#maybe that's why clown bible makes me cry!

[karinyosa]

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[livelaughlovesubs]

what do you think bsd men would be with a girl who is really hyperfeminine (ex loves sanrio, short skits and stuff) but still loves topping?

It literally does not matter what you like and how you look as long as you click. (Also tell me if you want any specific characters I didn’t mention)

I imagine them not minding it neither way, because you can wear a skirt or pants and still fuck them into oblivion. Though there are some that might get fooled by your appearance. It’s the first impression after all.

Dazai would probably tease you about it from time to time, “when I first saw you, I thought you were such a nice and innocent girl! Who knew you were into such freaky stuff?” He’d joke about it all the time, just to provoke you. Then he’d add, “but I love all woman, even if you are a beast in bed.” And wink at you. Now it’s your choice what you will do to him later, maybe you should punish that cheeky tongue of his.

Atsushi would probably be a bit embarrassed, that he needs a girl to take care of him, especially if you are shorter or look younger than him. You just have to assure him it’s alright to feel this way, and it’s alright to show emotions, cry, whatever. He gets embarrassed easily, or flustered, so it’s almost the same no matter what body Typ. You could be taller than him and hug him from behind, he’d blush already. Or as mentioned be shorter and nuzzle into his chest, and he’ll turn red. Also if you flirt with him, and he does catch on, then it really doesn’t matter if you look very feminine or not, he’d be nervous and fumbling with his thumbs the entire time.

Kunikida, I gotta say, he feels like the traditional reserved type of person, though secretly (unbeknownst to him) also a freak. Probably wrote in his book something about a nice and healthy relationship, a girly girl who is mature and gentle, and vanilla. Maybe someone who works part time so that they could take care of the household? He works full time after all. So consider him surprised when he found out about you, cuz your appearance made him believe you were very.. well, basic. (There is nothing wrong with basic) though to think you’d make him so such humiliating stuff.. you better not leave him now, not after seeing all those sides of him.

Sigma likes people who knows what they want and want to be, who can decide. Because he has a few problems with his identity. That’s why he really admires how you carry yourself, and know what you like. Fashion wise or others. You know what you like and you stand behind it, go for it girl. Also, I think sigma likes the high fashion, like a small hobby he has, so he’d love to go shopping with you and discuss outfit ideas. He probably enjoys a wide range of styles.

Fyodor also thought you would be a total sub, he just guessed. Turns out he guessed completely wrong, his mistake, can he make up by drinking a shot? Anyway, as long as you are useful, he doesn’t really care how you present yourself. The skills are what’s important. But to be honest, at first, he was trying to find a very traditional partner. It’s what he believes in. A good wife who cooks and takes care of the house, and obeys. That’s what he was looking for, if he wanted a relationship in the first place. It’s what’s written in the bible, he wanted to follow it. After spending a night with you, he had to think about it again. It felt too good to give up, and honestly, just because you top or dom doesn’t mean you won’t fulfil the requirements, no? Even if you didn’t, well, he was god’s chosen one he can make a special case just for you.

Nikolai would ask you to dress up as a clown with him. If you refuse, he’ll keep asking. So yea, he doesn’t really care what you like or look, he will make you into clowns and magic shows. It’s a part of getting closer to him, there is no roundabout. (Rip those who have a phobia against clowns, but if you do why would you like Nikolai in the first place) jokes aside, I’m sure he won’t really force you into liking all that. Probably…

Chuuya would find it pretty practical, cuz similar to sigma, you know what you like or who you are so you are easy to read. He doesn’t need to think that long to guess what kind of stuff you’d like, it’s practical. But he’ll still take ages to find the *perfect* present for you. Most of the time he’ll buy more than one, if you don’t like it throw it away. If you are even shorter than him, it’d boost his ego, cuz, yea, short people struggles. Though that ego would be gone after you show him who’s top, and he’d be pouting for a while. He thought he could finally stand over someone! He was taller but somehow he didn’t feel like he actually was! It’s not a negative feeling though, not at all. And you being girly didn’t matter, you look gorgeous anyway. Just say the word and he will silence anyone who thinks otherwise.

[theproblemcallednight]

ur hostess is in pieces

alr y’all. the final wungo wednesday. i’m not exaggerating when i say this ep broke me

quick intermission before we start: this is in two parts bc there’s a lot in this ep. i split it roughy halfway through the ep

also this is a rewatch so some of my initial feelings r gone, but i’m doing the commentary based on my initial reactions so that’s why i double back in my opinions

obvi spoilers for bsd anime and manga, y’all know this, time to go cry

aww we don’t get the op song? buts it’s so good

ah yes. aku u look lovely.

bram by boiiii yessssssss. spit out the facts

AYA NO. UR FATHER SAID WAIT LISTEN TO HIM PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ

JDJDJHHE AYA BABY :&:$$;$:783$

he cares so much omfg my heart me brain by fucking life is gonna explode

WAIT IT ACTUALLY CAME OUT???? AYAS ONLY LIKE 50 POUNDS THO. i think that’s a lil under 25 kg. BUT STILL HOW WAS THAT SMALL AMOUNT ENOUGH

omg yes, fukuzawa is slaying so hard rn. go girl go. get this bitch

YES. SAVE THE WORLD. LETS GO

yo it’s mr russian man. he looks wonderful as ever. how’d he get out tho…

fedya shut up. ur bc is complementing u admire how cute he is calling u “so damn awesome.” idc wat y’all say i will love nikolai till the day i die he’s so cute shdhdhdhjd

see???? adorable clown man i wanna hug him

ok present night here:

did anyone else thing this explanation was lame?? like cmon. i feel like this is a bones thing like asagiri would’ve done some rlly weird shit and then create another weirder character to make it work but it would work bc it’s bsd. y’know? idk @/ebiichan pointed a lot of plotholes out to me go check her out

ok back to live reaction past night

i’m a simp but i mean. how could i not. jus look at him. jus look. he’s my lil cutie baby

ok but fedyas face. bones what r u doing. u can draw pretty ppl ik that why won’t u let fedya have it

who’s that man?????? shakespeare????

EH?!!!??!! DAZ U PROMISED TO GET HIM GO GET HIM U BAFOON DONT LEAVE MY BOI TO ROT SIGMA PLZ COME BACK.

i jus drew u being badass cmon crome back i miss u 😢 😭😭

does kolya not call fedya dos-kun in the anime? or is it jus this one time bc he’s so surprised???

BRAM YOU’VE BEEN UN-SHISH KEBABED LES GOOOOOO

AYA U GOT A NEW FATHER

omg ranpo fainted????? wat happened??? he seems off??

ok this is rlly funny bc he didn’t even have to ask bram. like jus tell aya to ask him. he’s her father ofc he’d save the world for her

omg

OMG CHUU UR BACK I MISSED U SM!!! GUYS ITS NOT SOKOUKOVER. he’s so pretty omfg

YES CHUU MY BOI. ily my smol king so glad to have u back djdjdjejdi

ok guys look at fedya. he’s so pathetic. bones y did u make him so pathetic.

oh he said sayonara? is it rlly forever? also prettyzai bc y not

WAIT. IS HE ACTUALLY DEAD. NO FUCKING WAY RIGHT????

right present night is back for another segment:

i didn’t take a pic but fedyas last words were in latin. and they were the words that in the bible, jesus said 3 days before he got resurrected. so maybe fedyas gonna come back??? idk i’m delulu

and that concludes the end of the first segment!!! link to the next one below:

prt 2

[primatechnosynthpop]

Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3

---

The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.

Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.

"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.

"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."

Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.

*

"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."

"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."

"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.

"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."

At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."

"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"

For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."

"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."

Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.

"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."

"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"

"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."

Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"

Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.

*

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.

"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."

He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.

"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."

Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.

All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?

With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.

There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.

If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.

"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.

The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.

Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...

"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"

*

The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.

"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"

"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."

"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."

"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."

Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."

Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.

"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"

In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.

"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."

He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.

"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."

He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.

*

Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.

"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.

As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.

Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.

"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."

He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.

He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.

*

In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)

"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."

There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...

"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."

He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.

"Neil!!"

Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?

"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."

No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?

He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.

On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.

"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."

"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."

Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.

Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.

*

Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"

"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."

The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.

"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."

"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"

"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"

...Boss?

The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?

(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)

"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."

"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."

"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"

Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.

(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)

*

"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"

As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.

"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"

(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)

Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.

Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."

Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"

As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.

"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."

"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."

"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."

He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?

Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.

"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."

*

For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.

The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?

And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.

