#the only other explanation i could find is that ghost stories is so deeply based on a lot of yokai background knowledge that

[marklikely]

the other day i found out that ghost stories was not. originally a flop and in fact was really successful in japan when it first aired so there was literally no reason for the english dub to be Like That.

[recurring-polynya]

So you ever try to wrap your brain around Yachiru being Kenpachi's zanpakutō? It seems to violate all known (manga-canon) mechanics.

So, to be honest, that particular plot twist hit the note in my head that says “Yes, this is pleasing and not entirely unexpected to me!” I think it’s the fact that the idea of his zanpakutou being embodied this whole time made more sense than ::gestures vaguely at all of Yachiru:: this.

I don’t exactly remember, but I think I may have been spoiled on this one--I got spoiled on a lot of the Bleach endgame, and that always affects the way a plot twist lands, so please take my opinion with that grain of salt.

I think there were a lot of hints along the way-- that although Yachiru is very, very strong and somewhat bloodthirsty herself, she always seems more interested in seeing Zaraki gets the fights that he wants, and watching them raptly, deeply invested in his happiness. She doesn’t actually act like a child, she acts like someone would expect a child to act-- mischievous and silly, but she does not grow and explore or, most importantly, assert her personhood, the way a real person does. She never seeks to grow stronger, or to fight for herself. She wears the lieutenant’s badge and goes to the meetings, which she neither complains about, nor takes any interest in. A real child would either not put up with this shit, or seek to be taken seriously in this role (try to imagine young Byakuya, for example, being named a lieutenant). Most importantly: She is constantly trying to give him directions and they end up lost every time. We thought it was a running gag, but it was a metaphor.

It also seems to me that the other child characters in Bleach grow and age at times when their powers are developing. We see Rukia, Renji, Gin, Rangiku, and Shuuhei as powerless children, and then they age to teens when their powers develop. Toshirou is definitely seen as a smaller child in his Rukongai flashbacks, and it’s implied that he is currently at in impasse with his powers, having difficulty with the upper levels of his bankai. Even so, though his body is stuck in an adolescent state, he has the faculties and personality of an adult. Yachiru, if I am figuring things correctly, is older than Rukia and Renji. It seems like she must be an enormous outlier in the Bleach universe, and it’s frankly weird that, say, Yamamoto wouldn’t take a greater interest in her (unless he knows exactly what she is, and I suspect that both he and Unohana both do).

Unless I’ve missed something, we hardly know anything about zanpakutou-spirit dynamics within the Bleach manga canon. As far as I know, we only ever see two-- Zangetsu and Zabimaru. I think it’s safe to say that Zangetsu already violates all known normal mechanics. I also want to point out that I was a lot more pissed when Zangetsu turned out to be Yhwach (or whatever that was, please no one explain it to me I don’t want to think about it). It was telescoped well enough, but it poisoned a character who had always been there for Ichigo as a mentor and source of strength and it gave me the same yucky feeling as when they killed off Han Solo-- I do not like this. This does not feel right or enhance the story.

We don’t get a whole lot of Zabimaru either-- they can manifest on their own, and do so in order to bother Renji. They seem to be a fairly simplistic being-- they want to fight and be strong and are impatient with Renji’s (very reasonable) desire to take a minute to think things out.

Nobody asked, but I feel like it might be helpful if I unleashed my personal headcanon on Where Zanpakutou Come From. In the Zanpakutou Spirits Arc, the episodes are prefaced with a voiceover that says that zanpakutou are born and die with their shinigami, and I am sorry, anime filler arc, I reject this. One of my favorite Bleach phrases, which seems like it should it could have come from some angsty hurt-comfort fanfic, is “There are no ghosts in Soul Society.” (it actually came from a filler arc episode where Ikkaku, Nanao and Hanatarou get lost in the sewer). But I think there are! When shinigami are killed and reborn in the Living World, presumably, it is as a normal human with no powers. I like to think that some essence of their power and their zanpakutou are left behind, free-floating, nameless, formless, but with some distillation of the principles that guided their shinigami’s life. This ur-zanpakutou attaches itself to a young, spiritually strong person, and becomes intertwined with their soul. They develop a form based on the thoughts and memories and hopes and fears of their shinigami, and their names and specific powers are born of the union of zanpakutou and shinigami. Noble souls often get zanpakutou passed down from previous generations, who take the form of a grandparent, or form that their grandparents zanpakutou had. For kids from the Rukon, I think that most zanpakutou spirits takes the form of a barely remembered mother from the Living World, or a particularly frightening woodcut from a favorite storybook. As an aside, this theory also explains why almost every Rukongonian shinigami we see died as a child-- it’s easier for a free floating zanpakutou spirit to bond with a child’s developing psyche. It’s also a reminder of one more way that Zaraki himself is an outlier.

Zaraki is a really messed-up guy, I think we’re all on the same page there. Like, he just really needs a shit-ton of therapy, I can’t even start. He was a feral murder-child, and I think he saw Unohana as a mother-figure who rejected him. Unlike Ichigo, who needs a wise, experienced mentor to guide him through his warrior journey, Zaraki needs validation that he is a Normal Guy with Normal Murder Thoughts and Feelings, so his subconscious shapes his zanpakutou into another feral murder-child to love him and be his family. Zaraki doesn’t know how little girls act-- pink hair seems good? Stuffy people hate kids, right? It makes perfect sense that Yachiru would go fuck around with Byakuya. Zaraki finds all of Yachiru’s antics hilarious-- the names she makes up for people, the way she climbs all over Ichigo, her general proclivity for going ham. Zaraki is an incredibly simplistic person. My favorite Zaraki parts of Bleach are where you think he is about to get real deep and have some sort of insight, and it turns out to be “I’m gonna stab you, but I’m gonna use both hands” or this entire problem-solving process I’ve pasted in below, which ends in him finding Tousen by letting Tousen stab him. He’s just stupid, bless his heart, and having a murder gremlin for a guiding light just... tracks?

The weirdest thing about Yachiru is that she has her own zanpakutou. I spent about 10 minutes thinking about it, though, and decided that she’s just a recursion, and that the weird feeling I get thinking about her is exactly the way I feel about writing a function that calls itself, and I find that little paradoxical frisson to be kinda cool, actually. The second weirdest thing about Yachiru is that there does not seem to be any connection, thematically, between Yachiru and Nozarashi. After he finally learns his sword’s name, I would have liked to see Zaraki have a trip to his inner world (like Ichigo does, in the midst of battle) where he meets an adult spirit who has qualities of both Yachirus (which he absolutely does not recognize) and that there is some interesting explanation of Nozarashi’s special abilities. To be honest, I couldn’t even remember what they were. Kenpachi has always been one of the strongest Bleach characters and so much about him is just iconic, and then his bankai was just completely bland and unmemorable, with no symbolism whatsoever. Lame.

[candlelight27]

Chapter 3: I Chase Your Shadow

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: ATTEMPTED ASSAULT (!!!), Alcohol drinking, swear words, kissing

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4907

AO3: I Chase Your Shadow

A/N:  I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading and sticking by. And, as always, leave a comment if you have any suggestion, request, question or just feel like it! My asks are always open, too!

Sylvain 18:35: What are you wearing? 😉

Sylvain 18:36: Just kidding hahaha

Sylvain 18:36: Although I want to know what’s your costume

You held back a laugh reading Sylvain’s messages. He was truly something else.

You 18:37: Top secret

“Is he texting you again?”, Dorothea asked, mascara in hand. You couldn’t see her expression, but you certainly knew the corners of her lips were curling upwards.

“So what?”, you answered feigning weariness.

Your brunette friend was applying the finishing touches to her makeup in front of your bathroom mirror. There were cases, brushes, pencils, shadows and liners everywhere, all varying shades of red and nude. The living room was in the same situation because Mercedes and Annette had insisted on helping Ingrid get her Halloween costume ready. Ingrid complained, of course, since ‘knights didn’t wear make-up’, but who could ever deny Mercedes? Not you, and not Ingrid either.

You were sitting upon the lid of the toilet, observing Dorothea’s carful movements. You weren’t going all out like she did. You had a black dress that you liked and cheap fake blood you found on a trip to the supermarket – this hectic year you had no time to prepare.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just…” She turned around, her emerald irises glistening. “You are totally at his mercy.”

“I’m not”, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I thought I taught you well. But I guess that’s what happens when your first love strikes you…” She took the brightest shadow of red lipstick she could find in her purse and began applying it.

“That’s totally wrong!”, you protested, putting your phone a way to prove your point.

However, Dorothea was painfully right, as always. You had developed a soft spot for a certain redhead. In fact, you’d dare to say you hadn’t felt anything this intense for him before.

Had it been any other person, it wouldn’t be a problem. But it was Sylvain. The root of all evil. You didn’t trust him at all. Wasn’t it very suspicious that he all of a sudden was paying you attention? He might just want to hook up a couple of times and then disappear, because he had just ended his available catalogue of other women. Was he really like that? You’ve certainly seen him act like that. You’d better stay away from him. But what you felt around him had you addicted.

“So now you are telling me that if tonight he gets you cornered in a room at Hilda’s…” Dorothea lowered her voice, a husky whisper, to avoid the other girls from hearing her. “If he presses his – rather hot, not going to lie here – body against you and leans in all bothered… and then kisses you… you are going to say no. And then remain friends.”

“Yes!”, you lied with all the dignity you could muster.

“I don’t believe you!”, she shouted. In between laughs you threw at her a roll of toilet paper that moved her fake horns. “Stop! Don’t ruin my look, I’m almost finished.”

Dorothea faced you and fixed her cleavage. She was wearing a tight-fitting red dress made out of a velvet-like material, along with headband topped with red horns and a fake tail. The only thing she was missing was a trident.

“You make a good demon”, you commented, tilting your head.

“I’m a succubus. It’s not the same”, she pointed out.

“Of course.”

“Wait, what are you going to wear?”, she stepped closer to you. She inspected you from top to the bottom.

“This”, you stood up and gestured your own black dress with both hands.

“What?” She crossed her arms. “You need a costume!”

“I’m going to put on some fake blood too”, you answered. “I didn’t have time to prepare something else.”

“I’m already seeing the disappointment in Sylvain’s eyes.” She shook her head and tried to reach the doorknob. Then it hit you that you had been meaning to tell her something entirely different.

“Wait, Dorothea.”

“Yes?”, she seemed confused.

“I’ve been having nightmares lately. A lot of them.”

“About what?” Her tone was serious.

“It’s kind of weird.” You scratched your head. It was hard to put together all the scenes that appeared out of thin air at night. “The atmosphere is… like those movies Ingrid watches. But the characters are us. And there’s a war going on. There’s blood, death… I see everyone dying. And I dream that… someone with a speak goes right through my chest and I wake up with this unsettling pain where it hit.” You pointed the exact area.

“That’s worrying… Maybe you’ll have to see Manuela in the clinic.” She looked in deep thought. “Could it be the pressure from university?”

“Perhaps…”

You both went out of the bathroom to meet the other girls. Dorothea was watching you with the corner of her eye, and you feared that you might have worried her over nothing.  

“Dorothea, you are breathtaking!”, said Mercedes as she saw her.

“Thank you”, the brunette smiled. “You are not so bad yourself as a …nun?”

“I love this costume! It always scares all the kids”, she laughed. And you wouldn’t have expected less of the queen of ghost stories.

The sight of her was unsettling. There was dark paint all over under her eyes and her lips that formed a stark contrast with the white base underneath. On the other hand, Ingrid was dressed as a knight, as she did every year. No surprises there. She looked ready to go jousting in any moment. Annette was dressed in a black outfit, completed by car ears and whiskers.

“I love Halloween!”, Mercedes exclaimed. “It’s my favourite holiday. Should we try an Ouija board session?”

“No way”, said Annette with wide eyes.

“I’ll pass too”, added Dorothea.

“What a shame. I’m going to get a glass of water,” Mercedes announced. She then said your name. “Care to join me?”

“Sure.”

You could hear the muffled sound of the conversation in the living room from the kitchen. Your hand reached for a glass in the cabinet. You filled it with water and offered it to Mercedes. She politely muttered a thank you, and drunk it slowly, not taking her eyes off you.

“I wanted to talk to you about something”, she paused, prudent as always, waiting for your response.

“What about?” You leant against the counter.

“It’s about Sylvain.”

The fact was not unforeseen at all. However, the fact that it was Mercedes carrying the message was unusual. You hadn’t seen her step in anyone’s affairs, so it must be serious. You gulped.

“I’m all ears.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. He hates women.” You remained silent, waiting for her explanation. “I’m her friend, and I’ve been for a long time. And I’ve had a lot of conversations with him… When a woman shows any interest in him, he thinks they’re after his family’s fortune, that they just want to brag of their relationship.”

“And what should I do with that information?” You said sceptically. You already knew all of that – you weren’t blind – but you didn’t see where she was going.

“I think you should be aware in case you are pursuing a romantic relationship with him.” She breathed in deeply. “I’m not saying he’s a bad person – I don’t think he is –, but he isn’t precisely nice when it comes to his girlfriends. Apparently he hasn’t always been like this… There were a few girls who took advantage of him, confirmed his fears, and now he feels entitled to use people as he wants. He can be the worst. And I’m afraid your feelings are pretty serious.”

“I’m not-”

“I don’t want him to break your heart. Even if you are made for each other, even if he seems completely in love with you, be careful. Anything can happen, because people who have been hurt often hurt others too.” She diverted her gaze.

“Are you telling me that I should just forget him?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, I just can give you my point of view. I don’t think he’s incapable of love… When he talks about you, he’s all happy and true. I’d never seen him like that. But I’ve also seen so many girls that tried to change him and failed…”  

“That’s… hard to process,” you replied as you let out a nervous giggle. “But I think I can’t just move on.”

“Whatever you do, I’ll be here, okay?” Mercedes touched your shoulder lightly. “Let’s head back.”

 The sky was dark and the moon was full. Your group walked down the main street to go to Hilda’s home, which was the closest to the campus. Her parents weren’t home, so she and Holst thought it would be a great idea to throw a party. None complained. Almost everyone you knew in high school was invited.

You weren’t exactly nervous. But Sylvain was going to be there and, even though there was some excitement within you, your mind was too busy second-guessing yourself and arousing doubt.

“What did Mercedes say?”, Dorothea whispered when the other three girls were distracted. She was always on the lookout for some gossip, just like Claude.

“She just wanted to warn me about the fact that Sylvain hates women,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well, it’s not untrue.” She smiled. “I’m sure she had good intentions.”

“I know, Dorothea. But it only makes me feel worse hearing it from the only person who had ever defended him.”

“Did it change anything though?” She placed her hand on your back Sympathetically.

“That’s the problem, it didn’t.”

“My poor baby.” She caressed your arm. “You look tired.”

“It must be the nightmares”, you concluded. “I couldn’t sleep that much yesterday.”

“Have fun today, will you? Everything will turn out fun if you do what your heart tells you.”

“That’s unexpectedly non-cynical coming from you”, you remarked, a smirk forming.

“Shush. You love me.” You hummed in agreement.

“Dorothea?”, Annette called her, turning around to locate her. “Where is Petra?”

“I still haven’t met her!”, exclaimed Ingrid.

“She must be already there! She went with Edelgard and Hubert,” answered Dorothea. “At first I wanted her to spend more time with other people but now I’m starting to miss the first few weeks when we were always together!”

As you arrived, Hilda opened the door. Her long, pink hair was tied back in a pony tail. She wore a white, lacy dress, and despite the beautiful eyeliner, she was kind of blue and had scars drawn all over her. You guessed she was a zombie bride. She had that sweet and satisfied smile of hers and a beer can on one of her delicate hands.

“Welcome, welcome! Come in! There’s a lot of people who will come later but we’ve already started. Ah, Petra’s waiting for you, Dorothea,” she said as she let you in the house.

“I’ll find her,” she said as she disappeared into the luxurious house. “Thanks!”

Mercedes, Anette and Ingrid entered too. Hilda was waiting for you, the last on line, on the doorframe. She winked at you.

“And you… Sylvain is coming in half an hour…”, she coyly remarked. “He’s coming with Felix, Dimitri and their brothers.”

“And that’s important because…?”, you played dumb.

“Not my business. Claude said that I should let you know”, she smirked. “Come in, let’s have a drink.”

 Hilda hadn’t lied. The music was roaring, and all the rooms were filled with people occupying themselves in the entailments of a party. Right after you greeted everyone, when you were the tiniest bit tipsy, you saw Sylvain arrive, along with Dimitri and Felix. He commented something to his brother, Miklan, who went away with Glenn, leaving the trio alone. Sylvain’s brother looked angry and aggressive – the opposite of the atmosphere of the place, and you had a bad feeling about him. He was known for causing trouble, but you hoped Glenn and Holst could keep him at bay.

Felix and Dimitri weren’t wearing anything remarkable. Dimitri, a white shirt on his torso and a plastic sword on hand, took advantage of his eyepatch to look like a pirate, while Felix had a scary-looking mask on. Quite the opposite was their redhead friend. He was wearing a cliché vampire costume, cloak and fangs included. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway. It was totally in character for Sylvain.

“Admiring the prey?”, Claude’s voice resonated on you back, startling you.

“Claude, are you a furry?”, you laughed as you saw him.

“I’m the big bad wolf!”, he deadpanned. “You forgot to say hi to your sweetheart, by the way.” He whispered, then yelled. “Hey, Sylvain!”

“Claude!” Sylvain waved him. However, when his eyes met your form, he turned serious. He acknowledged you with a nod. You wanted to approach him, but you were unsettled.

Right before you could do anything else, the Almyran grabbed your arm and muttered a ‘let’s go’. Both of you disappeared into a corridor filled with portraits of Hilda’s family members that led to the kitchen. Right before going into your destination, you stopped.

“What are you doing?”, you asked.

“We’re going to play never have I ever with Hilda in the kitchen”, he smiled.

“What’s with all the rush? She’s not going anywhere, it’s her house.” You withdrew from him. “Besides, I thought you wanted me to greet Sylvain.”

“We’re setting the trap, don’t worry,” he winked. “Sylvain’s going to fall onto your arms tonight.”

“No, no, no”, you stated. Mercedes’ words resonated in your head, which further entangled all your thoughts about anything related to Sylvain. “No romance today. It’s a bad idea,” you said unconvinced.

“I think you are not telling everything to me, but it’s happening. I have a sixth sense for that.” You grimaced. “Don’t believe me? Then let’s bet! If by 2 a.m. you have kissed him, you’ll give me your dessert for three weeks.”

“And if I win?” It seemed easy, right? Just stay away from Sylvain all night, and there wouldn’t be any trouble.

“I’ll take you on a date”, he affirmed without hesitation. It shocked you that he wanted a date.

“It seems like a win-win for you.”

