#People typically don’t think about life concepts on the regular so I doubt he could learn immediately through telepathy

[leavemeal0newithmym0ss]

Are...are you speaking from experience saiki? Be honest saiki when you were a young child did you use your powers to get lots of free popsicles so you could eat them all?

#saiki k #saiki kusuo #i need more instances of saiki using his power for stupid things at a really young age bcuz he’s a kid he doesn’t know life concepts #People typically don’t think about life concepts on the regular so I doubt he could learn immediately through telepathy

[cinnamonest]

Since people actually liked it here's the continuation of the modern Xiao camgirl!darling post I cut from the original, as promised, most if it's under a cut. Here’s the original post. I didn’t think people would actually like the camgirl concept so I thought I was rambling too much and cut this part out lol but here it is now!

Tws: derogatory language/female slurs, mentions of reader being a cheater, reader is promiscuous, murder, incel-y mentality (our modern boy would be a 4chan user, look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong) and mentions of upsetting realistic things, this one's darker than the first part. If you're bothered by other modern stuff for being too realistic best avoid this too probably, involuntary pornography ---------- Coming up on one year since you gained your most loyal subscriber, you get a rather... Unsettling request. He has something he would like this month, in fact, he adds a few hundred to the regular amount (he's been saving up just for this) and asks for just the answer to one simple question. What's your name?

Your real name, he clarifies. He doesn't need a last name, nothing like that. It would just... Make him feel closer to you. He avoids using the term "anniversary," even though that's what comes to mind. He also doesn't tell you that he already knows, that this is just a test of your honesty. For someone who's so cautious, you would think you would think to give a fake name whenever you go to coffee shops for them to yell out, or change it on the packages you get. You hesitate. And it would be easy to give him a fake one, yet, you don't really think about it too much, you kinda think about that as an afterthought, what you should have done, but your very real name is typed out and sent before you really process it, and you feel a sort of unease, but it's already sent. No big deal. He can't do much with just your first name, right? If your name is common, you feel pretty safe, but even if it's a rarer one, surely there are other people with it, right? He's happy though. Kinda surprised, really, that you didn't lie to him. Maybe you trust him?

You're not stupid, you know something is wrong, you're becoming paranoid. And you connect the weird feeling to him, bc he goes radio silence for several days leading up to finally taking you. This dude who used to respond to any messages you sent within 10 seconds suddenly... It's like he disappeared? He hasn't responded to anything you send him ever since you said your name. You send him messages saying you haven't heard from him in a while and you're worried... The way you word it makes it sound like you're worried about him, but you both know that's not what you really mean. You're hesitant and suspicious of every guy you meet. You buy pepper spray and start carrying some around, you nearly spray a poor guy who you thought was trailing you, turns out he just lives in your building. He makes note of it. He watched you buy it, and is quick to realize you always hold it in the same hand. That must be your dominant hand, that's an important mental note for the future, since you're more likely to try to attack him with that hand. He'll remember. He has a note in his phone with information like that. Height, weight, birthday, social security number, parents' names, school she graduated from. All in little bullet points. He adds dominant hand to the list. He's not worried at all really. Already watched you struggle to carry packages he could lift with one hand, your strength doesn't cross his mind as a threat. At first he just doesn't know what to say, and that's why he stops responding, he feels too awkward but... He starts to enjoy the weird feeling of power the whole situation is giving him. You're worried, you're constantly paranoid, and it's because of him. Now you finally understand the same feeling you inflict on him, how you consume his thoughts every waking moment of every day. It used to irritate him that you held so much power over him, while he meant nothing to you. Now, the tables have turned. You're forced to have him constantly in your mind, whether you like it or not, just like you are in his. It's giving you what you deserve. It gives him a feeling of significance. He matters, even if it's not in a good way. And he keeps telling himself that once he's all you have, he'll matter even more. He's smart enough to realize that if you're paranoid, you might have mentioned him by username to someone else, so to ensure he knows what to do from this point, he has to sneak into your apartment at night as you sleep. It's so unbearably tempting, you have no idea -- you're right there and so vulnerable. He has to hold himself back because he knows that if he so much as touched you, he couldn't hold back. But it's torture, standing there so close, watching your chest rise and fall as he fiddles with the phone. Even when he unlocks it with your thumb, he tries to hold the phone from an angle to do so, even if the skin of his hand grazes yours, it would be too much. You have a lot of contacts across your messages and a bunch of different apps. You have one guy in your online chat you've exchanged far more messages with than anyone else! Hundreds upon hundreds of messages, and huge paypal cash drops, who the hell is -- oh, wait, that's him. Nevermind. But, to his pleasant surprise, he's the only one of your... customers that you regularly talk to, the rest just have a few paypal notifications or clarifications on your policies, but no actual conversations like you have with him. Of course, that's literally part of your deal, he's literally paying for it, but it makes him happy nonetheless. But as he goes through your personal messages, he finds that you are... in no shortage of options. Like, holy shit. It was kind of expected. You *are* really pretty, that's how you have so many followers after all, but this is a lot. So many contacts named some variation of "DO NOT ANSWER!!!" or "creepy guy that forced me to give him my number at the club", etc etc. Plenty of unsaved numbers texting you to never get a response. You've ghosted enough dudes to make your place haunted. It's... kinda awful, really. It also kinda hurts his heart a bit more than he expected. You have so, so, so many options, even without the cam thing, he's more insignificant than he even realized. ...Well, for now, at least. He'll be significant to you soon enough. And then you seem to have a sort of "boyfriend of the month" deal going on, aside from that. Plenty of male-name contacts whose last exchange is a "don't talk to me again!" message from you, plenty of messages corresponding to the same time as those to your girl friends about how you can't find a good guy and every relationship ends badly. How unfortunate. See, it's because you choose bad guys. You probably go for dicks and not.... well, he can't exactly pull the "nice guys like me" mentality, he doesn't delude himself into thinking he is one. He's lucid enough to realize that most nice guys would not be sneaking into your house and standing over your sleeping body to stalk your phone as they make plans to kidnap you. He knows he would probably fall under the classification of a creepy guy. He's just too far gone to care. Still, he would be so much better to you, he tells himself, not a cheater or a player like you complain about. To say he resents those kinds of guys -- ones that can do the unthinkable and actually talk to girls, let alone successfully, only to be assholes, and yet girls like you still go for them -- is an understatement. You're basically just a slut, you probably ignore all the guys that would be nice to you, just like all those internet forums he reads talk about. Typical.

Well, those forums also make fun of guys like him who pay for girls like you, but he can't blame them. It *is* kinda pathetic. There is one dude you talk to, though, now. Current boyfriend of the month, from the looks of it. You have a little heart emoji next to the name. He knows it's kinda pathetic that something so simple and insignificant sets him off, but it does, makes him pout and grind his teeth and curl his other hand into a fist. It's so unfair. Some dude you barely know gets to fuck you, and you haven't even known him nearly as long as you've known him! He doubts this dude -- hell, any of your boyfriends -- has put in the same amount of money that he has into you. They fuck you practically for free. And that, unfortunately for you, only solidifies his decision. If you're fucking some dude for a month because they buy you dinner every now and then, if we're going by that scale, then you owe him quite a good deal of pussy. Any hesitancy or guilt he had about the whole thing is gone. And he's a little mad. Keeps grumbling to himself that you're just a loose whore, fucking so many people and putting yourself out there on the internet. He wonders if they even know about what you do. Probably not, you probably don't tell them. Yeah, that sounds like what you'd do. Really, you're kinda lucky that someone like him is so willing to commit to you, since you are a slut. You don't deserve it, but he loves you anyway. And you'll probably have the nerve to be ungrateful for it too. Sigh. On the bright side, by some miracle, it would appear that you have not told any real-life people about him, you haven't sent out any hey if I disappear you should probably look into this creep type of messages. But he can't afford to have you doing so in between now and when you move in with him, so, he decides he has to act within the next 24 hours. While he's here, though, he decides to do a quick sweep of your place. Makes note of what snacks and drinks you like, what brand of toothpaste and shampoo and the like you use, so he can buy some for you. Maybe you'll adjust better if you have some of your favorite things. And then, after days of silence, he sends you a message, says it's fine, his internet went out for a few days. He means it to reassure you, but somehow it makes you feel more uneasy. He has everything planned out, or so he thinks. But you deviate from your usual schedule. When you leave work or class, you don't go home, you go somewhere else, first. How strange. Maybe picking up groceries? He follows from a distance. No, looks like you're going out to eat...? Maybe you're meeting friends or family or -- no that's a guy. Fuck. You must have planned this just earlier today, since there were no messages on your phone. It makes a bitter feeling rise in his gut. He hates that he can't get close enough to listen to your conversation. Well, he hates the whole thing, sits there and seethes the whole time. Watches you through the windows in the parking lot, thankfully you chose to sit outside. Feels his eye twitch and his hand clench every time you smile and laugh. It takes way too long. The fact that you split the bill feels like a punch to the stomach too. Shouldn't you be used to taking guys' money? Oh, and what's this...? This guy isn't the picture on boyfriend-of-the-month's contact. Well, well, well. You really are a whore. See, it's a very good thing he's taking you off the market. You're probably a reckless heartbreaker too. He's doing all the other men of the world a favor by taking on such a burden as you. And it makes him feel far more justified in keeping you locked away, since he has every reason to believe, now, that you'd run off and fuck someone else if given the chance. Halfway through, the guy briefly gets up and runs to the bathroom or something. While he's gone, he sees your face fall a bit. And then he sees you look around. You turn your head from one side to the other. Your eyes scan the area. You shuffle uncomfortably and you bite your lip and your eyebrows furrow. You're scared. You feel like -- no, you know you're being watched and it scares you. That makes him a little happy, for some reason. He wouldn't be sure what to do if you went home with the guy, but thankfully you don't. No big deal, this was just a bump in the road, he still beats you back to your building and he still goes through with the original plan. Even better, now that it's even darker outside. If anything, now he's got extra aggression and testosterone in his blood, running over the events in his head and going through some... very forceful and violent fantasies. The message he sent had you uneasy, and it's also how you immediately know what's going on when it does finally happen. You keep telling yourself you're being unnecessarily paranoid, that it's nothing, maybe that guy actually got his life together or got a girlfriend or something. Things like... What you fear, don't happen in real life, that's stuff that only happens in movies and stuff. You keep calling it that or it in your head. That won't happen to you. It's not going to happen. The series of events that play out in your head, scenarios you try to push out of your mind. Sure, in the movies it always takes place in the stairwell, but that's fiction, so you go up the apartment stairwell as always. You're not gonna let a bunch of B-grade old films scare you. And it's always some dude standing and waiting, but that nice young boy that you've never seen before is just leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone, he only glances up for a second as you pass by, he's not a threat, you're being paranoid. You flash a smile and a little wave as you walk by, he doesn't return either, just looks back down at his phone. See? This guy doesn't even care, you're being paranoid for nothing, you tell yourself. But as you make the turn to go up the next set of stairs you hear the click of a phone being put on the lockscreen, a few metallic footsteps ringing out in the open hall and echoing, coming up right behind you, but for that split second you expect a tap on the shoulder, maybe he has a question, it's not like movies, it's not like movies, you're not gonna get a cloth shoved over your face and--- Well, it's not exactly like the movies. You were prepared, but it all happens in one motion - one hand grabs the hand with the spray and twists it, making you drop it, the other wraps some material over your mouth. You were prepared enough that you don't gasp in surprise, you hold your breath and thrash, but it doesn't make any difference, you wiggle and writhe for a few moments but can't even begin to break free, eventually succumb to the lack of oxygen and take a deep breath. It takes a few seconds to settle in, it's not so immediate. You instinctively panic and thrash again, but he has a complete iron grip. The dizziness takes a second to set in. He huffs a bit in frustration and says stop moving, it's fine. It's definitely not, but it occurs to you that that's not something a kidnapper looking for any potential vulnerable girl says. It's a poor attempt at comfort. It's someone specifically looking for you. And if that wasn't enough, he says your name. Your very real name. Maybe it was a mistake to tell him after all. But the worst part of it all is that there's not a single doubt in your mind, even in your panic you have the realization, it's definitely him and this is literally exactly what you were afraid of. And it's the last thing that goes through your head. And once he's got you out cold he just takes a sigh of relief. He may have been very neutral faced to you, but in reality he was incredibly nervous. He hasn't exactly made or used chloroform before, our boy is operating on YouTube tutorials here. He's got adrenaline pumping through his veins and carries you with his arms trembling. He's on autopilot carrying you out, but his mind is also consumed by holy fuck I'm touching her she smells so nice she's so warm her face is so close I'm actually touching her-- you get the idea. He feels bad about taping your hands and feet together and putting you in the trunk of his car, kinda. It feels too much like what a really bad person would do to a girl they didn't care about, like he's a trafficker or a murderer or a criminal or something, but that's not true at all. Sure, he's still mad at you for being a whore and all that, but it feels improper, he just has no choice. It's late at night, but he can't risk getting pulled or being at a stoplight and someone seeing an unconscious girl in his backseat, so, trunk it is. But once he's home, to his tiny little downtown apartment (he'll probably be able to move into a better place soon, since he's not paying you tons of money anymore), he takes a quick check to make sure the coast is clear, and drags you out, up the stairs, all the way into his apartment, sets you down on the bed, where you'll be staying. He even washed the sheets and cleaned the place up a bit for your arrival. You probably would not like to see what this place looked like before the five trash bags worth of cleaning was done. He'll probably be more motivated in the future, though, since now he won't be so depressed all the time. And then the adrenaline of the fear of being seen is over, and that's when it sets in that this is real. It's very, very hard to hold back. You're real, in the flesh, he can reach out and touch you with his hands! It feels like a dream. And he realizes he can take this opportunity to do things he would be far, far too embarrassed to do when you're awake. He takes a few minutes to do just that, cautiously reaches out to poke your face, and then run a hand down your neck, your skin is so soft! Your hair smells so nice, he lays down beside you and runs his fingers over it. Puts hands on your body and just lays there in awe of the fact that you're real. He's pretty certain he's never actually touched a human female before now. Everything about you feels soft. Weirdly feminine, which is something very foreign and confusing to him. And he kinda uh... Loses it. Goes buckwild with just taking in every aspect of you. Again, since you're unconscious he can be gross and entirely shameless about it. Peels your clothes off and runs his hands and mouth over every inch of flesh, takes the tape off your lips and presses his tongue into your limp mouth until he's forced to let go to breathe, fingers you and tonguefucks you and sucks on your nipples and your neck. Lays pressed against you and just breathes in your scent. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to fuck you already. But he does jerk off a few times. That way he'll last longer, so it's a win-win. And then... you twitch. Tape goes back over your mouth. And then, you twitch again. And this time, you make a little "mm!" under the tape, you start trembling and he sees you try to pull your hands apart. You whimper. It sounds scared and distressed. He feels kinda bad, but it also makes him hard, and that outweighs any guilt by far. Besides, it's what you deserve after what you did earlier. You tortured him mentally, it's only fair. On the good side of things, you suppose, you don't have to worry about the usual fears one would have over such a situation - you're fairly certain he's not going to kill you, nor sell you. In fact, the bed you wake up on is pretty soft. You're naked and the tape is uncomfortable, but... At least he was considerate enough to give you a blanket. He does care about you, after all. First thing he says is asking if you're awake. Can you hear me? You hesitate a moment, and then you nod. He's a bit new to this whole abduction thing. He wants to make sure he didn't pull a muscle or something with the tape. So... Do you hurt anywhere? Does your head hurt? Oh, right, the tape. He's not stupid either. You have to promise you're not going to scream. In fact, he's angry enough about earlier that he gets a bit meaner than he originally told himself he'd be. If you scream, I'll make you regret it. Understand? You nod, so he takes it off, holding it close in preparation in case you were lying, but you don't actually answer him, you're silent again for a minute, then just ask a question of your own. You're that guy, right? He's silent for a few seconds, there's no need for any clarification. Finally just says yeah. You just breathe again. Silently. Finally you summon the courage to ask him what he wants with you. And why are you doing this to me? And his answer is fairly simple. What do you think? You don't say anything for a minute, and neither does he. He's not good with words, and you don't really have ones for this situation. It occurs to you that offering to pay him to let you go is probably not the solution. After all, this is the guy that's dumped unimaginable amounts of money onto you, you couldn't even come close to paying him back. You figure maybe, after he gets what he wants... well, you get the courage to ask.  Is there anything... that I can do o-or... anything that will make you... are you gonna let me go, after you....? And the answer is, again, simple, but the one you did not want to hear. No. He's a blunt boy, so he doesn't beat around the bush, but he doesn't torment you by keeping anything from you. In fact, he's already rehearsed this speech a few hundred times in his head. He just wanted to make sure he's very clear so there's no misunderstanding, and while he likes some discomfort in a vengeful sort of way, he doesn't want you to be too freaked out to where you have a panic attack. He says he's just going to... keep you here. He has the things you'll need. He got your purse with your keys, so he'll even run to your apartment after this to go get some of your stuff. You don't need to tell him which number, he adds, he already knows which apartment you're in. He needs you here, he says. And he makes sure to add that it's your fault. If you were never out there selling yourself in the first place, this never would have happened. If you're good, he can make things a bit better for you. But you need to go ahead and accept that you're going to be staying and that no amount of begging or offers is going to convince him to let you go. He can be nice to you, he promises. A better boyfriend than the others. You just have to be a good girlfriend -- you know, obedient and sweet and do what he says. Just like you always were when you talked to him. Just keep being sweet like that and doing the things he tells you to do. You would argue that the terms boyfriend and girlfriend are not appropriate descriptors of the sort of relationship he's creating, but you keep that thought to yourself. Instead, you ask, How long are you going to keep me here? Which is a dumb question, since he's pretty sure he already made that clear. Forever. -----