It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.

Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."

The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.

Wait a minute, I remember--

And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.

How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!

With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.

No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."

Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...

The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.

"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"

*

The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.

"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."

"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.

As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.

"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"

The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"

"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."

"No, Kevin, the--"

"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"

"KEVIN!"

That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.

"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.

"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"

Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.

"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"

As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"

That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"

"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"

"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"

"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."

"It's a deal!"

Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.

"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."

For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.

"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"

*

This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.

"Please... tell me..."

Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.

"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"

"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."

"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."

"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."

She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.

"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."

Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.

"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."

With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?

If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,

"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"

*

It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.

Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.

So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.

Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?

It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.

He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.

"H-hello? Kevin?"

The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.

"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."

"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"

"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."

With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.

*

"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"

He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--

"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?

"What else? I have to save Neil."

If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.

The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.

Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.

"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"

With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.

"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."

He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.

Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.

Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"

While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.

"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"

An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.

"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."

"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."

However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."

And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.

*

For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.

But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.

As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.

Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.

When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.

As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.

*

If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.

Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.

With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.

"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"

"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"

His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.

"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."

Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.

"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."

"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."

*

"So, what do you think?"

As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.

"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"

They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."

"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."

"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."

"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.

It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.

And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.

"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."

¤--END--¤

[binniedeactivated]

saint. || soobin🌪 (10)*Finale*

congratulations for making it to the part 1 finale guys! thank you all so much for supporting this au! I am grateful beyond words! ♡

🖤┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 2195

you never really noticed how much breakfast solved your morning grumpiness but it did. you were much more relaxed and motivated when you were not worried and being taken over by hunger. you were able to actually pay attention and do your work with such ease. you thought maybe it was worth adding that into your daily routine once in a while. throughout you were surrounded by a bunch of females who were talking about how they were ranked on the list as it if mattered anymore. you wished they stop talking about it because to you at least, it didn’t matter anymore. you hated soobin for making something like that and you were happy you said what you said to him. 

anyway sister abigail was choosing random people to do math equations on the board today and you knew this would go completely go wrong for you. you knew math formulas and expression, but you couldn’t solve an equation. it was always for you which is why as soon as you felt as if you were about to go next you quickly asked her if you could go to the bathroom. she obliged and you were happy to have gone. 

you were kind of surprised soobin wasn’t in the hallway like he normally was. creating trouble and walking around as if he didn’t have classes to go to. you push open the door to the bathroom. there was someone sitting on the floor which you found very odd, and...disgusting. she looked insane. you don’t even think she went to the school, maybe she snuck in and needed a place to stay. you couldn’t go into another stall without addressing her. her clothes were ragged and her hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. you approach her hesitantly while she sits with her knees to her chest. she kind of scared you with that look of crazy in her eyes. 

“hey, are you alright? do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”.

maybe you could call your mom and they could’ve arranged something until she got back on her feet. you couldn’t just leave her here.

“what do you want? why are you even talking to me?”. she grumbled. you looked closer into her eyes.

“mia?”. 

“what?”. 

you were baffled at her appearance. you couldn’t believe she came to school in this condition she looked so strung out. it was terrible.

“what happened to you?”. 

“it’s not like you’d understand. shit like this happens to you when you refuse to be a saint”. she assures with a tear fleeing her eye. 

“mia it doesn’t matter if you’re a saint or not. if you need help you need help”. 

she blinked a couple of times before she began crying in her hands. you sit down with her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. you felt horrible for her and you hadn’t even known what happened. As she was crying you could see her now dirty school skirt lifting up a bit. words couldn’t describe how sorry you felt at the fresh wounds that slit across her thighs.

“mia? have you been...?”. she quickly clutched the bottom of her skirt and pulled it down. she was ashamed of what she had done. you pursed your lips. no human being should ever have to experience that kind of pain. absolutely no one. 

“I want to help you. can I help you?”. you says and mia looks up with you with her teary blue eyes. 

“why the hell would you want to help me? soobin must’ve broken up with you huh?”. 

you stand up, giving her a hand to help lift herself off the floor. 

“me and soobin aren’t dating”. you say truthfully. “we should head to the nurses office to get you some painkillers”. you hold out your hand for mia to hold. she reluctantly clutched it figuring she had no choice. you guided her down the hallway and your mind was blown on how she willingly let people see her look like this. it wasn’t like mia to ever look ungroomed. 

“what do we have here?”. 

“hey i was wondering she can get some pain meds? she’s having a bit of a headache right now”. the nurse nods putting a hand through mia’s tangled hair.

“are you okay honey?”. she asks. and mia just nods knowing she was broken beyond repair. she was given the tablets and glass of water and she took them gratefully. you tell the nurse thank you and wish her a happy rest of her day before you let mia follow you back into the bathroom.

you place your bag on the sink and position her in the mirror where she could see herself clearly. she knew she looked like a wreck, she hadn’t had the strength to do something about it. you reach into your bag and take out a brush, slipping it through mia’s hair carefully. she flinches. 

“what are you doing?”. she snaps.

“I’m brushing your hair. I refuse to let you walk out of the bathroom like this”. 

she turns around and continue going down each strand, brushing out the knots at the ends before brushing from the top. you did this until her hair was as silky and flowy as you remembered it. mia touches it, forgetting how much better she looked with it done.  

“you like it?”. you asks and mia nods. she looks into the mirror like it was her first time seeing herself. you grab a napkin and wet it, wiping the tear stains off her cheeks. “whoever they were must’ve really hurt you mia”. she holds her head kind of low while you dip into your bag and grab some mascara and lipstick. you never wore much makeup but you carried it because...well that’s just what girls did in high school . 

“i’ll never be the same person again”. she swallows. you twist open the mascara and grip the cap tight. you gently drag the mascara brush up her eyes lashes with care. “who’d ever hurt you like this? this is insane”. 

“you’d be surprised at the things people do when they’re desperate”.

“what did they want from you?”. you question finishing up her other eyelash. mia gulps and stares into your eyes with the most serious look you’ve ever seen. you gulp. 

“mia you have to tell someone you can’t just harm and neglect yourself like this”.

she shakes her head slowly, remembering what the boys told her. 

“I can’t”. 

“why can’t you? anything is better than this. look at your thighs. you can’t go on like--”. 

“I have no choice you don’t understand”. you sighed. you take out the lipstick and swab her lips with the pretty maroon color. you use your fingernails to get the excess around her lips before you were finished. you turned her around to the mirror where she could see herself. she stared and you could tell she didn’t know how to feel.

“you look beautiful mia. and if you let me help you we can get you through this”. 

she presses her lips together. 

“why are you being nice after I’ve done what i’ve done to you? it doesn’t fucking make sense”. 

“well--”.

“I clowned you in front of the whole school i fucked up your history exam I tripped you in gym class and not only embarrassed you but you were also injured. I tried to take soobin away from you and talked down on you as much as I possibly could to get him to hate your guts. why are you being like this?”. 

“The bible says to love your neighbor like you love yourself. yes those things happened but i forgive you. the only thing that is important right now is making sure that whoever it is pay for what they’ve done to you. you don’t deserve this”. 

mia toys with fingers before grasping you in her arms hugging you with the small pocket of joy she had left. 

“do me a favor just put that one on this wall”. Michael says to kevin. he nodded, taking the polaroid picture and stapling it to one part of the bulletin board. 

“we should spread them out more”. kevin says in a matter of factly tone. “true”. and together the both of them took their time taking numerous polaroids and stapling and taping them shamelessly to every wall they could find. 

“this bitch is so pathetic”. kevin utters laughing to himself. he was proud of the work they were doing. it was more fun than any arts and crafts project he’d ever done.