“I’ll also give you my dessert, okay?” he sighed.

“Seems fair, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Are you sure about that?” He smiled mysteriously, went into the kitchen and, being the natural at social gatherings he was, took a shot glass and filled it to the brim.

There were a lot of Hilda and Claude’s classmates partaking in the game, while your other friends were scattered throughout the multiple rooms. Holst, dressed as the zombie groom to his little sister, popped in from time to time to either get more booze or control the situation.

The hours passed by and you lost track of all the people you were interacting with, but everyone seemed very cheerful. There were a lot of sweets – it was Halloween after all – and pizza. You remembered that at some point you shared a conversation with Petra after those booze games, and she talked a lot about Brigid and how she missed it.

Another highlight was when you heard a ruckus about someone trying to contact spirits with a makeshift Ouija. You suspected it was Mercedes trying to scare anyone. And Hilda held a costume contest where the only judge was herself and the main price was helping her with her homework. Many people participated. There were films playing in the living room and techno music coming from upstairs. Petra and Dorothea were stuck together all the time, which was a little weird for you since your brunette friend used parties as a way to find a good catch. All in all, everyone seemed to be having fun.

Perched in the safety of a sofa with Claude and Dimitri – who, by the way, didn’t dare to speak with you out of shyness -, you were having a marathon of the worst gore-horror-sci-fi movies you could find. As time passed, you observed there were couples sneaking away, going to Sothis-know-where, and some of them came back dishevelled, others simply vanished.

You watched the clock. 1:56 a.m. No sight of Sylvain. You wanted with all your heart to look for him and talk because you hadn’t interacted with him yet. Maybe there was no harm in that. Claude had been following you like a lost puppy all night, so it had been easy to ignore the urge, but now… The youngest of the Gautier brothers had been talking to older girls, passing right next to where you were. You almost dared to say he was trying to make you jealous.

You stood up and went to another lounge where there was music. Incredibly, Felix was dancing with Anette. You guessed Sylvain could be there.

But then you stopped in your tracks. You spotted your prince charming. He was with a blonde girl who caressed his cheek with her fingers. He whispered something in her ear, she took his hand and led him outside.

Your heart flopped. That was it, wasn’t it? Game over.

Dorothea came out of the room and bumped into you.

“Did you know I haven’t seen Ingrid in like an hour? I think she left with Ashe and-”. She cut her sentence. “Are you okay?”, asked Dorothea, focusing her attention on you. Petra was behind her.

“Yes, why?”

“You look like you are about to cry,” the girl from Brigid said.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” you lied. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be back in a minute.”

“May I go with you?”, Claude, who had followed you, intervened.

“No, I’m fine”, you lied again. You were tired of lying. “Don’t worry.”

You went away and tried to navigate to the bathroom. Maybe you could spill some tears or at least splash some water on your face. You traversed the enormity of Hilda’s home, your mind a bit cloudy with the drink and the disappointment, yet overall you were sobered up. Keeping it together in a crowded place was a real challenge, more when you had to smile to the people you knew as you passed them by, but you managed just fine.

You bumped into some shoulders, did what you could to reach the white door at the what seemed the most remote corner of the hall.  

Once in the bathroom, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

What were you going to do? You were ready to go home. Or you could take what Dorothea once said literally and ask Claude to sneak away with you. Yet, you scratched that possibility right away. It wouldn’t be fair for any of you. If you just could have gotten into your head what Mercedes said and sticked to your original plan, you’d be fine, having the time of your life with your friends. Instead, your doomed heart yearned for him in a way you couldn’t undo.

There was a black hole in your stomach. It seemed that your desperation grew the further he was from you.

Why were you surprised? It was inevitable that it happened. Everyone said so, everyone thought so. Were you for real harbouring the empty hope that he would choose you? Or that he even wanted you? He was just being nice. It seemed clearer now.

As you sunk in your despair and confusion, the door of the bathroom opened.

“It’s occupied!”, you exclaimed. Still, the figured entered without any care and closed the door with a loud hit.

“You were taking too long.”

That rough voice… You turned around. It was Miklan. He wasn’t wearing any costume, and had the same expression than before. His eyes were cold, his stare calculated. His presence was eerie, turning on all your alarms.

“Miklan, get out.” You were still, as if treating a wild animal. “I need to use the toilet.”

“You know me?” He said very pleased with himself.

“We were in the same high-school,” you reminded him

“I see.” He smiled, and you got goosebumps. “I’ve observed you all night.”

“Why?”

“My bother hasn’t got his eyes off you. So, I took an interest in you.”

“If you haven’t notice, he’s gone away somewhere with a busty girl,” you passed him, trying to get out of there. “So, it’s quite useless to play now the dutiful older brother or-”

“You could have some fun with me instead.” He grabbed your arm. So that’s what he wanted. “I’m not an asshole like him.”

“You are acting like one right now.” You tried to force your arm free, but it was useless. “Let me go.”

“Why Sylvain and not me?”, he grunted. His breathing was becoming heavier as his irritation grew. “If it was him and not me, you’d gladly fuck me here.”

Suddenly, you remembered your last nightmare. It was about Miklan. He had turned into some kind of black monster before your eyes. It had horrified you, and everyone who was around you. Sylvain was next to you during that dream, trembling, as his brother’s features were consumed by darkness. The dream had felt so real. You woke up in panic, cold sweat, breathing with difficulty.

“Go away, Miklan”, you said with anger. He leant in.

“Or what?”

Then, out of instinct, you punched him in the face as hard as you could. As he covered his scarred nose, which was then bleeding, you run away from the bathroom.

“Bitch!”, he yelled.

You run a few meters before crashing into a solid body. He was talking to you, but you were focused on escaping. You assumed he was your Almyran shadow for the night.

“Claude, let’s go. Now.”

“Claude?” Oh shit. It was Sylvain’s voice. You turned around to see his confused features. Why did he look so sad for no apparent reason?

“Sylvain?”. You were disconcerted. Wasn’t he gone?

Thereupon, his brother appeared around the corner. He had blood smeared on his face and he was red with anger. You had done a good number on him. You felt safer, because you were surrounded by people.

“Go away, Sylvain. I’ve got some unfinished business with that whore”, he said as he came closer to both of you, slow like a predator. Sylvain pushed you behind him, but you could see the gleam of fear in his eyes. Miklan terrified him.

“Fuck you,” you retorted to Miklan.

“I swear if you did something, I’ll-” Began Sylvain, but thankfully he didn’t have to finish.

“Time to go away, buddy.”

You had never been gladder to see Glenn, the only human who had been able to control Miklan – or so it was said. Behind him, Holst and Balthus, a school drop-out you had only heard about, stood like two bodyguards.

Still, the older Gautier considering fighting them. You could almost hear his thoughts. But, in the last moment, he relaxed.

“Goodbye, losers”, he huffed, then made a beeline for the exit. “Not like I’m going to see any of you fuckers ever again.”

“Are you okay?”, Holst asked you, worried. “You have a red mark on your wrist. And your knuckles have blood.”

“I’m fine. It’s his.” You were so relieved.

“That was a really good punch! A piece of art on his face,” told you Balthus with pride. He seemed like a good guy, but way too violent for your taste. “Take that as a compliment from the King of Grappling!” You nodded politely.

“He’s going to a military school tomorrow. We thought he’d do the least harm if he felt…included. Not the case. If you need anything…” Glenn explained with a serious tone.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Can I speak to you in private?”, Sylvain got into the conversation.

“I’m fucking done with the Gautier brothers today, thank you.” You escaped from the men to look for the backyard to get some fresh air. Yet Sylvain, not giving up, chased you.

“I’m sorry”, he said. He was suffering too, but you chose to ignore that. “Really. Miklan just tries to take everything from me, so he must have thought-”

“That I was your girlfriend? That’s ridiculous.” You didn’t stop, your aim right in front of you. You didn’t see that his lips formed a straight line as soon as the words left your mouth.

“The thing is, he wanted to hurt you in order to hurt me.”

“That’s unfortunate then! Had he known you were out there fucking anyone that crossed your way, he would have left me alone!” You felt the cold breeze when you stepped out of the building. “I don’t understand why he didn’t bother any of your flings!”

“For your information, I wasn’t fucking anyone.” Sylvain closed the doors behind him. You moved to face him, since he didn’t seem to be going away any soon, so you’d better get everything out of your chest. It might do the job and reconcile your emotions.

“I don’t need to know, Sylvain. It’s your life, enjoy it as you want.” There was poison in your voice, but you couldn’t contain the raw emotions that controlled you.

“I want you to know! She was shitfaced and wouldn’t separate from me, so I called her a taxi.” He crossed his arms. “Why are you acting like that anyways? You and Claude seemed to be having too much fun to notice anything I did.”

“What are you talking about?”, you replied with indignation.

“All those touches and laughing. He does the same in class and you let him do whatever he wants. And then you come and text me as if you were interested in me! Do you kiss him when you’re alone?” He was approaching you, seeking the confrontation. You didn’t yield.

“You’ve lost it Sylvain.” You were so close, you were almost touching. Your faces were mere inches from each other. “I’m not the one who uses people as he wants and then leave them! Why are you so jealous? I’m just another girl in the count, you can easily replace me!”

“You have no idea what you are talking about!”, he shouted.

“Then explain it! Is it that fucking difficult?”

“It is! I’m trying to tell you, but you won’t listen! I could never replace you!”

At last, you surrendered to your heart.

You moved towards him and kissed him. It was like a weight lifted from your body. His lips were soft and warm, a hearth during winter. You clung onto his cheap costume, for you wanted to feel his warmth as close as you could.

It took him a few seconds to get back to his senses, but when he did, he turned the kiss into a fierce one, tainted with desperation. He placed one of his hands against the back of your neck, the other around your waist. You were perfectly anchored to him. His touch was exquisite, soft, as if you were a porcelain doll. You opened your mouth, caressed his with your tongue. You decided he was your favourite flavour, and that you’d never get tired of kissing him. He was experienced, determined, and knew what to do to turn you on beyond limit.

He lifted your body and pressed you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He muttered a blasphemy. The next thing you felt, was his tongue back in your mouth. He was desperate to try your taste, to satiate the hunger that had been consuming him. You moved your hips, just in the slightest manner, because nothing he did was enough.

“We should stop,” he said, your taste lingering on his lips.

“Why?”

“We’re drunk. We were arguing.” You giggled. He wished he could hear that sound every day of his life. You disentangled your members from him and placed your feet on the floor, although he didn’t let go your waist.

“Don’t mess with me anymore Sylvain. Be clear. Don’t lie to me,” you pleaded.

“Okay.” He closed his eyes. “I tried to have sex with that girl before.”

“Oh”

“I was jealous of Claude. But I swear I didn’t do anything in the end.” His light brown eyes opened and gazed you sincerely.  “I called a taxi for her, I didn’t lie.”

“What happened?” You asked softly.

“I was thinking about you. As I was crossing the door, I regretted everything and… Well, I put her in the car and went in again.” He sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You got me right here and now,” you reminded him.

“I don’t want to spoil this like I almost did.”

“You won’t spoil anything if you tell me the truth.” You sounded calm, but you were a wreck on the inside. “I can stand it if it’s just a one-night stand. Just… don’t lie to me. Tell me what I am to you.”

“Please, believe in me. Please.” You could hear now how he slurred his syllables. He was right, neither of you were in the best condition to do anything.

“Why do you think I will?”

“Because you’re here with me right now. No one else has ever believed in me. Not even myself.” You caressed his cheek.

“Sylvain…”

“I promise you I will explain everything tomorrow. My intentions, my behaviour… I’m just asking that you believe all that I say and don’t give up on me.” He stared at you, waiting patiently for your answer.

“Okay, Sylvain. I promise.”

[andromeda1023]

Pic:

On the left, what Rubin expected to see: stars orbiting the outskirts of a galaxy moving slower than those near the center. On the right, what was observed: the stars on the outside moving at the same speed as the center.

Dark matter holds our universe together. No one knows what it is.

If you go outside on a dark night, in the darkest places on Earth, you can see as many as 9,000 stars. They appear as tiny points of light, but they are massive infernos. And while these stars seem astonishingly numerous to our eyes, they represent just the tiniest fraction of all the stars in our galaxy, let alone the universe.

The beautiful challenge of stargazing is keeping this all in mind: Every small thing we see in the night sky is immense, but what’s even more immense is the unseen, the unknown.

I’ve been thinking about this feeling — the awesome, terrifying feeling of smallness, of the extreme contrast of the big and small — while reporting on one of the greatest mysteries in science for Unexplainable, a new Vox podcast pilot you can listen to below.

It turns out all the stars in all the galaxies, in all the universe, barely even begin to account for all the stuff of the universe. Most of the matter in the universe is actually unseeable, untouchable, and, to this day, undiscovered.

Scientists call this unexplained stuff “dark matter,” and they believe there’s five times more of it in the universe than normal matter — the stuff that makes up you and me, stars, planets, black holes, and everything we can see in the night sky or touch here on Earth. It’s strange even calling all that “normal” matter, because in the grand scheme of the cosmos, normal matter is the rare stuff. But to this day, no one knows what dark matter actually is.

“I think it gives you intellectual and kind of epistemic humility — that we are simultaneously, super insignificant, a tiny, tiny speck of the universe,” Priya Natarajan, a Yale physicist and dark matter expert, said on a recent phone call. “But on the other hand, we have brains in our skulls that are like these tiny, gelatinous cantaloupes, and we have figured all of this out.”

The story of dark matter is a reminder that whatever we know, whatever truth about the universe we have acquired as individuals or as a society, is insignificant compared to what we have not yet explained.

It’s also a reminder that, often, in order to discover something true, the first thing we need to do is account for what we don’t know.

This accounting of the unknown is not often a thing that’s celebrated in science. It doesn’t win Nobel Prizes. But, at least, we can know the size of our ignorance. And that’s a start.

But how does it end? Though physicists have been trying for decades to figure out what dark matter is, the detectors they built to find it have gone silent year after year. It makes some wonder: Have they been chasing a ghost? Dark matter might not be real. Instead, there could be something more deeply flawed in physicists’ understanding of gravity that would explain it away. Still, the search, fueled by faith in scientific observations, continues, despite the possibility that dark matter may never be found.  

To learn about dark matter is to grapple with, and embrace, the unknown.

Scientists are, to this day, searching for dark matter because they believe it is there to find. And they believe so largely because of Vera Rubin, an astronomer who died in 2016 at age 88.

Flash-forward to the late 1960s, and she’s at the Kitt Peak National Observatory near Tucson, Arizona, doing exactly what she did in that childhood bedroom: tracking the motion of stars.

This time, though, she has a cutting-edge telescope and is looking at stars in motion at the edge of the Andromeda Galaxy. Just 40 years prior, Edwin Hubble had determined, for the first time, that Andromeda was a galaxy outside of our own, and that galaxies outside our own even existed. With one observation, Hubble doubled the size of the known universe.

By 1960, scientists were still asking basic questions in the wake of this discovery. Like: How do galaxies move?

Rubin and her colleague Kent Ford were at the observatory doing this basic science, charting how stars are moving at the edge of Andromeda. “I guess I wanted to confirm Newton’s laws,” Rubin said in an archival interview with science historian David DeVorkin.

Per Newton’s equations, the stars in the galaxy ought to move like the planets in our solar system do. Mercury, the closest planet to the sun, orbits very quickly, propelled by the sun’s gravity to a speed of around 106,000 mph. Neptune, far from the sun, and less influenced by its gravity, moves much slower, at around 12,000 mph.

The same thing ought to happen in galaxies too: Stars near the dense, gravity-rich centers of galaxies ought to move faster than the stars along the edges.

But that wasn’t what Rubin and Ford observed. Instead, they saw that the stars along the edge of Andromeda were going the same speed as the stars in the interior. “I think it was kind of like a ‘what the fuck’ moment,” Yeager says. “It was just so different than what everyone had expected.”

The data pointed to an enormous problem: The stars couldn’t just be moving that fast on their own. At those speeds, the galaxy should be ripping itself apart like an accelerating merry-go-round with the brake turned off. To explain why this wasn’t happening, these stars needed some kind of extra gravity out there acting like an engine. There had to be a source of mass for all that extra gravity. (For a refresher: Physicists consider gravity to be a consequence of mass. The more mass in an area, the stronger the gravitational pull.)

The data suggested that there was a staggering amount of mass in the galaxy that astronomers simply couldn’t see. “As they’re looking out there, they just can’t seem to find any kind of evidence that it’s some normal type of matter,” Yeager says. It wasn’t black holes; it wasn’t dead stars. It was something else generating the gravity needed to both hold the galaxy together and propel those outer stars to such fast speeds.

“I mean, when you first see it, I think you’re afraid of being … you’re afraid of making a dumb mistake, you know, that there’s just some simple explanation,” Rubin later recounted. Other scientists might have immediately announced a dramatic conclusion based on this limited data. But not Rubin. She and her collaborators dug in and decided to do a systematic review of the star speeds in galaxies.

Rubin and Ford weren’t the first group to make an observation of stars moving fast at the edge of a galaxy. But what Rubin and her collaborators are famous for is verifying the finding across the universe. “She [studied] 20 galaxies, and then 40 and then 60, and they all show this bizarre behavior of stars out far in the galaxy, moving way, way too fast,” Yeager explains.

This is why people say Rubin ought to have won a Nobel Prize (the prizes are only awarded to living recipients, so she will never win one). She didn’t “discover” dark matter. But the data she collected over her career made it so the astronomy community had to reckon with the idea that most of the mass in the universe is unknown.

By 1985, Rubin was confident enough in her observations to declare something of an anti-eureka: announcing not a discovery, but a huge absence in our collective knowledge. “Nature has played a trick on astronomers,” she’s paraphrased as saying at an International Astronomical Union conference in 1985, “who thought we were studying the universe. We now know that we were studying only a small fraction of it.”

To this day, no one has “discovered” dark matter. But Rubin did something incredibly important: She told the scientific world about what they were missing.

In the decades since this anti-eureka, other scientists have been trying to fill in the void Rubin pointed to. Their work isn’t complete. But what they’ve been learning about dark matter is that it’s incredibly important to the very structure of our universe, and that it’s deeply, deeply weird.

Since Rubin’s WTF moment in the Arizona desert, more and more evidence has accumulated that dark matter is real, and weird, and accounts for most of the mass in the universe.

“Even though we can’t see it, we can still infer that dark matter is there,” Kathryn Zurek, a Caltech astrophysicist, explains. “Even if we couldn’t see the moon with our eyes, we would still know that it was there because it pulls the oceans in different directions — and it’s really very similar with dark matter.”

Scientists can’t see dark matter directly. But they can see its influence on the space and light around it. The biggest piece of indirect evidence: Dark matter, like all matter that accumulates in large quantities, has the ability to warp the very fabric of space.

