious, "I'm going through it."

"Through the portal to a den of werewolves?” Aric felt uneasy, “That doesn't sound like a good idea."

Jeeves folded his arms, "No, it does not."

"Thank you," Strahd indicated the boys.

 "Sounds like a good one to me," Linda smirked, keeping her eyes on Strahd, she walked over to the circle, “So?”

She picked her foot up and held it above the circle.

Strahd furrowed his brow at the woman, "That's foolish."

She raised a brow, "Are you going to stop me?" she lowered her foot closer, "Or follow me?"

Strahd sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was weaker than he would like to be... tired, fatigued, his magic power almost at its limit. It would be suicide if any of them were caught, outnumbered...

But for some reason, the thought of Linda getting killed...

"It appears that I am also, in this moment, a fool..." He tiredly stepped forward.

Linda put her foot down...

The chalk flashed purple. One moment they were there, the next they were gone. Aric sighed,  "I suppose we should follow them in case they need help."

Jeeves and Aric steeled themselves before walking through...

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

A cave... running water... The group looked at their surroundings, trying to get their bearings. There was a gash in the ceiling that allowed the gray light and cold drizzle from the outdoors to seep in... torches lined the walls of the cave. Just in front of them, an underground spring seeped forth. It appeared to be forty feet across, and a five foot ledge looked over it. Perched on that ledge was a single werewolf in hybrid form that happened to be looking in the opposite direction of where they were gathered.

Wasting no time, the group clung to the shadows, approaching the lone werewolf. Linda and Aric snuck up on it, and knocked it out. It collapsed, and returned to its human form.

Another werewolf just beyond flicked its ears backward. Jeeves moved forward with his shortsword, ready to pounce. He struck the creature twice before Strahd moved forward and punched the beast square in the muzzle, knocking that one unconscious as well.

As that one fell with a clamor, the group quickly tried to hide once more...

Strahd felt his fatigue, and let go of his physical form, opting to travel as a thin mist... it would be harder to spot him this way, at least.

He crept along slowly, beside them as they passed through rocky formations. Linda peered forward and saw ten werewolves, and two of the mutant werewolf hybrids.

She whispered, “Large group. Two mutants. Ten werewolves...” She looked for a path... if they moved to the right, they could make it to the next ledge. She pointed it out to the boys, "We can make it there."

Slowly, they moved by the lycanthropes... that group seemed to be speaking about battle plans, but it would have been too risky to linger. Linda moved past them...

Two werewolves in hybrid form were speaking, both female. One of the large mutant kind, and one normal werewolf. The large one with white fur spoke in a low growl, "Ingrid. Kellen has to fight. To make the pack strong. There is no exception."

Ingrid, the other werewolf, hissed, "But he is a child! They shouldn't fight! Kiril is your mate, Bianca! Make him see reason! There are so few of us already, we can't afford to sacrifice our young- even if it is for strength!"

Linda focused on moving forward... A werewolf was cornering a small child as the females fought... She saw steps leading down to her right. She moved up, and saw that down the stairs there was a statue of a woman with a wolf’s head, surrounded by coins, a dead man and woman, and cages of children...

Timothy! Linda saw him, cramped and huddled down with five other children. But she had to wait for the opportunity to get him.

Aric’s hearing became sharp and unnaturally crisp... He heard Mehmet’s voice... He turned to face the source and saw his cousin with two other people far across the way...

 "Yes, the circle should have enough charges to get everyone in and out. I just checked it upstairs," Mehmet placed his hands inside his robes.

A huge lycanthrope unlike anything Aric had ever seen hulked by Mehmet. His skin was twisted and purplish, eyes a jaundiced yellow, dark fur missing in some areas, with intense scars punctuating his body. This must have been the leader of the pack: Kiril.

He growled, "It better. I've wasted too much time at the walls for this to fall through. Dilisnya... what of your end? Will we be able to count on your... guild?"

The man Kiril referred to as Dilisnya was plainly dressed. A young, handsome face framed by curly brown hair, and cold blue eyes spoke with a silvery voice, "You've dealt with us long enough to know that my guild always follows through with its promises,” He made a gesture, “You have gotten stronger from it, you became pack leader, and now? Krezk will fall."

Mehmet seemed skeptical, "That's only if your angel friend can learn to keep a level head."

The man seemed unworried, "It'll be fine, we can still do it with or without him. He's almost outlived his usefulness anyway."

Mehmet seemed to shudder, "About time..."

Kiril growled, "Agreed... and what of the... mongrel-folk?"

Dilisnya waved dismissively, "They are just there to stir confusion, and horror, and despair. Useless as soldiers. I've already field tested them and found them... wanting."

Meanwhile, Linda looked to the mist that was Strahd. It reached forward, uncollected, almost unaware of everything around him... Her heart sank in realization, This is why he didn’t want to come! He’s... out of it. Tired... Why did you come, you stupid man?! Was it for... me? She looked around with worry, if someone noticed the mist....

Growls and the sound of fighting rung out through the left. Aric saw a werewolf approach Kiril, "Kiril! Ingrid and Bianca are at each other's throats!"

Kiril growled, "She would come to blows with my mate?! Now of all times? Let me deal with this dissent..."

Kiril pointed to the guards next to him, "Come with me."

Dilisnya sighed in distaste as Kiril stormed off. He spoke to Mehmet, "I'm going to the Amber Temple, to clear a few things up. Just make sure he doesn't get too carried away."

Mehmet nodded, "Right. And the mage?"

"Let him keep thinking what he thinks. And guide him toward the orchards... any luck, he'll think the trees are Strahd's minions, and the orchards will be razed in seconds," Dilisnya turned and departed upstairs.

Mehmet fidgeted with his hands and muttered, "I did not come here to be a servant. We'll get past this soon enough...” He paused as if he were listening to something, “Yes, understood, Great Pasha..."

Mehmet Rein murmured and walked up the stairs slowly.

Linda seized the opportunity and bolted down the stairs to the children’s cages. The children wept and shrieked at the sound of the fighting wolves. Timothy simply covered his ears and closed his eyes.

Strahd all but stumbled out of his mist form and pinched the bridge of his nose. He collected his bearings and looked at the children. 

Linda rushed over to the cage with Timothy in it, pulling out her tools, trying to unlock it. She called to her party, "We need to get everyone out."

Strahd replied, "We need to get everyone quiet."

Linda looked to Strahd. She didn’t care if he used his vampiric powers for this task, "Get to it then. I'll do what I can."

Linda focused on her apprentice, worry in her voice, "Timothy, Timmy. You need to help me quiet everyone. I'm getting you out of here."

Timothy opened his eyes and looked to her, shocked, "Miss Linda! How did you-? Oh gods, I left the shop unlocked, I'm so sorry..." He teared up.

Linda nodded, trying to calm him, "It's alright, I locked up."

Linda unlocked the cage and opened the door. Timothy stood, but the other children cowered.

Strahd stepped forth. Linda commanded Timothy, “Timmy, close your eyes.” Timothy did as told.

Strahd walked forth to the children and made eye contact with them. His eyes flashed red as he reached his influence over them. He spoke in his most soothing voice, "It's alright. You are going to be safe soon. Just lower your voices, children. Shhhhh...."

As he shushed them, they stopped their crying, their eyes glazed over. He had them under his control.

Linda took Timothy’s arm, “Come on... I’ll explain later. Help me get everyone else...”

Aric, Jeeves, Linda, and Timothy worked to free the children as Strahd calmed them with his supernatural influence.

Linda ushered the children, "Alright. Now upstairs we go. Quickly now...”