“she is. I hope she sees this shit”. michael replies. the both of them take a step back and look at it all together. in their eyes, it looked great. but when the bell rung and everyone made their way out into the hallway they stopped at every wall in complete horror. thousands of polaroids of the pictures mia took of herself, cutting herself and bleeding. under each one wrote, 

‘mia is an attention seeking cunt’ 

some laughed. some were shocked, and some just plainly walked by them as if they were normal everyday posters. but after mia hugged you, you slipped her your number and made your way upstairs to your class. to your misfortune you didn’t see them. 

but as soon as mia worked up enough courage to step out of the bathroom and become herself again she was reminded of who hurt her. she was reminded of the boys who could give less fucks about how she feels. she was reminded that she was an absolute psychopath for slitting her thighs the way she did. she was stared at. and normally mia wouldn’t mind being stared at when she was among her friends but it was different when she were alone and much more vulnerable. 

where were her friends?

she walks through the crowd holding her head low to avoid eye contact. she’d do anything to not be able to look into people eyes and see what they thought of her. she knew she was a lunatic. she knew she was disgusting. because in the religious community, self harm was bizzare. 

michael throws his hood on and ties it tightly so that his face went unseen. he catches up to mia who was still trying to innocently make her way past the hallway. he grabs them hem of her skirt and pulls it down before he makes a clean getaway. mia shrieks, gaining back the attention she was starting to lose.here she was, in the middle of the hallway with her scars out in the open for everyone to see. she quickly pulls her skirt back up with tears gushing out of her eyes. she runs outside of the school building and everyone stares in utter shock.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════ 

the housekeeper clutches the blankets and snatches them off the bed. she jumped back a little when she saw the blood stains that danced along the bed sheets. she quickly reported it to her manager as she was mandated. he took a glimpse for himself. it was unusual that guests ever left a mess and when they did it would be food, shoes, maybe clothes that they forgot. 

but it was never blood so this was a serious problem. and it called for investigation.

[desarcalize]

Dusk 14: The memories we shared

Cross and Sarah returned to the monastery. The young girl had black circles under her eyes and her skin was pale. She passed next to the other two members without telling anything. She entered her room and closed the door behind her, without wanting to talk to anyone. Cross explained everything that happened and Mother heard everything in shock. In their way back, Sarah didn’t sleep the whole night and she didn’t eat anything.

During the dinner, Cross knocked her door, but no respond. He lowered his head. She had to eat three days and she denied to step out of her room. He opened a little the door and Timcanpy entered the room to accompany her and have an eye on her.

Sarah was sitting on her bed hugging her legs and having her jaw on her knees. Her eyes were swollen and red. She was looking to the void, with empty thoughts. Timcanpy took her scarf in his teeth and flied to her, dropping it on her head. He started flying around her, trying to make her feel better. She took the scarf in her hands and looked at it.

“Fire slowly burns… as the boy is drifting off to sleep” she whispered among the sobs “Red embers flame in the ashes… of our memories” she put her face on the scarf, crying again.

During the night, they were all sitting on the table of the kitchen. Without talking. They heard footsteps and turned, seeing Sarah standing on the stairs. She approached them and stood next to the table.

“Do you… Do you have a little bread?” she whispered cowardly and smiled a little

The three members smiled, been happy that she finally got out of her room and asked for food. Cross stood up approached her and took her in his arms. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmness of Cross’s hands.

“I shouldn’t have taken you with me” he whispered “No. It was better like that” she said and stepped back, smiling.

 The years passed. Sarah’s hair became quickly gray, because of her sadness. It was very hard for her to get through it. Cross told her to throw away the scarf, because it reminds her Mana and this cause her to be sad.

“But this is the reason I keep it” Sarah said and Cross looked at her confused “It reminds me of Mana, the real Mana, not the one who changed because of Millennium Earl” “Why though? Why do you want to keep his memory?” “Because he was an important part of my life” she said smiling.

Cross lowered his head and remembered of Maria. Their love stories were similar. Cross inhaled because he knew that the nun was right. Someone knocked the door of the monastery and Cross walked in the main corridor and opened it. Allen was standing, smiling to them.

“I came to say goodbye” he said “So, you decided, you are leaving” Cross said “Yeah. I am going to London” he was holding the bible. Cross noticed that before some days, the bookmark was at the last chapter, now it was in the middle.

“Are you reading the bible backwards?” “Well, you see…. I can explain. It is not having to do with a Devil’s trick” he said and lowered his head “I just… I just thought that if I read it backward, it will be like I change the time. I makes me feel better to forget about Nea and Mana” “If this brings jubilation to your soul, I cannot say or do anything” They saw Sarah approaching them. She smiled to the blondie man “Your hair” he whispered “You changed to much in only three years, Sarah” “A lot of things happened in these three years” Sarah said smiling.

It was true, after Nea’s death, Mana and Sarah left for almost nine months and went to France, where they became members of European Branch’s Black Order. Sarah met Cross’s classmate and partner when he was training himself to be an Exorcist master, Froi Tiedoll.

Froi was a clam but kind and friendly man. He quickly became friend of Sarah and they went in a mission together. After Millennium Earl’s return, the Akuma attacks became a more frequent phenomenon. Their missions were many, but Sarah learned quickly to control her wings completely.

In her first mission, her wings were weak, a little soft and easy to break against the Akuma attacks. She was in the hospital of Black Order and they brought her food. She looked the big amount of food and she was surprised from herself when she ate all the plates they gave to her.

“Slow down” Cross said laughing “You are going to become fat” “No, she will not” they heard from the dark and they saw a young woman with blondie hair. She was some years older than Sarah and there was a monkey on her shoulder, which left and climbed Sarah’s bed. He took the pie which was in the nun’s plate and returned to his owner, eating it “You little thief” the blondie said laughing and turned to Sarah “I am sorry for that” “It’s fine” the young woman said smiling “Better for me. I will eat less” “You need to eat. You are a parasitic type user. It is the only way to keep your Innocence strong. Lau Shimin is a parasitic user too” she said showing the monkey on her shoulder “But, I heard that your wings were easy to break, don’t you eat well?” Sarah lowered her head “For days I didn’t eat anything, because of reasons which made me feel sad and depressed” “I see. Don’t do that again” the blondie woman said and turned to leave “Eat as much as you want. Your Innocence needs it. You need it” “Wait” Sarah said before the woman was ready to go out of the hospital room “What is your name?” The woman smiled and turned to her “Is Klaud Nine” “I am Sarah Miller” “I know, everyone was talking about you when you arrived. Parasitic users are rare. Well, see you around, Sarah and Cross” she smiled and left the room.

After many months she returned to England, were her hair started to be gray. Cross suggested to her to dye her hair black, but she said that she wants to keep the results of her past and her mistakes. Cross couldn’t change her mind and didn’t want to persuade her.  They weren’t sad when Allen left, but it bothered them fact that he stopped send them letters suddenly, for months. They thought that maybe he had problems with his religious school, but months and later years without a letter was too much.

After some months, the circus arrived to Fordwich. It was Sunday and the villagers arrived the church for the Divine Service. Sarah heard some priests shouting telling to someone to go away. She approached them and she saw two priests pushing a clown away from the courtyard of church. One of the pushed him and he felt to the ground

“What is going on?” she asked them and helped him stand up “This joker wants to get in the church” one of the said “And what is the problem with that?” the nun asked “He is a clown! Don’t you see the way he is dressed and his makeup? How can we accept him?” the other said “The God accepts everyone, however they are” the clown was playing with his hands, making funny expression “He is a creep” the first said and they left. Sarah turned smiling and looked the clown, who started walking to a tree of the yard and touched it “When did this tree came out?” he asked “What do you mean?” “I was here, one month ago” the clown said and looked around “And this tree wasn’t here” Sarah laughed “Maybe you didn’t notice it” “Maybe” the clown said and continued walking, whispering lyrics of a song “I will still pray endlessly for this young boy…” Sarah looked at him, shocked “How… How do you know this song? Who are you?”

The clown smiled and ran to her, standing next to her and looked at her from the top to the bottom.  

“If I remember correctly, you weren’t here before one month too. Are you new here?” “No, I am here thirty-six years now” “No, I don’t remember you” the clown said dancing around her “I am searching for someone. A seventeen years old girl” “Who? Why?” “The girl’s name is Sarah. Sarah Miller. The reason is personal. I have to see her one month now” “I am this girl. But she was seventeen years old thirty-two years before” “No” the clown said and stepped back “No. You are lying. I left Sarah one month ago. In this yard. You aren’t Sarah. You are an old woman. Sarah didn’t have gray hair, but black, the raven’s wing” “Mana” the woman said and approached him “It’s me. Look my eyes, they haven’t change” “You are lying” he shouted “You are a liar! Where is Sarah? Why don’t she come to see me? She hates me, right? This is what she told me. She told me “I hate you Mana”. I heard it. She hates me” he started crying like a child. Sarah stepped back, scared. Mana’s memories are complicated. He ran to her and grabbed her from her shoulders “Why does she hate me? What have I done to her? I loved her. I loved her and she hates me. Why?”

Sarah was scared. She was afraid that Mana will hurt her, because he doesn’t recognize her, because he is lost in the memories’ abyss. She felt a hand grabbing her from her exorcist uniform. She was pulled back and saw Cross’s back in front of her. He looked at the clown with a furious look.