There's a double homicide in the area. Takes place on the same night, and the same diameter of knife is used, so police believe maybe the two incidents are connected. Especially because they do have something in common, one girl. She was romantically involved with both of them. The girl in question's apartment has been vacated, very suddenly, and the girl has disappeared without a trace, taking things with her from the looks of it, so police believe she may be responsible, but other than that, they have no leads. A few weeks later, a video circulates all over the internet. Some famous camgirl finally started making porn, apparently. Just one video, but the description (which was totally written by her, it has to be since it's written in first person right?) says something about how she decided to quit camming, so this video marks the end of her career. She got into a relationship, so she says in the description, so she has to quit. It's roleplay porn, apparently, she's doing a good job at the acting. All tied up and gagged and getting fucked by some big-dicked guy holding the camera. He's silent, but she's making a ton of noise, cums several times. Really good acting, the fear and desperation in her eyes looks so real. Talk about going out with a bang. It gets a lot of likes. Tons of comments about how sad people are she's quitting. And of course, a lot of comments say, what a lucky guy.

#.camgirl

[caffeinatedseri]

Dazai and No Longer Human’s Yozo

It’s no secret that BSD’s Dazai draws heavily from his real life counterpart, especially from his semi-autobiographical work: No Longer Human. To preface, No Longer Human is written from the perspective of the main character Yozo, with the book itself being a documentation of Yozo’s notebooks (essentially his journals) throughout his life. 

As you progress through the novel, it becomes increasingly clear that Yozo lives an extremely two-sided life; his foolish personality acts as a facade to others in attempts to hide the darker nature within him. 

Dazai shares that obvious similarity with Yozo, but Dazai is characterized in a somewhat vague and mysterious way that leaves a lot of his inner thoughts up to interpretation and inferences. Thus, I’ll be going through some of my favorite quotes from No Longer Human and analyzing Dazai’s character through his similarities to Yozo.

(For the sake of readability, excerpts from No Longer Human will be in pictures, and quotes from the light novel will be in regular block quotes).

Dazai and Yozo’s Participation in Clownery

To start off, Dazai noticeably participates in the same “clowning” as Yozo, which in particular stands out with PM Dazai.

““How did your leg get hurt?” I pointed to the bandages, thinking that it must be the result of some violent fight. “I was reading a book titled ‘How to Prevent Accidental Injuries’ while walking when I accidentally fell into a ditch.” I wasn’t expecting such an abnormal response.” — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era (Oda’s POV)

This is pretty standard Dazai behavior, but the interesting part is how Yozo specifically used the word “deceiving.” If we were to assume Yozo’s true thoughts are Dazai’s as well, then it would imply that Dazai feels as if he’s manipulating people with his absurd claims (such as the above). However, in actuality, his clownish behaviors sound more like a joke, or some type of self-deflection, rather than an attempt to manipulate people. (Yozo also states that he would often incriminate himself by overexaggerating certain things, but I don’t think Dazai does that).

The second statement Yozo makes implies that he doesn’t care about ethics, morality, or the supposed “right way” of living life that’s described as “righteousness.”

Yozo’s statement on “righteousness” parallels Dazai’s in Dark Era, but Dazai’s statement carries a slightly different sentiment. Rather than being indifferent to the likes of morality, Dazai says that he’s “hated” by the concept of morality. 

I’ll be speculating a bit here → It’s heavily implied that Dazai had some sort of dark past that led him to joining the mafia, since he was already suicidal prior to doing so. This suggests that something affected his life so drastically to the point where he could no longer trust in such things as “righteousness,” because righteousness has wronged him in the past.

First, Yozo expresses his fear of people discovering his true nature under the mask of clownery, which would then lead to them pestering him for further inquiry. However, his real fear is that people would mistake his true nature as another part of his typical clownery.

More so than before, this attitude reminds me more of Dazai in the agency, rather than him in the mafia. Even though Dazai danced around darker topics in his conversations with Oda, he was still able to talk about them without much conflict. However, in the agency, Dazai doesn’t talk much about himself or any of his personal issues at all. 

Although this scene has comedic overtones, it’s interesting to see that no one would help Dazai if he was actually dying. Still, it could be argued that the other agency members knew it was just Dazai’s regular antics. (or that Dazai wouldn’t die in the first place). 

This scenario repeats itself another time when Dazai gets kidnapped by the mafia, and the other agency members kind of just brush it aside. As much as they may trust Dazai to take care of himself (which I’m sure he can do), it’s worrying that the other members may not be open to Dazai’s possible attempts at reaching out for help, if he were ever to make one. 

In LN 4, 55 Minutes, Atsushi addresses this issue by asking Dazai why he wants to kill himself, but the answer is left open-ended, with Atsushi himself not remembering the answer (or if Dazai even did answer). You could interpret Dazai’s change from his time in the PM as an improvement of his mental state — which I have no doubt that has happened — but Dazai needs to face his issues head-on if he truly wanted to reconcile with his past.

“Perhaps someone should persistently tie Dazai up, open the lid over his chest and stuff the head of a vacuum cleaner in. They have to let Dazai, who should be screaming in pain and resisting, settle down. Following which, the difficult things in his heart must all be dragged out under the sun and stepped on mercilessly.“ — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

Oda, the man who understood Dazai more than anyone else could at the time, even specifically stated that the pain in Dazai’s heart must be forcefully dragged out, because he knew that this would ultimately be the most beneficial for Dazai’s sanity.

Throughout No Longer Human, Yozo is often misunderstood by others, or other people simply don’t care about him.

When Dazai goes to visit Oda’s grave in Dead Apple, Atsushi finds him and assumes that he’s visiting the grave of someone important to him, as an act of respect or remembrance, something of the sort. However, Dazai makes the automatic assumption that his “clownish words of deceit” (as stated by Yozo) will always be prioritized over the truth, which is why he chooses to brush off his actions as a joke. 

Although I made the point earlier that the agency members don’t give Dazai opportunities to open up about himself, Atsushi is notably different, similarly to Oda, because he’s able to take Dazai seriously and persist even through his antics. 

Atsushi takes Dazai’s act of visiting a grave seriously, even when Dazai plays it off, because he knows Dazai is a person just like anyone else. This understanding between them leads to Dazai telling Atsushi about Oda, thereby allowing Dazai to divulge a crucial part of his past.

Dazai and Yozo’s Friendships

Similarly to Yozo, Dazai’s attempt at “disentangling” himself from these relationships only serves to wear him out in the end. However, they also slightly differ in a way: Yozo is unable to form any friendships for his whole life, but Dazai had Oda. I would argue that Oda was Dazai’s only friend, mostly because of this quote:

“Odasaku understood him far beyond what Dazai had ever thought. He had already reached close to his heart, the place near the center of his heart. Before this, Dazai had never noticed there was someone who understood him so well. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted to know something from the depths of his heart.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Oda was special to Dazai because Oda was able to understand him — maybe even more than Dazai could understand himself — which is why Oda is the only person that Dazai asks for advice from. 

However, Dazai does the same thing as Yozo when he “plays the clown” as a form of self-protection from such valuable friendships. (which is probably preventing him from becoming closer to the rest of the agency).

“Things that we don’t want to lose will definitely be lost. Now that it has come to this, I have no more feelings anymore. Things worth pursuing will always disappear the moment before you get them. Nothing is worth prolonging a painful life to pursue.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Interestingly enough, Dazai says this when Ango is revealed to be a spy — before Oda dies. If Dazai was in this state of distress from Ango’s betrayal, you could only imagine how devastating Oda’s death was. 

Dazai speaks as if he’s speaking from experience, which suggests that he’s faced a similar loss in the past. Despite this implied experience, he still became friends with Oda (and Ango to an extent), fully knowing that it would only bring him pain in the end. Dazai's statement here acts more as a front that makes him sound cold and detached from the situation, only to hide how he truly feels about losing one of his only friends. 

To give some context to this passage, Yozo’s partner, Yoshiko, had been sexually assaulted by a coworker, of which Yozo attributes the cause to her overly trusting nature. Thus, this leads to Yozo’s belief that trustfulness is inherently wrong or creates weakness.

Dazai’s hesitance to form friendships most likely stems from this same inability to trust others like Yozo, but Dazai does trust a few people, namely Chuuya, Oda, and Atsushi.

With Chuuya, there’s a different type of trust between him and Dazai. Their impeccable trust is obviously a key factor in their partnership as SKK, but there’s a certain limit with this trust. They certainly trust each other in battle, but I’d argue that this trust doesn’t extend to their personal business. 

As of now, we don’t know a lot about how SKK interacted with each other during their time in the mafia (which could change with the new LN), but I doubt PM Dazai would feel comfortable with confiding in Chuuya with anything because they (kind of) hated each other. The level of trust required for a friendship would involve a mutual understanding between two people, but Chuuya and Dazai haven’t necessarily shown us that they were able to do that.

Dazai essentially broke his trust with Chuuya by leaving the mafia on a whim, but he also intentionally antagonized himself to try to make Chuuya hate him.

This scene also has comedic overtones, but it suggests something a bit sadder about Dazai. There are possibly two motivations as to why Dazai chose to do this: (or a mix of the two)

1. Dazai didn’t want Chuuya to be incriminated as his accomplice when he became an enemy of the mafia.

2. Dazai wanted to push Chuuya away because Oda — Dazai’s most trusted friend — had just died. As a form of self-protection, Dazai broke whatever semblance of friendship he shared with Chuuya in order to prevent the same pain that came with Oda’s death. 

It’s also important to consider that trust is a 2-way street; both parties have to have the same level of trust in each other. Just like Yozo, if Dazai is unable to trust anyone, then he may have cut Chuuya off to protect him (since Chuuya may have trusted Dazai more than Dazai was able to reciprocate).

In contrast, Oda and Dazai have a level of unspoken trust that basically motivates Dazai to change his entire life. 

“Odasaku’s eyes radiate with conviction. The words are clearly said with some sort of strong basis. Is it past experience? Or perhaps someone’s suggestion? — He is trying to show Dazai the path he once walked. Dazai understands this. Dazai can trust it.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Returning to Yozo’s question — “Is trustfulness a sin?” — Dazai answers it by showing us the strength of trust in this moment. Trust insinuates blind faith in another person, the willingness to believe someone else without logical reasoning, which makes it all the more important when PM Dazai — the genius prodigy who operates on a solely logical basis — is able to trust Oda and change his path in life. 

Atsushi is most likely the one that Dazai trusts the most in the agency, due to the aforementioned issues with the other members. However, it seems more like a budding trust that’s growing to become like Oda and Dazai, but it still requires Dazai to take that step forward to further their trust. 

Dazai and Yozo’s View of the World

In this scene, Yozo had made a decision for immediate gratification, but that choice caused him insufferable pain afterwards — supporting his belief that the world was a “place of bottomless horror.”

This parallels two of Dazai’s statements: one from Dark Era and one from Dead Apple.

“Please, take me with you. Wake me up from this rotten world of a dream. Come on, come on, come on!” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

(Dazai wasn’t talking about himself here, but the allusion sets up a situation where he can talk about himself indirectly — I talk about it more in my other post here)

We don’t really get a reason for why Dazai is suicidal, but from this we can infer that it’s something more complex than he makes it out to be — something like an issue deeply rooted within the world, with no easy solution. 

One could guess that this was the result of an unfortunate decision (like Yozo), or the realization that the world was simply a terrible place (possibly because no one cared for him as a kid and he had Mori as a “parental” figure instead).

Yozo expresses his lack of understanding in the compassion of human nature, but Dazai (as we know) seems to understand other people perfectly, as least enough to manipulate them.

However, this forms somewhat of a paradox: Dazai understands people so well to the point that he can’t understand them.

Dazai understands every flawed aspect of a human being — the tendency to manipulate, lie, kill, etc. — most likely because of his past as a young child. “Human beings never did teach” him the hopeful aspect of human nature  — the ability to love and cherish others.

Shibusawa in Dead Apple reflects this mindset, but take note of what Dazai says: “You wouldn’t be saying that if you actually had friends” — clearly a reflection of Dazai’s personal experience, by knowing how important friends are.

Yozo’s deathly fear of society tames itself when he comes to the realization that society is really just made up of a bunch of individuals working for their individual benefit, so he has no reason to fear society as a whole.

I don’t believe Dazai has this same fear of society, but he does reflect this individualistic mindset in the way he acts. Often enough, Dazai doesn’t tell anyone about his plans and would rather manipulate people into following such plans, even when it would be easier to cooperate. He always takes care of conflicts by himself, and by his standard.

Yozo’s fear of society possibly manifested into Dazai’s ostracization from society. More speculation here, but → My guess is that Dazai was alienated not only as a genius isolated for his intelligence, but also for his ability. There seems to be some division between regular society and ability-users’ society, but I can see Dazai being rejected by both because he’s the antithesis to all abilities. 

Regular society would either shun him like other users or attempt to exploit him for their personal gain (possibly for his intelligence AND his ability), or ability-users would see him as a threat and/or menace to their safety.

When Yozo considers a double suicide with his partner, he comes to this unsure conclusion of whether or not he actually wants to go through with it.

This reflects what Oda believes about Dazai:

“I thought you and Dazai were very similar, unable to see the value of your life, hoping for death, hence jumping into a world of violence and fighting. But that’s not the case. That guy is just a child who’s too smart. Just a crying child who’s been left alone in the darkness, a world of nothingness far emptier than the world we can see.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

At the end of the story, Gide and Oda are different from Dazai because they face an inevitable hopelessness. However, Dazai has a small spark of hope to live on that persists beyond the other two. 

This is represented in Dazai’s own statement to Oda, when Oda is set on walking to his death: “Go and rely on something, hope for something good to happen next, that something will definitely happen.” 

If anything, this sounds more like a plea to himself than to Oda, but it establishes an important point: hope is built upon the assumption that the future will treat your present desires well. Vice versa, hopelessness is built upon the expectation that the future will neglect your present desires.

It’s a bit wordy, so I’ll elaborate on. Right after Dazai says this line, they proceed to talk about their desires → Dazai wants to find a reason to live, so he joined the mafia; Oda wanted to become a novelist, so he didn’t kill anyone. 

Now, the difference between hope and hopelessness:

Oda feels hopeless because he expects that his present desire (to become a novelist) won’t be fulfilled in the future. By losing the one qualification that he felt he had to follow (not killing anyone), he no longer believes that he can become a novelist.