“You can visualize dark matter as these lumps of matter that create little potholes in space-time,” Natarajan says. “All the matter in the universe is pockmarked with dark matter.”

When light falls into one of these potholes, it bends like light does in a lens. In this way, we can’t “see” dark matter, but we can “see” the distortions it produces in astronomers’ views of the cosmos. From this, we know dark matter forms a spherical cocoon around galaxies, lending them more mass, which allows their stars to move faster than what Newton’s laws would otherwise suggest.

Continue reading, pictures: https://www.vox.com/science-and-health/21537034/dark-matter-unexplainable-podcast

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (6/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 3.1k

Warning: none 

A/N: Sorry for the late post but it’s still Sunday so I made it 😎. As always, hope you enjoy!!

Part 5

Trudging down the silent street at a sedate pace, you swore that you had been walking in circles for the last hour and a half. Your steps echoed throughout the desolate road, the early morning sun kissing your skin lightly as it rose, filling up the empty skies above with its gentle glow of light. Wrapping your arms tightly around your frame, you reached the end of the block but were unsure what direction to take next.

If only you had charged your phone before going to sleep last night, you wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly right now.

You knew that Keanu would wake up soon, and you needed to come home before then. You had woken up at dawn and couldn’t go back to sleep, so you decided to go for a quick stroll outside. You didn’t expect to forget your way back, and the phone you had brought with you was useless now that it was dead. The last thing you wanted was Keanu to worry about your sudden disappearance. You didn’t want to add any more stress to the poor man.

Turning right, you were met with another long row of mansions, each one separated by large and gated yards. You had never seen such luxurious homes before, and you couldn’t help but feel out of place. The last apartment you rented back in New York had barely enough space for one person, let alone two. The ceilings were always leaking, and the paint on the walls was chipping off. It was certainly not worth the amount of money you were paying every month.

Now, you were much better off. Never would you have imagined living in such an upscale neighborhood. Though a week has passed since your discharge from the hospital, you still felt like you were stuck in a dream. Maybe one day, you would wake up in the same familiar bed at the house you grew up in and realize that this was nothing but a figment of your imagination.

You didn’t want that to be the case, however. You couldn’t imagine yourself returning to the dreary life you had left behind. You wanted this one— the one where you seemed to be the happiest you had ever been. The one with Keanu.

At the mere thought of him, you noticed the small smile instantly forming on your face. These last seven days showed you how greatly Keanu cared about you. There was no doubt that you were important to him, and he loved you very much. You could see the pain in his eyes every time you glanced his way, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. It broke your heart seeing him look at you as if you were the ghost of the woman he loved.

But despite all, Keanu was patient with you. He has done everything he could to make you feel comfortable around him and in your home. Truth be told, you found yourself being naturally drawn to Keanu, unafraid to put your guard down when it came to him unlike with others. You believed it was merely because you were attracted to him, but it had to be so much more.

Perhaps your heart remembered him while your mind couldn’t, and that was why you easily connected with Keanu.

“Y/N?”

You suddenly heard a voice calling out your name, and you turned your head to see a blonde lady jogging up to you from behind. She was around your age and beyond gorgeous. You were quick to take note of the recognition on her face as she stood there before you with a huge smile. 

“I’m so sorry but—”

“Oh, shoot, I forgot you don’t remember,” the woman shook her head, slightly frowning. “I’m Molly. My husband Will and I live a few doors down from you and Keanu. He told us that you were in an accident a couple of weeks ago, and you’re suffering from amnesia.”

“Umm, yeah,” you replied, nodding. “I think Keanu might have mentioned you two before.”

“I would hope so. We’re all good friends,” she chuckled. “But how are you doing? Is everything okay? This must be a lot for you to take in.”

“It is, but I’m managing. I’ve been home for a week now, trying to settle back into my normal life and hoping that it’ll somehow trigger my memories.”

Molly sighed softly. “Wow, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Five years of your life just gone all of a sudden? So much has happened during that time, and I was totally a different person back then. I don’t know how I can handle all of that.”

“It does feel like I’m starting over, but Keanu’s been amazing. He’s doing his best to help me recover what I’ve lost.”

“Well, I’m glad,” she added with a smile. “Both of you are strong and wonderful people. As far as I know, there hasn’t been a problem you guys were unable to overcome. I’m sure things will work out.”

“Thank you, Molly,” you returned. “Listen, I’m a bit lost right now, and I want to get home before Keanu wakes up since I didn’t tell him I was going out. Can you show me the way back?”

“Of course! Just to give you a heads up, it’s quite a walk. You surely did wander out far, and it’s a good thing I caught you on my run.”

Smiling, you walked alongside Molly as she started to share more about herself. You learned that she worked as a model, and her husband Will was a businessman who often went on motorcycle rides with Keanu. Based on first impressions, you liked Molly. She was delightful and easy-going. You found out the two of you had become close friends after moving into the neighborhood. She even helped you with getting the job that you currently have.

By the time you reached your house, you and Molly were cracking up over the stories she had told. She was definitely the type of friend you would love to have a drink with and guaranteed a fun time. You had even made plans to come over her house for a cup of tea soon and reintroduce you to the close circle of friends you were a part of.

“If you need anything, give me a call, alright?” Molly spoke as she lingered by the front yard. “I’m that friend you usually bothered late at night just to rant or ask for advice. I want you to understand that you can still do that. I’ll be happy to pick up the phone at two in the morning and listen to what you have to say.”

“Okay,” you responded softly. “Thanks again, Molly. I’ll keep in touch!”

You waved goodbye with one hand as you took your keys out of your pocket using the other. Turning around, you were about to insert the key into the lock when the door swung open without warning, revealing Keanu, who stood in front of you, his eyes showing pure relief.

“I was out for a walk and got lost—”

You weren’t able to finish your explanation when Keanu’s arms suddenly wrapped around you, pulling you close, and it caught you by surprise. He buried her face in your neck, feeling the warmth of his breath fluttering against your skin. You heard him sigh deeply when you wound your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with the soft hair at his nape. The seconds that passed felt like minutes as he cradled you, allowing him to find comfort in your touch.

When Keanu finally stepped back, releasing you, you glanced up to his weary face, your eyes locking with his in an instant. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. My phone died, and I couldn’t ask for directions since no one was out there yet.”

“It’s okay,” he assured, his gaze falling as he swallowed thickly before speaking. “I was scared that something happened to you. I tried knocking on your door this morning, and when I didn’t get an answer, I checked inside only to see you gone.”

“Hey,” you breathed out, placing a hand under his chin and tilting it upwards. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, Ke.”

You watched silently as Keanu grasped your hand and lifted it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your inner wrist. You could see him relax a little, the tension in his face easing away as a tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Stepping to the side, Keanu let you enter the house, shutting the door behind you close. “Next time, just leave a note. I was about to go out there and start a search party for you.”

“A note would have been smart,” you laughed. “I was up really early and didn’t want to disturb your sleep. Which reminds me, how did it go last night?”

“Slept like a baby,” Keanu answered, smiling. “I almost didn’t hear my alarm going off beside me.”

“That’s good,” you said, squeezing his hand.

For the past couple of nights, you and Keanu would start a movie in his room and cuddle in bed until he falls asleep. Somehow, spending that extra hour or two with him in the evening truly helped with his sleep. Once he was unconscious, you would slide out of his arms and tiptoe back to your room across the hall. There were times when you wondered what would happen if you didn’t leave, deciding to just stay there for the whole night. It was tempting, to say the least, but you still wanted to take things slow.

“How did you find your way back?” He questioned.

“I ran into Molly, or rather, she ran into me. Anyways, she introduced herself and later walked me home.”

“Molly?” Keanu repeated her name a bit reluctantly. “Uhh, it’s great that you got to meet her again.”

“Yup, she’s lovely. She also said it’s been a while since we went to dinner with her and Will. We should do that when everyone’s free.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stuttered, and you picked up the slight hesitation in his voice. “We should plan for one in the future.”

“I guess we’ll let them know,” you replied as a brief silence fell between the two of you, only breaking when Keanu spoke again.

“You have that neurologist appointment today,” he reminded you, and you had almost forgotten about it. “We should leave in an hour if we want to make it on time. It’s the middle of rush hour, and the traffic’s horrendous.”

“Oh, I’ll go shower and get ready, then.”

“No problem. You do that, and I’ll make us breakfast to take on the road.”

Grinning at you, Keanu then put a hand on one side of your face, slowly craning his head down. He was about to brush a kiss to your lips when he swiftly shifted away and planted on your cheek instead. You felt the heat rising to your face after realizing what he had almost done.

“Sorry, it’s a habit,” he apologized, his skin flushed with slight embarrassment.

Shaking your head, you flashed him a reassuring smile before leaning up and kissing his cheek. “No need to apologize, Ke.”

You ran your fingers through Keanu’s locks as you stood there for a few more moments, gazing into his deep brown eyes. There was still plenty to uncover about you and him, and as much as you wanted to know all of it right away, you needed to be patient like Keanu has been with you.

---

The neurologist appointment took up almost half of the day, and at some point, Keanu had taken a nap at the waiting room while the doctor ran tests on you. He could have dropped you off at the facility and gone home so that he wouldn’t be stuck doing nothing for hours, but he couldn’t bear leaving you alone. You had been quite nervous on the way there, afraid that they were going to find something wrong during the examination.

Fortunately, there was no need for you and Keanu to worry. The doctor assured that besides the amnesia, your brain was nearly healed from the trauma sustained from the crash. Despite seeming like an excellent sign of recovery, they still weren’t sure if or when your memories would return. Not wanting to give you any false hope, your doctor only instructed you to continue what you were doing— taking each day as it came.

As Keanu drove down the freeway with you in the passenger seat, he couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier that morning. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he looked everywhere in the house for you. He had tried calling you several times, only to reach your voicemail after every attempt. Immediately, he thought of the worse. He was led to believe that you remembered everything again and left him as a result.

Keanu couldn’t even describe the immense relief he experienced when he heard the sound of your voice coming from outside. He had almost lost his composure after opening the door and seeing you standing there. He had just enough self-control to stop himself from kissing you, opting to hold you in his arms instead.

God, he didn’t want to let you go. He could never let you go.

“I’m in the mood for some coffee,” you blurted out as you stared at the scenery passing by.

“Coffee can trigger migraines,” Keanu revealed with a small smile. “You haven’t had one in days, but I don’t think that means you can go back to drinking cups of it.”

“Fine,” you pouted, turning your head to the side to look at him. “I’m in the mood for some blueberry scones then. Can we stop by Starbucks?”

Keanu chuckled as he glanced at you, meeting your eyes. “I’ve got a better place in mind that sells the best blueberry scones.”

The café was a short ten-minute drive from where you were on the freeway, and luckily, Keanu found a parking spot right in front of the building.

“This is Emily’s,” he pointed as he shut off the car engine. “It’s where we met up for our first unofficial date.”

“It looks lovely,” you commented, a soft smile appearing on your lips.

“It’s our favorite coffee shop in all of LA,” Keanu revealed before clicking his seatbelt off and getting out of the car. Quickly, he dashed to your side of the vehicle and opened your door, extending a hand to help you out of your seat.

As the two of you entered the café, you were immediately greeted by the scent of freshly ground beans. The interior was warm and welcoming, decorated with string lights and chestnut-colored furniture. Vintage photographs were framed around the wall as faint jazz music played in the background, overlapping with the hushed chatters of customers and the whirring of the coffee machine.

After ordering your drinks and pastries, you and Keanu sat in one corner of the room, your knees almost touching underneath the table. The entire sight and sounds reminded him of the same exact moment that happened nearly five years ago. It felt as though he were reliving the morning he spent with you weeks after your initial meeting. He could vividly recall how nervous he was on that day since that was the first time in a while he was interested in someone.

“You’re right,” you giggled, brushing away the crumbs off your face. “These scones are fantastic, and I love their chamomile tea.”

“I told you it was the best,” Keanu grinned, taking a sip of his black coffee. “I found this gem while I was filming a movie years before we met.”

“Well, I think I found my new favorite coffee spot,” you said before emptying your cup with one last sip. “Speaking of, do you have any exciting projects lined up?”

“Actually, I don’t. I, uh, decided to take a year off.”

You raised a brow at him. “Oh, why? I thought you enjoyed working?”

“I do, but I just completed a film months ago, and I feel like I need a break.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with me, right?” You asked tentatively.

Keanu remained quiet as you stared at him. The truth was he did sign on for a movie shooting in late October but dropped out of it recently. Aside from that, he canceled other engagements in the upcoming months, wanting to put all of his time and focus on you.

It’s the least he could do after everything.

“Ke?” You uttered his name softly.

He released a heavy sigh. “I think it’s better if I stay home for now, you know? I want to be there to make sure that you’re doing okay.”

“You don’t have to stop your life for me, Keanu,” you stated. “I know how passionate you are about acting. We have to go back to our normal routine, and that includes you, too.”

“But I have Arch to keep me busy,” he countered. “I just don’t want to take a job where I have to be away for more than a week.”

“Why?”

Licking his lips, Keanu’s eyes then dropped to the ground. If only you knew the last time he was gone for so long. What the distance did to you and him…

“It’ll be difficult if I’m away,” he spoke honestly. “It took you a while to get used to me being gone all the time.”

“Well, it’s better if I start getting used to it now than later. Ke, I promise you that I’ll be fine. I know you want to take care of me, but I can handle myself. I want things to be as normal as they once were, no matter how challenging it was before.”

Keanu flickered his eyes up to yours, noticing the pleading look you gave him, and it was something he could never say no to. With a sigh, he nodded his head despite being unsure of his own response.

“Okay. I’ll see what my agent has,” he answered, smiling to convince you that he would.

“Good,” you replied. “We have to move on with our lives whether or not I get my memories back. I don’t want us to be stuck in the past when there’s an entire future ahead.”

Keanu hummed as he watched you happily take another bite out of your scone, letting your words sink in for a minute.

Once again, you were right, but was he ready to risk it all?

Part 7

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @fanficsrusz​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @awessomness​ @meetmeinthematinee​ @ringa-starr​ @ficsnroses​ @iworshipkeanureeves​

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Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Hanging by a Thread

I was thoroughly impressed by this episode.  Of course, I’ve been interested in Greek Mythology since I was a child, so I suppose that might have made me slightly biased.

The episode begins in what I’m guessing was Greece, though there’s nothing really concrete to conform that.  All we see are fields filled with grazing sheep.  Inside a cave shrine somewhere, we see three woman in white togas.  These woman are the Three Fates, who, according to Greek Mythology, are charged with controlling the lives of all mortals.  They do this by weaving the mortal’s thread of life, determining how long the thread will be and cutting the thread when it’s time for the mortal to die.  However, it appears that a group of demons, led by the Lord of the Stench (yes, that’s the title they went with), want to control the lives of mortals for their own purposes.  So they attempt to steal the Shears of Fate, which the Fates use to cut the thread of life. When the demons attack, the Fates send the Shears of Fate on a blind jump through time and space, thereby ensuring that it won’t fall into the hands of the demons.  Of course, the demons don’t give up that easily, and they begin to search through time for the Shears of Fate.  Throughout their search, they end up stealing random pairs of scissors at various points in history.  For instance, they appear in 1883 and steal the scissors that Grover Cleveland (who was Governor of New York at the time) was going to use to cut the ribbon during the opening ceremony for the Brooklyn Bridge.  (The demon also severs the cables on the Brooklyn Bridge, apparently resulting in its off-screen destruction.  So I’m guessing a lot of people died here.  Not sure why they included this bit as there doesn’t seem to be any historical record of the bridge actually collapsing.  While there was an incident a week after the official opening that resulted in the death of 12 people with over 35 more injured, that was the result of a grand-scale misunderstanding and panic that caused a stampede, not actual damage to the bridge itself.)  Another demon appears in 1752 to steal a pair of scissors from Benjamin Franklin, forcing him to use a key for his famous kite experiment instead.

The actual Shears of Fate end up reappearing in the 1980s, in Manhattan’s Garment District.  When the demons pop up to find the Shears of Fate and begin to steal any pair of scissors they find, they naturally catch the attention of the New Yorkers. So they immediately call in the Ghostbusters, who were currently having a little downtime with Ray testing his teammates with some sort of ghosts and demons flashcards.  (Is it odd that I want a copy of these flashcards?)  By the time the Ghostbusters arrive on the scene, the demons are everywhere.  They start off by firing their Proton Packs, but I guess there are too many of them because the demons are able to get the better of them, burying the Ghostbusters beneath a pile of random coats and such.  (Remember they’re in the Garment District.)  Still, the Lord of the Stench orders the demons to retreat and regroup, so the demons leave.  And the random civilians begin to thank and cheer for the Ghostbusters, believing they drove the demons away.  Amidst all of this, though, Ray notices that the hose connecting his Proton Pack to the Proton Thrower was loose and he makes a quick patch job by wrapping some sort of adhesive tape around the loose hose to hold in in place until he could properly repair it.  He ends up grabbing a pair of scissors that happened to be nearby to cut the tape and then pockets the scissors when he sees his teammates are leaving.  As the Ghostbusters drive off, we see the Three Fates were watching the scene from the shadows.  They are able to sense the Shears of Fate were there, but now they’re gone.  They announce that they must find the Shears of Fate soon, because if a mortal found them, then that mortal would be in great danger.

This declaration is driven home when the Ghostbusters return to the Firehouse, only to find the demons have all congregated there.  I guess the Lord of the Stench knew the Firehouse was their home base and decided to wait there in order to ambush them. Once again, the Ghostbusters face off against the demons, but like before, they seem to be outnumbered. Egon ends up suggesting they try the Seismic Ripple.  Not entirely sure what the Seismic Ripple is, but I’m guessing it’s a particularly strong setting on the Proton Packs.  The Seismic Ripple does seem to be effective, as the Proton Steams are now washing over the entire Firehouse.  (There’s no indication on how this is affecting Janine and Slimer, who I’m guessing are still inside.)  But Ray ends up getting blown backwards from the backlash of the Seismic Ripple.  As he falls, the scissors he’d pocketed earlier fall out.  When the scissors hit the ground, they instantly revert back into the Shears of Fate. (They were apparently under some sort of cloaking spell.)  When he sees them, the Lord of the Stench manages to swoop down and grabs the Shears of Fate.  After monologuing for a bit about his plans to use the Shears of Fate to enslave mankind, he and the other demons vanish.

After the demons leave with the Shears of Fate, the Three Fates appear before the Ghostbusters.  They explain to them why the Shears of Fate are so important and task them with getting the Shears back from the demons.  As the Three Fates put it, ‘since it is mortals who complicated this, it is you mortals who must resolve this.’  (The fact that they seem to be blaming the Ghostbusters for this seems a bit unfair, but whatever.)  The Three Fates announce that they can teleport the Ghostbusters into the Underworld. Once there, they have exactly one hour to retrieve the Shears of Fate and return back to the designated arrival spot to be transported back.  If they cannot complete their task within the time limit, they will be trapped in the Underworld for all eternity.  (Why is there always a time limit to these things, anyway?)