“Why is this clown bothering you?” “Cross” Sarah whispered “This clown is Mana” “What?” he looked at his face, trying to find anything that would remind him the handsome young man with the milky skin, brown eyes and long brown hair “Get lost” he whispered and the clown stepped back. He lowered his head and a tear ran on his cheek “Tell to Sarah” he whispered “That whatever I did, whatever was the reason that she hates me, I apologies for this reason”

He turned and left the courtyard. Cross turned and saw Timcanpy flying around him.

“Follow him and record everything” Cross said “I want to know what he is doing and what he is planning to do, 24/7. Just be careful not to be noticed”

Timcanpy flied away and followed Mana. Cross clicked his tongue and turned to Sarah, who had her face lowered. He passed next to her and patted her shoulder. Timcanpy returned when circus was ready to leave. Cross saw and heard everything the Mana was saying and doing. He was confused. This man doesn’t look anything like Millennium Earl.

“Maybe he is a split” Mother said “You have a point” Cross said and inhaled “He is searching for Nea. He remembers almost everything about his days in the monastery. He thinks that before one month he left us. He doesn’t remember that he killed and devoured, but he remembers Sarah’s last words to him” “Maybe he is bluffing” “No, he seems so desperate to find Nea. But now the circus is leaving. We will see him again in Fordwich the next year. Unless…” he thought about it a little and looked Timcanpy “How fast can you fly?” he questioned the golem, but it was more like a rhetoric “What do you have in your mind?” “Timcanpy will be my eyes and ears” Cross said and approached his room, taking a box of his tools “He will follow the circus and take records of Mana. He will return every end of the month, giving me the informations he found”

After two days of experiments. He knew that the golem was ready for it’s purpose. He got out of the church and let it go, following the way that the circus went to the next city.    

[etirabys]

I said in my previous It post that the book has bad scaffolding but good substance built on it. The below excerpts are about ~11 year old Bill Denbrough talking to his friend about his guilt about his younger brother, who died while racing a paper boat Bill made for him in the rain. Bill’s parents totally fall apart after the murder and start neglecting the child they have left:

In those days his mom and dad had also been bookends on the couch, but he and George had been the books. Bill had tried to be a book between them while they were watching TV since George’s death, but it was cold work. They sent the cold out from both directions and Bill’s defroster was simply not big enough to cope with it. He had to leave because that kind of cold always froze his cheeks and made his eyes water.

And, when he enters into the monsterhunting & monsterhunted portion proper of his summer, he confesses to his friend that he’s afraid the malevolent entity that’s been haunting him is (in part) his dead brother’s ghost: 

“But you said you were scared. Why would George’s ghost want to scare you, Bill?”

Bill put a hand to his mouth and wiped it. The hand was trembling slightly. “H-He’s probably muh-muh-mad at m-m-me. For g-getting him kih-hilled. It was my fuh-fuh-fault. I s-sent him out with the buh-buh-buh—” He was incapable of getting the word out, so he rocked his hand in the air instead. Richie nodded to show he understood what Bill meant . . . but not to indicate agreement.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “If you stabbed him in the back or shot him, that would be different. Or even if you, like, gave him a loaded gun that belonged to your dad to play with and he shot himself with it. But it wasn’t a gun, it was just a boat. You didn’t want to hurt him; in fact”—Richie raised one finger and waggled it at Bill in a lawyerly way—“you just wanted the kid to have a little fun, right?”

Bill thought back—thought desperately hard. What Richie had just said had made him feel better about George’s death for the first time in months, but there was a part of him which insisted with quiet firmness that he was not supposed to feel better. Of course it was your fault, that part of him insisted; not entirely, maybe, but at least partly.

If not, how come there’s that cold place on the couch between your mother and father? If not, how come no one ever says anything at the supper table anymore? Now it’s just knives and forks rattling until you can’t take it anymore and ask if you can be eh-eh-eh-excused, please.

It was as if he were the ghost, a presence that spoke and moved but was not quite heard or seen, a thing vaguely sensed but still not accepted as real.

He did not like the thought that he was to blame, but the only alternative he could think of to explain their behavior was much worse: that all the love and attention his parents had given him before had somehow been the result of George’s presence, and with George gone there was nothing for him... and all of that had happened at random, for no reason at all. And if you put your ear to that door, you could hear the winds of madness blowing outside.

I love this passage. It’s so – kind, and psychologically astute. Bill’s home situation right now is so shitty! It’s fucked him up in such a meaty, believable way! And the next part, when he figures out and accepts it wasn’t his fault, has this amazing blend of their-particular-culture preteen boy friendship where they’re kind and supportive, but with the counterweight of fear about being vulnerable and emotional, with the overlay of being silly eleven years olds

The boat had killed George, but Richie was right—it hadn’t been like handing George a loaded gun to play with. Bill hadn’t known what was going to happen. No way he could.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath, feeling something like a rock—something he hadn’t even known was there—go rolling off his chest. All at once he felt better, better about everything.

He opened his mouth to tell Richie this and burst into tears instead.

Alarmed, Richie put an arm around Bill’s shoulders (after taking a quick glance around to make sure no one who might mistake them for a couple of fagolas was looking).

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay, Billy, right? Come on. Turn off the waterworks.”

“I didn’t wuh-wuh-want h-him t-to g-g-get kuh-hilled!” Bill sobbed. “TH-THAT WUH-WUH-WASN’T ON MY M-M-M-MIND AT UH-UH-ALL!”

“Christ, Billy, I know it wasn’t,” Richie said. “If you’d wanted to scrub him, you woulda pushed him downstairs or something.” Richie patted Bill’s shoulder clumsily and gave him a hard little hug before letting go. “Come on, quit bawlin, okay? You sound like a baby.”

Little by little Bill stopped. He still hurt, but this hurt seemed cleaner, as if he had cut himself open and taken out something that was rotting inside him. And that feeling of relief was still there.

“I-I didn’t w-want him to get kuh-kuh-killed,” Bill repeated, “and ih-if y-y-you t-tell anybody I w-was c-cryin, I’ll b-b-bust your n-n-nose.”

“I won’t tell,” Richie said, “don’t worry. He was your brother, for gosh sake. If my brother got killed, I’d cry my fucking head off.”

“Yuh-Yuh-You d-don’t have a buh-brother.”

“Yeah, but if I did.”

“Y-You w-w-would?”

“Course.” Richie paused, fixing Bill with a wary eye, trying to decide if Bill was really over it. He was still wiping his red eyes with his snotrag, but Richie decided he probably was. “All I meant was that I don’t know why George would want to haunt you. So maybe the picture’s god something to do with... well, with that other. The clown.”

“Muh-Muh-Maybe G-G-George d-d-doesn’t nuh-nuh-know. Maybe h-he th-thinks –”

Richie understood what Bill was trying to say and waved it aside. “After you croak you know everything people every thought about you, Big Bill.” He spoke with the indulgent air of a great teacher correcting a country bumpkin’s fatuous ideas. “It’s in the Bible.”

[spacevikingdeathstar]

I Am Angry

I don’t usually do this, posting about myself or my life. I’ve been lurking in the Tumblr realm for years but only actually started interacting properly a few months ago - and only to reblog other people’s posts, with and without my own commentary. However, I felt the need to rant and, given my area has just shut down because of the shitstorm going on globally, my only option is screaming into the void here on Tumblr. 

A little background you may need to make sense of this rant: I am a 29 y/o full-time college student living in the American Southeast (smack in the middle of the Bible Belt, ugh). I’ve suffered from severe depression and socia/general anxiety 20+ out of those 29 years and have only just begun to heal and interact with other human beings in the last year or so.

Last night I was taking about what’s going on in the world both locally and internationally with my mom. I was kinda ranting about how badly the US government has dropped the ball and all the ways in which our so-called leaders are making everything worse for us lowly peasants. When I get upset, I get loud, my voice raises in pitch, and I tend to rage-cry. These are all things my mom knows about me, this isn’t new information. Yet once again, as always, when I got upset, when I got loud, she told me to calm down and don’t yell at me and I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. For the record, I wasn’t yelling at her. I wasn’t really yelling at all. My voice did get loud, I will admit, but rather than admit that this was an upsetting situation, she told me to stop. Stop being upset, stop being emotional, stop trying to connect with her. 