Dazai has hope because he assumes that his present desire (to find a reason to live) will be fulfilled in the future. He doesn’t know that for sure, but he persists onwards regardless of having full assurance or not. 

Dazai’s hope and trust in Oda brings him to where he is in the present, and takes him one step closer towards discovering his reason to live. 

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd dazai #dazai analysis #no longer human #bsd oda #surprisingly more oda than i expected #very ramble-y i apologize in advance

[little-diable]

Fluff Alphabet - Jasper Hale

Request by anon: May I request a Jasper hale fluff alphabet please and thank you ☺️ 🥰💖

Took this from @pimaginecollection, enjoy my loves. xxx

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Jasper would take (y/n) on many trips, either on a hike, or even up to the mountains for a weekend. It honestly wouldn’t really matter to him, what they were up to, as long as he’d be able to spend some quality time with her, he’d be happy with snuggling her on the sofa, while they would be watching some old classic movies. 

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

I doubt, that there’d be anything Jasper wouldn’t find beautiful about (y/n), he’d think that she’d be beautiful inside and out.  

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Thanks to his gift, Jasper would know from the get go, if something was wrong with (y/n), she wouldn’t even have to voice it out, something she’d be very grateful for. Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles would be the name of the game, he’d wrap his arms around her, her head would be buried in the crook of his neck, while he’d tell her to take deep breaths. 

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

It would obvious to the both of them, that he’d turn her at one point, so that they’d be able to spend eternity side by side. Jasper would see themselves travel the world together, exploring new places and cultures, at one point he’d take her to Houston and show her where he grew up. 

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Major Jasper Whitlock. Don’t think we need to say anything else about this, do we? 

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Fighting wouldn’t be a regular part of their daily lives, Jasper wouldn’t be one to lash out on her, he’d feel guilty as soon as he’d notice the way she’d turn her back on him, trying to swallow down the wave of sadness that was crashing upon her. They’d only fight, if Jasper or (y/n) would be worried about each other, too into their heads to think straight any longer.  

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Oh, Jasper would be the most grateful partner ever, he’d appreciate every little thing about her and the way she was caring for him, no matter how, no matter what, (y/n) would always have his back, something he’d never forget. 

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

No, absolutely no secrets. Jasper would value honesty, just like (y/n), there wouldn’t be a way to hide stuff from each other anyways, Edward wouldn’t be able to drown out their thoughts and would speak out at one point. 

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

She’d inspire him, to become a better version of him. To talk about his past, knowing all about the cruel things he did, trying to make him understand, that what he did was wrong and there was no way to forget about it. 

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He wouldn’t get jealous, but he’d definitely get possessive relatively quickly, reminding her once again, who she belongs to. 

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Ohhh, let me tell you, Jasper would be an exceptionally good kisser. (Y/n) would be ‘addicted’ to his lips, trying to sneak in a good amount of kisses every hour. 

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

I’d say, it would be pretty obvious for Jasper from the start, that she was the one, after all he would have to realize the signs, that she would be his mate. He would take her on a few dates and would try and make her understand the concept of mates, it would probably take (y/n) a while to understand it. 

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Yes they definitely do, after all they belong to the Cullen clan, Alice would go all out for their wedding, just as big and wonderful as Bella and Edwards had been. He would take her on a trip, to one of her favorite spots, they would probably stargaze and Jasper would prepare a long monologue about the fact, that he won’t be able to survive, without her by his side. 

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Darlin’ 

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He’d shower her with love and affection, maybe not so much in the public eye, but definitely behind closed doors or at home. They’d hold hand in school and share a few kisses, but as soon as they’d be on their own, it would be a different story. It would be pretty obvious to their friends and family, so there was no reason to hide their feelings anyways. 

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Jasper wouldn’t be one to brag, of course he’d be proud to have her as his mate and wouldn’t have a problem with kissing her in front of other people, but he wouldn’t go all out in public. 

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

I mean he’s a vampire, he’s got a special gift, I think that helps a lot. 

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He definitely would be creative, he’d think about date ideas, trying to surprise her with new stuff every time, he’d love to watch her eyes light up as she’d kiss him and thank him for taking her there. Jasper would be pretty romantic, he’d take his time in making her happy, he’d put his heart into making things work.  

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Oh yes, he’d be supportive, would have her back no matter what and help her through every decision. There wouldn’t be a thing he wouldn’t support, when it came to achieving her goals. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Oh Major Jasper Hale would definitely be up to try out new things. 

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

This is pretty self explanatory, thanks to his gift. He’d know her like the back of his hand, would be able read her all the time and help her through her sometimes confusing thoughts. 

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

She’d be the most important thing to Jasper, he’d give up anything for her, they would be mates after all, something that goes way beyond a typical relationship. 

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He’d always carry her favorite snacks with him, or at least bunk them in his car, if she’d ever feel down or cranky, he could at least take her mind off things, for a good few moments. 

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Yes, he’d be a soft boy behind closed doors, would love to cuddle her, he’d be the big spoon, kiss her all the time, just to feel the warmth, that would be taking over her body. 

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He’d try to avoid situations, where they’d be apart from each other for a long time, but if he’d be away for a few days, they’d talk on the phone every day, he’d snap her a few pictures and tell her how much he loves and appreciates her. 

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

There wouldn’t be anything he wouldn’t do for her, no matter what, Jasper would go through hell and back for her. He’d probably even leave his family behind, if he really had to, in order to save his mate. 

#Jasper Hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #Jasper Hale fluff #jasper whitlock imagine #major jasper whitlock #Jasper Whitlock #twilight #the cullens #cullen #hale #twilight imagine #twilight headcanon #fluff alphabet #jackson rathbone

[sage-nebula]

I’ve been thinking about what I would have liked a sequel to InuYasha to be like, since the official sequel has been such a disappointment (to say the least), so I figured I’d go ahead and post my thoughts. 

To start with, we’re keeping Moroha, and she would be the actual main character. She’s the daughter of the previous two main protagonists, her personality steals the show on the regular anyway, and the fact that she’s part demon while also having sacred priestess powers makes her far more interesting than simply doing half-demons 2.0. I’m not sorry.

So, the story. I imagine that hundreds and hundreds of years back, like well before Inuyasha was ever sealed to the Tree of Ages and all that drama with Kikyou and Naraku happened, there was a prophecy made by some kind of deity (or deity-like) figure. The prophecy was something like, when a demon had a child with a powerful priestess, that child would then end the warring period between demons and mortals—and would, in fact, put an end to demons altogether. In other words, the child of the demon and shrine maiden would lead to the modern era, where mortals still roam freely but demons are (typically) nowhere to be seen. Not many knew about this prophecy, but very powerful and high-ranking demons did (e.g. Kirinmaru, possibly Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru’s father), and because they didn’t want demons to disappear from the earth for very obvious reasons (even though the prophecy wasn’t clear on how that would happen), they made it a point to try to stop the birth of such a child from ever happening—or, if it did happen, they made it a point to kill said child as an infant before they could ever grow. 

Hundreds of years passed. For a time there was great concern over whether Kikyou would bear the child that would bring about the prophecy, given that she was a powerful priestess (the most powerful priestess) who had several half-demons interested in her. Fears waned a little when Inuyasha decided to become human like Kikyou, forsaking his demon half and therefore rendering the two of them unable to bring the prophecy to pass (and there was some argumentation over whether a half-demon could bring the prophecy to pass anyway, but the danger was too great to risk it in the minds of those who knew), but then all of that drama went down before he could, and Kikyou died before she could have a child with anyone, so it became a moot point.

Regardless, those hundreds of years passed, Kikyou was reborn as Kagome, Kagome and Inuyasha fell in love, and they ended up giving birth to a child, Moroha, who inherited both demonic powers from her father and sacred powers from her mother. And while it’s not as if someone was watching Inuyasha and Kagome on CCTV to stalk their every action, other parts of the prophecy (such as the full moon and sun both being present in the sky at the moment of the birth, which happened just as day broke, or stars falling the night of conception) lined up and made it clear that the prophecied birth had come to pass. Of course, neither Inuyasha nor Kagome knew of the prophecy, nor did anyone else in the village . . . but Kirinmaru, as mentioned before, did.

So Kirinmaru shows up some time after Moroha’s birth, when she’s still a baby, with the intent on killing her and probably her parents as well, for good measure, so they can’t have another one. He’s not alone; I’m unsure of whether Sesshoumaru would be with him or not in this version (because I feel Sesshoumaru would have complicated feelings on the issue; he doesn’t want demons to disappear but also he’s doubtful Inuyasha’s child could make that happen), but Kirinmaru would at least have his top four lackeys and possibly many other demons with him. Enough so that everyone in the village would be at significant risk. Of course Kagome and Inuyasha aren’t going down without a fight, but also a battleground is no place for a baby, so Kagome takes Moroha through the well (which we’ll say was working at this point in time) in order to have her family watch her. This serves two purposes: It gives Moroha a loving family to take care of her, with Kagome herself ensuring that happens, AND it allows us to show Kagome’s family after giving a frick about her potentially dying, which Yashahime failed to show with their non-reaction to her potentially having a child.

Of course, Kagome’s family doesn’t want her to return to the feudal era if there’s some huge battle going down, but Kagome promises that she will survive, and she will come back to get Moroha. She promises. So her family agrees to babysit Moroha, and Kagome returns to the feudal era . . . only to not come back. As a result, Moroha is raised by Souta and his family, and cherished by her grandma and great-grandpa, even though there is also an ever-present sorrow and grief because they believe Kagome must have died in the battle she spoke of. And Moroha does feel the love from her family, but also recognizes that they also see her dead mother whenever they look at her, so there’s that, too.

With that said, Kagome isn’t dead! She returns to the feudal era and things are indeed going badly (in a flashback we get plenty of “INUYASHAAAA” “KAGOMEEEEE” for old time’s sake), but I don’t want to kill either her or Inuyasha off. So instead, we’ll bring the Rainbow Pearls back into it. Like in the actual sequel, Inuyasha and Kagome end up sealed in one of the Rainbow Pearls. But the reason here is because Kirinmaru finds out that Kagome sent Moroha away to a place where he can no longer reach her, and he’s furious about it. But he also feels that, when she grows up, she will seek out her parents. So he figures, he’ll take her parents, seal them in a state where they can’t escape him, and then use them as bait. He’ll lure Moroha to him and kill her then. It’s a perfect plan. (And while I would want to seal Inuyasha and Kagome into the Tree of Ages since that’s their tree, at the same time, Kirinmaru can’t exactly take a whole ass tree with him. I mean, he could, but it’d kill it and probably end the sealing power. So.)

Years pass, Moroha grows. She can pretty much pass for a human girl aside from her fangs and her super senses / abilities, so she doesn’t feel like too much of an outcast in the human world. She's a little older than in Yashahime, maybe around 16, and as such was able to do at least a year or two of high school and has a few years experience in archery and kendo clubs as a result. But though she doesn’t feel like an outcast, Moroha has always been plagued by the feeling that there’s more to her story than she and her family know. She feels like there’s something missing, like the assumption that her mother died just isn’t right. This draws her back to the Bone-Eaters Well time and time again, and the final time (the one we see) Souta follows her there. They talk about Moroha’s feelings and her desire to know, and Souta tells her he think that she can make the trip—and that she should, if she can’t rest. He gives her Inuyasha’s robe of the fire rat (which I forgot to mention Moroha was swaddled in when Kagome took her through), as well as her bow and quiver from archery, and some other provisions. Then Moroha jumps through and returns to the feudal era.

So the main plot, or at least the one that Moroha is aware of at first, would be Moroha trying to figure out what happened to her parents, where they are, et cetera (and people like Miroku, Sango, and Shippou bursting out crying when they see that Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter did survive and is all grown up and looks so much like her parents). Then in the background of that is the prophecy and whether Moroha actually will carry it out or not. My thought is that she would, but it’s not that she kills all demons, because that’s pretty grim. Rather, it’s that the Rainbow Pearls would ultimately be used to seal or suppress demonic powers, with the implication that demons or people with demonic powers are very much still actually in the modern era, but they’re just sleeping, and could come back at any time. And perhaps this would be done at the end of her life rather than at the end of the series, I don’t know. But basically it would be written to explain the discrepancy of why there were demons and magic in the feudal era, but no longer in the modern era. It would make Kagome going back to the feudal era, meeting Inuyasha and building a family with him, something that actually needed to happen for her era to exist as it did at all. (So, a stable time loop, sort of.)

As for Sesshoumaru having daughters, I honestly really don’t think it’s necessary, but if he did they should be side characters (as in they can be part of the main group, but their story shouldn’t be the primary focus), and Kagura should be their mother. Since Kagura died, if we do still want them to be half-demons, then perhaps it could be that Sesshoumaru traveled to the modern era himself somehow to look for Moroha after Kagome sent her there (I don’t think the well would work for him, but this is a show about magic, he could find a way). He didn’t find Moroha, but he found Kagura’s modern reincarnation, a human woman who looked startlingly like her. He followed her around to figure out what was up with her, she thought he was a creep (albeit a very pretty creep), he eventually decides to leave her because she’s her own person and not Kagura, she follows him because she wants to know where he’s going, she ends up going back to the feudal era with him on accident, they travel together for a while, fall in love, have babies, etc. So I guess in that sense the mother of Sesshoumaru’s daughters wouldn’t actually be Kagura, just like Kagome is not Kikyou, but regardless, she’d be as close to Kagura as he could actually get and that’s better than the alternative that the fifteenth episode of Yashahime suggested, so I’d take it. (Granted I would have taken just about anything over that, but still.) With this scenario, Towa and Setsuna (if we kept those names) would be younger than Moroha, and would have been raised together in the feudal era. If they end up traveling with Moroha, perhaps it’s because Sesshoumaru sent them to do it by suggestion. The twins think they’re just ~bonding~ with their cousin, or at least helping her survive in an era she’s not familiar with, but also their father is using them to spy on her to see if there’s any chance she could bring about the prophecy.

So yeah, that’s what I got. If I’d been asked to come up with a sequel to Inuyasha, that’s what I would have written. Of course there are more details that would need to be ironed out, but nonetheless, we’d have a clear goal from the jump, the correct character would be the main character, and there wouldn’t be any child grooming or pedophilia. Win-win-win, honestly. We could have had it all.

#inuyasha #anti sessrin #inuyasha sequel au #moroha #moroha deserved better #so much better #anti yashahime

[akillysheel]

TENUOUS.  ( 1 )

Summary:  Cthugha explains a little more about who he is and why he’s there--  besides the obvious, of course. Warnings:  N/A. Notes:  Yes, nouns like ‘Balance’ and ‘Universe’ are capitalised on purpose.

    THE  STRANGER  NAVIGATED  the precinct as if he’d been there before.  He wound his way through tables like a snake, ignoring the curious glances that officers shot him as he passed.  As he reached Kuro's office, the Sheriff was almost convinced that he was the one who didn't know his way around the station.

    "Oh,"   the boy mused, head tilted upwards in the direction of his corkboard.  It was littered with different coloured post-it notes and twine, Kuro’s neat block letters bold against their garish backdrop.   "An upgrade for sure."

    "Who are you?"   Kuro asked slowly, enunciating every word as he stared at him intensely.  Part of him felt that he should recognise him.  Perhaps it was the familiarity that he'd been approached with.

    "My name is Cthugha.  I came from the future,"   he replied nonchalantly, arms tucked behind his back as he looked over the board.  He winced slightly upon seeing one of the names on one of the many sticky tabs.   "You never find that one, by the way."

    "Excuse me?"    Now he felt irked.   "That's a real case, y'know.  This girl's really missing.  That's somebody's daughter."

    "Unfortunate,"   Cthugha said, his tone a fraction softer.

    "She ain't fodder fer yer li'l sideshow.  She's a real person 'n' she's Raku-knows-where.  Y'don't have the right to t'be involvin' her in yer stunt."