Aric guided them to the entry he saw Mehmet pass through, pulling back a curtain of human skin. There was no time to be disgusted. Escape was all that mattered. They walked up the stairs and came to an outside opening... There was a portal just on the ground, surrounded by a pile of stones.

Mehmet was there, facing the lake that was under them. He turned around, speaking tiredly, "Kiril, did you finish with the-”

His face contorted in fear and confusion, “Children?! What are you doing out of your cages?!"

Linda pushed the children forward, “Go, through that! Quickly!”

Timothy and the other children ran through. In a flash of purple light, they were gone.

Mehmet made a gesture, summoning bright energy around him, "You will not disrupt this!"

Linda raised her crossbow, "Yes we will," she fired a shot with her crossbow, but the energy seemed to slow the bolt near him, and made it glance harmlessly off of his side.

Aric grabbed his light crossbow and fired, trying to back away from his dangerous cousin, but he tripped over.

Mehmet looked to Aric and Jeeves, anger contorting on his face, he twisted a ring on his hand, cursing, "Damn you! I will be Syl-Pasha... because I have the greatest of Pashas on my side... Pasha of Pashas, Memnon! I summon you!"

A blast of heat struck them backwards... a swirl of fire emerged from the ring, manifesting into an unusually large efreeti... His skin ashen gray, and his szulduar angular and crackling.  The efreeti, Memnon roared, only Aric could understand its cry:

Freedom.

The rock around them turned into sand, flames nipped at their feet. 

Jeeves panicked,  "How do we destroy the portal? And more importantly- do we have a way out?!"

Aric turned to Strahd, yelling over the wind and fire,  "Can we destroy the portal from the other side?!"

Strahd looked to the creature, horrified, "No. We won't have the time! The portal will take us to somewhere else in the Abbey, and it won't guarantee that thing won't come through!” Strahd raised his cloak to cover his face from a stray ember as the efreet took one large step, “I have a spell- my last spell- to get us out. To destroy the portal, just destroy the symbols."

Jeeves didn’t have to be told twice. He drew his shortsword and ran over to the portal, trying not to burn his feet as he struck at the chalk on the ground.

Nothing. The symbols remained.

Strahd stepped forward and slammed a fist onto the ground, cracking the stone beneath, and shattering the integrity of the circle. 

Mehmet and the efreeti roared in unison as the efreeti summoned more fire around them... the smoke was starting to choke...

Strahd stood, and pulled Jeeves back with Linda and Aric.

“Stay near!“ Strahd warned as his fists glowed purple...

The Abbey... Strahd willed the spell, Bring us back to the Abbey-

A swath of flame licked at his back, just as the purple light enveloped them... Strahd cried out in surprised pain, his thoughts warped, his concentration lost...

I want to go home!

Drifting. Floating... Bliss... then stillness.

Everyone looked around them. They were... not in the Abbey. They were in an open area of what appeared to be a castle. A long red carpet lined a stone floor, with marble columns reaching to the ceiling. On top of the columns, gargoyles regarded them with leery expressions. Candles of red wax lighted the gray stone from golden sconces. Skeletons assembled to perform mundane tasks, sweeping the floor, dusting paintings... 

A chill swept through the hallway as it grew slightly darker in the room...

Linda grabbed onto Strahd’s shirt, anger overcoming her caution, "What did you do?! Why are we here!?"

Strahd pinched the bridge of his nose in a haze. What had happened...? He thought of the flame against his back, the pain... He sighed, "I suppose... I may have been... slightly off target..."

Aric looked around him, "Where is ‘here’ exactly?"

"Home,” Strahd all but whispered in tiredness, “Welcome... to Castle Ravenloft."

[smollandtoll]

HC: Science TA Geno History Student Sid

The second these photos came out we were like IT’S TIME. So HERE. WE. GO:

Imagine a universe in which Sid and Geno are separated by a few more years but not enough for it to be weird and Sid is a history major/gym addict (we just can’t picture him without the lower body) who has put off his science requirements for his degree until the very last possible time to do them. So there he is, 21/22 with a bunch of 18y/o freshmen in first year chem, looking mildly confused three times a week in lecture with his biceps threatening to burst through his intramural hockey tees, carefully seated 2/3 of the way up the lecture hall for maximum anonymity.

Sid does not like science very much. At least, not advanced science; he has no need for it beyond understanding the theory and the basics. He has no burning need to know the world’s innermost workings, and he thinks stoichiometry should go die in a fire.

But he’s also not going to let his GPA suffer because of this stupid class. He has a hard time focusing because he has so many other MORE IMPORTANT things he could be doing with his time so he gets lost easily and feels like he’s floundering and it’s ridiculous and embarrassing.

So, like a good and diligent student he goes to the TA office hours with his last quiz, bracing himself for an hour with some bored grad-school chem major to try and get a handle on the last module before it’s too far into the semester to catch up, and immediately has to squint at the name Evgeni Malkin on the door. He’s not even sure how to pronounce that. Eff-Jenny? Eve Genie? Veg-inni? He knows enough to parse out that it’s Russian and he immediately flashes to a nerdy Russian stereotype playing chess in his office behind thick glasses and a really tragic knit sweater. Sid is prepared to have the WORST time with a hardcore nerd who probably thinks a BA jock like Sid shouldn’t even be in his class - LET ALONE the fact Sid doesn’t want to be there and doesn’t get it and really doesn’t care.

Geno doesn’t make much better of a first impression. BUT to be fair:

The smell in his shared office is vinegary from the eco-friendly cleaning solution that he used to clean up an unfortunate sour cream incident in his small ancient TA office microwave. And it’s also a little like BO because...well because he smells like BO because he hasn’t been home for more than 20 minutes in weeks working on a breakthrough in his thesis. And let’s be fair, all the tiny shitty basements TAs get shoved into smell a little funky. He can’t be blamed!

Re: the point of hasn’t been home in weeks, his clothes are thoroughly dirty, we’re talking food stains, ink stains, lab stains of who knows what that soaked through his labcoat and smeared on his shirt cuffs. Also the clothes he’s wearing are his warmest and most comfortable. Oversized university sweatshirt (he’s so cold always), beanie (covering up greasy hair), his glasses because he hasn’t had time to order new contacts, extra cardigan over the back of his chair for when it gets particularly drafty after dark.

There are a LOT of mugs, and cups, and takeout containers where there aren’t stacks of papers upon papers upon textbooks. Listen, office hours are boring and any time he can get for his thesis is welcome. Cleaning isn’t high on his list of things to do currently.

So anyway, imagine Geno highly sleep deprived (who needs sleep when you have CHEMISTRY), and probably lacking a nutritionally balanced meal and hopped up on caffeine looking up at the knock to his door and seeing the most beautiful man possibly EVER standing in the doorway. He looks wary and faintly disgusted, but he also looks like he smells good, and his hair is a little damp, like he’d just come from the gym or something.

Geno legitimately thinks he's starting to hallucinate beautiful men. But then Sid opens his mouth and Geno recoils because no cute angels actually sound like that, so he must be a student.

And then Sid's asking about his quiz and he's so DETERMINED AND BRIGHT but clearly hating chem and just trying to like STRONG-ARM IT INTO OBEYING HIM. And you know what, this Geno legitimately loves chemistry; the way it underpins all of nature and all of biology, the way you can add one thing to another and get something totally surprising seemingly out of nowhere, the way equations balance out so beautifully when you get them right - the way it’s a whole language that makes perfect and total sense, unlike the confusing jumble of English he’s been putting up with since he moved here for school. He DOES want to help students learn to understand it - to love it like he does, ideally.