So the Ghostbusters are teleported into the Underworld, arriving in some sort of lobby area where the demon receptionist has fallen asleep while reading a book.  Egon programs his PKE meter to track down the Shears of Fate, and they set off. Eventually, they come to a river. Particularly the River Styx. Complete with Charon the ferryman, though the episode never directly names him.  Since they determine that the Shears of Fate are located on the other side of the River Styx, the Ghostbusters have to accept a ride across. Charon requests they pay the standard fee of 20 gold pieces.  Of course, the Ghostbusters don’t have any gold pieces.  Instead, they offer Charon what they do have- a lucky rabbit’s foot and a cheese sandwich.  Charon decides to accept the meager offerings and ferries them across the river, though he goes on a tirade about the sandwich being made with white bread instead of wheat or rye, as well as voicing a longing for things like pastrami and roast beef.  It does kinda make you feel bad for Charon.  He probably never gets a break from the ferryman job to go visit a decent sandwich shop.

After reaching the other side of the river, the Ghostbusters bid Charon goodbye and continue on their way, with Egon reminding them they only have 35 minutes left.  After they walk for a while, they reach the lair of the Lord of the Stench, just in time to see him about to use the Shears of Fate to cut their own threads of life, which would effectively kill them prematurely.  No explanation on how he obtained Egon, Ray, Winston and Peter’s threads in the first place, of course, but that’s to be expected.  Before the Lord of the Stench can cut the threads, the Ghostbusters fire their Proton Packs at the demon leader.  This not only stops him, but causes the Shears of Fate to fly out of his hand.  Winston manages to catch the Shears of Fate in a Ghost Trap, but they still have to escape the horde of angry demons and get back to the designated arrival spot in time.  As they run from the pursuing demons, Winston asks Egon how they’re doing on time.  Egon announces they only have a minute and a half left, but that the lobby should be just ahead.  But for once, Egon turns out to be wrong, as they’re actually on the wrong floor.  

For a moment, it seems like things are looking really bad for the Ghostbusters, as they couldn’t possibly make it down to the ground floor in time, particularly since they only have 12 seconds before the time limit is up.  And the demons are still coming for them.  But then Egon decides their one chance is to just jump over a nearby railing.  Because it’s a choice between that and waiting for the demons to catch up to them. So they jump over the railing.  (At least Egon and Ray jumps.  Egon pushes Peter and Winston over the side of the railing.) As they fall, they are transported back into the Mortal World, landing right in front of the Firehouse.

As the Ghostbusters get to their feet, the Three Fates once again appear before them.  Winston returns the Shears of Fate to them, and they vanish from sight.  (Without so much as a thank you!  So ungrateful!)  As they return to the Ecto-1 to drive it inside, Peter congratulates Egon on having the foresight to know that, by jumping over the railing, they’d reach the lower lever just as the time limit ran out.  However, Egon admits that he hadn’t known that would work and that he’d simply crossed his fingers and hoped for the best.  Peter, upon realizing that Egon had simply been making a wild gamble, faints.  And with that, the episode ends.

All things considered, I liked this episode.  Especially with the little nods to Greek Mythology. That in particular was enjoyable to me. Not just because of my long-time interest in the subject, but because it often reminded me of how Once Upon a Time, another show I deeply enjoyed, would tie in some elements of Greek Mythology into the show’s mythos.  Of course, while the story itself was good, the episode as a whole was far from perfect. For starters, the animation in this episode was quite poor in quality.  Not that The Real Ghostbusters normally has amazing animation, but this episode in particular seemed rather rough. Plus, the dialogue was a bit broken at times. There were moments where there would be noticeable pauses between the characters’ lines.  Take this part for instance:

Winston: The lord of evil?

Peter: (long pause)

Peter: Yeah, but I’ll bet he can’t dance to save his soul

I suppose this was done to maintain the standard episode length, but it resulted in quite a few moments when the characters would just be standing there, staring ahead blankly as if they forgot their lines.  It was really awkward.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

[soybeantree]

revenant

pairing: grimreaper!do kyungsoo x cemeteryworker!(reader) genre/warning: eventual fluff  word count: 2k+ description:  the surplus of spoopy ghost dramas as of late brought this little gem around. totally normal for a paranormal story in january, right?  a/n: january installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series. hana promises that there will be a part 2 because b if there ain’t imma flip. she loves the angsty cliff-hangers. i HATE them. - em

Your mother always said the benefits to living in a rich city were innumerable. That’s a bit strong of an adjective, but you can agree that there are many benefits. You have access to great shops and great food, top rated schools, and the city is beautiful. Every building, street, and sign look like they were plucked from some children’s book. The city officials take great pride in the city’s appearance. Too much pride though, which is why you’re waking up at 9:30 in the evening for your 10:00 shift at the cemetery. The cemetery is one of the city’s top tourist attractions. The above ground mausoleums, the grand tombstones dating back centuries, they draw in countless visitors each day. As such, the city officials expend great effort and money to maintain the grounds and keep the stone gleaming. However, since appearance is everything, the cemetery’s caretakers, aka you, your father, and your grandmother before him, must only work at night. After all, what tourist wants to see a sweaty, mud-begrimed worker pushing a cart around the cemetery?

Despite the ridiculousness of the arrangement, you enjoy working at night. Grabbing a beanie, you pull it over your ears as you head out. A thin fog is your only companion as you walk the short distance to the cemetery’s back entrance. The lack of tourist makes your work easier and more bearable. If you had to do double duty as caretaker and tour guide, many tourists would find a new home in a mausoleum. Another benefit is the hefty paycheck. The extra money though is due less to working at night and more to the fact that the cemetery is haunted. Heading towards your tool shed, which is cleverly disguised as a mausoleum, you pass several spirits. The newer ones acknowledge you with a nod while the older ones wander by lost to themselves. During your school days, your classmates gave you a wide berth. They held the ignorant opinion that spirits followed you to school. However at that point, they would have had to follow your dad home then attached themselves to you then follow you to school. None of which made any sense. Ghosts rarely travel far from their resting place. Explaining that to your schoolmates though was a waste of breath, so you stopped. The caretaker position became yours by default. You went away for a few years after college, but real world jobs are too boring. When you came back, the city council all but kissed your feet. The slew of caretakers who came in after your father retired had lasted only days at a time. The cemetery was a mess. The city council was at its wits end. You could have asked for anything. In the end, you settled for the fat paycheck and complete autonomy. Pulling out your cart, you begin your work. The fog slips through the cemetery obscuring the paths and adding to the whole eerie haunted vibe. Your feet know the pathways, and you hum to yourself as you walk. On today’s “to do” list, you have polishing the mausoleums by the eastern entrance. Some city council dweeb had complained that they looked weathered and dingy. You wish he had said it to your face rather than hide behind an email, but he was probably too chicken-livered to step foot within the cemetery. “Good evening, caretaker.” The singsong voice grates against your ears. You stop in front of the first marble facade and pull a rag and polish out of your cart. “What has fouled your mood? Receive another rejection from a suitor?” “I’d have to have a suitor to be rejected by one.” You grunt as you crouch down to start on the base of the first column. “True.” She giggles. The ghost hovers beside you, the hem of her ethereal gown brushing against your cheek. You sneeze. “What has soured your mood then?” Sighing, you stand and move to the top of the column. With a huff, she floats to your other side and folds her hands in front of her. She glances over her shoulder then back at you. “The cemetery is awful quiet tonight.” You skirt around her as you move onto the next column. Beside the few specters you passed when you arrived, you have yet to meet another of the cemetery’s occupants since beginning your work. “Have you no curiosity for the cemetery’s silence?” “I assume it’s because Mrs. King started on about her grandkids again.” “Indeed not.” She simpers, peering at you from the columns other side. You divert your attention to your task, scrubbing an obstinate stain. Clearing her throat, she continues. “Mr. Long in plot 112 has gone malevolent.” Your hand stills. In addition to the high pay and freedom from human interaction, there is a third benefit to working nights at the cemetery. Arguably the best benefit, and one of the main reasons you returned. Of all the days to roll out of bed and throw on clothes, it had to be today. Yesterday, you had showered and worn decent clothing, not the stained cargo pants and t-shirt which you pulled from your laundry basket. You groan and toss your rag into the cart, fighting the urge to kick one of the wheels. Your work boots would easily protect your toes, but you’d rather not give your companion the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her news affects you. She smiles smugly at you. “I’m sure a reaper will take care of Mr. Long. You might want to make yourself scarce. I’d hate for the reaper to see you and take you with Mr. Long.” “Surely, you know which reaper has come.” She floats through the column to hover beside you. Often during your life, you have wished for the ability to slap a ghost. Today, the wish twitches your fingers, but you keep your hand by your side. Only reapers can touch ghosts. Of course, you know which reaper has come. The cemetery has a single reaper assigned to maintain order. He was in charge even before your grandmother’s time. His name is or was Kyungsoo. All your grandmother and father would say about him was that he was the cemetery’s Reaper, and it was best to leave him to work in peace. Which would be easy, if you hadn’t developed a crush on him when you were four. “Mr. Long is the first malevolent spirit since you started, correct? Which would mean this is the first time Reaper Kyungsoo has made his appearance?” Her smile widens. “How many years have passed since last you saw him? Surely, you wish to renew your acquaintance.” “Surely, you wish to mind your own damn business.” You hiss. Of all the damn ghosts to witness the first time you met Kyungsoo, it would have to be this bitch. She chuckles, and you shake your head. Stupid. However, now there’s no point in pretending you don’t care. Leaving the cart and your responsibilities behind, you race across the cemetery to plot 112.

-

A malevolent spirit is frightening to anyone who hasn’t grown up around ghosts. The normally human-appearing spirit transforms into a towering demon. There’s a lot of ear-splitting screeching and gusts of wind which dig into the ground spraying rocks and dirt into the air, and an overwhelming sense of dread fills your chest and tugs at fear. However, growing up around ghosts, you learn when you should be afraid and when the malevolent spirit is just a pissy, windbag. Mr. Long is the later. Sitting on the tombstone of a spirit who long ago passed into the beyond, you watch the skirmish between spirit and reaper. Kyungsoo rushes forward scythe in hand. His black robes billow out behind him as he leaps forward. The scythe slices through Mr. Long as he passes him. A final screech peters to a whimper as Mr. Long returns to himself. Kyungsoo lands, spinning the moment his feet touch ground. He faces his opponent, his scythe posed behind him, ready for the next swing. Mr. Long stares forlornly at the reaper then at the mess he has made of his burial site. He whimpers again. The sound tugs at your heart strings. While you are the one who will have to put the area to rights, you sympathize for the spirit. He’s new to the cemetery, two years in the grave. You didn’t know him when he was alive, and you haven’t spent much time around him since he arrived. However, you know his grave marker cost less than two hundred and that he never has flowers placed on it. He stands beside it during the day, staring at the cemetery’s entrance. Kyungsoo relaxes his stance. His scythe disappears as he steps forward. From this distance, you fail to hear the exchange between reaper and spirit, but you can see the relief in Mr. Long’s shoulders. A reaper’s duty is to ferry the dead to their final resting place and protect the living from the dead. Kyungsoo will allow Mr. Long to remain in the world of the living and will not resort to drastic measures to protect the living. You’ve heard of reapers who decimate a malevolent spirit without a thought. Kyungsoo has never been like that. Even that first time you met him, he brought the spirit back to sanity. Back then, you had thought he was some kind of superhero. He appeared from nowhere and rescued you and the monster. The conversation ends, and Mr. Long disappears to wherever ghost go. You asked both you grandmother and father where ghosts go when they disappear from the living world. Both blustered without giving a satisfactory explanation. You assume they go rest in their graves. “You’ve returned.” The voice is soft like the footsteps which brought it near you. Glancing up, you find Kyungsoo standing a few feet from you. Your heart quickens and rises through your throat, blocking all words. So you nod. “I am happy to know your family will continue to oversee the cemetery. The caretakers after your father had no place here.” Your head bobs along as you force your heart back into your chest. “I guess not everyone is cut out to work with the dead.” He smiles, and your heart rises once again. You cough and look away. “Your father is well?” You nod, keeping your eyes on the rows of tombstones. “He retired to a beach somewhere.” In a whisper, you ask, “My grandmother?” “She passed beyond when she died. I saw her off well.” As you had thought, your grandmother wasn’t one to linger in the living world. She had done her work and been satisfied with her life. “I look forward to working with you.” His words nearly force your heart from your body. You choke on it, falling off your perch from the violence of your hacking. “Are you unwell?” He crouches before you ensuring you meet his gaze. “Fine.” You croak as you push yourself off the ground and put distance between you two. “I also look forward to working with you. Not that I hope you come a lot because malevolent spirits are bad, but also when you do come I won’t be mad.” Your words peter out, and you wish you could have choked again. Kyungsoo maintains the distance you set, his lips curving down into a pout as you rambled. “Thank you for helping Mr. Long. I’ll take extra care to check on him.” You swerve the conversation. His lips turn up into a soft smile. He glances behind him at plot 112. “He is a good man and will find peace if he allows himself.” When his attention returns to you, you can feel the charge in his eyes. A caretaker’s job is more than maintaining the cemetery’s appearance. The truest duty is held within the title. You must take care of the spirits and help them on their way. You nod. “Thank you.” He bows his head. “I must be going.” In the next instant, the space before you is empty. You remain staring at that space, a forgotten smile on your lips. “I am beginning to understand your lack of suitors.” Your smile sours. You really wish you could slap a ghost.

[feynites]

MZDS Ficlet

The Lan Clan is cursed.

 Not in the traditional sense, of course. That would be easier to deal with. Even something like a Hundred Holes curse could be countered; would have tangible things like a caster and motive and cause, and ways of preventing.

 The curse of Lan Wangji’s family is a more subtle, persistent kind.

 Love at first sight.

 It is not something that is advertised. When Lan Wangji was twelve, his brother explained it to him. Quietly, in hushed tones, with closed doors and shuttered windows. He knew the stories already, of course. The tale of their founder, a monk who fell deeply in love with his wife, only to pine away in obscurity after her death; their parents, bound by love but separated by past transgressions, weighing passion and honour and finding both intractable.

 Most people in the world fall in love gradually. Infatuation might strike swiftly, but affection invariably takes time. Passions can change. Fickle winds of the heart can shift. What seems like love at first glance can wash away in a year, in two, in ten. What seems like hatred can temper and cleanse itself and breed yearning instead. Love at first sight is rare, for most other people, most other families.

 Not so for theirs.

 The curse of their line is to know their hearts swiftly. Many members of their family do not fall in love at all. But those that do, do so immediately, and irrevocably.

 His brother tries to temper the explanation, of course. Lan Xichen is kind and always seeks the better part of situations, where possible.

 “I think it is simply that we know something of our destinies more clearly than most do,” he opines. “We love no one who is not bound to us by a strand of fate; so if we never meet that person, we never fall in love. But if we do meet them, we recognize them straight away.”

 It is a better take than most. But afterwards, Lan Wangji had found himself hoping that it would never happen to him. Or at least, so he told himself. It was not, as his uncle claimed, that such frivolities were a distraction. It was not even the tragedy of his parents’ marriage that worried him so, for he had rarely even conceived of his parents as a unit; having never seen them even in the same room before his mother was gone.

 No, what worried Lan Wangji was that he would be alone in his sentiments.

 Because Lan Clan might be cursed, but the rest of the world loves differently. What can he do, if his heart belongs to someone who does not return this feeling? How would it feel, to watch someone bound to him by fate fail to recognize it; to have them reject him, perhaps, or grow tired of him, while his own feelings are written in stone forever?

 To give someone he does not even know so much power over himself… it is a frightening curse indeed.

 So he hopes it will never come to fruition. Years go by. His brother’s heart does not stir. His uncle’s does not stir either. Things in Gusu are peaceful and quiet, and if there is loneliness in the solitude and the surety of his studies, it seems a small price to pay.

 Lan Wangji will not fall in love.

 Lan Wangji will escape the curse.

 Until the curse comes sneaking back into the Cloud Recesses after curfew, carrying two jars of Emperor’s Smile, and Lan Wangji sees a mischievous face. Beautiful, oddly gentle, even for all that the word ‘troublemaker’ seems written across its every feature. His heart thuds so loudly in his chest that he almost freezes in place, and he knows. Even if he does not want to. Such denial would only be foolish and pointless.

 He feels a tug. Like a fishing line around his heart, something he never knew was there, has finally caught hold and latched in.

 Almost, he flees.

 But then a cold, quiet outrage fills him instead. Directed towards this figure, to this boy - and it is a boy, he cannot be surprised at himself - who has dared to suddenly emerge from the darkness of possibility. Dashing all of his hopes, twisting the knife even because one look and Lan Wangji can tell that his every worst fear of this curse has come to roost. That his heart belongs to some fickle creature.

 That he will not win it back.

 I will not suffer this, he thinks, as he approaches. There will be a way to resolve this. To break that line, he insists to himself. He will find the way, and then he will free his entire clan from it.

 …Or else he will get this troublesome person in line and… go from there.

   ~

  The Lan Clan is cursed.

Lan Wangji sits in silence, in the aftermath of another failed round of Inquiry. His fingers are sore. The absence of answers is a deafening weight. His heart feels like a stone, and even though he played perfectly, and knows that he did, it is also irrefutable that he has failed.

 Wei Ying has fluttered away, and no skill of Lan Wangji’s can even tell him how, or where to. Even death should not have summoned him so completely away.

 His breaths grow heavy. His eyes slide shut. Just for a moment. Ragged frustration sinking out of him, along with despair, until his grip on his guqin is too tight.

 The instrument creaks.

 Lan Wangji lets go of it. He opens his eyes, and stares defiantly out at the opaque mountainside, where Wei Ying’s bell was recovered.

 Then he starts to play again.

  ~

  The Lan Clan is cursed.

 “Wei Ying… return to Gusu with me.”

 “Return to Gusu? I see. After all, your Gusu Lan Clan detests demonic cultivators like me.”

 “The visit is not for denouncing you…”

 “Then what for?! Make me cultivate my mind? Or destroy all my cultivation base? Who do you think you are?!”

 Lan Wangji is cursed.

 But it is a curse he can live with. Would live with gladly, now, if it meant he would be the only one to suffer any such things. If it could lift the black pall from Wei Ying’s features. He would take any number of curses, he realizes, would endure any number of blows, if it might mean that Wei Ying would not be…

 Would not be…

 Please, he thinks. Desperately. Wei Ying…

 Jiang Cheng moves forward, and like a door slamming shut, Lan Wangji knows it is too late. All the time he spent trying to run from this, and now Wei Ying does not trust him. Cannot believe him. Jiang Cheng’s heart is full of vengeance; the same vengeance that burns in Wei Ying’s eerie gaze. Resentful energy. They are united, as they shut him out.