    The look that Cthugha shot over his shoulder was cold.  After a beat of silence:   "Her name is Olivia Brannon.  She went missing a week ago.  You found her things in a field directly adjacent to the subway tunnel--  her dorm keys, student ID and textbooks--  but you have no further leads.  You think that she's playing hooky with a boyfriend she's keeping a secret from her overbearing parents--  that she threw her belongings as a student away to pursue a life with him in private--  but he's still in town and hasn't seen her either.  You’ve pursued him for questioning but he’s come back clean as a whistle.  He even has an iron-clad alibi under his belt!  You don't know where else to look, so you trawl through town like a dog sniffing for blood, only to find nothing.  The case eventually goes cold."   A thin smile shaped his lips as he took in Kuro's stupefied expression, impatient and derisive.   "How's that for a stunt, Sheriff Braav?"

    "H-How did you--"

    "What part of 'the future' do you not understand?"

    A thick blanket of silence befell them, and Kuro found himself leaning against the wall for balance.  Just five minutes ago, it had been a typical Tuesday morning.  Now, it felt as if his world was teetering to one side, his pulse an electrical current that thrummed in each temple.  It wasn't easy to bewilder him after all that he'd seen, but this curious stranger had achieved it in a matter of minutes.  How else was he supposed to react to being told airtight details about a case that hadn’t been made public knowledge yet?

    How is any of this happening?  What is happening?  None of this is right.     Who is this guy?

     "I won't waste any time,"   Cthugha said soberly, moving away from the board.  He circled Kuro's desk like a vulture, blue eyes scanning the tabletop with apparent interest.  A finger grazed a half-solved rubix cube curiously.   "I've come for one very important thing:  the Balance is at stake.  I need to fix it.  You can help me."

     "What…?"   Kuro blurted stupidly, mind reeling.   "What're y'talkin' about?"

     "Alright."   Cthugha paused to pinch the bridge of his nose.   "I'm gonna need ya to sharpen up, detective.  I came to you because I know you're smart."

    “Surely y’realise how insane this is!”   Kuro bit back, finding a foothold in the conversation.   “This kid materialises out of nowhere--”

    “Not a kid.”

    “-- ‘n’ tells me that he’s from the future, ‘n’ that he’s here t’restore the Universe’s Balance--”

    “In layman's terms.”

    “--’n’ that he needs my help t’do it.  Ten minutes ago, I was enjoyin’ a cup’a coffee ‘n’ finishin’ the paperwork fer an open-’n’-shut robbery!  This shit is  WAY  outta my professional league.”

    There was a lilt in the conversation--  one in which was stolen by the subtle tilt of Cthugha’s head.  There was a strange metaphysical gravity that surrounded him, one that drew in attention like he was sucking it through a straw.

    In a small, hopeful voice:   “... you have coffee?”  

    “That’s what y’take away from everythin’ I just said?!”

    “I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in months,”   murmured Cthugha, scratching his chin pensively.  Whatever peril the world was in, it seemed to be irrelevant to him now.   “I had some at a diner in a pocket dimension a couple weeks ago.  The waitress was lovely but the coffee was…”   His teeth came together in the form of a fierce grimace.   “... sweet.”

    Kuro blinked owlishly, his mind racing.  Everything was happening so quickly.  He'd had no time to process the other's abrasive introduction, nor the deeper meaning of the things he was saying.  The most he knew of the 'Balance' was that it was a cosmic force that even God's wrestled with.  On the handful of occasions that it had come up in conversation, Raku was either struggling to maintain it or finding loopholes to avoid doing unsavoury things to appease it. Hardly an educational display.

    "How about…"   It was a sheepish start, no doubt, the town-hero more than a little out of sorts.  He paused to stand up straight again, trying to strengthen his resolve.  Get it together.  He's scrawny.  But so is Raku.  He owns the very ground that you stand on.   "... I put on a pot of coffee, and we talk more?"

     "See, now it feels like you’re meeting me in the middle."

                                                                ________

    A sense of normalcy returned to him as he took a sip of his coffee.  The Regular Tuesday vibes are back.

    "What's the verdict?"   he asked as he watched Cthugha peer into his cup.  He found it incredibly odd that somebody who looked so… on-the-cusp-of-adulthood-and-no-older had asked for it black, all but turning his nose up at the offer of sugar and milk.

    "Hm..."   He hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing at the dark abyss before him.  Then, he took a sip.  Kuro watched as he paused mid-drink, eyes widening slightly.  After a moment, he began to gulp it down, continuing until his mug was empty.  

     After a relieved little exhale:   "Refill?"

    "Sure…?"   the Sheriff said hesitantly, reaching for the pot and filling his mug again.  He seemed to slow down for his second helping, really taking in the taste of it.

    "Ah…  this district gets it.  So much flavour,"   Cthugha praised, looking comfortable in his cross-legged position in Kuro's chair.  It's frame dwarfed him, the black leather suiting his businesslike approach.   “I’ve found that’s a common trend here.   Huros make good food too;  organic produce, and lots of spices and herbs.”

    "Uh, yeah…"   He couldn't focus on the idle chatter.  He had too many questions--  too many burning queries-- to ask for anything other than answers to them.   "So about why you're here--"

    "Well, as you observed, I can tell the future, because I've seen it.  I--"

    "But how?"   Kuro interrupted, unfolding a rickety metal chair and sitting on it.  It creaked angrily beneath his weight, his six-and-a-half-foot frame not built for its meagre services.   "Who are y'?  What are y’?  I-- I've met Raku several times over and not even he can mess with time--"

    "I'm sort of his foil,"   Cthugha answered impatiently, his foot tapping against the arm of the chair.   "Look, do we have to play Guess Who right now?  There're more important things--"

    "I need t'know how y'knew about Olivia.  I ain’t gonna help y’at all ‘til I know that.  How do I know yer trustworthy?  How can I be sure my own officers ain’t leakin’ things t’outside sources?   I don’t know y’.  How could y’know?"

    There was a tense pause between them, one that seemed to reverberate throughout the office.  Suddenly, Kuro felt incredibly claustrophobic--  as if the sound bouncing off of the walls was drawing closer and closer.  He watched as Cthugha sighed, drawing his mug to his lips for a final time before setting it down in his lap.

    "Fine.  I'll tell you.  Once.  So you’d better listen good.  You just remember--  you asked for this,"   he warned, tone anything but ceremonious as he wagged a finger at him.   "God's can't touch time because that's what we rifters are for, dummy.  We govern the fabric of reality. Time's separate to a God's responsibilities, see.  Gods maintain districts and concepts; we maintain things relating to the Universe itself.  Time and space, namely.  Those things're outside of a God's scope."

    "So yer…  above Raku?"

    "I'd argue yes,"   the rifter said pridefully.   "That little chump's only got a district to look after.  I've got this entire timeline, and parallel timelines that're born from this timeline."   He retrieved his coffee, brought it to his mouth.  With his lips against the rim:   "... but it doesn't matter.  We work together.  In tandem.  We help each other.  The basic idea is that Gods keep their people happy;  those happy people are way more likely to stick to their destined paths, which means less problems for rifters.  If there is a threat to the peace of the district, the God quells it;  if it is a threat to the Balance, I do.  We ultimately both serve the same function--  to keep the Universe happy--  but we're at opposite ends of the spectrum."

    "We're…  pre-determined?"

    "Heh.  I forgot you're the existential type,"   Cthugha tittered numbly.   "No.  Not in the way you're thinking anyway.  People live in more of a probability map than they do a script;  they have a list of things they could do in any given situation and can select from most of them without any real consequence to the Balance.  People have free will because the Universe isn’t overly fragile, get it?  The continuum isn’t going to shit itself if you take a detour from your usual lunch order.  Every choice births a parallel universe in which the other was made.  Most of these parallel universes are benign and don't need to be touched.  So basically, you could make any choice and each of them would be as inconsequential to me."   At least, if we’re talking about your average choices.   “No more about this, okay?  It isn’t gonna do you any good.  I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but since you were so stubborn...”

    He wasn't going to get into the ins and outs of his job, especially not with a simple huro.  It wasn’t productive.  It wasted time.  It could have catastrophic consequences for his mortal mind.  And the Balance, above all, was a picky sonuvabitch that Cthugha didn’t understand.  Sometimes a store being out of a person's favourite sandwich led to them becoming an angry, tyrannical politician that eventually ended the world.  Other times, a person could murder seventeen children in cold blood and the Balance remained unchanged, seeing those seventeen lives as pre-determined losses.  He’d stopped asking questions a long time ago--  had learned to accept that, in most instances, what was meant to be was meant to be.

    Not when it concerned the end of all life in the Aphanta Region, though.

    Kuro looked dizzy.  He sank a little further into his seat, his tanky frame looking all but comical in the small fold-up chair.   "... 'n' what can I do about any'a this, huh?  I'm just a police officer.  A damn good one, sure, but I’m no cosmic cop."

     "Mm,"   agreed the time-keeper, a solitary nod offered.   "Sure.  But you're a police officer in a district that contains a Universal Hazard."

    "Universal Hazard…?"

    "Sheriff."   It was the first time that Cthugha had paused to find the correct words during their conversation.  He seemed brazen, largely unconcerned with hurting peoples' feelings, but this appeared to be an exception.  Kuro steeled himself, spine turning rigid.   "... I've seen the death of this district, then its neighbours, then beyond.  It all circles back to one very particular problem:  a case you never solve."

    “Brannon…?”   he asked, feeling his heart leap into his throat.

    “Not her.  Someone whose case’s gotten so cold it’s practically subzero,”   Cthugha murmured, polishing off the last of his coffee with a well-timed swallow.   “Remember Mia Vanton?”

    “... oh shit.”

    Cthugha nodded solemnly.     “Yeah.  Her.”

#writeblr #fandomless oc story #writing #original story #novel drafts #tenuous ;

[innuendostudios]

Here’s How to Radicalize a Normie, a video essay on how the Alt-Right and their fellow travelers recruit. Clocking in at 41 minutes, 6756 words, 633 individual drawings, and 27 sources (including three full books), it is by far the longest and most heavily-researched video in The Alt-Right Playbook. I am very tired.

It took so long to put this behemoth together that my Patreon started to dip. So, maybe a little more than usual, if you want to keep seeing videos like these, please consider backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, your friend Gabe is starting to worry you.

Gabe’s always been just, you know, a regular guy. Not very political. He likes video games, sci-fi, comics, Star Wars, and anime. White guy shit. The only offbeat thing about him is you suspect there’s like a 20% chance he’s a furry. For all intents and purposes, Gabe is a normie.

But recently Gabe’s been spending a lot of time on some radically conservative forums, and listening to radically conservative podcasts, and picking some radically conservative arguments with you and your friends. You never would have expected this, not from Gabe, and, given the speed it’s happened, it’s worrying to think where it might be headed.

How have the Alt-Right gotten their hooks into your friend?

If you’ve ever known a Gabe, this video is for you. Here’s How to Radicalize a Normie.

Step 1: Identify the Audience

What you need to know before we begin is: around 2013, the Nazis went online.

Hate groups in the US, as tracked by the Southern Poverty Law Center, had been growing in number since the noughts, but, between 2012 and 2014, they dropped by almost a quarter. Patriot groups dropped by over a third. However, hate crimes stayed about the same. Radical conservatism was not shrinking, but decentralizing. Still radical, still often violent, but now full of white nationalist nomads unlikely to join a formal organization.

This didn’t make them harmless. What it did was protect their asses from the typical hate group cycle: getting the public’s attention, making allies in conservative media, swelling their numbers, and then eventually disgracing themselves with failures, infighting, and, often enough, members committing horrific acts of violence, which come with social and sometimes legal consequences for all the other members.

So the Alt-Right and their fellow travelers these days don’t so much have members. They have hashtags, followers, viewers, and subscribers. This insulates them from their own audience. If Gabe, as a member of that audience, were to go out and commit a crime on their behalf, there’d be little doubt they had a hand in radicalizing him, but it’d be very hard to claim they told him to do it. On some of these sites, where Gabe spends hours and hours of his day, he’s never created an account or left a comment; the people radicalizing him don’t even know he’s there.

This distributed nature is what makes the Alt-Right, and the movements connected to it, unique. (You may remember a notable proof-of-concept for this strategy.) Doing almost everything online has, as compared with traditional hate movements, dramatically increased their reach and inoculated them from consequence. The trade-off, as we will see, is a lack of control.

And so we come to Gabe.

Gabe exists at the intersection of the kinds of people the Alt-Right is looking for - straight white cis men who feel emasculated by modern society, primarily, though they do make exceptions - and the kinds of people who are vulnerable to recruitment. Gabe fits the first profile in that he got bullied in high school, and often feels he has to hide his nerdy side for fear of getting ridiculed. The Alt-Right also has success with men who can’t get laid or recently got divorced or feel anxious about an influx of non-white people in their community. These things can make one feel like less than the confident white man they’re “supposed” to be. And it’s the closest they will ever come to being minoritized.

Regarding the second profile, it’s important to know that Gabe is not categorically different from you or me. He’s a cishet white dude - his problems are not unique. There isn’t a ton of research into the demography of the Alt-Right, but there may be a higher-than-average chance Gabe has a history of being abused or comes from a broken home. You don’t know if it’s true of Gabe, he’s never said. But most abuse survivors don’t become Nazis. The things that make people like Gabe recruitable tend to be situational: it happens often during periods of transition, as dramatic as the death of a loved or as benign as moving to a new city. Things that make people ask big life questions. Gabe has concerns like economic precarity, not knowing his place in a changing world, stressful working conditions. In other words, Gabe is suffering under late capitalism, same as everyone, and it’s entirely plausible he could have gone down the path to becoming a Leftist.

This is not to make an “economic anxiety” argument: the animating force of the Far Right is and always has been bigotry. But the Alt-Right targets Gabe by treating his “economic anxiety” as one of many things bigotry can be sold as a solution to. It is their aim that, when dissatisfied white men go looking for answers, they find the Alt-Right before they find us.

Step Two: Establish a Community

Were Gabe pledging an old-school hate movement, there would probably be a recruiter to usher him into an existing community. But that’s the kind of formalized interaction modern extremists try to avoid. Online extremism has many points of entry, and everybody’s journey is unique, so rather than be comprehensive we will focus on what are, in my estimation, the two most common pathways: the Far Right creates a community Gabe is likely to stumble into, or infiltrates a community Gabe is already in.

The stumble-upon method has two main branches, one of which is just “Gabe ends up on a chan board,” which we’ve already done a video about. The other is kind of the polar opposite of 4chan’s cult of anonymity: Gabe ends up in the fandom of a Far Right thought leader.

These folks are charismatic media personalities (that’s charismatic according to Gabe’s tastes, not ours; I don’t understand it, either). These personalities may gain traction on any number of platforms, from podcasts to reportage to blogging, though the most effective platform for redpilling is, and yes I am biting the hand that feeds me, YouTube. They may get Gabe’s attention through fairly standard means, like talking about or even generating controversy to get themselves trending, while some of the more committed will employ dubious SEO tactics like clickbait, google bombing, and data voids (just pause for definitions, we don’t have time).

What they tend to have in common, especially the most accessible ones, is that they don’t present themselves as entry points to the radical Right. In fact, many did not set out to be Far Right thought leaders, and may not think of themselves as such (though they are often selling products, of which the Alt-Right are among their biggest purchasers, and it’s not like they’re turning the money away). How they present is the same way anyone presents who wants to be successful on social media: accessible, approachable, authentic. The face-to-face relationship a budding extremist forms with their recruiter or the leader of their hate group’s local chapter are here folded into one parasocial relationship with a complete stranger.

Why this person appeals to Gabe is they’re not selling politics as politics, but conservatism as a kind of lifestyle brand. They rely heavily on criticizing or ridiculing the Left: feminists are oversensitive, Black people unintelligent, queer folks doomed to loneliness, and trans people insane; I dunno if it’s a coincidence that these are all things Gabe thinks about himself in his low moments. By contrast, they don’t sell conservatism as having sounder policies or a more coherent moral framework, but that abandoning progressive principles and embracing conservative ones will make Gabe happier. Remember, Gabe isn’t looking for white nationalism or misogyny, what he wants is the cure to soul-sickness, and these friendly micro-celebs are here to offer a shot of life advice with politics as the chaser. It is extremely important that politics be presented as a set of affects, not a set of beliefs.