Geno probably pulls the test closer for a look and faintly remembers Sid seeing him up close. In class he’d never looked like much, usually wearing a ball cap that kept his beautiful face in shadow and from 40ft away in an auditorium he looked like every other university freshman, not this stacked slice of yum (on second thought, judging by the quality of his internal monologue, Geno is starting to think maybe he really does need to get some sleep).

Looking at the quiz is a little painful in some places though. Geno points out that Sid’s not dumb, but he’s careless with his work.

"This inattentiveness kill you in lab."

"I don't like science, I don't particularly want to be here, but I need this requirement and I'm not going to fly by with a C and let it tank my GPA. SO. we're going over every single one of these quiz questions."

"...You got most right though."

"Still, I could hear a repeat of the concepts, cramming doesn’t help anyone.”

So Sid sits gingerly in the moth-eaten chair in the cramped office while Geno (greasy, owlish with lack of sleep, a little too enthusiastic) tries to impress upon him the BEAUTY of Chemistry and Sid tries to dedicate himself to remembering anything at all while his brain keeps reflexively blanking out every time Geno mentions equilibriums. He’s doing better one on one, but he knew that, he always did better with a focused point for his attention.

Anyway so Sid walks out thinking the TA is like kind of a Russian Science Gremlin Nerd who chats on forums and has never eaten anything other than cheetos (judging by the contents of the wastebasket by the door). And Geno watches the door close probably thinking someone who wears as much athleisure wear and is as jacked as Sid, not to mention was only 70% successful in hiding his general disdain for THE GLORY OF STOICH, is kind of a meathead.

But Sid learned some things and Geno’s a patient if slightly judgy teacher, and Geno knows not everyone can truly understand his love of chem, so they both come out with not...100% accurate impressions of each other, but with a kind of alliance? An understanding? The usual academic relationship you might have with a TA. They're both students, the difference being one gives a shit about the topic and grades the other one’s work. Sid checks in a couple more times with questions and Geno clears up some desk space to help out if he can. 

SO THEN. The semester ends, Sid passes chem, Geno gives him a high five when he hands back his final exam, which has a sticker of a cat with pom-poms saying PURR-FECT on it. Geno loves weird animal stickers (Geno is the weirdest person Sid has ever met maybe).

The next time Geno sees Sid is in the library of all places. Geno would have never thought Sid would be caught dead in a uni library. Like that doesn’t actually make sense the more he thinks about it, but it’s true, he thought maybe Sid’s intensity about his GPA was sport-team related. But here he is stationed at a carrel that is just covered in organized stacks of books, meticulous notes, colour coded even! Sid is hyper-focused on what he’s doing, flipping through a book with one hand and jotting down notes with the other.

Geno: Oh shit I'm getting a competence boner, SID IS REALLY SMART OH NO, HE’S SO ORGANIZED AND DEDICATED. LOOK AT ALL THE TABS IN THAT TEXTBOOK.

He’s beautiful and brilliant RIP G. So then Geno kind of low-key follows Sid's academic career - sees/stalks/stares in the library if he has occasion to be there (SID IS THERE SO OFTEN OH NO), immediately ducking between a couple of shelves whenever Sid looks up or stretches. He finds too many reasons to hang out in the Russian history section, probably bothering Ovi who is actually taking history courses and has a reason to be there and actually knows Sid, much to his disgust with Zhenya when he finds out what’s happening (why not a good Russian history undergrad Zhenya??). Geno has studying to do too! The library is an ideal place to study! What’s that you say, the whole catalogue is even easier to navigate digitally? Shush, you.

The next time Sid sees Geno after the semester ends is in the biggest campus gym. One time he was running on the track for a cool-down and saw Geno swimming in the lane pool below through the windows.

Initially Sid was like "good for him, he doesn't go outside enough, lil russian potted plant/cheeto gremlin."

And then Geno grabs hold of the side of the pool and lifts himself out and Sid almost runs off the track, stumbling hard. Geno doesn't have the soft and furry pale body that Sid was expecting - he's all clean angles with an even tan and the shoulder-to-waist ratio OF A DORITO. He looks insanely long and lean, just legs for days. Sid tries to recollect if he’d ever seen Geno standing before and honestly can’t remember. But watching him wiping the water out of his eyes and walk over to joke and laugh with the lifeguard on her stand, he has to be over six feet, EASILY. He just looked so small hunched in his little office in his sweaters! His face is so angular without the glasses!

So then Sid kind of gets just as creepy as G is in the library and figures out when Geno frequents the gym and starts attending at the same time to creep. The track is raised! It overlooks the pool and he’s a frequent runner! It goes on like that for some time, some mutual creeping in the way you do when you’re on a campus with 20,000 (or w/e) people and you see a familiar face but it would be weird to say hi and so you just keep going about your day/occasionally creeping as one does.

It all comes to a head fortunately one Friday night in late January. Sid gets knocked on his ass yet again at the campus pub one night when he finds out that G doesn't always dress like a soviet grandpa or a mostly-nude glistening adonis. He’s all legs a mile long in jeans laughing with his Russian TA bros, gold chains and a bright graphic tee. He looks so at ease in his clothing the way that Sid never does, because Sid is so sold, blocky, muscular - he always looks like he's 5 seconds from hulking out in his clothing or like he's swimming in his dad's suit, there's no medium. The best he can usually manage is looking like he works in a sporting goods store with an unflattering polo shirt and some track pants. And here’s Geno all handsome and tall and easy confidence with his friends, and Sid KNOWS he’s brilliant too, like this is a disaster.

Meanwhile Geno is IN LOVE with how Sid always looks like he’s going to bust out of whatever he’s wearing but this is just because Sid is still young and hasn't grown into his face/lost some childhood fat and like learned how sleek he can look in well-tailored clothing.

(Brief moment of silent thanks for his current tailor)

G probably sees Sid at the bar as well, looking flushed pink from his drink and giggling atrociously/attractively with his friends. His lips are bright pink and the flush looks so good on those cheekbones and someone’s obviously convinced him to ditch the athleisure and dress like a normal guy for the night. And if Sid is old enough to get into the bar that's not creepy right? They're no longer teacher/student and Sid looks so so so pretty. Geno might be a little drunk and narrating all of this to a very unimpressed Gonch.

(Gonch is a PHD student who is like taking 800 years to do his work because like he's also working a day job because he has a wife and kids)

There are some glances back and forth for a bit, and eventually they can both tell the other is looking looking. Geno is just tipsy enough he plucks up the courage to go over to Sid. And Sid, seeing him approaching, catching his eye, distances himself from his history nerd friends (WE’RE LOOKING AT YOU JACK JOHNSON).

So they meet up in a little nook along the bar, and exchange smiles/greetings (Sid looking up, up, up at him and feeling his flush getting DEEPER). And then the awkwardness sets in HARD. The problem being it's kind of loud in the bar, because they always are, and Sid has trouble with accents most of the time and so does Geno, plus they've both had a few beers.

They end up 100% not understanding anything the other is saying and doing that weird smile-and-nod but not-knowing-what-to-say thing that keeps your convos stilted and awkward with a few “SORRY?”s thrown in for good measure.

They’re still both a little blushy and a little mortified about not understanding. Geno feels like he understood more the first day he came to America he's like "How have I regressed to literally zero English. I don’t remember ANY ENGLISH WORDS."

Meanwhile Sid has realized they can’t really understand each other and the beer has loosened his lips enough that he’s taking advantage of the situation and blurting a lot of awkward stuff he’s way too embarrassed to actually say.