 And once again, there is nothing Lan Wangji or all his lauded skills can do.

  ~

  The Lan Clan is cursed.

 “Great news! Wei Wuxian has died!”

 “The Yiling Patriarch has died? Who could have killed him?”

 “Who other than his shidi, Jiang Cheng, putting an end to his own relative for the greater good…”

 Lan Wangji thinks of a childhood spent sitting in front of a door that never opened. Of days spent playing Inquiries left unanswered. He thinks of a boy whose face he hated, because at first sight, he loved it.

 Wei Ying…

  ~

  The Lan Clan is cursed.

 So Lan Wangji knows, even before the song on the mountain is played. Though until then, what he feels most strongly is confusion. He knows where his heart lies. And it is not supposed to be in the hands of a youth he has never seen before; some scrawny, ill-treated figure with demonic energy at his fingertips, lurking in an estate full of vengeful ghosts.

 Confusion becomes suspicion.

 The string tugs at his heart. Something he has not felt for years. He does not flinch, but only because he feels to many things to know which he would even react to. Fear. Desire. Disbelief.

 Hope.

 As the notes of a song that only two souls in the world should know emerge from a rough-hewn flute, Lan Wangji’s feelings settle into awed acceptance.

 You…

 His course is set, now. He waits as Wei Ying backs into him, and closes a hand over his wrist. Wanting to stop him, to stop the warbling notes of the song that seems - for one irrational moment - as though it could betray him to more people than just Lan Wangji. More, though, he wants to stop the energy flowing from his body. It is not safe!

 But he has tried those words before. They never worked.

 He keeps hold of Wei Ying’s wrist. But does not stop him, as the other man’s gaze slips away, and he resumes his playing. Directing General Wen Ning elsewhere, before his breath finally runs out and he surrenders in defeat. Slumping, permitting the energy of his demonic cultivation to subside, until he is resigned in Lan Wangji’s grasp.

 The flare of zidian catches his gaze.

 Lan Wangji moves swiftly, strumming his guqin and repelling the assault. His gaze hardens. His stance turns resolute. He sees Jiang Cheng’s hard stare, the old and simmering resentment fierce in his gaze, at the realization of the same truth.

 It would not be suitable to swear.

 Fuck you, he thinks, resolutely, instead.

 Lan Wangji is cursed.

 Lan Wangji is blessed.

 This time, Wei Ying is coming back with him to Gusu.

[thelawyerthatwaspromised]

Hi! I'm a jonerys shipper but I find your theories very interesting. I wonder though, how will you feel about the show/Asoiaf if Political!Jon is debunked with season 8? Do you think it will change your opinion on Jon? And will you still ship Jonsa if he truly bent the knee because he is in love with Dany? I suppose I'm wondering how a post S8 Jonsa faction will look.

Hello! I really appreciate the question because it’s not a bad one: what if political!Jon isn’t a thing? First, I guess I’ll explain what I think has to be true for political!Jon to not be true.

Jon has to have total faith in Dany’s ruling ability; not just her capacity as a conqueror. Jon has to have thought it was acceptable to give away the Stark ancestral home without consulting anyone about it. Jon has to have actually been unable to lie to Cersei at the Dragonpit. Jon has to actually believe that the stuff he warned Dany about earlier in the season (about northerners not wanting to follow a southern ruler) is either not true anymore - or - at least not as important as the urgency to give away his crown before he could even talk to them about it.

All of these have terrible, terrible implications on Jon’s character.

Because it will mean a number of things…

1) It would mean that Jon really didn’t learn anything from Robb and Ned and their respective downfalls. That’s tragic in itself. When it comes to Robb, sure he made mistakes that cost him his life - but he was also way too young and thrust into a position he should never have been forced to undertake. The same is somewhat true for Jon, except he’s now been in leadership and he knows his family’s mistakes. 

I don’t want “aww shucks” stupid heroes. I don’t enjoy that type of storytelling. I don’t think it’s something I can suspend my disbelief while I’m watching if I actively think “he is a complete and total idiot” and he’s supposed to be un-ironically a hero of the story. Beyond that, I think that’s the opposite of the point of Jon’s arc, most especially in the books but also on the show. 

Robb and Ned are there to be cautionary tales for good people who are struggling with the intricacies of dangerous political games. Jon being as dopey as not learning anything from their decisions cheapens Robb’s story, it cheapens Ned’s story, and it makes Jon simply a lucky idiot if he somehow survives.

Jon is also taking a gigantic risk throwing all his eggs in Dany’s basket even if he thinks she’s the most wonderful person. He has no idea what she’s like as a ruler. He didn’t know anything about her other than she’s come to Westeros and has three dragons. He doesn’t know anything about her tenure in Essos - or that it concluded with her very responsibly have Daario Naharis overlooking the biggest political transition in thousands of years over there. No big deal.

In the best case scenario, Jon would have been detained on the island, been “asked” to bend the knee to Dany on multiple occasions, and agreed to go on a mission that he otherwise wouldn’t have gone on (since he asked Dany multiple times to come North without regard to Cersei’s intentions) and almost died on that mission only to have seen Dany take another big risk by flying her dragons up North to try to save him.

That’s not even close to enough information for Jon to know whether Dany is in any way a good ruler. Flying dragons and ruling are two different things. He took a huge gamble whether it’s political!Jon or not; but at least with political!Jon it was because he felt he HAD to do it to ensure her commitment. The alternative is Jon handing that over without any clue as to whether she can do the mundane things like administer land dispute decisions or responsibly manage the treasuries of Westeros. 

2)  It would mean that Jon governs and makes decisions based solely on his own emotional impulses which would really suck. It’s practically inexcusable for Jon to behave this way. It’s irresponsible as a ruler for him to just hand Dany power like he did at face value without talking to anyone from the North about it first. You could have made an argument to me that Jon could legitimately think Dany should rule the North and it might be a plausible explanation without making Jon a terrible rule IF Jon had actually waited until he returned North to tell the lords in person that he planned to give away the crown for her.

By not doing so, it tells me that either Jon is inconsiderate and impulsive enough to give away something as sacred as an entire country (on the macro) and his childhood home (on the micro level) - OR - there’s something else in play for why he felt it absolutely necessary to “bend the knee” with the timing as it occurred. If there’s some 3rd explanation that I haven’t thought of - I’d actually be willing to read it first before I decided whether it’s an idea willing to entertain.

I don’t talk politics thaaaat much on here, but the analogy really would be that, after being elected, Donald Trump literally believed he had the authority and moral high ground to hand his presidency over to Putin. Not only would everyone hate him, but he literally does not have the authority to act like that and would be removed from his position before it happened.

[to be clear Jon =/= Trump and Dany =/= Putin. It’s an analogy on political leaders behaving in another context. If you want, you can imagine the PM of Canada and the the King of Wakanda as substitutes behaving the same way.]

By going solo in that process - Jon almost guaranteed at the very least a gigantic amount of political turmoil in the North…but it’s something I think he’s aware of and has anticipated. If he hasn’t - he has no business ruling anything ever. 

There is no reasonable explanation for the timing of Jon bending the knee (before consulting with anyone in the North let alone his very own travel companion Davos) other than political!Jon and realizing the exact moment was right because Dany had just promised to help fight the Night King and Jon wanted to cement her commitment as much as he could.

3) It would mean that Jon genuinely valued everyone knowing openly that he planned to fight Cersei in the war after the Night King over actually getting the truce to allow them to fight the NK. If Jon did what he did at the Dragonpit - then he proved himself a liar when he said just before that “there is only one war that matters” because he immediately (again, in the absence of political!Jon) affirmed his position in the war for the Iron Throne at the expense of the war to save the Realm. 

Beyond the silliness of the idea that Jon Snow is incapable of lying to Cersei - it really is highlighted perfectly in Jon’s scene with Theon:

“You risked everything just to tell an enemy the truth.”

I mean…is telling the truth generally good? Yes.

Is telling the truth still good if….

SCENARIO: Bad Guy has their finger on the button to launch a nuclear weapon on a Sunday and they say, “oh wait, these nuclear codes were only good until Sunday and now it’s after midnight so it’s Monday!” 

Bad Guy is momentarily confused. “Or is it still Sunday? Say! You, Honest Fellow! If it’s really after 12:00 AM, I’ll have to leave here and try to grab more launch codes, is it really after midnight? I don’t have my watch.”

Honest Fellow: “I’d like to tell you it’s 12:04….but alas, I cannot. It is 11:58-…”

*KABOOM*

Well…you’d rightfully be displeased with Honest Fellow. But, then again, I think Jon Snow would hate this honest fellow as well. How stupid is that if it’s the same story we heard at face value? 

“I just can’t lie!” 

That’s irredeemably stupid. It KNOWINGLY put everyone at risk and actually is LUCKY that Cersei planned all along to accept a truce so she could have time to replenish her forces with the Golden Company. 

I’d recommend that the Honest Fellow version of Jon Snow climb up that 700 foot Wall he’s supposedly been working so hard to protect and fling himself off. They could call it Lord Commander’s Landing.

4) It would completely upend the part of Jon’s story where he has yearned to truly be a part of House Stark, his residual guilt about not being there to help Robb when the fighting began, and his close relationship with Sansa after their reunion. 

I could say plenty of shippy things about how the absence of political!Jon would completely ruin the relationship with Sansa that Jon’s built since they reunited but I don’t even have to go there. Simply as a close companion and trusted adviser and family member, Jon would have spat right in her face.

People seem to misinterpret Jon feeling like an outsider with the rest of the Starks with Jon never feeling welcome and never wanting to be a member of House Stark. The exact opposite is true. Jon’s detachment was due specifically to his wanting very much to be Jon Stark but feeling like it was an impossibility because of his birth. Jon loved the Starks. He wanted to be known as Ned’s son. He craved acceptance from Catelyn but never received it. It’s caused him to feel unworthy of that. 

When they found the direwolf pups, Jon wanted each Stark to have a wolf first. It was essentially a gift of the gods that Jon “heard” Ghost (who is famously silent) after his noble self-denial in favor of the trueborn Starks. 

Immediately after winning the BotB, Jon makes sure Sansa takes up residence in the Lord’s chambers. He didn’t do that because he doesn’t care. He cares very deeply. He wanted Sansa to know that she is House Stark’s true representative. He doesn’t feel like he deserves that, hence the sadness in his voice as he says “I’m not a Stark.” He reiterates that Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell. Being the Lord or Lady (as opposed to “acting” Lord or Lady) means that Sansa has hereditary rights over Winterfell - something they both fought like hell to re-take.

Now I’m supposed to believe that the guy who didn’t even want a simple puppy before the other Starks, who fought like hell to re-take Winterfell, who tried to desert the Night’s Watch once and arguably did a second time to fight for the Starks, who very intentionally placed Sansa as the head of House Stark rather than himself, who then passed to her specifically ruling authority over the North while he was away - THAT GUY - is now supposed to think it’s fine and necessary and RIGHT to give ruling authority and his crown over to a woman before she ever even stepped foot in the North.  (The Gift, which is the territory along the Wall is owned by the Night’s Watch independent of the North. Even if you count the top of Eastwatch as Dany stepping foot up there, she’s still not in the political North)

All of this, too, without ever talking to a single person about the decision beforehand. 

That’s a Jon Snow I cannot root for or reconcile with the rest of his story. In my mind, it’s character assassination.

It would make me wonder what the point was of Jon Snow even coming back from the dead.

Thank you for the ask. Hope this answers your question sufficiently. You’re welcome to ask more anytime. 

[perpetuallurkernazanin]

Toby Fox spoiled my novel-length fanfic’s ultimate plot twist (an “it happened to me” story???)

New content in the Switch release of Undertale last week contained a major revelation about a canon character… and confirmed a major headcanon / plot twist that I had been gradually foreshadowing in my WIP backstory fanfic for over two years and almost 100,000 words (and the fanfic is only about 2/3 done, so the twist wouldn’t have been revealed for like another year yet.)

For a week I’ve been caught between amazed elation and an undertone of exasperation. I feel like I need to make some public record now… as proof it happened this way??

(The fic is “The Problem of Bodies” by Mz_Mallow on AO3.)

Explanation / spoilers under the cut.

With the addition of the Mad Mew Mew battle, Toby Fox revealed that Mad Dummy is a trans woman, just like Mettaton is a trans man.

TBH when first planning The Problem of Bodies I was going to simply make Mad Dummy a grouchy uncle/aunt… It was my amazing fiancée & beta-reader who convinced me to write MD as sibling to Mettaton and Napstablook and as a trans girl.

So, as a record, here’s an account of the foreshadowing in The Problem of Bodies. (EDIT: I had forgotten one instance of foreshadowing when I first posted this... it’s item #3)

1) No pronouns used for Feisttablook in narrative voice. Other characters refer to Feist as they/them in dialogue, but the narrator avoids pronouns for the character altogether. Happstablook got no narrative pronouns either until he had a personal revelation of his gender at the end of Part 1, Chapter 7, the final line of which is, “Happy hovered at the sideline for a minute before yelling, loudly, deeply, a crow of pure joy; and he threw himself into the pile-up.”

2) Feist’s first experience wearing clothes in Part 1, Chapter 7, which is meant to be an echo of that classic narrative of the first time a trans femme person sees herself in feminine clothes. Feist’s overall love of fashion is drawn from original game canon, ie the dream of becoming a fashion mannequin recounted in the Mad Dummy boss battle.

3) The first line of Part 2 Ch. 4, when Feist is going to see Hark’s bodies for the first time: “Phasing through the floor into the room below, Feisttablook almost landed directly on top of a pink plush doll [...]“

And then halfway through that chapter, as the city ghosts are talking about their feelings re: becoming corporeal: “Feist felt dizzy as the lingering fear of rejection and ridicule dissipated. In some ways these stories were similar to what Feist felt… but somehow different, as well. It was that undefinable difference that left Feist reluctant to share more.“

4) Feist’s thoughts on first possessing the dummy body, in Part 2, Ch. 4: “Was the body perfect? Of course not. There were things Feist would have changed in the design — a more rounded head, more like the cute version of the everyman design used for smaller dolls; a lower center of gravity; curved mammalian-type lines — but it was so much better than having no body.”

5) The fact that Feist becomes pregnant in Part 3, but is unable to impregnate another ghost.

6) Feist’s experience of being pregnant in Part 3, Ch. 3: “The idea of pregnancy had been frightening — expecting restlessness, volatile moods, compulsively chasing away other ghosts — but instead, Feist had found a sense of deep calm, like making a new family this way wasn’t just life-affirming, but self-affirming. Finding new ways of expressing love, through courtship and now through expecting the child, felt intimate and important; like when Feist found clothes that fit just right.”

Contrast with Happy’s reaction to the suggestion that he might be or could become pregnant, from Part 2 Ch. 2: “Comprehension hit, and for a moment Happy was terrified that Staid saw something true, that there were strangers growing inside of him. (Not strangers, he would later correct himself, More of us, more of myself.) The beat of fear and repulsion he felt at the thought gave him reassurance: ghost pregnancy came from satisfaction and hope, not anxiety and doubt. He was all set for prophylactic cynicism.”

(These reactions are NOT intended as statements on how all men or all women feel, or are expected to, or are supposed to feel; the contrast is simply a part of fleshing out these two characters)

7) Feist’s thoughts on trying to find a new body in Part 3, Ch. 11, in which she longs for a feminine body the way Happy longs for a masculine body, but unlike him is not yet able to recognize her feelings as having to do with the way the body will be gendered: “A body. Not just a tool made for someone else and repurposed; a personal, personalized body. With personality. One that was strong and flexible and adaptable. One that expressed the soul inside instead of obscuring it. A body to fuse with. The dream grew and took on dimension and weight, as if the dream itself were becoming corporeal.

“What stood in the way of realizing this dream? The curiosity or censure of other ghosts? After all that had happened, Feist was beyond worrying about what other ghosts thought. The impossibility of the body itself? The dummy body wasn’t bad, it was just insufficient, lacking in some way… and that could be figured out, with a little room to experiment.”

Sooo… TPoB fic will proceed as it’s been planned from the beginning, moving forward to and through and beyond in-game events… Except that I never guessed that Alphys would have a life-sized plush Mew Mew Doll in her house (WTF, Alphys), and that it would be found by Mad Dummy / Feist… so that will be written in, when the plot eventually gets to that point.

I do have another major plot twist planned for Part 4 that is not in Undertale canon… and I know Toby Fox will not spoil this one, because (1) it’s based in originally existing game canon, and (2) it involves mature-rated thematic elements. Take THAT, Toby you marvelous troll. XD

[arcadenemesis]

How do you keep chasing your dreams when the person running beside you disappears from the race? 

Young defence attorney Takashi Shirogane finds himself alone after the senseless murder of the person dearest to him, and all of the absolute truths he once knew come crashing down around him. When the reason for his path is gone, will he be able to find something new? Is justice the true course, or will he require something more to take down a cold-blooded killer?

The Ace Attorney AU no one needs. This story is based around the events of Dual Destinies, adapted for Voltron. Knowledge of the game isn't necessary, but please be aware spoilers are abound.

Here is a clear example of me succumbing to exactly zero peer pressure and picking up a pen after seven years. Fic through the link and below the cut.

The sensation of phantom fingers was a deeply unsettling and new, alien feeling. A whole body experience that set his nerves afire and shifted his world into an awkward tilt he couldn't right. And yet, it still couldn't compare to the ghost that had settled deep into his chest exactly 3 days, 21 hours and 49 minutes ago. The adjustment to the loss of a limb would likely take years, they had warned him. The loss of Keith would take a lifetime.

"Shiro?"

Pidge's uncertain voice pulled him from his thoughts, forcing himself to look up to where he knew his junior partner would be watching him with concern knitted into her expression, too wary of all he had been through these last few days alone to be annoyed at whatever conversation he had dropped out of. He gave his best attempt at a reassuring smile. He thought it was at least mostly successful.

"Sorry Pidge. Miles away. What were you saying?"

Her gaze drifted uneasily to the IV bag strung up at his side, toying with the frames of her large, round glasses. Shiro was again reminded of how she had closed up when they first arrived at the Garrison Space Centre to examine the scene. The way she had frozen without explanation and ran off with a hasty explanation he had barely heard. His bracelet tightened on his wrist, but when he reached for it, he was met only with air. He corrected to grip the end of the amputated limb, fighting a wince when his collarbone twinged as he adjusted it in the awkward sling held tight to his ribcage. It didn’t escape Pidge’s notice, who eyed the bandage with a pained expression that was anything but subtle.