The second pathway is infiltration, which is its own beast. Media personalities sometimes become gateways to the Right almost by accident: they do something edgy, a part of their audience reacts positively, and, facing no real consequence, they do it more; this leads to further positive reinforcement from conservative fans, the rest of the audience acclimates, and the cycle repeats, the personality pushing the envelope further and further based on what flies with their increasingly conservative audience. In this way, they become a right-wing figure by both radicalizing and being radicalized by their audience.

Infiltration is deliberate.

The Far Right will reliably target any community that has 1) a large, white, male population, 2) whose niche interests allow them to feel vaguely marginalized, and 3) who are not used to progressive critique of said interests. This isn’t to say progressive critique doesn’t exist, or hasn’t been baked into the property from the beginning, but that it has been, so far, easy for white guys to ignore. As such, progressives within that community probably don’t talk politics much, and women and minorities are perfectly welcome to post, same as anyone, but just, you know, don’t, don’t make identity politics, you know, like, a thing.

Given Gabe’s proclivities, he’s probably already in a number of fan communities where he can geek out and not get teased. And this is where the Far Right will go looking for him

Communities are at their most vulnerable to infiltration at times of political discord. This can happen naturally - say, a new property in the fandom has a Black protagonist - or it can be provoked - say, a bunch of channers join the forum and say provocative things about race to get people arguing - or both. Left to its own devices, the community might sort out its differences and maybe even come out more progressive than they started. But, with the right pressure applied in the right moment, these communities can devolve into arguments about the need to remove a nebulously-defined “politics” from the conversation.

The adage about bros on the internet is “‘political’ means anything I disagree with,” but it’d be more accurate to say, here, “‘political’ means anything on which the community disagrees.” For instance, “Nazis are bad” is an apolitical statement because everyone in the community agrees. It’s common sense, and therefore neutral. But, paradoxically, “Nazis are good” is also apolitical; because “Nazis are bad” is the consensus, “Nazis are good” must be just an edgy joke, and, even if not, the community already believes the opposite, so the statement is harmless. Tolerable. However, “feminism is good” is a political statement, because the community hasn’t reached consensus. It is debatable, and therefore political, and you should stop talking about it. And making political arguments, no matter how rational, is having an agenda, and having an agenda is ruining the community.

(Now, it is curious how the things that provoke the most disagreement tend to be whichever ones make white dudes uncomfortable. One of life’s great, unanswerable mysteries.)

You can gather where this is going: a community that doesn’t tolerate progressivism but does tolerate Nazism is going to start collecting Nazis, Nazis whose goal is to drive a wedge between the community and the Left. Once the Left acknowledges, “Hey, your community’s developing a Nazi problem,” the Nazis - who are, remember, trusted, apolitical members of the community who might just be kidding about all the Nazi shit - say, “Did you hear that, guys?! Those cultural Marxists just called all of us Nazis!” Wedge. Similarly, any community members who say, “but Nazis though” are framed as infiltrators pushing an agenda, even if they’ve been there longer than the Nazis have. They get the wedge, too.

This is how fandoms radicalize. They are built as - yeah, I’ll say it - safe spaces for nerds, weebs, and furries, and are told that the Left is a threat to their safety. Given a choice between leaving a community that has mattered to him for years and simply adjusting to the community’s shifting politics, the assumption is that Gabe will stay. This assumption is right often enough that a lot of fandoms have been colonized.

What is true of both of these methods - Gabe finding the Right or the Right finding him - is that Gabe does not come nor stay for the ideology. He’s here for the community, the sense of belonging, of being with his people, of having his fears validated and his enjoyment shared. The ideology is simply the price of admission.

Step Three: Isolate

There is a vast, interconnected network of Far Right communities out there, and Gabe is, at this point, only on the periphery. In order to keep him in, they need to disrupt his relationships to other communities, and become, more and more, his primary online social space. Having made this space hostile to the Left, they now seek to break his connections to progressives elsewhere in his life.

This is hard to do online. The whole appeal of moving radicalism to the internet is that your away-from-keyboard life doesn’t have to change. You are crypto the moment you log off. Some thought leaders will encourage their audience to cut ties with Family of Origin, or “deFOO,” but, even then, they can’t monitor whether the audience has actually done it the way an in-person movement could. And so alienating Gabe from the Left is less controlled, and, consequently, may be less total. How much Gabe isolates is up to him.

But the vast majority of Far Right media presumes an alienation from the Left. Part of conservative bloggers and YouTubers making the Left look pathetic is doing a lot take-downs and responses. This is a constant repetition of the Left’s arguments for the purpose of mockery, and, for Gabe, it starts to replace any engagement with progressive media directly. He soon knows the Left only through caricature. It also trains him, if he does directly engage, to approach the Left with the same combative stance as his role models. (For reference, see my comment section.) And this is only if he doesn’t partake in one of the many active boycotts of “SJW media.”

In addition to mocking the Left’s arguments, they also, curiously, appropriate them. This is one part sanitization: liberal centrism is more socially acceptable; indeed, many figures on the outer layers think of themselves as moderates, even as they serve as gateways to radicalism. But, also, many of Gabe’s problems could be addressed by progressive leftism, so they sell him racist, sexist versions of it. Yes, there is a problem with workers being underpaid and overextended, but the solution isn’t unions, it’s deporting immigrants; yes, there is a chronic loneliness and anger to being a man in the modern age, but it’s not because of the toxic masculine expectations placed on you by the patriarchy, it’s women being slutty; yes, wealth disparity does mean a tiny percentage of elites have more influence over culture and politics than the rest of us combined, but the problem isn’t capitalism, it’s the Jews. And it’s hard for Gabe to reject these ideas without, in the process, rejecting the progressive ideas they’re copied from; the Right’s “take the red pill” is, to the untrained eye, similar to the Left’s “get woke.” (Or, at least, the bowdlerized version of “get woke” that is no longer specifically about race which came to fashion when white people started saying it, grumble grumble.)

Take the red pill or reject them both; either is a step to the right.

As this rhetoric slips into his day-to-day conversation, even as seemingly harmless “irreverence,” it may strain relationships with people who are not entertained by this shit. Off-color comments about race and gender can certainly be wearying for female and non-white friends, which can lead to a passive distance or an eventual confrontation [“why is everyone but me so sensitive?!”], which only seem to confirm what his reactionary community says about liberal snowflakes. If he says these things on social media, he may get his account suspended, and, if he comes back under an alt, you can bet his new reactionary friends will be the first to reconnect, applaud the behavior that got him banned, and repeat should he get banned again. A few cycles of this and he’s lost touch with everyone else.

Also, his adoption of the insular, meme-laden terminology of this community makes him less and less comprehensible to outsiders.

Over time, sources of information get replaced with community-approved ones: conservative news, conservative YouTube, conservative Wikipedia if he’s really committed. The Algorithm soon takes note and stops recommending media from the Left. He stops watching shows with a “liberal agenda,” which usually means shows starring women and people of color. Now, there is evidence that the human mind responds to fictional characters similarly to real people, and that consuming diverse media can decrease bigotry in ways roughly analogous to having a diverse group of friends, which is one of many reasons we say representation matters. By consuming a homogenous media diet, Gabe stymies his ability to have even parasocial relationships with anyone who isn’t a cishet conservative white dude or one of their approved exceptions.

To the extent that any of this happens, it happens at Gabe’s discretion and at his own chosen pace. It has not been forced on him, only encouraged and rewarded. But the fact that it hasn’t been forced can make him all the more willing to accept it, because it seems safe to consider; even though his life and social circle are changing to accommodate, he does not feel committed. But many Gabes have walked these halls, and, if they close the door behind them, there’s nowhere left to go but down.

Step Four: Raise their Power Level

(...and they say we ruined anime.)

Consider the ecosystem of the Alt-Right as layers of an onion, with Gabe sitting at the edge and ready to traverse towards the center. (No, I’m not just going to reiterate the PewDiePipeline, though, if you haven’t seen it, go do that.)

The outer layer of the onion is extremism at its most plausibly deniable. Without careful scrutiny, the public-facing figureheads could pass as dispassionate, and the websites as merely problematic rather than softly fascist. It is valuable if Gabe believes this as well; that, at this stage, he believe the bigotry is simply trolling, the extremists an insignificant minority, and any report of harassment faked. That he believe where he is is as deep as the rabbit hole goes. And that he continue to believe this at each successive layer.

People in the deepest crevices of the Alt-Right self-report getting redpilled on multiple issues at different times in their journey to the center of the onion. If Gabe’s first red pill is about the SJWs coming for his free speech, he’ll think that’s all anyone in his community believes; there’s no racism here, people are just making a point about their right to use slurs. Then, when he gets redpilled on the white genocide, he’ll laugh at those Alt-Lite cucks who tried to sweep the race realists under the rug, and at himself for having once been one, but acknowledge that those channels and websites are still useful for onboarding people, so he won’t denounce them. At the same time, nobody takes those manosphere betas seriously.

And this process is reiterated with every pill swallowed: gender essentialism, autogynephilia, birtherism, Sandy Hook truth, pizzagate, QAnon if he’s really out there. The heart of the onion is typically the Jewish Question, but these can happen in any order, and in any number. But each layer sells itself as being, finally, the ultimate truth. Each denies the validity of the others; the layers ahead don’t exist, they’re made up my liberals, while the people behind are asleep where you are now awake. That’s why they chose “the red pill” as their metaphor: take it, and everything will be revealed. That’s why it cozies up with conspiracism. But what’s supposed to follow is that this knowledge help Gabe in some way, and it doesn’t. Blaming immigrants doesn’t actually fix the economy, and hating women doesn’t make men less lonely. But, having been alienated from everything outside the onion, once that sinks in, the only recourse on offer is to seek out the next pill.

And pills are easy to find. Those within the network have laissez-faire relationships, even as they, on paper, disavow one another. When they need a source or a guest host, they aren’t going to go to the Left; they’re going to feature each other. The Left is the enemy; their ideas are beneath consideration, and the only reason to engage them is for public humiliation. [Shapiro’s book.] But you can interview “western chauvinists” and that doesn’t mean you’re endorsing them, just, you know, it’s fine to hear ‘em out, nothing should be off-limits in the marketplace of ideas. Besides, Nazis are apolitical.

And because these folks keep showing up in each others’ metadata, regardless of what they say, Google thinks there is definitely a relationship between the guy “just asking questions” and the guy denying the Holocaust. Gabe is softly exposed to many flavors of conservatism just slightly more radical than he is now, and is expected, at the very least, to not question their presence. This is an environment where deradicalizing - listening to the Left - would be sleeping with the enemy, but radicalizing further? You do you, buddy.

Gabe’s emotional journey, however, is somewhat more complex. If you’ve spent any time reading or watching reactionary media you’ve probably noticed it’s really. fucking. repetitive. It’s a few thousand phrasings of the same handful of arguments. Like, there’s only so many jokes about attack helicopters! But these people just crank out content, and most of it’s derivative; the reason to pick one personality over another isn’t because they say something different, but because they say it differently. Gabe just picks the affect it’s delivered in.

Repetition dulls the shock of the most egregious statements, making them appear normal and prepping him for more extreme ideas. Meanwhile, the arguments themselves? They’re not good. (BreadTube will never run out of shit to debunk.) They are repetitive because they’re not good. They’re mantric. A good argument you only need to hear one time; if you can follow it, internalize it, and explain it to someone else, you know you’ve understood it. But a bad argument can’t convince you on its own merits, so it will often rely on affect. This can be the snappy, thought-terminating cliche, or the long, winding diatribe that sounds really sensible while you’re hearing it but when someone asks you for the gist you can only say “go watch these 17 videos and it’ll all make sense.” Both these approaches are largely devoid of content, but, gosh, if they don’t sound sure of themselves.

And that mode can be very persuasive, but it doesn’t stick the way a coherent argument does. It needs to be repeated, the affect replenished, because the words matter less than the delivery. There needs to be a steady stream of confident voices saying “we’ve got this figured out and everyone else is stupid” or Gabe’s gonna notice the flaws. They are not well-hidden.

And the catch-22 of returning to that stream over and over is that these communities are stressful even as they are calming. People afraid they will die virgins go to forums with people who share and validate that fear, and also say, “Yes, you will die a virgin.” People afraid Syrians are coming to kill us all watch videos by people who share and validate that fear, and also say, “Yes, Syrians are coming to kill us all.” Others have already pointed out that rubbing your face in your worst anxieties is a form of digital self-harm, but I need to you understand the toxic recursion of it: Gabe is going to these communities to get upset. Every emotion is converted into anger, because sadness, fear, and despair are paralyzing but anger is motivating; Gabe feels less helpless when he’s pissed off. And so, while he’s topping up on reassuring nonsense, he’s also topping up on stress. And, being cut off from everything outside the network, the only place he knows to go to release that stress is back to the place that gives it to him. It’s a feedback loop, pulling him deeper and deeper on the promise that, at some point, relief will come.

It is a similar dynamic that keeps people in abusive relationships.

When someone in Gabe’s community makes a racist joke, they are presenting Gabe with a choice between the human interaction of laughing with his friends and his societal responsibility not to be a fuckin’ racist. And not laughing seems ridiculous; everybody’s friends here; no one’s getting hurt; this is harmless. And so the irreverent race joke draws a line between the personal and the political, and suggests that one can be safely prioritized over the other. One way to look at radicalization is being asked to stick with that seemingly innocuous decision as the stakes are raised incrementally: first with edgier humor, and then comments that are funny because they’re shocking but you couldn’t really call them jokes, and then “funny” comments that are also sincerely angry, but, in each instance, since he laughed with his bros last time, it stands to reason he should keep favoring the personal over some abstracted notion of “politics.”

This is why the progressive adage “the personal is political” is among the most threatening things you can say in these spaces.

I’m not trying to make a slippery slope argument. Most of us who laughed at edgy jokes when we were teenagers didn’t grow up to be Nazis. It is a slippery slope in the specific context of being in community with people trying to radicalize you. Gabe is a lonely white boy in need of friends, and laughing at a racist joke is personal, while not laughing is political. Staying in a community that has Nazis in it is personal, and leaving is political. The personal is what brings people together and the political drives them apart. (The “only if some of them are bigots” part of that sentence is usually lopped off). There’s this joke on the internet that nerds perceive only two races: white and political. Following that logic, what could be more apolitical than an ethnostate?

They are banking on his willingness to adapt his beliefs to suit an environment that meets a need. That same need can be satisfied by white nationalism. There are few things more seductive to people who doubt their own worth than being told you are valuable simply for being white. And you can sub in male, cis, straight, allosexual, or able-bodied. It just takes priming: by the time Gabe officially embraces bigotry, he’s already been acting like a bigot for months. The red pill is simply the moment he says it out loud.

Change Gabe’s surroundings, and you change Gabe.

Step Five: ???

The final step in a traditional extremist group would be getting a mission. But that is one thing the Alt-Right can’t do. Once you start giving clear directives, you can’t play yourselves off as a bunch of unaffiliated hashtags and think tanks; you are now a formalized movement accountable to its followers, and can be judged and policed as such.

To my mind, Charlottesville was an attempt to become such a movement, taking things offline and getting all the different groups working collectively. And, as so often happens when these people get in the same space - especially with no official leaders or means of control over their members - it backfired. Their true colors came out before they were ready and a counter-protester lost her life.

This would be the point where, historically, an extremist group starts to disintegrate. Their veneer of respectability gone, they’re now hated by the public, the media wants nothing more to do with them, and everyone not in jail turns on each other or goes underground. This is also the point where the liberal establishment says, “My job here is done,” and utterly fails to retake control of the narrative, allowing the next batch of radicals to pick up more or less where the last one left off.

But to an already-decentralized group like the Alt-Right, Charlottesville was bad but eminently survivable. People retreated back to the internet, with its code words and anonymous forums, but that’s where much of the work was already done anyway. The platforms where they organized kept tolerating them, the authorities still didn’t classify them as terrorists, and any disgraced figureheads were replaced with up-and-comers.

The major change in strategy is that it doesn’t seem anyone has tried to formalize the Alt-Right since.