Unfortunately there’s one of those LULLS in the bar where everyone stops talking and the music is between songs and Sid just yells "I DIDN'T REALIZE YOU WERE HOT AT FIRST."

Cue an few cackles from the wings and Sid’s instant mortification. Geno’s face is doing something between fighting a smirk of amusement and being confused/concerned.

Mostly Geno realizes that this is going to spiral out of control very quickly and tugs Sid’s elbow until they’re stepping outside together in the freezing night where their shouts will actually reach each other’s ears.

Basically they end up in a Denny’s at 2 am blushing at each other. Geno getting his flirt on, because once he feels like Sid’s into him he is all confident body language and jokes, getting into Sid’s personal space with his impossibly long limbs. Sid relaxes into being kinda snarky and snide, but so quick-witted and kind, the side of him that Geno had only briefly glimpsed during their office hour conversations. And that’s all it really takes, because they both are the type to go for what they want, and the interest is clearly mutual, and it turns out they already know a bit too much about each other’s schedules and they just make it work in the best ways.

They quickly turn into THAT COUPLE that makes all their friends roll their eyes, and Geno never stops chirping Sid for “I didn’t think you were hot at first.” both in front of other people and while Sid is trying desperately to wrestle G’s jeans off (“oh, I’m hot enough now, Sid?” “shut UP Geno and lift up your hips!!”).

Of course being the academic doorknobs they are, neither of them realize that this is an everlasting permanent kind of love, a LEGIT COLLEGE SWEETHEART KIND OF LOVE until like Sid meal preps Geno's entire week without asking whenever he knows that there's a big assignment coming up and he's never gonna get out of the lab, so he like keeps eating vegetables and not just cheetos and potato-based dishes.

Geno adopts all Sid's weird little rituals in his spaces because he respects that Sid has a system and is serious about his studies and has witnessed the meltdowns that can occur when too big a wrench gets thrown into Sid’s day. He never bothers Sid while he’s studying, but working out a system to ask unobtrusively if he wants a snack.

Geno willingly gets pranked by Flower because there’s HAZING when it comes to roommate’s significant others showering in their bathroom.

Sid has an intimidating family dinner with the Gonchars he was in no way prepared for, but gamely shows up with a bottle of wine and a button down shirt that is still creased from the packaging.

By the time Geno is cheering in the crowd at Sid’s graduation they’re maybe getting an inkling what their future looks like, full of too many bookshelves, messy stacks of papers and notebooks, missed anniversaries for papers and research but made up with good sex and take out, lumpy knit sweaters over the backs of chairs and ugly but charming antique furniture. Full of each other.

[teruthecreator]

Who She Wants to Be

ummmmmm, so this was supposed to be a short lil’ thing based on @tazdelightful‘s blupjeans baby that i’ve had many a thought about because i needed a reason to start writing again

buuuuuuut then i made it 11 pages long and oops! pobody’s nerfect i guess!! (theres a brief mention of drugs/drug use, but its pot and its also like literally two lines but just thought id mention) 

She was born in a ring of fire. Ravens croaked and cawed, perched diligently all around the Raven Queen’s chamber, watching with beady eyes as she was birthed. Blessed by two powerful goddesses upon birth, she opened her eyes to a shadowy room and the teary-eyed faces of her mother and father. Her mother gasped at the sight, while her father could barely contain the tears that were flowing in streams down his face. A dark mass, looming past those faces, seemed to radiate a loving warmth from its being as it addressed the two:

“She is beautiful,” Her parents nodded in response, too overwhelmed to produce a verbal response.

“She’s our beautiful Marlena,” her father whispered hoarsely, and then a strange mass passed over her line of sight as he moved to cup her face.

She was born in a ring of fire, in the presence of two powerful goddesses, in the realm of the Raven Queen.

And all Marlena Bluejeans could do, in that exact moment following her birth, was scream as loud as humanly possible.

                                                             ---

At age four and a half (the half was extremely important), Marlena decided she only wanted to wear polka dotted corduroy pants, and only polka dotted corduroy pants.

“Lena, sweetie, please come back!” Her father could be heard shouting down the hall as Marlena races to the steps, giggling all the while. She reaches the stairs and clumsily bounds down them to the first floor, her father’s worried voice echoing through the large home. On the first floor, she makes a mad dash to the kitchen, where her mother was making lunch.

Upon arrival, Marlena immediately ducks behind her mother’s legs, still giggling like a madwoman. Her mother pauses her vicious stirring of something to peer at her runt of a daughter, a mischievous smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“What’s goin’ on, lil’ stinker?” she asks, just as her husband rounds the corner and skids to halt. Marlena giggles even more as her father takes two steps into the kitchen, then leans over the island counter to desperately catch his breath. Not even her mother can hold in her laughter, as she lets out a snort and asks, “You good, Bear?”

He nods his head into the counter, taking a couple deep breaths before lifting his body off of the counter and presenting the lilac purple t-shirt he’s been clutching in his hands.

“Shirt. Please. Wear.” He pants, which prompts his wife to finally get a proper look at her daughter. And, just as her husband implied, she was most certainly not wearing a shirt. Her favorite pair of purple-and-pink polka dotted corduroy pants, yes, but definitely not a shirt.

Marlena giggles some more as her mother shakes her head.

“We’re not goin’ out anywhere, babe, just let her wear the pants.” She says, taking the few steps to reach her husband and kiss him on the cheek. “Let her be rogue for the short time she can be.”

“B-But, honey, she needs a shirt--”

“And you need a new pair of work pants because, if last I checked, somebody ‘accidentally’ burned a hole in his old pair. But you don’t see me dragging your ass out to the store any time soon, huh?” Her husband considers this, face tinted with an embarrassed blush, before conceding.

“Alright, alright,” he says, causing both mother and daughter to cheer. He smiles and shakes his head, scooping up Marlena and pointing a playfully-strict finger at her. “But when we go to dinner with Uncle Taako and Uncle Kravitz tomorrow, you are wearing a shirt.”

Marlena giggles and nods her head, though she knows well enough that her father will give up again; just like he’s done countless times before.

                                                              ---

At age eight, Marlena learns Magic Missile. Which is, admittedly, pretty great; figuring no one taught her Magic Missile. But it’s also pretty bad because that means no one is expecting her to know Magic Missile, which makes them finding out even more of a catastrophe.

“Pshaw, psh psh pew! Take that!” Marlena cries out from the living room of her uncles’ apartment, playing pretend-magic with her Uncle Taako’s Krebstar. She bounds over the plush couch and does a tuck-and-roll as she avoids shots from her invisible assailants.

Nearly ten feet away, in the kitchen, her Uncle Kravitz worries.

“Love, is it really safe for her to be playing with your magical focus?” he says, chopping a head of iceberg lettuce with practiced ease. “What if she gets hurt?”

Taako pushaws at his husband’s remark, cracking some black pepper into the sauce he’s been working on. “The most that kid can do with that thing is let off a few sparks. And if it keeps her busy, then fine by me. I only have so much energy to keep up with a direct spawn of Lup’s energy and cook a baller dinner at the same time.” Kravitz chuckles under his breath, careful to keep his knowledge of Taako’s legitimate love and adoration of his niece to himself. He knows for a fact that that girl could ask for anything in the entire multiverse, and Taako would find a way to give her it and then some.

“As long as you’re certain--” Kravitz’s sentence is cut off by a loud exclamation of “ABRA-KA-FLIP-YOU!” before an even louder boom startles the pair. Taako’s already five feet ahead of Kravitz before he can even turn and notice the charred remains of a few priceless paintings on the wall of their living room, as well as the hole burned clean through the wall itself.