I know this isn’t what she was trying to do; she was trying to calm me down. However, for as long as I can remember, every time I’ve gotten upset and shown that to her, she has shut me down. When she says don’t yell at me or calm down all I hear is your outward show of emotion is inconvenient to me and I want you to stop. It’s always been like this and it always has the exact opposite effect of what she wants - I just get more upset and more loud. Recently, I’ve taken to not talking to her at all when I’m upset; if I need to convey information I text because you can’t hear volume or tone in written form. If I get upset in the middle of a conversation, I cut that conversation off and leave. This, in turn, upsets her because she feels like I’m cutting her off and distancing myself from her. And I am, I admit it. But that’s only because every time I try to connect to her, I - and more importantly, my emotions - get dismissed. And I have no idea what to do with this.

I have a large-ish extended family, but my mom is the only one I’m close with or even interested in being close with. She’s a very warm and accepting person - normally - but is totally unable to connect with me or accept my emotional life if it at all inconveniences her. Maybe she’s just too empathetic and my being upset upsets her in turn and she’s trying to stop that from happening. Maybe she’s just not used to having to deal with me being emotional (I was dead inside for most of my childhood and adolescences on top of being an Aspi and so not taken to frequent emotional outbursts). She was mostly emotionally absent most of my teens but we’ve been building a better relationship now that I’m an adult. However, I don’t know how close I can be to someone who systematically shuts me down every time I try to make a connection in any way other than fluffy positivity. 

I just don’t know what to do.

As for the reason I was so upset - the Covid19/Coronavirus bullshit - I feel like I am absolutely in my right to be angry! We should all be angry! We should be furious about how our government has failed us and seems set to continue to fail us in the future. The fact that so many people are ambivalent about it outside of if or how it affects them personally is disgusting - though probably a function of just how inured to catastrophe we all have become. Our so-called media is designed to actively brainwash the population with lies and propaganda - it’s all sensational entertainment, not real news - and so many Americans drink it all up like mother’s milk, letting it dictate to them what they think, what they do, who they vote for. 

We’re running head-long into apocalypse and no one is pumping the breaks. The failure of our government to successfully handle this crisis is not the cause of impending country-wide collapse, it’s a symptom. This crisis has shined a spotlight on just how little our “democracy” cares for the people (hint: little to none). Covid19 has destroyed what was left of the illusion of governmental competence to reveal the man behind the curtain and shown him for the ineffectual clown he his. And I don’t just mean Trump - everyone (or at least everyone with two brain cells to rub together) has known how much of a clown he and his administration is, was, and has always been for a while now. Unfortunately, it seems as though not everyone has those two brain cells and, so long as his ineffectual “leadership” didn’t personally effect them, a lot of Americans were willing to ignore it. That’s beginning to change as the country begins to shut down and the masses start pointing fingers and questioning who to blame. Maybe this’ll be the wake-up call America needs to make mass, overarching, and sweeping change to all aspects of our governance and public policy. 

I hope so, yet still I am angry.

I sit here and read about Italy, I read about Britain, I read about China. Then I look outside and watch the hundreds of cars driving by on the interstate and know we aren’t doing enough. We aren’t taking enough actions to stop this pandemic from spreading - and our entire country is going to pay for it. I watch the news and see our government bailing out big businesses and banks to the tune of 1.5 trillion while letting it’s citizens suffer. In a capitalist society corporations are people, actual people are just commodities to be used up and discarded and nothing highlights this more than a government demanding everyone stay home while simultaneously denying them any help with bills, food, rent/mortgage, healthcare. I see posts of individuals begging for help because they’ve been laid off but their landlord remains unwilling to work with them. I see people posting from the hospital with an oxygen mask over their face and having every single symptom of the virus - yet unable to get tested - and can only conclude the systematic denial of tests is in effort to keep the “confirmed” cases lower than they are in actuality. I read about the Trump administration resolutely cutting 700,000 people from their access to food stamps - despite the growing number of people losing their jobs as the country shuts down and the lack of employment opportunities country-wide. I read about how some people are wanting to organize a general strike - but fear it being ineffectual in a economy where so many are desperate for jobs. What’s to stop these corporations from simply forcing their striking employees back to work like it’s 1890 and the Pinkertons have been hired? Whats to stop them from simply firing anyone who dares to go on strike - en mas, if necessary - and hiring any one of the tens of thousands of people who will be desperate for a job at that point? Nothing, that’s what.

And I am angry. 

Maybe it’s a function of the belief that all negative emotions are bad - that people shouldn’t show anger, feel anger, express anger. Maybe that’s why every time I give voice to what I feel, I am shut down. Maybe that’s why I am told “maybe you should stop reading/watching the news” rather than “maybe we should do something about this”. Maybe everyone else is too numb to be angry, or to apathetic to do anything about it, or feel too disempowered to know what to do. 

But I am angry.

I am also scared and feeling powerless, like so many others. I am doing my damnedest to not allow this imposed isolation and the abject horror of our situation negatively effect my mental health - the last thing I need is to fall back into depression. But every time someone tells me to stop watching the news, stop following what is going on across the world, stop researching how the political candidates for American presidency are reacting to this crisis - I want to yell NO! No, I will not stop. No I will not put my head into the sand and ignore everything around me to make myself feel better. No, I will not stay uninformed. 

I didn’t vote in 2016. I’m ashamed to admit it, but there you go. I was in a really bad place that year and trying to follow the political debates took a chisel to my already fracturing mental state. So I did what everyone told me and stopped reading the news, stopped following the candidates, stopped getting upset over “politics”. And when November came around, I didn’t vote. I didn’t know anything but hearsay about Trump or Clinton and so couldn’t make an informed decision - and I was unwilling to make an uninformed decision. I was told this was the best option given my mental health; that when the planes are going down you need to put your own oxygen mask on first before concerning yourself with other people. This is sensible advice, as far as it goes, but I don’t think that it’s wholly applicable these days. Given the state of the world and the people who propose to run it, I think the advice to stay away from politics because it might upset you is the absolute wrong one - at least for myself. Going back to the downed plane metaphor, such advice more closely reads as: stick your fingers in your ears and sing real loud while the plane goes down in the hopes that it will all go away. Ignoring it won’t change a thing and, given everything going on right now, getting upset about “politics” is the most sensible reaction there is. 

So, I am angry. 

And I will not stop being angry just because it is inconvenient to others. I will not stop being angry because my emotions make others uncomfortable. I will not stop being angry because I was told to. I will not stop being angry by ignoring the world around me. 

I will not stop being angry until our government - the so-called world leaders of freedom and democracy - get their collective shit together and begin treating their people with the respect and dignity we all deserve. Until the richest country in the world starts acting like it and providing their people with the basic rights afforded to all other peoples of first-world countries. Until public policy is created for the betterment of all people, not just to pad the pockets of the ultra rich. Until the foundations of our crumbling democracy are rebuilt to truly create a government for the people, by the people. 

I am incandescent with rage.

And I will not calm down. 

[transstudiesarchive]

Poems from a young queer trans kid who eventually made it out

New offering for this project below (click “Keep reading”). Full text for the four poems above included below that. ______________________________

Four poems written by a young queer trans kid, raised Mormon, who didn’t know out queer people existed and had never heard of the concept of being trans. I lived in a small, conservative agricultural town with seemingly more churches than people. I was the fifth of eight kids. When I came across a bunch of my childhood poetry a while back after coming out as trans, they all made so much more sense…

Once I’d Seen Seattle

I think I’m glad I didn’t know sooner—

I’m not sure I’d have made it out.

I always knew I didn’t belong, but had no idea why.

I lived in a desert of ideas. Actually, it was worse than that.

I lived at ground zero where ideas that took hold were quickly censored or driven out; there was nothing in the air in my suffocatingly small, claustrophobic town to even let me conceptualize what I would later realize to be not only my truth, but my beautiful kaleidoscope of identities.

My town might as well have been an island because we never left the city limits. The only time anyone ever left was when my parents traveled to nearby towns for cancer treatments or other medical care.

I am the fifth of eight children raised in what I thought at the time was a staunch Mormon home. My dad was the eldest of six, all of whom lived within thirty minutes of us.

My siblings joked that I had to be adopted because it was clear I didn’t fit. Nothing fit.

But I kept trying.

I was a mama’s child and for some reason I was driven to be a golden child. I wanted to excel at everything and make my mom proud. But in my town, that meant Cub Scouts, then Boy Scouts along with church groups which became gender-segregated church groups and gender-segregated sports at school and at church. And outside school and church? Partying, partying, partying. And three-wheeling and fishing and shooting guns and hunting. But I never went hunting. (Even then, decades before waking to veganism, I couldn’t fathom how anyone could point a gun at a beautiful, innocent animal—a sentient being with a will to live—and pull the trigger.)