So where does that leave Gabe? He’s gone through this whole process of largely hands-off indoctrination - and I should stress his journey may look like what we’ve outlined or it may look different in places, this video is not comprehensive - but now he’s swallowed every pill he cares to, he blames half a dozen minorities for everything he sees as wrong with the world, and no one will give him anything to do. You’ve got this ad hoc movement frothing young men into a militant fervor and then just leaving them to stew in their own hate. Should we really be surprised at how many commit mass shootings?

This is a machine for producing lone wolves.

Leaving men to take up arms of their own volition is a way of enacting terror while being just outside the popular conception of a terror cell. There are also, of course, more classic militias that will offer Gabe clear directives - they’re recruiting from the same pool. And Gabe may stop short of this step, settling in a middle layer that suits him or finding the inner layers too extreme. But violence is the logical conclusion of an ideology of hate, and, should Gabe take this step, he can approach violence in the same incremental fashion he approached conservatism.

He can start with yelling at people on Twitter, and then maybe collective brigading, DDoS attacks, sharing dox, leaking nudes, calling their phone numbers, texting them pictures of their houses from the sidewalk. These acts of cruelty become games of oneupmanship within his community. All this can start as far back as Step 2, and get more intense the deeper he goes. Some people join explicitly partake in harassment and violence the way Gabe joined to talk about anime.

But this behavior can serve as a kind of buy-in. The Left and the feminists and the LGBTQs and the Muslims and the immigrants are all, within his community, subhuman. You’ve maybe heard the conservative catchphrase “feminism is cancer”; well don’t treat cancer by having a respectful exchange of ideas with it, but by eradicating it down to the last cell. Cruelty against the Left is framed as righteous.

From any other perspective, posting someone’s bank information is something you might feel ashamed of. Which creates a psychological imperative not to consider other perspectives. A thing that keeps people in is staving off the guilt they will reckon with the moment they step out. Gabe is also aware that anything he’s done to the Left could be done to him if he leaves; some communities even keep dox on their members as insurance. And the things he’s been encouraged to do to the Left will likely make him feel that the Left would never take him now; the radical Right is the only home he’s got. Harassment becomes another tool of isolation.

Steadily, options for Gabe are whittled down to being a vigilante or a nihilist. There are periods of elation: moments the Alt-Right feels it’s winning - or, more accurately, the people they hate are losing - are like cocaine. They are authoritarians, after all. But the times in between are mean and angry. They are antisocial, starved of emotional connection, consuming incompatible conspiracies that may at any point run them afoul of one another, devoted to figureheads who cater to but cannot risk leading them, and living under constant threat of being outed to the Left or turned on by the Right for stepping out of line. Gabe took this journey for the sense of community and purpose, and, but for the rare moments everything goes their way, the Alt-Right can’t maintain either. They can only keep promising his day will come, a story he could get from a $5 palm reading.

The feeling there’s nothing left but to kill yourself or someone else is so common it’s a meme.

But there is always a third option: Gabe can leave.

Pre-Conclusion: For Fuck’s Sake Do Not Make Gabe Your Whole-Ass Praxis

Before we continue, I want to state plainly that Gabe went off the deep end because he found a community willing to tell him that, because he is a cishet white man, the world revolves around him. Do not treat him like this is true.

If a fraction of the energy spent having debates with America’s Gabes were spent instead on voter re-enfranchisement, prisoner’s rights, protections for immigrants, statehood for DC and Puerto Rico, and redistricting, Gabe’s opinions, in the societal sense, wouldn’t matter. Reactionary conservatism is a small and largely unpopular ideology that is only so represented in our culture and politics because they’ve learned how to game the system.

And I get it. Those are huge problems that are going to take years to address, where, if you know a Gabe, that’s a conversation you could have today. And, if you think you can get through to him, it is worthwhile to try. This is a fight on many fronts and deradicalization is one of them. But it is only one, so please keep it in perspective. It sends an awful message when we spend more time trying to get bigots back on our side than we do the people they are bigoted against.

Your value as a lefty does not hinge on whether you can change Gabe’s mind.

Conclusion: How Gabe Gets Out

He may just grow out of it. These communities skew young, and some folks hit a point where hanging with edgy teens doesn’t feel cool anymore.

He may become disillusioned after the movement fails to deliver on its promises.

He may become disillusioned if something goes wrong in his life and his community isn’t there for him, if he feels they like his race and his gender but don’t actually care about him.

He may be shocked if he sees the Alt-Right at its worst before being appropriately conditioned. Charlottesville was a step too far for a lot of people.

His community may turn on him for any perceived unorthodoxy, and he may leave out of necessity.

He may be separated by circumstance from the community - a trip with no internet, hospitalization, arrest - and not be able to top up on the rhetoric. This may lead him to question his beliefs.

His community may disappear, either tearing itself apart or getting shut down by authorities.

He may have incidental contact with populations he’s supposed to hate, and have trouble reconciling who they are in person with what he’s been told about them. In his community, people bond over shared intolerance, but, suddenly, being tolerant helps him make friends. (This is one reason the Alt-Right has made a battleground of the college campus.)

He may form or revisit relationships outside the network, people who can offer him the connection he’s been looking for. This may reintroduce outside perspectives. More importantly, it rekindles his ability to have healthy relationships at all, something the Alt-Right has estranged him from.

As with recruiters, it seems these “escape hatch” relationships can sometimes be parasocial; coming to respect a public figure who is on the Left, or is critical of the Alt-Right.

Someone he is close to may compel him to choose, “me or the movement.” A lot of young men leave to save a romantic relationship.

Hearing stories from people who’ve already jumped may help; there aren’t a lot of public formers, and some raise suspicions as to their sincerity, but it is getting more common, and may be the closest we get to exit counseling for the Alt-Right.

He may become aware of the ways he’s being manipulated, or have them revealed to him, maybe because he stumbled into BreadTube, I dunno. Knowledge that you are being indoctrinated is no guarantee it won’t work - you are not immune to propaganda - but it can help one resist.

And he may revisit a core belief system that used to guide him, be it religion or social justice or a really wholesome fandom, and be reminded of the identity he used to have.

Moments like these, in isolation or in aggregate, can inspire Gabe to jump. They are also good times for friends to intervene. The reach and the impunity that comes with the internet means it has never been easier to fall into reactionary extremism. It has also never been easier to get out. People who exit skinhead gangs often fear for their lives; for Gabe, there’s a chance getting out is as simple as going to a different website. Much of his community does not know his name or his face and he may not important enough to dox.

What doesn’t get Gabe out - not reliably, not that I have seen - is an argument with a stranger who proves all his facts wrong and his ideology bunk. Facts don’t always work because facts don’t care about his feelings. This was about staying in a community, and holding onto an identity, that mattered to him. It was about belonging, and that is something a rando from the other side of the culture war can’t give him and probably shouldn’t be responsible for.

The theme here is human connection. Before he can do the work of disentangling himself, and facing the guilt of what he’s believed and maybe done, he has to know there’s somewhere for him on the other end of it. That the Right hasn’t ruined him. They’ve told him all of history is groups fighting each other over status, and, without his clan, he’ll be an exile. He needs a better story.

I don’t know that lefty spaces are ideal for this, in no small part because bringing someone who’s a bit of a Nazi but working on it into diverse communities is… questionable. And it probably wouldn’t be good for him, either; having just gotten out of a toxic belief system, he’s going to be deeply skeptical of all ideologies. In a perfect world, people who care about Gabe could build for him - to use a therapy term - a holding space. Someplace private - physical or digital - where Gabe can work out his feelings, where he is both encouraged and expected to be better but is not, in the moment, judged. That comes later. It is delicate and time-consuming work that should not be done in public, but we find these beliefs, built up over the course of months or years, tend to fall away very quickly with a shift of environment. Change Gabe’s surroundings and you change Gabe.

But, instead, a lot of people who jump are functionally deprogramming themselves, which is working for a lot of them, but it’s haphazard, and there are recidivists.

If you don’t personally know a Gabe, or have training as a counselor, you may not be in a position to help him. Possibly there are things you can do to disrupt the recruitment process or prevent infiltration of spaces you’re in - I’m looking into it, but talk to your mods - but, elephant in the room: meaningful change will require reform on the part of platform holders. Tools to disrupt this process already exist and are being used on groups like ISIS, but they’re not being used on the Alt-Right because they try oh so very hard not to get classified as terrorists (and also any functioning anti-radicalization policy would require banning a lot of conservative politicians, so there’s that...).

But what makes our story better than theirs is that the fight for social and economic justice, though it is long, and difficult, and frustrating, when it works, it fulfills the promise the Right can’t keep: it materially make people’s lives better. I am not prone to sentimentality, or to giving these videos happy endings. But one thing we have that the Alt-Right doesn’t is hope.

#video essay

[anywhozits]

Or maybe there’s something better?

Rating: T

Words: 1736

Pairing: Kristanna

Summary: After the birth of their sixth child, Kristoff and Anna come to realize that maybe some skin to skin snuggling with their daughter is actually the most blissful kind of snuggling in the world. (here’s a link to part 1)

aka some cavity-inducing fluff to help with social distancing/quarantine woes :) 

The doctors and midwives finally leave the happy couple alone. They clean up the birthing chamber to the best of their ability, confident that after the sixth delivery in this birthing chamber they have it all figured out. She is stable. They are stable. Both Anna and the baby. So soon after the baby’s birth that Anna is still sticky with sweat.

Since then…since the three Bjorgmans are left alone… some period of time passes. Seconds, minutes. Hours, probably.

Time doesn’t matter anymore. Not when Anna has her new daughter skin-to-skin on her chest, not when Kristoff has one arm wrapped protectively around Anna’s shoulder, the other tracing every square inch of his child’s small body.

Her small body.

Their daughter, only two hours old. So new to this world.

And now she sleeps.

Their nameless daughter. Their perfect surprise.

They’d counted her fingers, her toes. Ten of each. Her hair—like Anna’s, for now. Deep red, auburn, specifically, still wet.

But she looks like her papa, too. Many features already unmistakably Kristoff. Her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her jawline. Her nose maybe a perfect cross between the two of theirs.

She blows a little bubble with her mouth. Anna giggles. It’s cute.

Kristoff kisses the top of the baby’s head, right on her matted auburn hair.

They’re in awe. They’re in love. Their perfect little creation sleeps peacefully on Anna’s chest and she’s safe and wonderful and she’s theirs.

So, they stare at her. As intently as they can. They watch her every movement, however subtle. They count her breaths, watch her chest rise and fall and rise and fall. The way her lips curl, the way she opens her mouth in a tiny O, her little tongue escaping, flailing about clumsily in the air.

“You did so well, baby.” Kristoff squeezes her shoulder. Not exactly the first words he’s spoken since their daughter’s birth, but some of the first. “You’re amazing. I’m…” He kisses her cheek, chastely, lovingly. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her already-red cheeks flush even more. She looks down at their baby and then back at her husband, beaming so genuinely that her eyes are barely open. And then she lets out a breath. “I’m exhausted.”

He kisses her again, arm still wrapped around her shoulders, hand still resting on his baby’s back. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“You couldn’t,” Anna laughs.

“I just…It was so fast this time. You… you really—did so well. We only had to count to ten three times.”

“She really wanted out.”

“Eager, just like her mama.”

“Elsa would say it’s because she’s a Leo,” Anna adds.

Kristoff makes a noise that sounds a bit like a grunt. He typically follows any mention of astrology with an eye roll and a ‘that nonsense, again’ but when he looks over at his wife and sees that her eyes are shooting daggers at him, her bottom lip jutting out slightly, he holds back. Today, he lets it go.

Instead he thinks of Owden, their other Leo, and his eyes go wide. “Well…best of luck to us, then.” They love Owden, of course, but he’s a bumbling hyperactive wild child who can’t seem to sit still for more than 30 seconds. Prone to darting away from family and into crowds. Prone to playing extremely stressful games of hide and seek in the middle of the busy market. Prone to putting Kristoff on edge chasing after him at full speed, hoping to not return to the castle and admit to his wife that he lost their son somewhere in town.

Anna laughs. She’s never had to sprint after their son and it shows. “I don’t know… I sort of think she’s going to be…” Taking another look at the baby still sleeping on her chest, Anna ponders this, chewing on her bottom lip. “A real fighter. Like… of all our kids, she’s the fiercest. She’s gonna climb her way to the top of… something. She’s gonna be really strong. She probably already is really strong.”

“I like that,” Kristoff says. He brings some of Anna’s hair in between his fingers, twirling the sweaty locks around, knowing how much she loves it when he plays with her hair. “Fierce, like her mama. A regular fiestypants like her mama.”

“Aww, are you gonna be a little fiestypants, sweetie?” Anna’s hand rubs her daughter’s back. Their little girl sticks out her tongue again and both Anna and Kristoff go giddy at the sight. “I’ll have to remember to ask Elsa to do a full chart reading for her later.”

Kristoff doesn’t comment even though the word ‘nonsense’ is still playing in his brain.

“I need to say again, though, baby—you’re amazing. I know—it seems like it hurts so badly, but you’re so strong—”

“Like her!”

“And you…got through all of the pain and you’ve done that five times and once for twins and our—she was inside of you what—thirty minutes ago?”

“I think it’s been a few hours, honey.”

“But she was… inside of you. And you… did that.”

Anna nods, the whole concept of birth feeling like both a huge deal and also no deal at all. “Do you think this’ll be our last time?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” Anna says. “I just… it’s hard for me to imagine. Not having more moments like this.”

She closes her eyes for a second, content, and then opens them to lock eyes with her husband. She smiles. He smiles back.

They both look back at their daughter. Her chest still rises and falls and rises and falls.

And then her small body stirs, tiny arms pumping little fists onto Anna’s chest. Arms stretching forward like a superhero, her mouth opens wide in a yawn. The cutest, daintiest, most perfect yawn Anna and Kristoff have ever seen.

Anna’s eyes prickle with tears and she laughs at this realization. “She yawned and I’m crying! I… I just love her so much. She’s perfect and you’re perfect, Kris…” Fat tears roll down her cheeks and she has to readjust. She picks up the baby and hands her to Kristoff, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands, trying to keep the steady stream of tears at bay.

Kristoff tries to hand her back to Anna but she shakes her head. “You hold her. It’s your turn.”

He places her gently on his chest, makes sure her little arms are properly positioned on either side of her head. That her right cheek is resting comfortably on his muscles. Now that she’s on his chest, he can really take in just how small she is. His hand is probably double the size of her head. Her whole body barely takes up the top fourth of his torso.

She pumps her little arms again, but now her curious eyes open, ready to take in the world. They look up to stare exclusively at the exact point Kristoff’s dark blue robe meets with the light skin on his neck.

Kissing him romantically on the cheek, Anna snuggles in close to her husband. She rests her head on his shoulder, sighs, and focuses her attention back on their daughter.

Anna basks in this moment of peace. Watching Kristoff’s large hands exploring their daughter’s fingers and toes and back and ears makes Anna’s heart soar. His mouth curls into a smile as he runs his hand over their baby’s nose.

He looks so… happy.

It makes Anna’s eyes sting with tears. How lucky she is to have this. To have them.

Soon enough, their daughter’s eyes flutter closed once again, no doubt feeling relaxed and protected by her papa, enough to drift off with such ease.

Seeing this, Anna knows there’s nothing better. Nothing better than this, here, now. Them.

Her family.

Her rock.

Her loves.

And then… she realizes something. It hits her viscerally, and she jolts a bit, enough that Kristoff notices and turns toward her. “You okay, darling?”

“Yes! I’m… more than okay. Because I have an idea!” Anna squeals, quietly enough to hopefully not wake the baby, but loud enough to get her point across. “For her name. Unless… do you have anything?”

“Oh no. Nope.” He shakes his head. “Not even a little bit. I’ve got nothing.”

“It’s Kirsti. That’s my idea—her name is…” Anna smiles. “I want her name to be Kirsti.”

“Kirsti? Hmm…” Kristoff takes it in, unsure. “Isn’t that a little, well—close to my name? Won’t it be confusing?”

Anna can’t contain her grin anymore. “No, that’s… that’s the point, Kris. It’s different enough to be… different. But. I want her name to be Kirsti because it’s close to Kristoff. I want to name her after you.”

“What?”