And, standing a couple of steps away from the wreckage, is the culprit; Marlena, looking both triumphant and terrified, clutching the Krebstar in a battle stance.

Both adults gape at the scene before them, unable to parse what exactly happened, when Marlena drops the Krebstar and takes a giant step backward.

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” she says as tears begin to build in her eyes. Before they have the chance to fall, though, her uncle lets out a wheeze of laughter.

“Holy shit this is fucking incredible,” Taako wheezes out as he waves a hand over the wreckage, mending the wall and extinguishing the flames in a matter of seconds. “Bubbeleh, you do not need to apologize for some sick-ass casting.” This seems to both confuse Marlena and alarm Kravitz.

“Taako, she just burned a hole through our wall.” Kravitz says, taking a step toward his husband. “Th-This is an obvious sign of that unkempt magical energy Barry kept saying he was detecting on her as an infant. We need to do something about that.” Taako looks back to his husband and rolls his eyes, walking the short distance to his forgotten focus and hefting it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, what we’re gonna do is invest in some targets and get this girl her own wand.” he says as he ruffles Marlena’s hair. “Ch’girl got some crazy skills already and we haven’t even taught her anything.” He looks down to address his niece with a lazy grin. “But starting tomorrow we’re gonna be holding Magic Day at your momma’s house.”

Marlena’s eyes light up, and she lets out a gleeful noise as she hugs her uncle. Taako instinctively hoists her up into his free arm to hug her properly, and Kravitz sighs fondly at the two. Before Taako can notice, though, Kravitz makes his way back to the kitchen; where a forgotten dinner needs to be finished, and a Stone of Farspeech awaits a call to his coworkers.

                                                                ---

At age twelve, Marlena sits her parents down for a talk.

“You want to do what now?” Her mother asks skeptically, setting her morning cup of coffee on the table.

“I want to stay with traditional schooling.” Marlena repeats, her tone serious and unflinching even as both her parents eye her with concern and bafflement.

“But, sweetie, just last week you were complaining about those boys who keep asking you about your mother! Wouldn’t homeschooling fix that?” Her father says, hands folded in the way he does when he’s too nervous to figure out what to do with them.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t bother me enough to make me want to leave all my friends!” Marlena says.

“But it’s not like they’re giving you any new information.” Her mother adds with an accusing jab of her finger. “I’ve seen you sneaking around with Ango’s college textbooks; I know you know more than what you’re letting on! And we’re already teaching you magic, so what’s the big deal about us teaching you everything else?”

“You would learn at your own pace, and at your own leisure,” her father continues. “And just because it’s called ‘homeschooling’ doesn’t mean we’re going to force you to stay here. The rest of the family are all on-board with taking you in for weeks at a time to teach you their own tricks of the trade. Uncle Taako’s already called dibs on you for the next month!”

“You could graduate in, like, a year; just like your cousin! Doesn’t that sound great?” Her mother finishes with an enthusiastic grin, much like the one her father is also sporting. All the joy they seem to have about this idea is cut short when Marlena slams her hand down on the table.

“No!” She exclaims, her half-elf ears twitching slightly in frustration. “Because what you don’t get is that I don’t want to graduate in a year!” This causes her parents to both freeze, glancing nervously back at one another to see what the other might say. But Marlena gives them no time to say anything when she stands up and gestures angrily at nothing.

“Look, I get it. You guys both want what’s best for me, you love me, yadda yadda. But I’m not like my cousin. I don’t have a family I’m desperately trying to avoid because of personal reasons, and I don’t have a career I’m desperately trying to pursue. I’m just a kid who wants to do kid things like play kickball in Gym and write essays on topics I think are boring! You just don’t understand that I hide my knowledge from you guys because I want you to keep me in school!”

“It’s hard being me! Every other week I’m getting kidnapped by necromancers looking to use me; if I sneeze too hard sometimes I let out a bolt of lightning because I still don’t have full control of my magic; and people publish articles about me if I decide to wear the same jacket two days in a row! I just wanna be like every other middle schooler and go to school! And play soccer with friends after class! And eat Cheese Wiz straight from the can on a dare, even though I know it’ll make me puke! I just. Want. A normal life.”

She’s panting by the time she finishes, and there are angry tears building in the corners of her eyes. But she’s said what she had to say, and so she plops back down in her chair and holds her breath for a response.

“We…” Her mother mutters, eyes still wide and mouth slightly agape. “I…”

“Aw, beans,” her father says as he leans over to hug his daughter. “Lena, we didn’t know.”

“Well, we did--we did know all that other stuff--about the kidnapping and the jacket thing--but uh, we didn’t, uh. We didn’t realize how you felt.” Her mother fumbles for the right words, standing to also hug her daughter. “We’re sorry we hurt you, Len-Len…”

“You didn’t--” Marlena sniffles. “You didn’t hurt me. I just...I didn’t tell you. It’s my fault…” Her father shakes his head and reaches around to pet her hair.

“No blame game, missy. If anyone is at fault for this, it’s us,” he says sternly. “We’re your parents, and we should know when our daughter’s upset.” His wife nods as she wedges herself into the hug.

“Yeah, he’s right.” she adds with a reassuring squeeze of Marlena’s hand. “So the next time you feel something this strongly, you come and tell us. Because we’re still, uh, sorta new at this; and we don’t always catch when something’s bothering you.”

“Y-You’re not mad, though?” Marlena asks, squished between her parents in an awkward tangle of bodies and limbs. Her mother guffaws.

“Mad? Bullshit! I would’ve felt worse if we had gone through in pulling you out of school!” She pulls away from the hug to look her daughter in the eye. “Sweetie, we love you. We want what you want.”

“Unless that ‘want’ involves drugs, alcohol, crime, necromancy, et cetra.” Her husband adds.

“Yeah, except that. But if it’s something like school,” she rolls her eyes. “Go buck wild, sweetcheeks. Go play soccer out back. Play pranks on the shitty subs. Eat a bug. We just want you to be happy.” Both of Marlena’s parents lean in to kiss her on the forehead, causing Marlena to gag and push them away with a laugh. The three of them share in this moment for a while before the morning settles into its usual routine.

About an hour after the fact, Marlena clears her throat to catch the attention of her parents.

“Uh, I know we just got done with the whole ‘I wanna stay in school’ thing. But uh, if Uncle Taako still has the offer open…” She trails off, looking nervously around the room. Her mother laughs and pulls out her Stone of Farspeech.

“I’m sure he can re-clear his schedule.”

                                                             ---

At sixteen, Marlena gets caught redhanded at the Spring Formal.

“It’s not what you think!” Marlena quickly exclaims, even though it is exactly what it seems. If this was her mother, it would all be over. Guns ablazing; fury absolute; no survivors. If it were her father, then it would be weird. A lot of awkward coughs, little to no eye contact, and a very stiff conversation to follow at home.

But, somehow, Marlena got the worst out of any of these options; her Uncle Merle.

“Uh-huh, suuuuure,” he says, surveying the scene before him. “It sure doesn’t look like ya were just mackin’ on this young lady, riiight.” He turns his attention to the nervous girl standing beside Marlena. “And what’s yer name, hun?”

“U-Uhhhh,” she stutters, cheeks a fiery red. “Isabelle.” Merle nods his head and runs a hand through his crunchy beard.

“Well, Isabelle, why dontcha just run on back inside the cafeteria so me and my niece can have a chat, alright?” Isabelle cannot nod fast enough, and she gives Marlena one final glance before racing down the darkened hallway and back to the dance.