So I kept trying, sometimes channeling some fictional character to manifest some forced hyper-masculinity and jackass behavior. Somehow I survived all that and so did my closest friends. Even though at least a couple kids every year didn’t survive.

I learned about ‘homosexuals’ from the bible and felt a combination of curiosity and fear. Even as I sensed the repulsion and fear in others whenever it came up, I found myself fascinated. Was this me? Two close childhood friends later came out as queer.

Maybe, I told myself at the time, my discomfort in all-male spaces was because I was really attracted to guys and frightened it might show or that I would be tempted to act on those feelings.

But that didn’t explain how much discomfort, bordering on distress, I felt when I had to wear masculine church clothes—button-down shirts and jackets and slacks and ties and Oxford shoes. My mouth is getting that vomity sensation just writing this.

I remember the horror I felt one day when my sister pointed at my bare chest:

“You’re growing chest hair! You’re becoming a man!”

It’s the first time I remember feeling truly depressed. I found myself feeling more isolated as time passed and activities at school grew more polarized. Skipping events started to feel much better than staying and having to be one of the guys.

I loved nothing more than when I’d be invited to activities with the girls—but they were so heartbreakingly few! So I often stayed home, a devoted mama’s child, happy to help out with what she asked me to do.

In junior high school I had that rare teacher who loves what they do and has held onto the spark. He brought homemade borscht in when we were studying Russian literature.

I have no idea how, in a town like ours, he got approval to do this let alone budget, but he took us on an overnight trip to Seattle to see Shakespeare productions, art museums, art galleries and the science center. My world went from gray to a riot of color during that trip.

I don’t know if I saw something or someone in particular while there; if I did, it never registered consciously. But that trip lit something in me that gave me hope about who I was and who I could become. I knew there was someplace better for me.

In some ways, that made the next four years more difficult and more painful than the years before. Because compared to Seattle, my town was hell. Specifically, my town was a dull bathroom break in the red-state flyover part of hell. And I had four more years ahead with no clear path out even then.

I got contacts and became the class clown, but I lived under storm clouds I couldn’t dispel. My grades suffered. When I was at risk of not graduating, some friends of the family came up with a plan. I moved in with them and after graduation, at their encouragement, I left for a two-year Mormon mission to Japan.

Then I came back, moved to Seattle, met someone amazing, sang her Somebody by Depeche Mode without missing a word in the middle of the store at the mall where we worked. We got married in the temple because for some reason I was still doing that then. I struggled off and on with the feeling I might be gay. It was still all I knew; the only option that could explain the fact that I was different. That I didn’t belong.

I knew I’d made it out when I went back to visit my parents one year and the clerk at the drugstore asked my partner and I if we had ever visited the area before. I asked how they knew we were from out of town and they said, “I can just tell. Are you from Seattle or something?”

Almost thirteen years after saying “I do,” we divorced after giving an open relationship a try. I was a workaholic the entire time. A had a few relationships of varying duration, including some casual relationships with men. A couple months after swearing to stay single for a year I met the person I hope to spend the rest of my life with. We met through mutual friends, but both had online dating profiles and both had ours set to exclude vegans because WTF? How does that even work? Then we got together and went vegan.

Over the last several years before we met, the idea of being trans hit my radar. I’d talked with previous partners about it. I’d even gone through the not-atypical pattern of splurge-and-purge where I would embrace my sense of who I was and buy a bunch of skirts, cute tops, dresses and other things that never saw the world outside our house. My partners were supportive. But then I would panic and get rid of everything and go back to life in drag. I would do things like let my fingernails grow long, shave my armpits and some of my body hair, pluck my eyebrows—but never enough to “give me away,” as far as I knew.

Then at the age of 47 I learned my company was going through a restructuring and my department was being eliminated. Having grown up in poverty, I’d always let a stable job and reliable income take precedence over everything else. And my life history reflected that. But because of my partner, my circle of friends and who I’d allowed myself to become, I did something I never thought I would do. I left my job, volunteered at the local QIATBLG+ community center two days a week, did other social justice organizing and volunteer work, came out as trans, changed my name, updated all my legal documentation (including the non-binary X gender marker on my driver’s license) and enrolled in school full time. I had been on the fence on whether to start school or start a non-profit to serve the area trans and queer communities. When I learned about the brand new major at PSU—Sexuality, Gender and Queer Studies—I knew what I had to do. And I knew my life was right on track. - Iris @ Age 49

Signs of Humanity

Why can’t I be human? I’m called a child when I cry So I hold my feelings deep inside. Again I ask you, why?

Why can’t I be human? When I laugh, they think I’m weird. So I just smile to myself. Are feelings to be feared?

Why can’t I be human? When I’m quiet, they ask what’s wrong, So I think of something to talk about. Must I do this to belong?

Why can’t I be human? I’m scoffed at when I make a mistake. So I just turn and walk away, Though deep within, I ache.

Why can’t I be human? Why can’t I act like me?!?! Instead of just another model in… Series: Humanity. - by Iris @ Age 14

Close Your Eyes and Look at Me

Do not judge me by appearance. You have eyes but cannot see. Look at my spirit and my feelings. Close your eyes and look at me!

Hold your ears so you can listen. Hear my meaning, not my words. It is my heart that is speaking now. Is my language so absurd?

Quell your pride so you can feel. I know that you care deep inside. Why must these feelings that are so human Be held within, always denied? - by Iris @ Age 15

Balanced Confusion

Just sitting here, my mind is spinning With contemplative images. Caught in limbo between past and future, Unable to focus on the present. Trapped in a loop of unanswerable questions, I seek out nonexistent facts. Falling toward my termination— Groping for what is not there. Each time I sense a certain order And settle to a steady state, A new unknown begins to form And throws me into chaos. Emotions reign in my subconscious Running rampant, take their toll. I struggle to cling to reality, But slip across the line… Perceptions are nearly nullified. I no longer trust my senses. I crawl to the center of my mind And slumber in balanced confusion. - Iris @ Age 14

Sitting in the Oven

Sitting in the oven Wondering why the hell I’m here. I’m thinking and feeling something… Not sure what, but sure not fear.

It’s not too comfortable in here. I’m sitting on the wire rack; The bars aren’t big enough for my butt And there’s nothing to support my back.

Looking through the dirty glass I can see life passing by outside. Something is welling up inside me; I’m not sure what, but it’s sure not pride.

I guess I don’t like it here, But there isn’t much that I can do. Maybe if someone opens the door I’ll jump and try to make it through.

I’ve come to the conclusion That this is not the way to live. I’m thinking and feeling something… Not sure what, but sure not initiative. - Iris @ Age 16

[keepingupwithfundies]

On blanket training and the Duggars...

Trigger warning: The following topic covers issues related to corporal punishment and abuse at certain points. Consider carefully, if you want to read into the practices of the Pearls. For my uneducated eye it is clearly child abuse.

Here we go, I have spent a few hours researching, I have dug through countless FreeJinger threads and read many newspaper articles and watched a handful of videos.

What is “blanket training”?

From my research, blanket training is a form of training, to get you child to stay on a blanket for a longer period of time, without getting off the blanket or disturbing you. Methods used to ensure that behaviour is kept up are widely different. 

Who are the Pearls and what is the book “To train up a child” about?

The Pearls (Mike and Debbie and I think 6 kids) are a fundamentalist family who wrote and published the book “To train up a child”, that is supposed to “help” your kid, to become a happy and obedient child. How is that achieved? Via spanking/switching aka training the child.

Here is the full copy to read. Please be aware, that many real cases are described in the book, they are very disturbing: http://web.archive.org/web/20070206184100/http://www.achristianhome.org:80/to_train_up_a_child.htm

Later-on a few cases of children dying of horrible abuse were linked to this book, since the parents of the dead children owned and used that book.  Graphic violence is described, please watch with caution!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5vGHOOzokI

Here is also a very long “webinar” of the Pearl family defending their methods and denying their connection to these murders:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RAEa2ORFbg

Here are also a few chapters from the book, that I think are particularly disturbing!!