“I want to name her after you,” Anna repeats.

“You…” He’s in complete and utter shock. His mouth goes dry. “You want—why?”

“Because you’re…” She smiles, already tearing up again. “I love you so much, Kristoff, and you’ve made me a mother six times and I want our daughter to grow up knowing that she’s named after the most amazing person I’ve had the pleasure of calling my husband for the last ten years. And I want her to be her fiercest and strongest self and do the most fabulous things with that name of yours and—"

“Maybe she should be named Anja, then.”

Anna smiles but shakes her head. “No. Kirsti.”

He sighs, he kisses her cheek, and then looks back down at the newborn angel snuggled on his chest. “Kirsti.”

“It’s perfect, right?”

“You’re perfect.”

“Kirsti’s perfect.”

“You’re right,” Kristoff says. “She is.”

They smile at each other, then. Kristoff starting to give into Anna’s whims. Kirsti.

His heart does a thousand somersaults. Flattered is a gross understatement.

Because all his life he’s wanted this big family. All his life he’s wanted people to snuggle and hug and connect with. It took until he met Anna to finally realize this, but he knows for certain it’s always been there.

And now… there’s Kirsti.

Kirsti feels like proof of something.

Before he can control it, tears roll down his cheeks.

“Kirsti,” he says, looking down at her, watching her suck her fist as she sleeps. His tears grow fatter.

What he always wanted… here, touching his skin, relaxed against his chest. This really is the perfect snuggle.

#kristanna #frozen #fanfic #fanfiction

[purplesurveys]

1115

survey by vintagekid

Name:  Robyn.

Happy with it? I am now, but I certainly wasn’t as a kid. Other kids were cruel and would tease me solely for my name, which made it hard for me to socialize. I got the same bad Batman jokes too many times and I also got called a boy. These seem petty now, but as a kindergartener adjusting to life in school, it had been traumatizing and made me wonder if my classmates were going to remain the way they were for the long run which no 4-year-old should be mulling about, really.

Do you wear stilettos? When I get the chance, which isn’t very often at all. But I do love stilettos.

How important are looks to you? I find this question very vague, but generally looks matter to me to a certain extent, like how I’d want to look nice and proper for a job interview or for formal occasions such as weddings. Relationship-wise, I also think I have to feel a level of physical attraction towards someone for me to consider seeing them.

How often do you download music? I don’t anymore. I stream all my music.

Can you name a philosopher? Socrates.

What would you do if two unicorns tried to whisk you off to candy mountain? I just looked this up and this is apparently in reference to an ancient viral video, like it was around before viral videos were even a universally-acknowledged concept. That said, I don’t have a clue how to respond to this lmao.

You became the deciding vote in an election, which party would you go for? I don’t base my voting decisions on parties because the party system in my country is a tragically broken shitstorm in which every single party rallies the same values and principles, just executed in their own – and usually poor and unsustainable – ways. I do my research on each candidate, see how they answer in debates, look at laws they’ve authored, see which marginalized groups they proactively support (if they do), and decide from there.

Do you have a bzoink account? I don’t but I’ve been a semi-regular visitor since like 2009.

How many phone calls do you typically make in a day? Zero. People usually call me.

What song are you listening to? Tell Me It’s Okay by, surprise surprise, Paramore.

Do you understand things others your age do not? I don’t know. Maybe. Everyone’s bound to understand some things better than others.

Do you hate people that label themselves? Why would I hate that? And why would their chosen label be my business?

How many windows do you have open? None. There’s plenty of mosquitoes at night, so even though the cold evening air would been pleasant to have we have to keep the windows closed by nighttime.

How superstitious are you? Not at all.

If you were in Harry Potter, which house would you be in? I’ve been told either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

Which comedian can always crack you up? It’s not a habit of mine to watch comedians.

Are you nagged about being on the computer too much? Not since I was a teenager. Since college I’ve been doing most of my work, if not all of it, through my laptop, and I think my parents understand that I have to use it all the time.

Do you feel bad about anything you've done lately? Nothing comes to mind, no.

What's your texting bill typically like? My SIM is prepaid, so it works the other way around. I put load credits in it only if I know I’ll have to call/text/surf regularly.

What song did you/do you want played at your wedding? Turning Page by Sleeping At Last.

Do you have a lot or hardly any lines on your palms? Idk, a decent amount I guess? I don’t think it hits either extreme.

What's your favourite word? Poignant.

Are you allowed to swear in front of your parents? Yeah. They’ll shoot me a glare sometimes, but I’m in my 20s and...they know they can’t really do anything about it anymore lol.

Do you eat apples? No.

What are your addictions? Coffee, I suppose.

What are some words you use in daily life? I use intensifiers often, like very, really, super, absolutely, etc. I’m also big on expressions hahaha like oh my god, seriously, for real, and ugh.

Do you look things up on Google constantly? Yes.

Where do you get your music from? Spotify. Sometimes YouTube if I wanna look for a leak.

What do you think of people with afros? That they are people with afros...? I don’t really know what you’re looking for me to say, lmfao.

--

survey by charey-chas

Do you like getting your picture taken? Not for the most part. My body instantly gets all frozen and awkward when a camera’s placed in front of me, which I hate because I do wish I could have more photos of myself around. Is your phone anywhere near you? It is not, actually. It feels great and I really should start making it a habit to keep it away from me entirely on weekends. Do you ever enjoy going to school? In my first school, I enjoyed going mainly (and probably only) for my friends; but Catholic school was predominantly a torturous experience. The rigidity isn’t something I look back fondly on, and it felt like being kept on a tight leash for 14 years. College was a lot more enjoyable in every way possible. I liked going to (most of) my classes and learning as much as I loved the vibrant org culture and the general freedom that comes with university life. Have you ever gone on a road trip? Lots. The Philippines is a relatively small country and unless you want to jump to a different island altogether, there are many provinces you can readily travel to by car.  Who do you get along with best in your family?  Nina, my sister. Then my dad. I clash a lot with my mom and I don’t talk to my brother. Based on your personality, what animal do you think you'd be? Cats and I don’t get along very well hahaha but I think I’m similar to them. Would you ever buy anything from an infomercial? Maybe once, just to be able to say that I have. Have you ever made a snow angel? No, because I’ve never seen snow before. Have you stayed in a hotel in the last month? No. We had a brief getaway in Tagaytay but we switched things up and went to rent a condo, instead of book a hotel room, for a weekend. What's your most comfortable outfit? If I want to go for comfortable, I usually go for my rompers or jumpsuits. Do you text or IM more? IM these days. Would you rather listen to music or play it? Listen. I have no music-playing skills whatsoever. Have you ever been in a hot tub? Sure. Do you like pizza? LOVE IT Are you sleeping in your own bed tonight? Yes. If not here, the couch. But most likely it will my bed tonight. Are any of your friends having a sleepover right now? I doubt it. Angela and Hans had an overnight stay in Batangas a few days ago for their Valentine’s shenanigans though, which I guess kinda counts as a sleepover. Have you ever been to a house party? I don’t think so. That’s something I missed out on in my college days, but I don’t mind. Do you listen to your iPod or the radio when you're in the car? I think I keep a good balance. If my phone’s battery is not very high I’ll rely on the radio; and sometimes I’ll sync my phone’s Spotify to the car as well.

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survey by charey-chas

What song is stuck in your head at the moment? RAVI’s BUM. What's your fathers' middle name? He doesn’t have a second name, but I’m not sharing his legal middle name on here either. How many hours a day do you spend on the computer? On work days, I’d say 8-10 hours. On weekends, maybe a little slightly less than that since I do like getting off the laptop sometimes to rest my eyes. Could you live without the internet? People from the past managed to live without it, so I know I can. It would just be extremely inconvenient; and having been dependent on it for such a long time now, I would likely be clueless on how to navigate most activities. What's something you're really into? Learning about cultural differences!! That’s why reading survey answers has always been fascinating to me. I would love a website that dives into the various everyday behavior people observe in other countries, but the ones that do exist use like 20- or 30-year-old sources, so they aren’t even relevant at all anymore. What's the last movie you saw in theaters? Knives Out. Have you ever seen a movie in 3D or in an IMAX theater? Just once. It was Denise and Leigh’s 18th birthday treat and they brought us to watch Doctor Strange in 3D. Do you prefer skirts, shorts, or skorts? Shorts. Have you ever vandalized? Just a few school chairs in grade school, but otherwise I’m too paranoid for vandalism lol. What's the longest you've stayed up? Maybe a little longer than 24 hours. Who'd you have a sleepover with last? Gabie. When's the last time you baked something? Nearly a decade ago. Our oven was new at the time and I wanted to try baking cookies. Do you like to dance? When I’m alone. Do you scratch mosquito bites, even though you're not supposed to? Yup. Are you afaid of spiders or do you like them? I mean I’m not fond of them, but I also don’t scream and run away when I see them. I just don’t care for them for the most part. What's a pet you've always wanted? I’ve only ever wanted dogs, and now I’ve got two of them. Do you like mice? Not really. Would you ever get a tattoo? Sure. I’ve been considering it for a while now; it’s just a matter of being able to save up for one. Do you prefer to walk in the street or on the sidewalk? Street, if it’s bare and safe enough. Otherwise if I’m in a busy city with regulations and all I’d obviously rather be on the sidewalk. What's your favorite t-shirt? My CM Punk Best in the World merch. Who did you last think about? I remembered Deina when I was thinking about the tattoo question. She got a pawprint tattoo on her wrist shortly before her senior dog passed away and ever since learning about it I’ve also been thinking about getting the same tattoo. Do you like giving hugs? I love giving hugs and it’s an automatic response for me whenever I see someone I love, which is why Covid is such a torture for me. Do you prefer hardwood flooring or carpeting? Hardwood. Did you/will you get a car for your 16th birthday? No. I got a car when I was 17, around six months before I started college. Have you ever eaten a worm? No but I’d be willing to try.

#survey #surveys #a few short ones in one post

[lowcarbnutrients]

Why 80% of Us Are Deficient In Magnesium

Magnesium shortage is typically misdiagnosed because it does not prove to up in blood examinations - only 1% of the body's magnesium is stored in the blood.

Most physicians as well as labs do not even include magnesium condition in regular blood tests. Hence, the majority of doctors don't recognize when their clients lack magnesium, despite the fact that research studies prove to that the majority of Americans are deficient in magnesium.

Consider Dr. Norman Shealy's statements, 'Every well-known ailment is related to a magnesium deficiency' which, 'magnesium is one of the most essential mineral required for electric stability of every cell in the body. A magnesium deficiency could be accountable for even more illness compared to other nutrient.' The fact he mentions subjects a gapping hole in modern-day medication that discusses a good offer about iatrogenic death and condition. Since magnesium shortage is mostly forgotten, millions of Americans endure unnecessarily or are having their signs alleviated with pricey medications when they could be cured with magnesium supplementation.

One has to recognize the indicators of magnesium thirst or cravings by themselves because allopathic medicine is shed here. It is truly something a lot more subtle then appetite or thirst however it is equivalent. In a globe though where physicians and people alike do not even focus on thirst and crucial concerns of hydration, it is not hopeful that we will certainly find several acknowledging as well as paying focus to magnesium thirst and also appetite, which is a significant way of sharing the idea of magnesium deficiency.

Few individuals understand the enormous role magnesium plays in our bodies. Magnesium is without a doubt one of the most crucial mineral in the body. After oxygen, water, and also standard food, magnesium might be the most essential component required by our bodies, critically important, yet barely recognized. It is more crucial than calcium, potassium or salt and also controls all three of them. Millions endure daily from magnesium shortage without also understanding it.

In truth, there takes place to be a connection in between just what we perceive as thirst and shortages in electrolytes. I remember an individual asking, 'Why am I dried out as well as parched when I consume alcohol a lot water?' Thirst can imply not only lack of water yet it could additionally imply that a person is not obtaining adequate nutrients as well as electrolytes. Magnesium, Potassium, Bicarbonate, Chloride as well as Salt are some principle instances and also that is one of the factors magnesium chloride is so useful.

You know all those years, when physicians recruited to inform their individuals 'its done in your heads,' were years the clinical profession was showing its ignorance. It is a torment to be magnesium lacking on one degree or one more. Also if it's for the passionate sport individual whose sports performance is down, magnesium deficiency will certainly interrupt rest and background tension levels and also a host of various other things that mirror on the lifestyle. Medical professionals have not been using the suitable test for magnesium - their lotion blood examinations just distort their understandings. Magnesium has actually been off their radar displays through the years that magnesium shortages have snowballed.

Symptoms of Magnesium Deficiency

The first signs of shortage could be subtle - as a lot of magnesium is saved in the cells, leg aches, foot pain, or muscular tissue 'twitches' can be the initial indicator. Various other very early indications of shortage consist of anorexia nervosa, nausea, throwing up, fatigue, and weakness. As magnesium deficiency worsens, numbness, tingling, seizures, personality adjustments, unusual heart rhythms, as well as coronary convulsions could occur.

A full overview of magnesium shortage was perfectly provided in a recent post by Dr. Sidney Baker. 'Magnesium shortage can affect practically every body organ system of the body. With respect to skeletal muscle mass, one could experience twitches, pains, muscle mass stress, muscle pain, consisting of back aches, neck discomfort, stress migraines as well as jaw joint (or TMJ) dysfunction. Also, one may experience chest tightness or a strange sensation that he can't take a deep breath. Occasionally an individual might sigh a lot.'

' Signs and symptoms including damaged contraction of smooth muscle mass consist of constipation, urinary system spasms, menstruation cramps, difficulty swallowing or a lump in the throat-especially provoked by eating sugar, photophobia, particularly trouble adapting to oncoming brilliant headlights in the absence of eye illness, and loud sound sensitivity from stapedius muscle tension in the ear.'

' Various other signs and symptoms as well as indications of magnesium deficiency and also review laboratory screening for this common condition. Continuing with the signs of magnesium deficiency, the central nerve system is substantially impacted. Signs include sleeplessness, anxiety, attention deficit disorder as well as uneasyness with consistent movement, anxiety attack, agoraphobia, and premenstrual impatience. Magnesium shortage signs and symptoms involving the outer worried system include numbness, prickling, as well as other irregular experiences, such as zips, zaps as well as vibratory sensations.'

' Signs or indicators of the cardio system consist of palpitations, heart arrhythmias, as well as angina because of convulsions of the coronary arteries,  high blood pressure and mitral valve prolapse. Be mindful that not all of the signs and symptoms have to exist to presume magnesium shortage, however, a lot of them often happen with each other. As an example, individuals with mitral valve prolapse often have palpitations, stress and anxiety, panic assaults and premenstrual symptoms. People with magnesium deficiency typically seem to be 'high-strung.' Various other basic symptoms include a salt yearning, both carbohydrate desire and carbohydrate intolerance, specifically of chocolate, and breast tenderness.'

Magnesium is required by every cell in the body including those of the brain. It is among the most vital minerals when thinking about supplements due to the fact that of its crucial part in numerous enzyme systems as well as functions associated with reactions in cell metabolic rate, in addition to being necessary for the synthesis of proteins, for the application of fats as well as carbohydrates. Magnesium is required not only for the production of specific detoxing enzymes yet is additionally important for energy manufacturing associated to cell cleansing. A magnesium deficiency could impact basically every system of the body.

Like water we require magnesium everyday. There is an eternal requirement for magnesium in addition to water when magnesium exists in water life as well as health and wellness are enhanced.

One of the concept reason medical professionals write millions of prescriptions for tranquilizers every year is the uneasiness, irritability, and jitters largely caused by inadequate diet regimens doing not have magnesium. Persons only somewhat lacking in magnesium become cranky, highly-strung, and conscious noise, hyper-excitable, concerned and also hostile. If the deficiency is more extreme or extended, they may create twitching, tremblings, irregular pulse, sleeping disorders, muscular tissue weakness, jerkiness as well as leg and foot cramps.