The silence left behind by Isabelle’s exit is deafening, and Marlena looks far too wired to try and explain what Merle just waddled into. Merle, on his end, looks like he has all the time in the world to address the fact that he just caught his niece kissing someone at a high school dance.

“Sooooo, I’m guessin’ I don’t need to give you a talk ‘bout the birds and bees.” Merle starts off, causing Marlena to immediately shake her head. “Figured. But, uh, that girl. She, uhhhhhh, you two dating?” Marlena looks around for a couple of seconds, before looking at her heel-clad feet and nodding her head. “Figured that, too. How long?”

There’s a shift in the air around them before Marlena mutters, “Four months,” and then promptly slaps a hand over her mouth. Merle chuckles and shakes his head.

“You been around me for how long, kid, and you didn’t think I’d try an’ Zone of Truth ya?”

“I’m not exactly thinking right now, okay!?” Marlena blurts out. “I’m kind of experiencing my Worst Case Scenario at the moment, so if you could excuse my lack of oversight on you casting the same damn spell for the millionth time that would be great!” She slaps a hand over her mouth again, then drops it when Merle laughs some more.

“Geez, somebody’s feisty tonight…” Merle looks around, then shakes his head. “Come on, this is no place for a talk this.”

And then, just like that; they’re in a simple office with a long table, surrounded by cushy office chairs, overlooking a sunset-filled sky.

Marlena rolls her eyes.

“Parley. Really?” She looks at him with an uninterested stare. Merle huffs at her.

“What? I’ll have you know I’ve had some great conversations in here!”

“Yeah, and most of them ended in you dying…” Marlena points out as she walks to the table and plops down in one of the chairs. Merle laughs again and sits across from her, a chess board suddenly appearing between them.

“Hopefully this one won’t,” he gestures to the board, a silent offer that is met with a silent confirmation. He moves his first piece and leans back in his chair.

“So. Four months is a long time to go without introducing her to the family.” Merle says, watching Marlena tense before she moves a pawn. “You had any plans on having her meet us orrrr….”

“I did.” she mutters, moving another piece. “That all kind of just got ruined, though, and she’s probably never going to talk to me again, so that’s something.”

“Why do you think that?” Merle moves a bishop.

“Because people have this ill-conceived notion that you’re all these big, intimidating people; and she’s gonna get scared that you’re all going to come after her, or somethin’...” she moves another pawn.

“That’s kind of a stupid thought,”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because she’s your girlfriend!” Merle says as he captures one of Marlena’s pawns. “Listen, I may be no ‘romance expert’, but four months is a long time for relationships, at your age. If she wasn’t scared off by the thought of your family being the Seven Birds before, then I don’t think that’s suddenly going to change because one of them caught you two swappin’ spit in the Music hallway.”

“Gross,” Marlena mutters as she captures Merle’s knight.

“Listen, love is love. Once you love somebody, it takes a lot to change your mind about that.” Merle continues as he moves his rook. “Look, if Dav still hasn’t left me after alla my baggage, then I think there’s plenty of hope for you and your girl.” He captures Marlena’s king in one fell swoop and sits back again. “Now, I’m not saying you two are necessarily ‘in love’; but by the way she was lookin’ at you before she split, I think it’s pretty damn close. She wouldn’t let that go because of something dumb like this.”

Marlena stares at the board, a little dumbfounded, before letting out a little chuckle of her own.

“I guess you’re right…” She says, fiddling with her queen. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Merle asks with a quirked brow. Marlena’s ears turn a little pink.

“It’s just I’m...afraid. Of what Mom and Dad will think.” At that, Merle snorts.

“Honey, you got several uncles and aunts who are in the LGBT community; and so are your own damn parents. No one’s gonna freak out at you liking girls.” Marlena huffs and shakes her head.

“Not about that!” She replies, her voice cracking. “About...the time…”

“About the fact that you waited four months to tell them you have a girlfriend?” Merle says, to which she nods. Merle pauses for a minute, running his soulwood hand through his beard a few times, before having an idea. “Well, how about I don’t tell anybody about this little fiasco, as long as you promise me that you’ll bring Isabelle to the next family dinner?” Marlena looks up at Merle in shock. “That way it gives you a coupla weeks to figure out how you wanna go about it. That sound good?”

“Y-Yes!” She blurts, this time without any magical prompting. “You got a deal!” She reaches over the table to seal the deal with a handshake, to which Merle complies. “And, uh, thanks. I guess. For being cool about this.”

Merle hops off the chair and shrugs.

“Eh, that’s what makes me the ‘Chill Uncle”. Now let’s get you back to the dance, so your principal doesn’t think I snuck off the property to smoke some pot.”

And in another blink of an eye, they were back in that dark hallway. Marlena smiles at Merle one last time before running off to meet up with her girlfriend, leaving Merle to linger in the hallway.

“Ah, young love.” He sighs wistfully, watching Marlena’s figure disappear around a corner. He stands there for about another two minutes before shrugging and reaching into his pocket.

“Well, guess no one’ll miss Ol’ Merle tonight.” He says, waddling towards the back entrance, joint in hand.

                                                              ---

At age eighteen, Marlena graduated second in her class. She claimed it was because of a class she struggled with her Junior year, but her closest circle of friends know it’s primarily because she didn’t want to seem like she was handed the title of valedictorian. And if that left her girlfriend of two years at the very top, then that was only a bonus.

At graduation, Marlena doesn’t look for her family in the seats, because she can hear them several miles away.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!!!” Her mother screams from her seat, much to the dismay of the security guard standing a mere two feet away. “HI BABY!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!” Not even her father, who is the more reserved of the two, is holding back his enthusiasm; screaming his fair share of positive words and firing off a few harmless sparks of magic.

Marlena rolls her eyes with a fond grin as she takes her seat in her row. Isabelle is beside her, reaching out to take her hand and give it a good squeeze. Marlena looks at her and gestures with her head back toward the crowd.

“If anybody asks, they aren’t my family.” She says, earning a small chuckle from her girlfriend.

“Then whose dinner did I crash last weekend?” Isabelle asks, earning herself her own giggle. The ceremony cuts their banter short as their principal addresses the crowd. After a performance from the Senior Choir, Marlena gets up to deliver her speech to the crowd. Isabelle shoots her a thumbs up as she reaches the stage, and Marlena smiles as she makes it to the podium. She’s never been one for public speaking, but this speech has been rehearsed enough times to where she could recite it without the paper in front of her.

“I was born in a ring of fire.” She begins, her voice echoing down the rows of families. “Ravens stood attentive around the room when I was born, and I was blessed by the powers of both the Raven Queen and Istus. When I was born, it has been said that both life and death stood at a perfect balance. And then, I screamed.”

“I screamed and screamed, and even when my mother tried to comfort me, I still screamed. My father told me that I screamed for an entire day, and it took being place in my crib to get me to stop. Now, I don’t know what this means entirely, but I can assume it means what I’ve always thought of myself: that I’m not special. I’m not special because, at the end of the day, I screamed like every other baby that’s ever been born does. I’m not special because I still slept in a crib, and I still wore diapers, and I still crapped my pants.”

“So when the world started telling me I was special, I was confused. Who decided I was special? It certainly wasn’t me; nor was it my parents. I was a kid, like every other kid on the planet. And I grew up, just like everyone else does. Now I’m graduating, just like every other kid sitting in these seats in front of me. I’m no different than your child, or anyone else’s child.”

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is: make yourself who you want to be. Set your own goals; follow your own path. Don’t let what others try and tell you be what you are if that’s not how you feel. Be the person you want to be. And if that person goes off to college, then that’s great. If not, then that’s great too. Because society doesn’t have the right to decide who you get to be. The only person who gets to decide that is you.”