"It's just... I'm not sure you should be looking at these files right now. Your anaesthesia is probably still affecting you and the doctors said you should be resting."

"I'm fine."

Shiro wasn't sure whether her flinch came from his choice of words or the way he grit them out through his teeth. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed before trying again.

"I'm fine," he repeated, softly this time. "Keeping my mind on the investigation helps."

Pidge didn't look convinced, mouth opening to object. But in a moment of mercy, she seemed to think best of it. Better still, the little robot draped around her throat stayed silent too.

“It’s day two of Shay’s trial, right?” Best to move the conversation away from him, before she could probe into his feelings. Or worse, say his name. “Allura said you and Rover really turned things around with your emotional analysis of her testimony yesterday.”

Pidge flushed a little under his praise, but then she adjusted her glasses with a sigh. “Yeah, but if the boss hadn’t showed up when she did, we would have been toast. I thought I was ready for my first solo case, but…”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, “you held down the fort. That’s the important thing. Remember what Allura always tells us: A lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets.”

Her expression eased a little. “She was asking after you. Shay, I mean. When this is over, I think she’d really like to visit to say thank you and… and sorry too. If it wasn’t for what you did when that bomb went off—”

“What happened wasn’t her fault,” Shiro cut in again quickly, pain shooting down to invisible fingers at the memory.

It came back to him uninvited, pulsing in time with the burn. He remembered the sinking in his stomach when the PD’s bomb technician had interrupted testimony to declare the - quite literally - explosive evidence active and counting down. He remembered Shay’s scream as she was knocked down in the panic. The rush of bodies as he fought the flow of the evacuation of Courtroom 4. It had been instinct to run to her aide and shield her from the blast. Shiro was still yet to unpack the complicated mix of emotions over what had happened next. Bitterness, disbelief, grief… but not regret. Even knowing the price now, it was one he would gladly pay again to save an innocent person’s life.

He said nothing to Pidge of the fact that the last thing he wanted right now was more visitors, more offers of sympathy and pity. Get Well Soon cards and flowers were a bit hard to stomach when there wasn’t much to be done about growing back an arm.

“Tell her focusing on giving her best testimony so you can wrap this case up as quickly as possible is all I ask for. The sooner she’s free, the sooner we can return to Kei… to Kolivan’s case.”

Pidge, not quite catching the slip, nodded with a smile as Rover beeped in affirmation at her throat. “Just watch!” she grinned, stooping to shoulder her satchel. She re-tucked her green blouse into her slacks as she paused by the door. “We’ll be back before you know it. I’m going to get that Not Guilty verdict before lunch.”

Shiro chuckled, but the sound felt distorted and tight in his throat. “I don't doubt it. And hey, Pidge?”

The junior defence attorney paused at the doorway.

“Let me hear you say it.”

The hesitation was only fractional, but Shiro felt the full weight of it until Pidge forced her biggest smile, punching a fist into her palm.

“Pidge Gunderson is fine!”

By the tender age of eleven, Takashi Shirogane had become an expert in sneaking out. Having lived at the Children’s Home for a good portion of his memory, he had learned the habits of the matrons, which stairs squeaked on the way down and how to jimmy the back door just right to escape into the night. With his bed stuffed with his pillows and blankets draped properly, no one was ever the wiser to his nocturnal adventures. Which was why he was startled when he heard a soft sob at the edge of the garden on his way off-grounds.

Curious, he edged forward silently, peering over the garden wall. Just beyond, a small figure sat hunched in the dirt, rubbing furiously at their eyes, shoulders quaking violently as they tried to suppress their sounds in vain.

Shiro vaulted the wall, and red-rimmed violet eyes whipped over to him underneath a mop of black hair when his bare feet hit the ground. Shiro recognised him as the new kid who had arrived this afternoon. He wasn't surprised to see him crying. The very nature of his arrival meant that something terrible must have happened to him, as with all the children who entered the Home. Shiro had comforted countless others before him, reassuring them that the matrons were kind, the food was filling and beds comfortable. Most importantly, everyone always looked out for each other, no matter how long they stayed. But he was surprised to find him outside, after lights out. None of the other children ever made it past their bedroom doors without being caught and sent swiftly back to bed. The new kid must have been a natural in midnight stealth.

The small boy glared at him defiantly, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “What do you want?” he demanded wetly.

Shiro, having always been a kind child, simply offered a comforting smile. “I was going for a walk and I heard you crying. Can I sit with you?”

The other boy shrugged, sniffing loudly. Taking it as good an invitation as any, Shiro moved closer to plonk himself down to his side.

“My name's Takashi Shirogane. But everyone calls me Shiro,” he said without reservation. “What's your name?”

The boy looked at Shiro sideways, as if confused by his openness. “Keith… Kogane. Just Keith.”

“Nice to meet you Keith,” Shiro beamed brightly. “I don't know what happened, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but it's going to be fine. We all know how you feel right now, but it won't last forever.”

Keith looked up at him with those curiously coloured eyes, emphasised only more by the tears gathered in them. He seemed to assess Shiro for a moment again.

“My papa died last week,” he said quietly. “And mama… she disappeared years ago.”

He seemed to fold in on himself, hugging his arms. “I went to some foster family but I ran away. When they caught up with me they took me here.”

Shiro gave a sympathetic smile, shuffling a little closer to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder. The other boy’s spine stiffened at the touch and he looked to the hand and then Shiro’s face in surprise. But whatever he saw there must have soothed him, as he didn't pull away and his posture started to relax again. “I lost both my parents when I was a baby,” Shiro shared. “I don't remember what they look like and I don't have any photos. Just this bracelet my mother left behind.”  He lifted his wrist, shaking the large gold bangle there.  “It helps me tell when people are hiding something from me."

The other boy frowned, scrutinising the piece of jewellery closely. “I don’t believe you.”

“It does!” Shiro laughed, already familiar with the skepticism that came with his gift. “When people aren’t telling the truth, their body language changes. It’s like my bracelet gets tighter and all of a sudden I can see their nervous habits. Like when you said you ran away. You tapped your finger on your knee and looked off to the side—”

“I wasn’t lying,” Keith cut in quickly, too defensively. He must have known, because he suddenly looked crestfallen and buried his head against his knees. “I wasn’t…” He cut himself off with a muffled sniff, then smally, “don’t do that…”

Shiro suddenly felt guilty. “Hey, it’s okay. I had a foster dad before too. He said he would come back when it was safe to get me but…” He shrugged. “It’s not your fault it didn’t work out.” “But it's okay now. The past happened but there's a whole future full of opportunity. Even for a couple of kids like us.”

“How can you say that though?” Keith asked, raising his head and looking entirely unconvinced. “How can you know it's going to be alright in the end?”

“You just have to believe it!” Shiro said earnestly. “We're the ones in charge of our own destiny and no one can tell us otherwise. Whenever I start to forget, I just stand up and shout: ‘Takashi Shirogane is fine!’ You should try it.”

Keith looked around nervously. “I don't know… what if the matrons hear us out here?”

Shiro jumped to his feet, offering his hand to the other boy. “Trust me?”

Keith hesitated only to glance back at the Home, before grasping Shiro's hand, letting him tug him up to his feet to drag him down the pathway and through a large meadow under the moonlight.

It was only when they reached a little run-down shack on a hill that Shiro let go to place his hands on his knees, both boys out of puff.

“Don't worry, no one comes here,” Shiro reassured after he caught his breath. “We can climb up onto the roof and shout from there.”

Keith looked unsure, but followed nonetheless, accepting Shiro's hand again as he scrambled over the gutters. His eyes lit up at he looked down into the valley below. “Hey, is that the Garrison Space Centre down there?” he asked, pointing down to the distant structure, where a rocket stood in construction just off to its right.

Seeing the change in his mood, Shiro jumped onto the topic immediately. “Yep! Sometimes the Centre does a free info day and the Head Matron organises for us to get a tour from Kolivan himself.”

Keith's eyes were practically bugging out of his head. “The Kolivan? The first astronaut to complete a space walk beyond the moon's orbit?”

Shiro nodded enthusiastically. “You seem to know a lot about him already?”

“He's incredible,” Keith practically gushed. He turned his small face up to the night sky, galaxies winking in and out of existence above them. “I heard they're planning a mission to take new samples from the moon.” He reached up, as if trying to pluck the stars from the sky itself. “I wish I could go with them.”

Shiro looked up too, smiling. “You dream of going into space?”

“Mm!”

“My dream is to become a famous defence attorney.”

Keith turned to regard him curiously. “Why?”

“My foster dad was a lawyer. He used to say that his job meant protecting those who can’t protect themselves from injustice. That the law and the people in charge of it don’t always do the right thing. Being an attorney means taking care of some of the most vulnerable people in the world. I want to do that too - save innocent people from punishments they don’t deserve.”

“But what about if they are bad people? How can you tell if they whether they belong in jail or not?”

“I guess that’s where this comes in handy,” Shiro replied, shaking his adorned wrist again, laughing when Keith only scowled in response.

Shiro suddenly scrambled to his feet, offering his hand out again. “Okay, it’s time. Yell it out into the universe. Say ‘Keith Kogane is fine!’”

He could still sense the boy's uncertainty as he let himself be pulled up to stand. Well, okay, it had less to do with Shiro’s innate empathy; Keith had the subtlety of a brick to the face, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him like he had grown another head. And Shiro was capable taking a hint.

“Alright, I'll go first.”

He squared his shoulders, facing out to the Space Centre below, and took a deep breath. “Takashi Shirogane is fine!” He grinned, then turned to Keith. “Now your turn.”

The other boy still looked entirely unconvinced, but he copied nonetheless, steeling himself and cupping his hands around his mouth. He gave Shiro one last side glance before he drew breath.

“... Keith Kogane is fine!”

His voice cracked around the last word, but when he dropped his hands, he sported a ridiculous pout, as if trying very hard not to smile.

“Better, right?” Shiro beamed.

Keith looked down, attempting to hide the quirk to his lips. Shiro caught sight of it anyway, triumphant.

“Yeah… better…”

“Sir, I must advise strongly against this.”

The doctor’s mouth painted a thin, grim line, pen tapping at his clipboard.

“After such a traumatic injury, you should remain under our observation for at 8 days at a bare minimum. Even if we disregard your requirements for competent post-surgical care, there’s still your physical therapy and mental health management we need to oversee. There is an 83.7% chance that you will develop some form of post-traumatic stress disorder without early intervention.”

Shiro worked his bracelet onto his left wrist calmly, settling it in place with a quick shake of his hand. It hadn’t been quite as frustrating, nor as painful, as dressing himself back into his black vest and a new dress shirt, but the task of completing it one-handed had been challenging all the same. He tried not to focus on how foreign it felt there, instead turning his attention to the red jacket folded over the chair beside him.

“Do you intend to hold me for psychiatric assessment, Doctor Slav?” he asked clinically, not glancing up.

He heard the uncomfortable shuffling of feet.

“I think you’re aware already Mr. Shirogane that we have no legal grounds to do so based on our observations so far.”

“Then I would like my release form.” He stood, pulling the jacket to his chest in a tight grip. “I’m aware of the risks I run regarding infection and my physical recovery. But just as I told your nurses, I have no desire to sit here in this hospital longer than absolutely necessary.”

Slav was clearly frustrated, his brow pinching in poorly concealed displeasure.

“But it is necessary Mr Shirogane. Your body has been put through significant stress. Limb amputation is not a surgery you can simply brush off like this. There is a 26.1% chance of atrophy and a 39.8% chance of further ligament and tendon damage if you are reckless in your care. What’s more, Mr Kogane’s death—”

“The release form,” Shiro interrupted curtly between gritted teeth, fingers tightening around the jacket in his hand. “Now.”

The silent stand off lasted only a few moments before the doctor schooled his expression back to one of professional detachment, unclipping a piece of paper from his board.

“Very well. Please read the conditions and initial in each of the boxes. We will require your social security number and signature at the bottom of the second page. The nurse at the front desk will see to your prescription for antibiotics and pain management.”

Shiro draped the jacket around his shoulders before taking the form, pointedly ignoring the childish scrawl of his non-preferred hand as he signed off without reading through. Slav sighed heavily, but didn’t reprimand him.

“I’ll have this processed now,” he said as Shiro handed it back. “But Mr Shirogane,” he continued in sudden soft earnest, “if you have any problems at all, if something doesn’t feel right, come back here immediately so we can ensure your recovery isn’t compromised.”

Shiro swallowed down the tightness in his throat, giving a single nod. The doctor sighed again and swept from the room without another word. Shiro reached up to grip the shoulder of the jacket he wore, turning his face into the high collar and taking a deep breath. Lemongrass and motor oil. He closed his eyes. It was faint, but still there all the same.

“What do you mean? Why would I recognise it at all?”

Shiro could remember the tightening of his bracelet on his right arm when Pidge had spoken. The way she had reacted when they first saw the knife had struck Shiro as unusual. The two of them had seen their fair share of murder weapons together, and even if the blood on this one seemed to seep into him like a slow poison, there was no explanation for when she had stopped still to stare at it wide-eyed. Grief and other interfering emotions had long been pushed aside for the sake of the case, but the curiosity Shiro had felt then was genuine. The moment he had quizzed her about it, her tells had lit up immediately, his bracelet helping him focus in on the way she worried her lip between her teeth as she adjusted her glasses and the way her eyes flickered ever so slightly to the insignia on the blade.

She had been lying to him.

Shiro was still struggling to reconcile the reason. Pidge had never kept secrets from him before. They functioned well as a unit, honest and open with each other as partners during their investigations and as friends outside the cases. So why would that suddenly change? Shiro was almost positive that Pidge had recognised the strange purple insignia on the handle of the knife. Perhaps somewhere in her subconscious, a memory had tried to surface, blocked and eroded by the passage of time. Maybe she wasn't even certain whether the familiarity really rang true at all.

Or maybe it was something more sinister.

Shiro shook his head as if to banish the thought, bitter bile in the back of his throat. But the idea wouldn't leave him. What if Pidge knew the blade far more intimately? What if she had once held it in her hands? What if…

Shiro choked, rushing to the basin in the adjoining bathroom to expel his breakfast onto the porcelain. It wasn't possible. Pidge hadn't even known Keith. Not properly. But Shiro knew her and he trusted her. Or at least, he used to.

He heaved again at his doubt. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he gasped for his erratic breath, spitting into the sink.

‘In for 2… 3… 4… And out…’

He turned on the tap to rinse the basin and his mouth, splashing the cold water onto his face. Still hunched over, he looked up to the mirror, taking stock of the healing scar across the bridge of his nose, the dark circles under his eyes, and the patch of greying hair at his crown.

“Takashi Shirogane is fine,” he coached himself.

He felt anything but.

[escapist-experience]

Claudia Toman - Hexendreimaldrei

I read Hexendreimaldrei, the first part of the Olivia Kenning trilogy from Austrian author Claudia Toman as part of my German reading challenge. The book was published by the Diana Verlag in 2009 and is only available in German. I have very mixed feelings about the book. It was a weird ride where moments of fun and intriguing details alternated with shock over the sexist generalisations, annoyance over poorly solved plot difficulties and eye rolling over the clumsily used plot device characters. The story doesn’t work for me because I could not emotionally connect with the Olivia, or understand her motivation for half of the things she does in this book. The narration gives you coincidence upon coincidence to solve the plot problems. The lack of foreshadowing removes the fun part from the detective/investigation quest: the guessing and dissecting the text if an offhand remark contains a clue. Spoilers after the text break. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The things that I didn’t like (or annoyed me a lot): 1.The “this-all-was-just-a-dream” trope 2.The pop culture references that do not add value to the story. It already has a strong fairy tale and classic literary influence, heaping the pop culture references on top is an overkill and creates a cheapo gimmick-y effect. 3.The classic literary references work better, but I had the feeling they were just included randomly to fill the plot holes. It bothered me particularly in the last conflict scene with the main antagonist where Olivia defeats Lady Grey by citing from a Shakespeare play. 4.Explaining how a seemingly insurmountable problem can be easily solved by jumping back in time and explaining that a secondary character who is Olivia’s friend happens to be an expert in the field that is necessary to solve it. The readily available sodoku and literary expert friend? Randomly talking to the hotel receptionist who happens to be a Shakespeare specialist-slash-amateur-actor? Walking into the first esoteric shop and just telling a complete stranger something that a. sounds insane b. could get you in trouble with the organisation you are trying to infiltrate? Build these up first, often a few lines or comments in advance are enough. 5.The frequent jumps between the different timelines make the story difficult to follow. This is made even worse by the above-mentioned issue with jumping back in time to provide explanation that is needed in the present timeline. 6.The plot is based on the idea that a woman, on the wedding of the man she is love with makes a wish that surprisingly becomes true: the man is transformed into a frog. The fact that anyone in a such situation would wish exactly that is not plausible for me (Wish that he marries you instead? Wish that you are not in love with them?). I realise this is the “This is magic, silly!” moment where I should suspend my disbelief. I’m trying, I promise but it’s hard. 6. The protagonist is completely sure that the Pianist (or the Prince as the text often refers to him) is Mr Right for her based on the following three factors: • He has emerald green eyes • He composes and plays music that the heroine finds deeply touching • He is a foreigner and “frenchy” I find it alarming that Olivia becomes so quickly so obsessed with the Pianist because they barely speak a few words at all before she decides to marry him at the earliest possibility. I know this book is heavily influenced by different elements of the Princess and the Frog fairy tale but even so. At least give us a few scenes where we see them bonding. I can’t care about the relationship that is just built on a few sketch-like scenes from the Sex and the City and sweeping generalisations. It made me sad that Olivia went through so much pain to please the Pianist and it’s clear the aside from being physically attracted to him, she doesn’t have a good time in his company. She is constantly worried about her appearance. She even prepares topics and interesting things to tell him. This is not a romance book; Olivia and the Pianist prince don’t end up together. Yet, seducing and getting back (rescuing) him is the one and only motivation for Olivia in the entire story. 7.The ”Get a life already woman” syndrome. There is an entire chapter where Olivia doesn’t do anything else than waits for The Pianist to call. When does she work? Is there really nothing else in her life? There is a point where the narrator refers to being single as an “unfortunately fashionable thing lately”. Olivia is characterised as a stereotypical single woman who has a cat, a few female friends to order take out and sip prosecco with and who is desperate to find a partner. This is so sexist and limiting that I cannot even… Which brings me to the next two points. 8. The clumsy, whiny, self-deprecating to the point of self-abuse female lead is desperately (and irrevocably) in love with the mysterious and perfect male lead she spoke with twice when they exchanged like 10 words (Bella Swann syndrome). The clumsiness is used as device to advance the plot and get the male lead’s attention: Olivia falls over, knocks down, drops or loses things, gets drunk and is incapable to use simple tools and devices. The same incapable and helpless character doesn’t even break a sweat why infiltrating aa secret organisation of dangerous magicians. 9. Most characters are the caricatures of themselves: the coffeeshop owner, the hotel receptionist, Olivia’s both friends even the Pianist. They just embody a few generalisations (some of which are sexist and heteronormative) and any other characteristic that the plot needs. 10. Revealing one of the characters is a ghost by the ghost sending a letter to Olivia thus providing all the hints she needs to solve the last hurdle before the climax of the book. 11. Johnny Depp references. The book was published in 2009 so the author could not have known but it is still unpleasant. An additional reason why I’d leave out the contemporary references. They don’t tend to age well anyway. 12.Shakespeare statue / ghost. Each time it appeared it had different abilities: 1. triggered in the Leicester Park with the ring and by Olivia directly addressing him 2. telepathic communication between Olivia and the ghost (or ghost animated statue) 3. the statue just comes by on the Picadilly Circus to give a magic object to Olivia It irked me that it was just there to give you a Shakespeare quote and whatever else served the plot. 13.Every single time I thought the book cannot get any weirder it just did. To be honest this wasn’t always unpleasant. Like I said, I have very mixed feelings. There were a few golden (pun intended) moments and details that I liked (and a few I loved): 1.The idea of the Everycat and everything about the Everycat. 2.The boss-witch Hekate looks like Olivia’s older version. This is intriguing enough that I want to read the second part of the book just because of this (and the Everycat). 3.Hathor’s characterisation and unflappableness (totally a word, I looked it up). It would have been even more intriguing if she is not the Greatest Magician but some proxy of hers who will lead to her in, say, the next book? 4.I’d have liked to see Noel’s character in action. I mean magic action. I understand the authorial intent was to remove a mentor figure so Olivia could go her own way, but still. Now that he is outed as ghost I’m afraid we will never see him do anything exiting. And what did Shakespeare do to piss of the witches? 5.The Frog-prince-pianist was so whiny and mansplained and always assumed the worse. I’m not sure if that was the intent, but I found it hilarious. The frog-ness getting worse with time was also a good touch. 6.Witch rules: every witch must have a cat and witches cannot love. Both are interesting choices and have consequences in the worldbuilding that I’d like to know more about. How did Hathor get out of it? She used to be a witch but she is not a one anymore. How do you un-witch yourself? What if you are allergic to cats? 7.You can only find one golden ball in your life. It makes me wonder what will happen with the golden ball in the next books. It sounds like destiny or fate calling. How will Olivia end up being Hekate (is it her from the future?). 8.The reveal that Olivia is a witch (guessed it when she first looks into the mirror in Hathor’s shop) but it was still cool. I would have liked if her reaction to the news is explored more in detail, if the narrative shows if she thinks about it later. 9.The first scene is Olivia sitting on a toilet in a church. Quite an unusual choice and it was a good way of immediately setting the reader into the “head” of the character. All in all: I would recommend the book if you enjoyed the Bridget Jones books/ movies and the Da Vinci code. The narrative contains sexist elements and negative stereotypes of single women so if this is something that disturbs you, give it a pass. I will very likely read the remaining two books of the trilogy out of curiosity, but I would not re-read this book. Ideal present for: *That* aunt that always asks when you are going to get married.