“OBEDIENCE TRAINING--BITING BABIES One particularly painful experience of nursing mothers is the biting baby. My wife did not waste time finding a cure. When the baby bit, she pulled hair (an alternative has to be sought for baldheaded babies). Understand, the baby is not being punished, just conditioned. A baby learns not to stick his finger in his eyes or bite his tongue through the negative associations accompanying it. It requires no understanding or reasoning. Somewhere in the brain that information is unconsciously stored. After two or three times of biting, with the accompanying head hurting, the child programs that information away for his own comfort. The biting habit is cured before it starts. This is not discipline. It is obedience training.”

“NEVER TOO YOUNG TO TRAIN The parents who put off training until the child is old enough to discuss issues or receive explanations find their child a terror long before he understands the meaning of the word. A newborn soon needs training. The child needs holding, loving and lots of attention, but the mother often has other duties. As the mother, holding her child, leans over the crib and begins the swing downward, the infant stiffens, takes a deep breath and bellows. The battle for control has begun in earnest. Someone is going to be conditioned. Either the tender-hearted mother will cave in to this self-centered demand (thus training the child to get his way by crying) or the infant is allowed to cry (learning that crying is counterproductive). Crying because of genuine physical need is simply the infant's only voice to the outside world; but crying in order to manipulate the adults into constant servitude should never be rewarded. Otherwise, you will reinforce the child's growing self-centeredness, which will eventually become socially intolerable.

“Just last night while sitting in a meeting, I looked over to see a young mother struggling with her small child. He seemed determined to make her life as miserable as possible--and destroy her reputation in the process. She had the "Why me?" look on her tired face. He kept defiantly throwing his bottle on the floor (assisted by her picking it up and handing it back to him) and making angry noises that forced the preacher to scream louder and louder. With threats of increasingly embarrassing displays, he forced her to put him down on the floor where he proceeded to audition for circus clown while insisting on procuring a neighbor's property. When she tried to prevent his thievery and rescue the stolen goods, he kicked his feet like an eggbeater and screamed his protest. It was enough to make you believe the Devil started out as an infant. I am just thankful that one-year-olds don't weigh two-hundred pounds, or a lot more mothers would be victims of homicide. It causes one to understand where the concept of a "sinful nature" originated.”

“SINKING FEELING When our children were coming along, we lived in a house with a pond in the immediate yard. As they grew to be toddlers wandering around outside, we always watched them closely. Yet, knowing the possibility of one getting out of sight, we cranked up the training. On a warm spring day I followed the first set of wobbly legs to the inviting water. She played around the edge until she found a way to get down the bank to the water. I stood close by as she bent over reaching into the mirror of shining color. Splash! In she went. Girl, it was cold. I restrained my anxiety long enough for her to right herself in the water and show some recognition of her inability to breathe. When panic set in (mine as well as hers--not to mention her mother's), I pulled her out and scolded her for getting close to the pond. She didn't swallow any water, and there was no need for resuscitation--except on my wife who took several hours to begin breathing normally. We repeated the same process with all the children. It took only one time for each of them to learn respect for the water. And it got easier on us. We did have trouble with one of them. She is the one who became mobile early, crawling at four months and walking at seven. She always had marvelous coordination. She just wouldn't fall in. I got weary taking walks to the pond. So, to bring the class to graduation, I pushed. Oh, she didn't know it. As she was balanced over the water, I just nudged her with my foot. To this day, I still believe that if I had left her alone she would have swum out. But, it distressed her enough to make her not want to play around the pond. No, they didn't stay distressed of the water. My children were all swimming by the time they were four. We still closely watched them, and we never had a close call. The training worked. Do not try this unless you are sure that you can maintain full control of all the circumstances.”

How are the Duggars and Pearls connected?

The Duggars not only use the same terminology and apparently the same methods (see further below) as the Pearls, they even actively promoted their teachings on their own website:

Duggars on corporal punishment:

We already knew before, that the Duggar(senior aka JB and Michelle) were spanking their kids with a rod:

http://keepingupwithfundies.tumblr.com/post/161236886344/do-the-duggars-believe-in-corporal-punishment 

The girls, questioned by the police for the molestation by Josh, stated they were in fact hit with a rod. 

Blanked training described by Michelle:

I found very old posts about someone who was on the same Christian mother forum as Michelle, who shared what Michelle apparently posted:

She also described the practise in her book “20 and counting” (if anyone were to look into the chapter about child training and give us a review, I’d be incredibly thankful, but I understand, if nobody is interested in reading about abuse):

Later on she gave an interview, to well known owners of the duggarfamilyblog, Lily and Ellie, where she calls it “Quiet and still”, maybe because by then, the words “blanket training” had a negative connotation due to a few deaths of children linked to the Pearl’s book. Here is the audio to it.

Also from an old version of the Duggar website:

The Bible on spanking:

The bible actually seems to encourage spanking of you child and even the use of a rod. Check out this website:  https://www.openbible.info/topics/spanking_children

Knowing that the Duggars take the bible seem to adapt the bible as literally as possible to their lives, this shows us, why they spank their children.

I think it is pretty safe to say the the Duggars (senior) not only spanked their kids with a rod (proven fact) but it also seems very likely, that they did use tools such as a ruler for blanket training (still no proof to that though, just a statement by a person claiming to have been there. Seems likely though with the connections between Duggars and Pearls) .

How is Jill connected to all of this?

The discussion heated up again, when Derick stated in this video that 2yo Israel was manipulating him:

Jill grew up with blanket training. Michelle said, she started, when the twins (Jed and Jer) were 17 months old, so Jill was only 9 years old (and already had Joy as a buddy). There is no evidence, but always the possibility of her being taught by her mother how to train Joy and now using this practice on Israel.

We have seen a few pictures of Israel in distress:

But how I see it, pic 1 and 2 is not blanket training but swaddling (another controversial method, but this would need another post) and I would have been rather upset, if she let Izzy play on a stone-cold tile floor instead of the nice blanket (pic 3).

Here are also 2 threads on FJ discussing exactly this subject:

http://www.freejinger.org/topic/21012-do-you-think-jill-derick-will-do-blanket-training/

http://www.freejinger.org/topic/22770-will-jill-blanket-train/

So my conclusion?

I think imo the Duggars did use blanket training before the TV show started (4 years after she started with the method). I am unsure, if Jill is doing/did blanket training with Izzy the way the Pearls teach it in their book, or the way her mother played it down later-on. I will not go into much more detail, there is a lot of information gathered now, form your own opinion on it! Stay critical guys and believe in facts! (Annie) OMG what a monster post.... TLDR: Read it, don’t be lazy, inform yourself  💗

[bachelorbro-blog1]

Season 13, Episode 1 (The One Where Blake K Doesn't Get a Rose)

Welcome back, Bachelor Nation! I’m super excited about this season of the Bachelorette (mostly because Rachel is not Nick Viall and will never be Nick Viall). You all know how I feel about Rachel (and that I knew she’d be the next Bachelorette since the first episode of last season), so I won’t wax poetic about her. Instead, I’ll just start this recap. Let’s go!

The episode opens with Chris Harrison talking about how much we all love Rachel. Duh. Obviously. Let’s move on. 

Rachel does some street dancing, plays basketball alone, “goes to court” (by which I mean she performs in an instructional video about what lawyers do as directed by someone who doesn't know any lawyers), flashes back to meeting gross Nick (complete with beignet eating and limo crying), takes a plane with her DOG WHOSE NAME IS COPPER (!!!), poses for some pictures, chats with some grandmas, and finally drives up to the mansion. 

Time to meet some guys! 

Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King is a wrestler. He is very sweaty and panty for a solid chunk of his intro video and has a very tall ten year old daughter. (Is Rachel ready to get engaged to a man who has a ten year old child and possibly be that child’s step mother?). He makes a pun about rings.

Jack Stone is a lawyer (like Rachel), is 31 (like Rachel), and is from Dallas (like Rachel). He talks about the passing of his mother while staring out at some water and then plays with a dog. 

Alex would like to let you all know that is not a meat head. He likes books and coding and learning and Rubiks Cubes. Ok? Those are things meat heads don't like! Only nerds like those things!

Mohit is a start-up guy. He loves dancing with his family in his living room. 

Alright. Here he fucking is. Whaboom -- a manboy named Lucas who frequently wears shirts that have cartoon versions of his own face on them. This guy is going to be either my most favorite or my least favorite.

Blake E (omega Blake) is a sports nutritionist and certified lunatic. He works out on the beach and talks about how amazing his penis is (by which he means it’s slightly below average). Fuck this guy.

Next up is Diggy, who loves clothes and has 575 pairs of shoes (or 1150 individual shoes). Diggy, you see, is a fashionista. He also has a dog, but we don't get to know how many pairs of shoes the dog owns. 