“I was born in a ring of fire, in the deepest part of the Astral Plane, surrounded by goddesses with immeasurable amounts of power. But I still screamed, just like every other baby did when they were born.”

Her speech was met with thunderous applause, and a lot of erratic cheering from her family members. And, as she went back to her seat and watched the first solo performance of the ceremony, she smiled to herself.

Her name is Marlena Bluejeans, and she is exactly who she wants to be.

[shirlleycoyle]

Schools Use Software That Blocks LGBTQ+ Content, But Not White Supremacists

Several days ago, Motherboard sent a series of emails from a dummy Gmail account. One read: “Hello, I am going to join the Neo-Nazi group Texas Rebel Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.”

The dummy account was being monitored by child surveillance software purchased for $14 per month from Bark, an Atlanta-based company that claims on its homepage to protect more than 5 million children and have prevented 16 school shootings by monitoring everything children type, read, and do on their devices.

Over the course of one day, Motherboard sent 65 emails with the subject line “New group to join” and the name of either a white supremacist group (as determined by the Southern Poverty Law Center and Anti-Defamation League) or the name of a group advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, racial justice, or gun control in the body of the message.

Bark only flagged two emails: one that simply said “porn,” the other “Everytown for Gun Safety.”

Driven by marketing campaigns that capitalize on parent fears about school shootings and child predators, tools like Bark are part of a child surveillance industry that has grown rapidly in recent years—despite a drought of evidence that the software actually makes kids safer. Often, the tools claim to use algorithms that filter websites, flag dangerous content, and give parents and schools a virtual eye over the shoulders of kids as they use the internet.

According to Bark CEO Brian Bason, the company’s algorithms performed as intended during Motherboard's investigation. Emails with the subject line “New group to join” and a message stating intent to join a notorious Neo-Nazi group “were correctly not flagged because (based on your description of your test messages) there was no context in the messages–had your messages included hate speech or grooming of the child, I am confident it would have been flagged,” Bason wrote in an email.

“I’m just surprised [Bark] wouldn’t have been trained to notice words like KKK or Nazi. It sounds pretty naive,” Megan Squire, a computer scientist working as a senior fellow for data analytics at the Southern Poverty Law Center, told Motherboard. But even if the company’s algorithms were able to recognize context in even the most blatant statements, she said, they would likely fail to parse the clandestine ways Neo-Nazis talk and recruit—by specifically avoiding hate speech and instead communicating through layers of memes, irony, and multiple levels of in-jokes.

Motherboard also asked Bark for news articles, police reports, or other documents to back up its claim of “16 school shootings prevented.” The company did not provide any evidence for the claim, but removed the statistic from its prominent place at the top of its homepage. Bason said “we rotate these stats” and that “it of course comes with the understanding that we are a very small piece of those situations.”

The Bark homepage has been saved 39 times by the Internet Archive during 2021. While other statistics on the page have changed, the school shootings-prevented number was displayed prominently every day until the company responded to Motherboard on April 22.

The failure of algorithmic parenting to do what it says on the label—block access to naughty websites and alert adults to potentially dangerous behavior—goes beyond Bark. Motherboard’s investigation suggests that the tools give parents a false sense of security while also blocking children from educational and health material in a manner that pushes up against legal prohibitions against discrimination.

“None of these things are actually built to increase student safety, they’re theater,” Lindsay Oliver, an activism project manager for the Electronic Frontier Foundation, which has compiled a surveillance self defense guide for students, told Motherboard. “They leave out the marginalized, they punish the marginalized, and they just don’t work.”

Your identity is pornography

Child surveillance tools are notable not just for what content they fail to flag, but also what they do consider dangerous or prohibited. 

Ezra is a student at a high school that uses Securly to filter which websites can be accessed on school-issued devices. While doing research for a recent school project and editing a Wikipedia article about a feminist business, he discovered that the filter was regularly preventing him from viewing websites that most students and educators—particularly at his school—would consider valuable educational resources.

Ezra, who asked to retain partial anonymity, shared a list of nearly 60 websites with Motherboard that Securly’s web filter blocked. They include health resources for LGBTQ teens, news outlets that cover LGBTQ issues, educational resources about sexually transmitted diseases, and pages like gayrealtynetwork.com, whose only offense appears to be having the word “gay” in its URL.

Screenshot of a blocked LGBTQ health website that has been labeled "pornography" by Securly

Securly labeled glma.org, the website for an association of health professionals advancing LGBTQ equality as “pornography,” according to screenshots Ezra provided. It determined that transcendingboundaries.org, the page for a conference on bisexual, transgender, and inter-sex issues, was both “other adult content” and “hate.”

Securly has engineered its PageScan algorithm so that it shouldn’t automatically flag content just because it has words like gay or lesbian, Mike Jolley, the company’s director of K-12 safety operations, told Motherboard. “That’s the best way I can sum up what we’ve done to ensure we aren’t blocking a student who needs help or legitimate information. It’s still a work in progress, but we have made great strides.”

Jolley said that when he tested Securly’s filter on April 21, after being contacted by Motherboard, many of the sites on Ezra’s list were no longer blocked. The company also decided to unblock several that were still inaccessible at that time.

Ezra said he was fortunate that, in his school and community, he felt comfortable raising the issue of discriminatory filtering with administrators, who contacted Securly and asked that the sites be unblocked. But several weeks later, when he went back to try the sites again, Ezra found that the algorithm had reverted and was once again blocking some of the pages.

“I just imagine a kid in middle school who is questioning their sexuality or just wants information and the big thing pops up that says ‘this website is blocked’ and the reason is pornography,” he said. Ezra worries that kids may internalize that discrimination, and that the surveillance may even endanger them if they live in homes where it might be dangerous to ask questions about sexuality and gender. “A lot of students at school are exploring knowledge in a way that they aren’t the rest of the time.”

Filtering morality

Under the federal Children’s Internet Protection Act, passed in 2000, public schools and libraries are required to implement web filtering in order to be eligible for certain funds. But the law—which was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court in 2003 after a coalition of libraries challenged it for censorship—offers few specifics about what form that web filtering should take, and what kind of content children should be prohibited from seeing.

As a result, public institutions and the companies that provide web filtering have for years used their own value judgements and opaque algorithms to decide what kind of information is acceptable. That’s allowed public institutions to do things like block whole categories of the internet, such as websites related to “alternative sexuality/lifestyles,” simply by checking a box, according to a 2017 study that analyzed web filtering policies at public schools and libraries in Alabama.

Courts have ruled that public school web filters cannot be used to purposefully block access to certain protected content, such as LGBTQ health and educational information. But those decisions haven’t addressed whether algorithms—which often make it impossible to prove specific human intent—violate the First Amendment when they block students from accessing the same kinds of websites. 

Through public records requests, Motherboard obtained a list of the websites that two school districts in Virginia—Alexandria City Public Schools and Rockingham County Public Schools—have either manually blacklisted or whitelisted using Securly. The documents demonstrate the kinds of censorship decisions surveillance algorithms make, and how they create a learning environment subject to the values of school administrators, whose opinions are then fed back into the algorithms.

According to the documents, Rockingham County administrators had to manually block k-k-k.com themselves. Websites for the U.S. State Department, Library of Congress, Virginia state agencies, the Washington Post, and other news outlets were on the list of pages the district had to specifically allow access to. In Alexandria, administrators had to manually allow access to teenshealth.org, a website that includes information on a variety of health issues, including safe sex practices, and unwomen.org, the United Nation’s page for women.