[vermillionworks]

Applying Horror To Webcomics

Hello, I'm SarahN, author/artist of the vampire webcomic, DANIEL.

I also wrote the post on Writing Vampires quite a while ago. Honestly, I'm not sure if this one will be as good as that one for a couple of reasons... One is because I tend to have a hard time putting my thoughts on writing horror into words for some reason. That and I think because horror is such a broad genre, it's hard to suggest guidelines for it.

A few of my suggestions are based on opinion. So if you don't agree with me on some things, that's fine, I expect that, so there's no reason to message me with a rant about why I'm wrong about so and so. XD If you REALLY don't agree with something, then just ignore it and continue with your own plans.

Secondly, I also feel like I had a lot more "trial and error" experience with writing vampires than I have with horror in general. So yeah, I believe I have a BIT of knowledge on the subject but by no means consider myself an expert.

Nonetheless, trying this out anyway since people showed an interest in me doing this.

Sooo, click "Keep Reading" to see my rambles on the subject! (There’s some horror gifs in here and please excuse any typos.)

First, A Word About Jump Scares

For the most part, forget about trying to make your readers jump out of their seats and run away with a webcomic, that's near impossible to do unless your reader is VERY sensitive (and if they are that sensitive, they probably won't be sticking around anyway). Besides, there is more than one way to 'scare' people.

Your aim instead is to plant an idea in the readers' heads that leaves them unnerved and maybe, just maybe, make them lose a little sleep (not a guarantee, but nothing wrong with a momentary creep-out either XD).

If you're REALLY looking to use jump scares in a comic, then you might want to consider making a comic VIDEO instead, or going the Bongcheon-Dong Ghost route (IF YOU LOOK UP THIS COMIC, YOU WILL BE JUMP-SCARED) and learn to make some clever coding to 'possess' the reader's mouse to shoot downwards (thus 'animating' the comic) and have sound effects play in the background at the same time.

Otherwise most webcomic pages are static images that people see right when the page loads, so throwing people off with an unexpected sight is hard to do. However, if you don't have a need to publish your comic and you want to catch readers off guard with imagery a little, consider the vertical "webtoon" look that's big these days. It works well for horror, I think, though even that is not essential to apply good horror to webcomics.

Frankly, I find jump scares overrated in general anyway. Anyone can catch someone off guard; startle them. They're sometimes a good, momentary thrill, but don't usually have a long lasting impact like good atmosphere, slow building tension, and terrifying ideas can, and I find that is really what horror is about.

The Power Of Disturbing Imagery & Actions

These are kind of no-brainer suggestions, but here it is anyway.

There are LOTS of options with disturbing imagery and there is no better medium for it than webcomics. A person's body twisting unnaturally, monsters, possession, a walking sin against nature, mind fuckery, world distortion and any other horrible concepts your mind can come up with. The sky's the limit, especially if you go the supernatural route.

And then there’s the disturbing behavior and actions of characters, which can be scary enough at times and feel closer to home. Remember that this DOESN'T just mean a knife-happy psycho jumping right into the comic and causing havoc. It can mean behavior just off-kilter enough to leave the reader tense and uncomfortable that slowly gets worse and worse until the inevitable conclusion. Play on the fact that something is very obviously...off.

The same thing can work for dialogue; people really underestimate the power of words in horror. Dialogue can leave a knot in your gut, leave you nervous of a character's intent, or force you to use your imagination of what they're describing, which can often be even worse than seeing it.

Which brings me to the next subject....

Subtlety and Ambiguity Can Be Your Best Buds

To me, horror is often what you CAN'T see. Horror is not knowing exactly what's happening. Horror is not having a clear solution.

Giving the gist of it and dropping lots of hints is fine for the most part, but sometimes if you give a clear explanation that leaves no doubt in the reader's mind about what's happening, why it's happening, and what the protagonists need to do to escape/win/whatever, there is a lot less tension and uncertainty to be felt by the reader. These things are ideal for horror comics since that mystery can keep the reader invested and continually disturbed.

Horror doesn’t have to “explode in your face” either, consider more subtle creepiness to amp up the dread. Someone twitching and staring in the background might leave more impact than a brutal murder scene.

Even In Webcomics, Silence Is Golden

Consider more 'silent' moments with little or no dialogue or sound effects. Your comic may naturally have no sound, but you may be surprised how unnerving it can be to a reader when there's only images and nothing to read.

A silent monster can often be more scary than a gabby one, too.

Psychological Horror

....is IDEAL for webcomics. XD

Use Violence & Gore Wisely

First off, if all you want to do is a make a comic with an endless supply of blood & guts, that's fine, nothing wrong with that. It can work well in a more campy story or just for those who are entertained by constant, mindless violence...just don't expect it to REALLY scare people. Oh, they might get a kick out of it or at least be plenty grossed out, but that's it.

You see, gore fest comics/movies/whatever really are just for a certain audience. Some love it, others are repulsed by it and won't touch it with a ten foot pole, and some are only fine with it at select times.

If you want your violence to actually leave more impact and not make portion of your audience decide they're no longer interested because pointless, brutal violence is all that's happening, then you're going to have to think about how you use violence a little more deeply.

I do truly believe violence CAN be scary, but it must be used at the right time, and in the right way. You must really consider at what point would be the most disturbing for graphic violence to suddenly occur, and then sure, make that crap as brutal as possible. XD

Violence that shows everything in detail at a relatively slow pace can be particularly cringe-worthy at the right moment, or at least I personally find that more unnerving than just seeing someone fly apart in pieces out of nowhere or something, that can actually come off as unintentionally funny, or at least too abrupt to leave the reader traumatized.

Though even though I suggest not holding back with violence, also consider that way over the top, silly ways to kill people may be too unrealistic to cause fright (think being killed by over-elaborate traps, ridiculous weapons, or...death by hairdryer). This...MIGHT work on some people and definitely works for more campy horror, but if you're really trying to scare people, you might instead get, "Seriously?"

And as for anything in horror, use the imagery and angles to your advantage. Make the viewer feel what the poor victim is feeling - terror, pain and all. ;) I'll be going into this more with the next subject...

Unnerving 'Camera' Angles

Obviously there's no cameras involved in the process of a webcomic, but there should be an imaginary one in your mind's eye as you consider the scenes you make.

Dramatic shots and angles are just as important in comics as they are in film. In fact, to push the impact of a horrific scene, they're almost essential. Panels full of talking heads won't cut it if you're trying to give people goosebumps. If this is something you're not used to doing, then it's time to start experimenting!

Good use of perspective can really push your horror comic's atmosphere over the edge. Look at movies by Stanley Kubrick, Alfred Hitchcock, Stephen King-based movies, or any of your own personal favorite horror flicks (I could make more obscure suggestions but I won't here XP), comics, ect. Really consider the shots and angles and what moods they establish. You CAN use the same methods that are in film in webcomics while also taking advantage of the medium you're using by doing clever things with the panels and art.

Atmosphere

I think scary atmosphere can go beyond "very shadowy places". Sometimes the above mentioned use of perspective, and creepy characters that chew up the scenery, can create a disturbing atmosphere even in a bland or brightly colored world.

Not to say using darkness doesn't work VERY well, too. Definitely experiment with lighting and coloring for cool, spooky effects.

Beware Of Using 'Cartoony' Art Styles

OKAY, just my opinion, so take it with a grain of salt. If your greatest desire is to make a brutal comic with kawaii anime characters, then do it, but if you're aiming to make things really scary, I STRONGLY believe that by combining an adorable or extra cartoony style with graphic horror, the contrast makes them more hilarious than horrific, like unintentional dark comedy. Or even if it isn't funny it may still "soften the blow" considerably.

That's not to say manga-inspired or more unrealistic art can't work with horror (my art style certainly isn't realistic, I draw VERY over-exaggerated expressions), but I believe there needs to be at least a certain level of realism so the style doesn't clash with the feel you're trying to go for.

Is This Scaring YOU?

An important thing to remember is that if you're not creeping yourself with your story, then chances are your readers won't be creeped out either, don't assume your readers are more sensitive than you are. Plus it's just more boring to work on something that doesn't really bother you. XD Take those common horror formulas out of your mind for a minute and think about what truly disturbs you. Then again...

Don't Be Afraid of Cliches

As I also kind of said in my "Writing Vampires" article, tropes can be a good thing. Take the ones you love and brainstorm different ways to approach them.

Webcomics Burn Slowly

Remember that you're working with a webcomic that usually update a page at a time. Don't let readers make you feel pressured to jump to the point sooner, it could ruin the tension and destroy your original plans.

Take Inspiration But Don't Try To Be Another Horror Creator

It seems like, with horror in particular, people think they have to take one creator and do things exactly their way rather than taking inspiration from several sources and using what works for them.

You know who's great and is brought up a lot? Junji Ito. He's a manga artist who has made some very surreal, very creepy horror comics with great visuals...and tons of body horror. I have checked out a couple of his comics, but I have never attempted to create as he does. It's just not me. Oh, I've learned a couple of things from him, certainly, but trying to do things exactly as he does would bore me, and I wouldn't be able to match his style anyway.

Find many inspirations and work the way that’s best for you.

I will end on that note. GO GIVE THE HEEBIE-JEEBIES, WEBCOMICKERS!

[laceysbookishthoughts]

For my first post, I’ll start of with a book I read tonight, 6-16-19 from 8:00 pm to 9:30 pm.

Title: Slender Man

Author: Anonymous

Chapters: None/One Continuous Story

Book Length: 255 pages

Bought & Read on Nook Glowlight tablet from Barnes and Noble.

(no ones gonna read but i spent almost an HOUR writing this)

I just finished reading Slender Man by Anonymous. Rarely anything outside of Stephen King novels catches my attention in the horror genre, but this was a great read.

The format was exceptionally good, but that could be opinionated depending on how others like to see a good story written. It flowed smoothly between the main character’s (Matt Barker) journal entries, his conversations with a believer named Ryan via email, the detectives investigation interviews and emails, Matt’s voice recordings, and the towns (based in New York) news reports. Nothing in the moment gave away the ending (although it was predictable, it still had me anxiously guessing based on the journal entries and previous events) or any major event in the book. The unknowing suspense of the town and what they knew what the reader knew and I LOVED that. The only thing the reader is let in on was what was going on in Matt’s private life that was not revealed to the stories town’s public. The book focused on a female and male relationship without making it romantic and you could feel the emotion of fear and worry about they had about each other without making it mushy or in anything other than platonic. It was nice to see that it wasn’t a romantic heroine story, that the only thing that connected them to each other so deeply aside from being friends was fear and the plot (Slender Man).

This book reminded me of two horror influencers in today’s society: Stephen King, and the TV show Supernatural.

In Stephen King novels, you often aren’t left in suspense with whole events because he may switch POV’s or narrative writing on another character and the suspense you feel is that of another character finding out about something happening and how they will react, or an event taking place in a different location or area and how it will impact the rest of the story. It was great to get sucked in to the POV of the character and to not know what to expect with them. Another thing Mr. King often likes to explore is the idea of fantasy, trauma, the minds ability to make sense of things, what happens when a gray area of a black and white perspective is introduced, and of course, fear. King goes into specific details on every topic and this book reminds me of a preface he wrote in Pet Sematary where he tells about his own fears and their improbable resolutions (keeping your foot underneath the blanket so the monster under your bed can’t grab it, rendering you as safe) and why he likes to write about such gruesome and horrific things that put ourselves in a mindset of, “What would we do if this were actually our reality?”. Truth is, we can only imagine what we would do and since we don’t know, we like to read about our predictions in stories where they are real in a fictional world. Slender Man is a great example of King’s explanation and relates closer to my generation with the legend of Slender Man.

With Supernatural, there’s an early season episode where someone on a website (most likely a TV version of Creepypasta) created a haunted house story that went viral. People were believing in it so profoundly that it came to real life originally as the first written story (a perverted and sociopathic ghost), but as it became more wide spread and others wrote their own versions and fantasies of the legend, it was constantly changing, making it harder to determine what it was and how it could be defeated. This is incredibly relevant to the book, as I quote from an email between Matt and a person who reached out to him and said, “Some things that are fictions are also real. Stories can take on lives of their own. Things that are made up can still hurt you.” So, a great familiarity on this concept.

I always say a good book ending never leaves you satisfied. I was left wanting more while also getting answers to what happened at the finale. The frustration is real, as is my tendency to talk about fictional books and characters like they are real things that happened in the world.

10/10.

[anncaster]

Why “Carry Me To Safety” Cuts So Deep

I've been struggling to figure out why exactly the lyrics of "Carry Me To Safety" upset me so much. I've listened to the track somewhere around 30 times at this point, and the feeling has only intensified the more times I've listened. This morning my thoughts began to coalesce around the title itself. It is a literal, direct, cry for help. Jonas has experienced a loss so devastating he simply cannot go on without outside help from his loved ones.

One might say this is a typical song about losing someone you care for deeply, and there are thousands of those out there. In fact, most modern music is about finding and losing love, isn't it? Mew have written about this topic many times before. So why does this one in particular haunt me so much? This requires a rather lengthy explanation.

It's December 2009 and the weather is biting cold. I wait outside, shivering uncontrollably against the winter wind in the queue to enter the venue where Mew will be playing to support their latest album. I have never seen Mew before although I've been a fan for a few years. After taking my place in the club, I am aching and tired and still chilled to the bone, so much so that I don't even remove my hat and coat. Mew comes on stage, and I feel this intense flood of emotions I've never felt to this point. Jonas sings with this desperate longing in his voice, and his puppy dog eyes peer out hesitantly, cast upward with an unspoken plea, like a painfully shy child peeking out from behind the pant leg of his protective guardian. His vulnerability brings me right back to myself as a child, feeling fear of the unknown in a world I have only just begun to experience. Something inside my chest explodes, and I feel a desperation I have never felt before or since. A voice in my head screams at me “TAKE CARE OF HIM! HE NEEDS YOU!” The intensity of this feeling is so overwhelming I cannot even tell the person closest to me, in case he were to misunderstand. It is not a romantic longing, but one borne of pure empathy and compassion. Intuition being the guiding force in my life, I am simultaneously terrified and determined to make good on the request being shouted at me by the universe.

Flash forward a few years and my marriage has fallen apart. I am lost and alone, and in need of a purpose, a reason to live one day to the next. I begin talking with the owner of the MewX fansite, in hopes that I can offer something of value to the band and the site. I am accepted into the inner circle and slowly begin contributing more and more, until I realize that this is my way of appeasing that voice in my head. The voice starts to quiet, and is soon replaced with words and feelings direct from Jonas himself. He knows who I am and is appreciative of my efforts to support him and his band. We meet and hug and the longing clawing at my chest, too, is appeased. It matters what I have done. I am important to him and he makes sure I understand this. At the Copenhagen show, he locks eyes with me and holds my hand. Something external feels off though. My intuition tells me “something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” There is a tension present that I hadn't expected.

It is now the summer of 2015. Mew have recently released another album with all four original members. Suddenly Bo is no longer playing shows with the band. A grey-haired stranger has taken his place. Then the news comes out: Bo has left the band. No details are given. We are left wondering what could possibly have caused a 20-year friendship to dissolve so suddenly, to the point where Bo would abandon his livelihood, career, and safety net. We seek answers but are left empty-handed. Jonas gives interviews on the topic where he looks as if he is one second away from tears, and offers nothing except to say it is a personal matter. We are forced to accept that we will likely never be privy to the specifics.