Josiah makes me cry. Top 5, easily. E A S I L Y . His older brother killed himself when he was younger and Josiah had to cut him down from the tree that he hung himself on. Josiah has an amazing story and is either this season’s winner or next season's Bachelor. 

A meeting of the minds commences. Among Rachel’s panel of advisors is Astrid (who I forgot about), Whitney (who everyone forgot about), nanny-having Corinne, dolphin lady Alexis, Raven (the true winner of Nick Viall’s season of The Bachelor), beautiful princess Kristina, and Jasmine G. (the one who choked Nick -- big fan). Everyone loves Eric, Raven believes that DeMario is amazing (but Whitney thinks he’s THERE FOR THE WRONG REASONS™️), and some ill-advised voice likes Dean (the one who made the “I’m ready to go black and I’m never going back” comment). 

Time for the men to come out of the limo. Finally.

First out of the limo is Peter. He is wearing a nice jacket and doesn't say anything awful. Congratulations, Peter!

Next is Josiah, this season’s winner. He makes a lawyer joke. Smells like a wedding to me!

Out comes chiropractor Bryan. He speaks Spanish and looks like a much more attractive version of my neighbor. 

Kenny calls her “Pretty Rachel” and then dances with her. I am overcome with grief. 

Rob doesn't get much of an introduction, but who cares?

There is also a man named Iggy. Diggy and Iggy. Fine.

Bryce, the transphobic firefighter, lifts Rachel off of her feet. Get out, Bryce.

Next out of the limo is Steve Urkel, followed by Stefan Urquelle. His real name is Will. As in when Will this end?

Here comes Diggy, who loves The Devil Wears Prada. He makes a pun based off of his name. 

Kyle shows Rachel his buns. Who is Kyle?

Blake K (alpha Blake) talks about his grandparents who recently celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary. Big fan of Blake K. Huge.

Brady shows up with a sledge hammer. He is immediately terrifying. He “breaks the ice” at which point I feel he should be lead away from Rachel with his hands behind his back. He is also possibly wearing lavender lipstick. 

Dean, who made that cringe-worthy comment when he first met Rachel, is shaking and grinning. Rachel lies about loving the comment. This is your season, Rachel. You do not have to lie to anyone.

Here comes Eric, my first round draft pick. Now I find him boring. 

DeMario, who brought plane tickets to Vegas to his first encounter with Rachel, looks forward to more “first moments” with her. His confidence is overwhelming. 

Gross Blake E arrives with a marching band. Do less, Blake E. I implore you. (Side note: Blake E’s hair is straight up disgusting).

Let’s make misogynistic comments about Rachel! A smart and funny woman? How is that possible? No woman has ever been smart AND funny! There must be some sort of catch! Several men’s heads explode. 

Fred, who knew Rachel in elementary school, brings a yearbook. Rachel remembers his bad behavior. I sincerely hope he becomes this season’s Liz the Doula. (Miss you, Liz!)

Jonathan, the tickle monster, makes me scream into a pillow. If anyone ever tried to tickle me upon meeting me I would actually knock them out. Not appropriate, creepy Jonathan. 

Lee, whose guitar lets me know it’s alright to hate him, wastes no time in introducing himself as a monster. He is a self-proclaimed singer/songwriter, and a me-proclaimed douchebag.

Alex the Mensa genius brings a vacuum because why not?

Milton, who literally admitted that he wanted to be discovered by a talent agent, takes a selfie with Rachel. Bye!

Adam brings a mannequin named Adam Jr. Adam Jr. (AJ) will more than likely compete on Bachelor in Paradise because Rachel hates him. AJ is left in the corner where he conspires against all of the other men in the house whilst Jonathan tickles people. 

Matt is a penguin. Can’t wait until Alexis decks him on Paradise. 

Grant arrives in an ambulance. 

Anthony is wearing a beige suit. Different!

Jamey is unsavory upon first sight and unsavory upon further inspection.

Jack Stone has a great (crocodile) smile. Maybe he uses it to bite people. 

Mohit makes some kind of comment about her having the upper hand. Is he a dom? A misogynist? Both? Neither? Where are his dancing family members?

A man whose legal name is Jedidiah quotes a Bible verse about crying. He is not wearing a full suit. 

Michael brings a brownie. I pick him.

The men wonder who will go crazy. Here’s Whaboom. He is contractually obligated to show up when someone says “crazy,” “maniac,” “Whaboom,” or “testicles.” He turns bright red while yelling and carries a megaphone. Can't wait until he’s full drunk.

All 31 men (and 1 mannequin) are now in the mansion. Time for Rachel to like actually kind of meet them, but not really because chances are they’ll speak with her for like 10 minutes each and continuously steal her from each other. 

Josiah tells Rachel his story, but she's only kind of buying what he's selling. It’s ok. They just need time to fall in love.

Dean and Rachel build a sand castle together. Dean, the youngest man in the mansion, thinks this is cute. Rachel is his babysitter.

Rob brought a baseball card with Rachel on it. 

Anthony would like to understand Rachel.

Eric and Rachel dance again, but the spark is gone. 

Someone gave AJ a glass of champagne. He is a child! He cannot drink! 

Matt the Penguin asks if Rachel prefers Michael Jackson or Prince while AJ (who, like a clown, is hilarious and terrifying) (mostly terrifying) professes his love for Rachel in French.

Rachel remembered Fred the moment she saw him. He’s the top 5 guy who makes her feel comfortable, connected to her past, but he won't win. 

Bryan steals Rachel. He is mature and handsome and surely top 5 material. His confidence, unlike DeMario’s, is endearing because it’s over-the-top in a funny way. You can tell he doesn't really believe all of these things about himself. (I hope). Rachel and Bryan kiss. She didn’t want to kiss anyone tonight, but says that she enjoyed him. 

The first impression rose is brought out. Everyone starts sweating (and drinking). Let’s be honest. Bryan is getting the rose. No one else spent that kind of time with Rachel. And, as a first impression rose winner herself, she knows who’s real and who’s fake. 

DeMario talks a lot, according to Josiah. Rachel is impressed by his confidence. 

Jamey mentioned that his suit cost $2,000. He is Gob Bluth and I was right to hate him.

Men swarm Rachel. She is starting to get nervous. Cancel the season! Send everyone home! Let Rachel have fun in the mansion by herself. 

Mohit is drunk and can't seem to find the right way to steal Rachel. 

Rachel tells Peter that she doesn’t like chocolate while Whaboom narrates through a megaphone. 

Blake E hates Whaboom so I officially love Whaboom. I would very much like to see Whaboom deck Blake E. I would very much like to see anyone (especially Rachel) deck Blake E.

None of these men seem to realize that they can only have a few minutes with Rachel. There are 31 of you and her time is more valuable than all of yours combined. Get with the picture. 

I also just realized that Alex brought a vacuum because when we first met Rachel during Nick’s season she danced with a vacuum. Fine.

“Cash me outside, how bow dah?” asks Josiah. Oh, Josiah. I was rooting for you. 

Kenny brings up his daughter -- his favorite person in the whole world. Maybe I was wrong to judge him. He’s a good father. 

The first impression rose goes to Bryan because duh. Mohit gasps. He is the DGAP.

it’s finally time for the first rose ceremony!

Roses go to: 

- Normal Peter

- Will Urkel

- Smiley Jack Stone

- Slimy Jamey

- Forgettable Iggy

- Dance Machine Eric

- Confident DeMario

- Jonathan the Creep

- Transphobic Bryce

- Alex the Mega Genius

- Kenny the Wrestling Dad

- Baby Dean

- Matt the Penguin

- Anthony (and his eyebrows)

- Brady the Lip Gloss Aficionado

- Josiah the Future Winner 

- Hatable Lee

- Fashion-forward Diggy

- Fred from Camp

- Adam (but not Adam Jr, which is rude)

- Blake E who is more than likely sticky 

and last, but certainly not least

- Whaboom (because this is reality television)

Roses do not go to:

- Bland Rob

- Drunk Mohit

- Forgettable Kyle 

- Blake K (who actually voluntarily left to see his grandfather in the ICU -- i.e. the true winner of this season)

- Grant, who was not on this episode

- Bible-quoting Jedidiah

- Milton, who will never get the chance to be famous now (FIRST CRY OF THE SEASON)

and

- Brownie-bringing Michael

Alright, the season has begun. Who will win? Who will lose? Who will beat the crap out of Blake E? Here’s to finding out!