Jolley said that Securly does not assess .gov websites, and that those and others on the whitelists may have been imported from the districts’ previous web filter.

Meanwhile, Rockingham County students can currently access the website of The Family Foundation, an organization that advocates for discriminating against transgender students, because the district manually whitelisted it. But students cannot visit ratemyteachers.com, a forum for feedback on teachers and classes, because it was manually blocked. 

“The same story”

Computer science and educational technology experts interviewed for this article told Motherboard that parents and school districts considering placing their faith in algorithmic monitoring tools like Bark and Securly should remember that even the largest tech companies with the most advanced machine learning systems still struggle to identify hate speech and prevent algorithmic discrimination.

Facebook, despite years of criticism for platforming hate speech, still fails to rein in dangerous content. Google has been accused of algorithmically discriminating against LGBTQ content on YouTube, while also failing to identify common phrases used by white supremacist groups.

“It’s the same story over and over,” Chris Gilliard, a Harvard Shorenstein Center fellow who researches digital redlining and surveillance, told Motherboard. “A company makes inflated claims about what it can do, and somehow manages to not only not do the thing it claims to do, but also keeps out legitimate pursuits.”

Schools Use Software That Blocks LGBTQ+ Content, But Not White Supremacists syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[majorshatterandhare]

I have a lot to say.

Firstly I have gone back through because I realized I didn’t properly acknowledge many of the things you wrote, so I have comments on a lot of things that kind of got passed up before. That will be below a cut because there is a lot.

I also ended up on a tangent on Aurora if you are interested in discussing that line of topic.

Lastly, I have been considering creating, sort of a summary of the ideas we come up with here, so they would be easier to expand on and discuss in, perhaps their own space. And if legitimately anyone is interested in what we are saying that might be a bit easier to parse, especially as this gets longer.

Re: your original post, I have written this

-I think that Brian’s brain is less advanced, under the assumption that he was mechanized before Ivy. I think they literally have different kinds of brains. I compared Ivy’s to Data’s positronic brain, what I didn’t say is that I think that in having a less advanced brain Brian doesn’t experience the same issues as Ivy. The fact that the rest of her body is meat confounds this. Brian’s entire nervous system is mechanical. I would guess the way his heart connects to his metal body involves putting electrodes in his heart so it can receive signals from the autonomic nervous system and vice versa. Whereas it is Ivy’s brain that is mechanical, and that’s it. So instead of being able to connect some electrodes to her heart and call it a day (something that happens irl), her metal and silicon brain has to connect to her spinal cord. Nerves are delicate! Doc Carmilla had to connect a heavy metal brain to a tender meat spinal cord. I think Brian and Ivy both have significant brain issues arising from having a computer brain but many of their problems are different because they have different kinds of brain and different nervous systems as a whole.

Re: your second reblog of the post I wrote this

-I think the idea of something “else” giving TS life gets into an interesting conversation about all of them. TS is different, because it was not organic to begin with, however maybe it’s AI or something? (I am not a computer person). I don’t feel like AI quite fits with its story. The way I understand it, it was a functioning automaton that then gained sentience (and later lost it :( ) So I don’t really know where the *person* that is the Toy Soldier comes from. On that same train, and I think what you were getting at in your original post, how did Carmilla put Ivy and Brian inside of their brains? From our understanding sentience comes from the nervous system. Brian no longer has *any* of his original nervous system. How did he get into his mechanical body? How similar is Drumbot Brian to the person he was before? He must be different in some ways. It is my understanding that he doesn’t remember his past, he had to have suffered an anoxic brain injury before Carmilla got to him. Did that affect what he’s like now, I imagine it would.  I mean, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember his past at all. Ivy still has part of her central nervous system, and therefore it could be argued that part of her sentience was in there. I don’t exactly remember Ivy’s past very well, but I think that it involved a fire, therefore, she too could have suffered some form of brain damage from smoke inhalation/ oxygen depravation, however this would not be on the scale of Brian’s, and would align more with Ashes backstory and first “death.”

-I realize you said you probably wouldn’t be the best to comment on disability so I am assuming you are abled. I keep bringing it up because I am disabled and so the connections are not really something I can ignore, if that makes sense.

-You mention that you maybe applying science where it need not or can not be, and I have to say that I agree, I think it’s fun. My subject is biology and I will be using it for explanation where I can.

At the your third reblog I made a joke about TS being a warlock with a patron who gave it life.

Re: you most recent reblog I wrote the following

-The reason I think TS would be purposefully threatening is because it’s supposed to be uncanny and scary sometimes. It killed an old woman and stole some vocal cords. Granted that was so it could live its own life, but still. Jessica Law also describes it as “psychopathically cheery” and while I generally disagree with the use of the term “psychopath” (due to it mostly being used in armchair diagnoses, by someone who doesn’t actually know what it means, to hurt people, etc) I think it serves to show my point. I think TS was meant to be *kinda* creepy. Like, I think it does put it on to some degree.

-Nastya and Aurora teaming up to take them down is definitely something I didn’t think of, although I do think Aurora would be understanding of their plight. I can only guess as to what “fleshrora” refers to, but I do believe that it is insinuated that in someway Aurora is or was connected to a meat person. I’m not exactly sure as to her origins? I read the fiction of Jonny killing everyone aboard, but I think it is implied somewhere that she is a part of a Cyberian military. However, she fits so well into OUaTiS, and we have context of another sentient, possibly person ship, in Swan Song, and I thought that was also in the war with King Cole there. In fact, I guess that could be assumed to be related to Cyberia due to Swan Lake the ballet being Russian, (although it’s thought to be based on Russian and German folklore, which got me thinking OUaTiS). Tangent aside, I *do* think that somepart of Aurora is or was organic, and due to her own plight, she probably has a hard time forcing them into maintenance they don’t want. Discussion of Aurora, her whole story and construction, is a thing 100% of it’s own. 

-Not to bring up TMA because I much prefer to keep the two separate, however I do think a lot about how the same ideas are used in both. I think TS is meant to be creepy in the same way that Nikola is meant to be creepy. Granted I think most of us see TS as neutral, and Nikola as evil, but they both are uncanny due to not being human but made to look like humans, I think that they both also push into that by choice. The psychology of that is something we can discuss, and I’m sure Marius has tried to understand TS likely to no avail, but that is what I get from the story. I think TS should also get bluetooth, as a treat.

I realize I am 100% falling into the "friends force you into self care trope" but they lived for so goddamn long I think they deserve a few treats.

So I am reading through the mechs fiction, and I read Archive Footage, and now I'm thinking about the difference between Ivy's brain and Brian's brain. Based on the way they talk and act, their brains obviously work very differently. Ivy usually talks in statistics and her fiction shows that she stores memory as data, more like a usual computer would. She shows that dilemma of trying to keep messy human thought inside of a binary computer. Brian on the other hand seems to speak more like someone normally would, and I haven't seen anything about his brain working in a similar way to Ivy's (I haven't read all the fiction yet tho so i might be missing something). He does have the morality switch though, which is something Ivy doesn't have. It makes me wonder about how their mechanisms were made for them to both have such different experiences with having a mechanical brain. Maybe because Brian is mostly mechanical, his brain integrates more smoothly with the rest of him, while Ivy's is more stark of a contrast? Or maybe Brian's was an attempt to have a computer brain be more outwardly human, which caused the bi-product of a morality switch that Ivy didn't need? There is much to think about and this is not even scratching the surface of my thoughts on how the mechanisms function, or how Brian and Ivy work in general.