Mew continues on with their tour, and Bo's stand-in turns out to be a sweet and pleasant person when we finally meet. Mads is a good guy and a fantastic guitar player. He is not Bo, but he is doing his best. I instantly like him. I speak with all of them several times and practice my Danish with them. I'm not great at it yet, but I am still excited to try. Jonas smiles a lot, and I see he is grateful I am there. I see the band play five times during this tour. In Portland, he again locks eyes with me, and my soul feels like it's being electrocuted. It is the most intense feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Mew finish their tour and head home, with the promise that we will see new material sooner than later.

Months pass, and Bo has published a book of drawings and feelings. He gives interviews as promotion and it finally comes out that he and Jonas had such vast creative differences they could no longer remain friends or bandmates. His language is cutting and cruel. He seems unapologetic. The pain returns, the wound has been reopened.

Now we return to the present. Mew announced their new album this week, and gave us their first single from the album, which is the closing track. It seems an unusual choice to give out this specific song as a single. It is not particularly radio-friendly, and it meanders too much to get the average person's attention. I was not all that impressed on first listen. I changed my tune once Jonas sent us the official lyrics and I had the chance to sit down and digest what the song was really about.

The song is a literal cry for help.

The word “Frenger” or “fan” is never used directly, however if the listener is able to impose themselves into the roles of “referee” and “beholder” referenced in the song, it becomes clear that he is addressing his fan base. He is telling us that losing Bo is so unbearably painful to him, he needs our help going on. His lyrics scream “TAKE CARE OF ME! I NEED YOU!” The very same language I received as an emotional message the first time I was in the same room as him. It hurts me so deeply because I am an empath, already in tune with the emotions radiating from this person, and I have willingly taken it on as my mission to help him in any way I can.

The last verse speaks directly to the autumn North American tour, when he realized that fans would still remain supportive of the band despite Bo's absence. This song is as much a catharsis for him as it is for us, and he offers us lyrics that are not nearly as veiled as those in other songs have been. He wants to make sure we understand that this is for us.

Having that kind of response to such a deeply emotional situation is overwhelming to say the least. I have shed many tears upon realization that we are an integral part of the equation that is Mew. They would not exist without us. And for them to give us this song first is their way of saying “This has not been easy for any of us. You matter a great deal to me. Thank you being there for me and answering my plea.” That level of vulnerability and honesty is a rare gift in this tumultuous world, and I am so utterly grateful to have been part of it.

Oh referee Carry me to safety I can tell I can tell you wish me well 30,000 There is someone mouthing: Give them hell! Give them hell until the bell

As I run, I wave to everyone To each and every beholder And I so wanna be grateful But nothing keeps me So I’m just coming home

Pang in my chest Promised you I’d fix this But I’m almost out Ouch! Injury! I can run no longer Carry me Carry me to safety

As I run, I wave to everyone To each and every beholder And I still wanna be grateful But nothing keeps me So I’m just coming back home

A life to live as me A moment that feels free Like two big colliders Singing out their days You smile as if to say: Now our story’s over

Built physical structures Mountainous landscapes of colourful ice I am still on the inside

Come, let’s wave to everyone They came all this way to see us Absolve our enemies and ghosts To catch the Autumn show We’re just coming home

[i-heart-fantasy]

The Song of Avalon

This is an original story of mine that has inspiration from mythologies and some literature. 

Pronunciation Guide:

Uaithne: Whe-neh

Dagda: Da-da

 Song I: Beginning Verse

 The cloudless sky spread across above the sprawling meadows.

A young man with green eyes and long, brown hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a sliver-and-green cloak with a black glove on his right hand, a large purse, and carrying a wooden staff was walking along a dirt path.

“Hear it beyond the wind

Hear it through the sky

Rippling through the ocean

Rustling from the grass

 Through the body

In the mind

Into your soul

Your very being”

 The young man’s voice carried like a songbird’s song.

         He reached the top of the hill, where he could see a small town with a ravaged farm that was next to large forest.

 Inside the town bar, there was chattering all around. The young man was sitting at the corner seat of the bar’s counter, with his staff leaning against the wall.

The young bartender, who had brown eyes and short brown hair, with a stubble on his chin, and was cleaning a glass, stared at him curiously.

“Judging by your attire, you’re a druid, aren’t you?” the bartender asked, scooting closer.

“Yes, I am,” the young man answered, chuckling while patting his staff, and then leaning towards the bartender with his chin against a hand.

“I thought druids lived in the big cities and capitals. What’s one like you doing out here?”

“While it’s true that druids stay in cities. I tend to travel. I like to help out small towns like this one.”

“Oh, wow! That’s so nice of you!”

“Thanks. Incidentally, on my way into town, I saw that the farm’s crops were destroyed. Has anything happened to have caused that?”

“Well, we’ve been going through a bit of a drought lately...”

“I see… But a drought couldn’t have caused the damage I saw. It looked like an abnormally large creature had torn through the crops with its teeth and claws.”

“Well, actually…”

The bartender’s eyes shifted nervously.

“Was I right that it was an animal?”

“Y—yes,” the bartender stammered. “And the crops aren’t the only thing that have been damaged. There’s a meadow in the nearby forest that the kids play in, but for the past week they’ve been unable to without getting attacked by a wolf.”

“A wolf?”

“A very large black wolf with golden eyes. It came to the forest a week ago. It won’t let anyone pass the meadow.”

“Hmmm…”

The young man stared at the wall, thinking. He got up and grabbed his staff before starting to walk away.

“Wh—what’re you doing?”

“I’m going to see if I can deal with your wolf problem,” the young man said, looking back at the bartender.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

The young man turned to look and saw, an older man with short, curly red hair and green eyes that seemed to have flames in them wearing a hat sitting at a table.

“We’d really appreciate your help,” he said, tilting his hat. “Mind telling us your name, kiddo?”

“I guess,” said the young man, rubbing the back of his head. “My name is Uaithne Dagda.”

“Uaithne Dagda? That’s an interesting name, kid.”

“I suppose.”

Uaithne started walking out of the bar.

“Good luck with that wolf. You’re gonna need it.”

 The forest was silent as Uaithne walked along a path. He could hear the crunching of leaves as he made his way towards the meadow.

The meadow was circular in shape, surrounded by the forest. There was a large rock at the end of the direction Uaithne was facing.

Uaithne walked cautiously towards it, looking around his surroundings. He stopped in the middle of the meadow, listening to the rustling of the trees.

Suddenly, he jumped back into the air as something slammed the spot he had been standing. Uaithne backflipped into the air and landing on the ground, he saw a very large black wolf with golden eyes crouching and growling at him.

“You didn’t waste any time in attacking me, huh?” Uaithne said, observing the wolf. “Based on what I was told, I bet you’re trying to protect something, right?”

The wolf swiped at him, Uaithne dodged and jumped off a tree, flipping in the air and striking the wolf with a spell.

The wolf jumped up at him, and Uaithne whacked it with his staff, before falling against another tree and heading towards two others.

The wolf finally struck Uaithne, clawing him and his clothes as he jumped off the next tree.

“Tch…!”

Uaithne slammed onto the ground, and the wolf pinned him down. Uaithne glared at it, before wiping the blood from his face.

“…I wanted to avoid using some of my power, but it looks like I have no choice.”

Uaithne breathed deeply, and then he stuck out his staff towards the wolf, making it send out a bright light.

The wolf howled from being blinded, letting go of Uaithne and shaking its head.

Uaithne held his staff with both hands, and a dark aura stated appearing around him. A blast of light erupted, and from it Uaithne jumped high into the air, his hair black and eyes red, and his staff a red scythe while being held high in the air.

As he descended, the ghost of black wings appeared behind Uaithne.

He slammed his scythe into the ground, causing a giant spell circle to form underneath the wolf. Chains came out of the different trees he had jumped from, wrapping around the wolf and trapping it in place.

The wolf howled in despair, trying desperately to get free.

Uaithne stepped in front of it, his appearance and staff back to normal.

“You must have thought I was jumping trees at random, right?” he said. “I was putting in place the spells I’d need to chain you. I knew I couldn’t win against an animal of your size, so I figured making you stop in place was the next best thing.”

He gazed at the wolf sadly.

“I wasn’t going to, but I’m afraid that letting you live is a hazard. You’ve caused too much damage to the town’s crops and residents. I don’t know what you’re trying to protect, but whatever it is, it’s probably better off without you.”

Uaithne changed his appearance with the dark aura and held his scythe up high, as it grew.

“I’m really sorry. …Goodbye.”

The scythe was swung down.

“Stop!!!”

A young woman with green eyes and long, white hair, wearing leaves as a shoulder-less dress, jumped in front of the wolf.

The scythe stopped before her head.

“…Who are you?” Uaithne asked, changing back. “Are you what the wolf was protecting?”

“My name is Lif,” the young woman said, hugging the wolf’s head. “This is Fenrir. He’s only trying to keep others from finding me.”

There was a flash of light, and the wolf changed into a young man with black skin, hair, tail and golden eyes. He was wearing what looked to be somewhat-noble attire consisting of a purple vest over a long-sleeved shirt, blue pants, and black shoes. He stepped in front of Lif, holding out his left arm, blocking her off.

“…You’re a shapeshifter,” Uaithne said, staring at Fenrir in surprise.

“Yes,” replied Fenrir, glaring. “You’re discovered us, so are you going to kill us?”

Uaithne stared at them.

“…No,” he said. “The two of you seem to have been hiding, so to me that’s no reason for you to die.”

“Thank you so much!” Lif said, bowing.

“Lif!” Fenrir said. “You’re just going to accept that?! A minute ago, this human was prepared to kill me!”

“Fenrir, did you do something to the town?” asked Lif.

“Huh? We—well, I did destroy the crops…”

“Why would you do that?!”

“I thought if I did it, they’d stop going into the forest!”

“…That’s a pretty stupid reason,” said Uaithne.

“Shut up! No one asked you, human!”

Lif hit Fenrir on the head.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“You should apologize!”

“What? No way! They’d probably just run me out of town!”

“For what you did, you deserve it!”

“Lif!”

Uaithne watched the exchange in disturbance. He coughed, getting their attention.

“So, um, why did you accept my words so quickly?” he asked. “Especially because I almost killed your friend there.”

“It’s simple,” Lif replied, playing with her hair. “You don’t seem like a bad person. I could tell.”

“Lif, that isn’t simple, it’s stupid,” Fenrir said, holding a hand to his forehead. “You don’t know him. You can’t judge people based on intuition!”

“Really? But that’s how I’ve always observed people.”

“You’re too trusting, Lif. One of these days, you’re going to get into trouble, and I won’t be there to help you!”

“But you’ve always rescued me, Fenrir. At first, I thought you were scary, but now I know that you’re actually a big softie.”

“What?! Don’t say that aloud! You idiot! Now that human knows my true nature!”

Lif giggled at Fenrir’s embarrassed face. Fenrir huffed and turned away from them, crossing his arms.

“I’m not a softie all the time…”

Lif laughed and hugged him from behind.

“What’re you doing?! Don’t hug me out of nowhere!”

Uaithne chuckled at the sight.

“What’re you laughing at?!” Fenrir growled, turning and glaring at Uaithne.

“Nothing,” Uaithne said, smirking.

“That doesn’t look like nothing to me!”

“Anyway, what are you doing here?” Uaithne asked, looking at Lif. “Because your friend here caused trouble, I can only assume you’re on the run from something or someone.”

Lif looked away nervously.

“Lif, you don’t owe this guy an explanation,” said Fenrir, putting a hand on Lif’s shoulder.

“I know, but I still wanna tell him,” Lif said, turning towards Uaithne. “It may seem hard to believe, but I am actually not human. I’m a kind of nymph, of the Apple Tree race it is called ‘Epimeliad’. My clan is from a branch that had descended from Greece over a millennium ago. We were guarded from the outside world by a spell that had shrouded and protected our land for ages, but...”

She gulped nervously.

“A week ago, that spell was broken. A human army came in and started wreaking havoc... My memory of what happened is hazy.  Fenrir had told me that he defected from the army that had attacked us, he brought me to safety outside of my forest village.”

She looked at the ground sadly.

“...I don’t know what happened to my clan, but I can only assume the worst...”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” said Uaithne, staring at her sadly. “At least you were saved from it all.”

“Yes,” Lif said, smiling. “I’m really grateful to Fenrir for saving my life.”

“So… what are you going to do now?” Uaithne asked, tilting his head curiously.

“I’m not sure… I’d like to know why we were attacked, if possible”

“Do you remember hearing or seeing anything that could give you a clue as who would have attacked your village or where to go for answers?”

Lif paused.

“I think I heard a name that the soldiers were shouting their loyalty to... It was something with a ‘A’... Ai-something ...Was it ‘Aietes’...?”

“...Did you just say ‘Aietes?’” Uaithne asked. A shocked expression came across his face.

“Yes.” said Lif, confused. “Why? Do you know him?”

“...I guess you could say that...,” murmured Uaithne dismissively, staring at the trees.

“Really?!” Lif cried out. While running up to him and grabbing firmly onto his clothes. “Can you take us to where he is? I must know why he attacked my clan!”

Fenrir sighed at Lif’s reaction.

“Lif, even if he did know how to get there, I don’t think he would just agree to it—”

“I’ll do it.”

Fenrir and Lif blinked at Uaithne’s blunt statement. They both responded together.

“Huh?”

“I will take you there,” said Uaithne, extending his hand out in front of him. “However, the kingdom that Aietes rules, Colchis, is far from this country. It will take a while for us to get there. Do you still want to go there, despite the long distance?”

“Yes, I want to go!” said Lif, shaking Uaithne slightly.

Fenrir sighed.

“Well, if Lif wants to go, then I have no choice but to follow her,” he muttered, running a hand through his black hair.

“Thank you, Fenrir!” Lif exclaimed, letting go of Uaithne and hugging Fenrir.

“Ugh!” cried out Fenrir, aghast. “Get off of me!”

“Alright,” said Uaithne. “We’d best get going now. It will be a long journey ahead of us.”

“Okay!” said Lif, nodding.

“Someone’s enthusiastic...” muttered Fenrir.

 The night sky was full of stars. The moon was full and bright. The group was standing in front of the damaged field of crops.

“Why are we here?” Fenrir asked, annoyed, his tail swishing back and forth nervously. “Didn’t you want us to hurry?”

“Well yes, but before we leave, I wanted to remedy the damage a certain shapeshifting wolf had caused,” said Uaithne pointedly, smiling with his eyes closed.

“Uff...!” Fenrir gasped, reacting as though he had been completely knocked over.

Uaithne knelt silently on the ground, placing his staff against the ravaged dirt and closing his eyes as he began to sing.

“Feel the song of healing

Course through you

Every piece of sadness

Every piece of sin

 Thrown into the wind

Drifting away

Into oblivion

Into nothingness

 Cleansing you

Free of your own darkness

       There’s nothing left but

Love for everyone and the world”

The ground beneath Uaithne started glowing and the light spread across the entire field of damaged crops. The ground began to heal itself, and the crops started sprouting into full bloom until they were tall above the ground.

“Wow!” Lif gasped, in awe. “It’s so pretty!”

“Incredible...” murmured Fenrir, his tail straight up on end.

Uaithne collapsed on the ground, panting.

“Are you okay?!” Lif cried out, panicking.

“...Yes,” answered Uaithne, grunting. “It takes me a little bit of time to recover from using that spell.”

“Spell?” said Fenrir, tilting his head and waving his tail. “That wasn’t just a song?”

“No. It was a spell that has been passed down in my family for generations. It was created by the god Dagda.”

“Wow!” Lif said, impressed. “What is it called?”

Uaithne hesitated.

“It’s called… ‘The Song of Avalon’.”

“‘Avalon’?” said Fenrir, scoffing. “Isn’t that the English word for heaven? Why would that name be used for a spell by an Irish god?”

“I don’t know,” said Uaithne, bluntly. “That is just the spells’ name. I’m pretty sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“It’s a really pretty song,” said Lif. “It’s so soothing, it makes me feel like I’m one with the earth.”

“Is that so? Since I’m the one casting it, I guess I don’t really feel it.”

Fenrir stared at Uaithne suspiciously.

“Anyway, I did what I wanted to do here,” Uaithne said, stretching. “We can sleep outside for the night.”

“What?!” gasped Fenrir, eyes wide. “Why aren’t we sleeping in an inn?”

“I prefer to sleep in nature.”

“I slept outside all the time back home,” said Lif, sighing and looking at the sky. “It’s so nice to be outside surrounded by the earth.”

Uaithne stared at Lif in surprise. Fenrir stared at Uaithne suspiciously.

 The next morning, the travelers walked along a winding path in the hills far past the village.

“I can’t wait to see all the places we will travel along on the way!” said Lif, excited, jumping into the air.

“I hope this journey doesn’t take too long...” muttered Fenrir.

“Who knows?” Uaithne said, smirking. “It might take until next spring.”

“Oh, I hope not!” said Fenrir, exasperated, his tail lashing. “I have things to do!”

“Like what?” said Uaithne, cheekily, staring at Fenrir. “Chase sheep?”

“I don’t chase sheep!”

Fenrir slumped, his ears flat against his head and his tail lashing.

“Only for food...”

“Well, I hope you’re not a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“I could say the same thing to you, human!” Fenrir said, angrily, pointing at Uaithne.

“‘Human’? Can’t you say my name like Lif does?”

“Never! Over my dead body!”

“Stop it, you two!” said Lif, giggling, grabbing onto Uaithne’s arm.

         Uaithne looked at her, surprised at her actions.

 On the top of a hill at the edge of a forest that is overlooking the path the group was traveling on, there was a pair of people watching them from a distance. One of these people was the man with the hat that Uaithne had seen in the village bar. He was leaning against a tree his face somewhat hidden in the shadows. Next to him in the shadows, standing behind the brush was a feminine figure dressed in red armor.

         “Would you look at that,” the man said, smirking. “They acted just like you predicted they would.”

“...Indeed.” She said.

The figure shifted her stance.

“I heard you saw him at the bar,” she said, accusingly. “Did you show him your true form?”

“Of course not. I have enough sense that I know when not to reveal myself. I even changed my voice, so he won’t recognize even if we meet again.”

“Good. I was worried you would do something stupid like telling him your name.”

“You wound me, madam! But don’t put too much faith in me. I might do something stupid next time~.”

“...You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I am. It beats being bored.”

He stared down at Uaithne.                                    

“Still... Uaithne Dagda. Is he truly the one to save the world? That prophecy is only for your gods—it doesn’t concern mine.”

“You forget, sir, that I’m one of those gods you mentioned.”

“As am I.  Being a god from my own land. I just can’t believe that this kid—who clearly he doesn’t understand his own powers—is the one who’s going to save the world.”

“Either way, he’s going to affect all the different gods, not just the ones from here.”

“Is that so? Well, in that case, I can’t wait for him to arrive on my home turf~.”

“Whether he lives up to the prophecy is his choice... After all, he’s going to die by my hand either way on his twentieth birthday next year.”