If magnesium is significantly deficient, the brain is particularly influenced. reasoning, confusion, disorientation, significant clinical depression as well as the distressing hallucinations of ecstasy tremens are largely induced by an absence of this nutrient and corrected when magnesium is provided. Since huge quantities of calcium are lost in the urine when magnesium is under provided, the lack of this nutrient indirectly ends up being accountable for much rampant dental caries, bad bone development, osteoporosis and sluggish recovery of damaged bones and also cracks. With vitamin B6 (pyridoxine), magnesium assists to minimize and also dissolve calcium phosphate kidney stones.

Magnesium shortage may be an usual element related to insulin resistance. Symptoms of MS that are additionally signs of magnesium shortage consist of muscular tissue spasms, weak point, twitching, muscular tissue atrophy, an inability to manage the bladder, nystagmus (rapid-eye-movement sleep), hearing loss, and osteoporosis. People with MS have higher prices of epilepsy compared to controls. Epilepsy has actually additionally been connected to magnesium shortages. [1]

Another excellent list of early caution symptoms symptomatic of magnesium insufficiency:

Physical and mental fatigue

Persistent under-eye twitch

Tension in the top back, shoulders as well as neck

Headaches

Pre-menstrual liquid retention and/or breast tenderness

Possible manifestations of magnesium deficiency consist of:

Low energy

Fatigue

Weakness

Confusion

Nervousness

Anxiousness

Irritability

Seizures (and tantrums)

Poor digestion

PMS and hormonal imbalances

Inability to sleep

Muscle stress, spasm as well as cramps

Calcification of organs

Weakening of the bones

Abnormal heart rhythm

Severe magnesium deficiency could cause reduced levels of calcium in the blood (hypocalcemia). Magnesium deficiency is additionally related to reduced degrees of potassium in the blood (hypokalemia). Magnesium degrees go down during the night, causing inadequate REM (Rapid-eye-movement sleep) rest cycles and unrefreshed sleep. Frustrations, blurred vision, mouth ulcers, exhaustion and anxiety are also very early indications of depletion.

We listen to constantly about how heart illness is the number one health crisis in the country, about exactly how hypertension is the 'silent deadly', and concerning exactly how ever before raising varieties of our residents are having their lives and the lives of their families ruined by diabetic issues, Alzheimer's disease, as well as a host of various other persistent diseases.

Signs of serious magnesium deficiency consist of:

Extreme thirst

Extreme hunger

Frequent urination

Sores or swellings that recover slowly

Dry, itchy skin

Unexplained weight loss

Blurry vision that changes from day to day

Unusual exhaustion or drowsiness

Tingling or pins and needles in the hands or feet

Frequent or recurring skin, gum tissue, bladder or vaginal yeast infections

But wait a min, typically aren't those the same signs and symptoms for diabetes mellitus? Lots of people have diabetes for concerning 5 years before they prove to solid symptoms. By that time, some people already have eye, kidney, gum tissue or nerve damage created by the weakening problem of their cells because of insulin resistance as well as magnesium shortage. Dump some mercury and also arsenic on the combination of etiologies and pronto we have the disease problem we call diabetes.

Magnesium deficiency is associated with diabetes mellitus and goes to the origin of lots of otherwise all cardiovascular problems.

Magnesium shortage is a forecaster of diabetes and also cardiovascular disease both, diabetics both need even more magnesium and also lose even more magnesium than most people. In 2 brand-new studies, in both males and females, those that ate the most magnesium in their diet regimen were least most likely to create type 2 diabetic issues, according to a report in the January 2006 issue of the journal Diabetes Care. Until now, few big studies have straight analyzed the long-lasting impacts of dietary magnesium on diabetic issues. Dr. Simin Liu of the Harvard Medical School and College of Public Wellness in Boston claims, 'Our research studies offered some straight evidence that higher intake of nutritional magnesium might have a long-lasting safety effect on reducing danger,' said Liu, that was associated with both studies.

The thirst of diabetic issues is component of the body's feedback to excessive urination. The extreme urination is the body's effort to obtain eliminate the additional glucose in the blood. This excessive peeing causes the enhanced thirst. But we have to look at just what is creating this level of disharmony. We need to probe deeper into layers of reason. The body needs to unload sugar since of enhancing insulin resistance which resistance is being fueled straight by magnesium deficiency, that makes poisonous insults more damaging to the cells at the same time.

When diabetics obtain too high blood sugar level, the body produces 'ketones' as a spin-off of breaking down fats. These ketones trigger blood level of acidity which causes 'acidosis' of the blood, bring about Diabetic Ketoacidosis (DKA), This is an extremely dangerous condition that can bring about coma and also death. It is also called 'diabetic acidosis', 'ketosis', 'ketoacidosis' or 'diabetic coma'. DKA is a typical means for new Type 1 diabetics to be identified. If they fail to look for clinical advice on signs like urination, which is driving thirst they can pass away of DKA.

Oral magnesium supplements minimize erythrocyte [2] dehydration. [3] As a whole, optimal equilibriums of electrolytes are essential to keep the best feasible hydration. Diabetic thirst is initiated especially by magnesium shortage with family member calcium excess in the cells. Also water, our the majority of fundamental nutrient begins having a difficult time entering the cells with even more heading out via the kidneys.

Autism as well as Magnesium Deficiency

When dealing with autism spectrum and various other neurological disorders in children it is crucial to recognize the indications of reduced magnesium: troubled, cannot maintain still, body shaking, grinding teeth, hiccups, noise delicate, poor focus period, inadequate focus, irritable, hostile, prepared to take off, effortlessly worried. When it pertains to youngsters today we have to presume a big magnesium shortage for a number of reasons.

1) The foods they are consuming are removed of magnesium since foods generally, as we shall see below are declining in mineral material in an alarming way.

2) The foods lots of youngsters consume are very refined fast food that do not provide actual nutrition to the body.

3) Since a lot of children on the spectrum are not absorbing the minerals they require also when existing in the gut. Magnesium absorption is dependent on intestinal tract health, which is endangered completely in dripping digestive tract disorders and also other intestinal tract issues that most of autism syndrome disorders.

4) Due to the fact that the dental supplements medical professionals count on are not quickly taken in, since they are not in the best kind as well as because magnesium in general is not provided conveniently orally.

Modern medication is expected to assist individuals not hurt them, but with their nearly total ignorance of magnesium physicians end up hurting even more than they assist for a number of the clinical treatments drive down magnesium levels when they ought to be driving them up. Numerous otherwise most pharmaceutical medicines drive magnesium degrees right into extremely dangerous zones and also surgical procedure done without raising magnesium degrees is a lot more dangerous then surgical procedure done with.

The foundation of clinical arrogance is actually clinical ignorance and also the only factor lack of knowledge and also conceit regulation the playing area of medicine is a greed longing for power and money. Human nature appears to be at its worst in modern-day medicine when it ought to go to its ideal. It is sad that individuals have to suffer needlessly and astonishingly tragic that allopathic medicine has actually turned its back on the Hippocratic Oath and also all that it means.

#cholesterol diet #diet #health and wellness #low cholesterol diet #nutrition #weight loss #wellness

[asterythm]

Born of the Same Impulse

Or; The Abolition of Man(a)

Pairing: Romantic LAMP Prompt: Written for Secret Sanders 2018 with the prompt “magic AUs (especially if someone doesn’t know about the others)” Word Count: 12.8k (oops.) Warnings: Very occasional caps lock, panic, negative thinking, food mention. (But don’t worry, the end is fluffy!!)

General Summary: When an experiment goes wrong, the wizard-slash-scientist Logan finds himself stranded in an alternate, magic-less dimension -- but the more he explores, the less anxious he is to find his way back home again.

A/N: @soft-transboy​ Surpriiise!! It’s me -- @secretsanders herself :D Hoo boy. I had so much fun writing this one, but... let's just say that I definitely bit off wayyyyy more than I could chew with this story (as you might be able to tell from the word count, which is well into the double digits). In fact, I spent so long planning this thing that I ended up being left with under a week to write it all. Meaning I finished this about ten minutes ago, and it’s completely unedited. Oops.  That said, I'm still super proud of how it came out, for the most part. Hopefully, you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

xxx 

“The serious magical endeavour and the serious scientific endeavour are twins: one was sickly and died, the other strong and throve. But they were twins. They were born of the same impulse.” — C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

xxx

Logan Sanders does not believe in magic.

This perhaps will seem to most people like an illogical sort of statement, once they’ve taken into consideration the fact that Logan Sanders is a wizard.

Illogical or not, Logan’s mind is made up. Unlike Most People, Logan never has believed in magic. And he never will, either. It’s one of those beliefs that transcend tenses, you see — does not, did not, will not. Past, present, or future, the fact remains that magic is impractical at best.

Magic is real, of course. Logan can hardly deny the presence of magic in his everyday life, seeing as it’s damn near impossible to do anything without it, in this day and age. He’s not saying that magic doesn’t exist. Logan only means that, the way he sees it, magic on its own is completely and utterly useless. In fact, he’s quite certain that he’d be perfectly capable of surviving without relying on any magic at all, given the opportunity.

Life would be so much easier if more people just believed in science.

This is the second of many (many, many, many) seemingly illogical statements — at least, to Most People. Science? Most People scoff. Impossible! A fully automatic life reliant on science is a nice thought, but that’s all it will ever be — a nice thought. Science simply isn’t capable enough to accomplish all that magic does. Whoever this Logan fellow is, he ought to get his head out of the clouds and do some actual thinking. Blah, blah, blah. On and on and on.

Logan, of course, hates hearing Most People saying these things, but frankly he’s come to expect responses like that. He hears the same kind of thing almost every day, after all. It’s quite normal for Most People to doubt that science could ever be useful. And why even bother, really? Magic is perfectly fine as is.

But of course, the first thing you will notice about Logan Sanders is that he is most certainly not Most People.

xxx

Weekends, reflects Logan in between sips of hot tea, are the only part of the week ever worth paying any attention to.

For Logan, Saturdays and Sundays are the busiest days of the week — but they’re also far and away the best. Because rather than spending his hours working a boring day job, he’s hard at work inventing things that he’s passionate about. On weekends, Logan is free to play around with the concept of using science to enhance day-to-day magic. (Or perhaps the magic is enhancing the science? One or the other. Logan isn’t completely sure.) It’s been his favourite hobby for years and years, creating these little devices that make simple daily tasks even simpler by relying on science, rather than on magic.

Take, for example, Logan’s kettle. The one that he’d put away only moments before, after pouring himself a cup of tea. On the outside, it appears to be quite unremarkable. But Logan can assure you that this kettle is anything but. It’s a one-of-a-kind design that Logan invented himself, many moons ago, and it is easily the most efficient kettle that he’s ever known.

Boiling water, as you surely already know, is a tedious and boring task that requires one to channel their mana into heat-energy, focus that heat-energy into a stream, and then direct that stream continuously towards the water until it finally begins to boil. It’s a time-consuming task that Logan’s tight schedule simply cannot afford.

Logan’s innovative kettle combines magic with science in order to significantly cut down the amount of time and energy one needs to boil water. There’s a metal coil inside of it that allows the kettle to heat up water almost all by itself, by converting electric energy into heat energy — meaning that Logan only needs to fire off a quick spark, and his kettle takes care of the rest.

Despite the simplicity of the design, it has always been one of Logan’s favourite pieces of work, if only because of how often he uses it. On the other hand, he’s got plenty of favourites to choose from. Logan’s cozy little apartment is nearly covered with his own gizmos and trinkets, some fully functional, some half-finished with pieces spilling out the sides, some completely abandoned. He doesn’t consider those latter ones “failures”, though. Logan prefers to call them “learning experiences”.

And he does learn. Logan enjoys his work, regardless of whether or not his creations work out the way he plans, because every experiment teaches him something new. Science is so (woefully) underexplored that Logan finds himself discovering new and exciting concepts left, right and centre. Indeed, it's not at all an uncommon occurrence for him to find something that he's never read of or even heard of before. The sense of accomplishment he gets from these not-so-rare occasions is just about enough to make up for the inconveniences of his lifestyle.

The keywords in that sentence being "just about".

Recently, he's been finding aforementioned inconveniences to be growing more and more, well, inconvenient. The impermanence of his living situation, for example. (Just thinking about this subject makes Logan's chest tighten involuntarily. Though he isn't all the way finished yet, he sets his teacup down.) Logan hasn't been able to hold onto a home for more than a matter of months ever since he first picked up this hobby of his.

For some completely unfathomable reason, the idea of having a mad scientist living in their building is apparently one that most landlords consider to be somewhat unsettling.

There are other difficulties, too, that prevent him from finding a permanent place to call home: noise complaints from neighbours, property damage from explosions and acid burns, that one time that he accidentally gave sentience to a small tin-can-and-soy-sauce-packet robot, leading to the creation of an army of small but hostile rodents. The usual.

(Now that Logan thinks about it, he's starting to see where the whole "unsettling" thing might come from.)

The first one or two or twelve times he was kicked out, Logan didn't mind terribly. Change doesn't bother him too much. But as his collection of knick-knacks and doo-dads continued to grow, it began to become a real nuisance to have to pack everything up and relocate so often.

Not to mention, the constant moving means that Logan has never had the time to make any sort of lasting social connections, either. That's not a huge issue, though, since Logan isn't exactly the most social of people anyway. Even when he was younger and by extension wasn't constantly being forced to move around, Logan had never had much luck with friendship. So although his life is a lonely one, Logan's grown quite accustomed to having things be this way. He doesn't mind. Not as much as he used to, at least.

Logan picks his teacup back up again. He swishes the cup around a few times, watching the half-disintegrated leaves swish with it. After a moment, the leaves settle down into a shape that almost resembles a dragon if Logan squints and turns his head a certain way. He takes a sip, notes with displeasure that the liquid inside has grown unpleasantly cold, but finishes it anyway. After his cup is empty, Logan takes a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate how nice of a day it is; both suns are happily shining, and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. The perfect weather for a weekend, even if he is going to spend the whole day cooped up in his apartment.

Stretching, Logan rises from the comfortable armchair on which he had been sitting and crosses the room to where his latest invention awaits him. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks, allowing a rare smile to slip out as he approaches. He's been working hard on this one, and he thinks now that it may be finished at last; his tests last week, he had been amazed to find, had all gone off without a hitch.

That is, all but one. But that's only because he has yet to run the final test. Logan thought he would save that one for today, just to be on the safe side. But he’s got high hopes for the outcome of this final test. A good day, indeed.

In fact, the best, worst day of Logan's life has already begun — and it's all thanks to the pair of two little round creations sitting right in front of him.

xxx

THREE MONTHS AGO

"Okay, but… I still don't get it," grunts the landlord. "What are they supposed to do?"

Logan smiles wryly. "Permanently revolutionise the way that people get from place to place, that's what."

"Looks pretty typical for something that's supposed to be so 'revolutionary'. Honestly, it kind of looks like a regular TP-circle. Except, uh, portable."

"Yes? Well, I'm glad to hear that, since that's exactly what it is. A portable teleportation-circle. I've very nearly completed the design, and I can promise you that as soon as I've added the final touches, this is going to completely change life as we know it. Then I'll have more than enough money to pay rent. Just you wait, sir." The other man still doesn't look convinced. Logan is getting desperate — he doesn't know where else he can find a home if this doesn't work out. "At least allow me to explain to you how it works before you turn me away."

After a moment, the gruff older man relents. "Alright, fine," he sighs. "How does your portable TP-circle work?"

"Well, the general concept is more or less the same as a regular TP-circle. You step in, it collects a bit of your mana and converts it into a path between the circle you're standing in and whichever circle you want to TP to. The difference is that my design is, well, portable. I mean, TP-circle stations are all well and good, but sometimes they're just located in such inconvenient places. Add that to the fact that there's always such long line-ups for those stations, and... well, suffice it to say, I'm surprised that they've been in use for this long.

"With my portable TP-circles, you can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and you don't have to deal with those annoying line-ups anymore. You can just fold one of these up and use a simple object-TP to send it wherever you want. Anyone can do this. Object-TPs are one of the first spells they teach in school. So, portable TP-circles will make transportation easier and more accessible for everyone. Like I said before, I've already almost perfected the design. I only need to iron out a couple of kinks, then figure out how to make it more lightweight. Once I’ve done that, it’ll be completely ready. Ready for use, and ready to change the world, by extension. I only need a few months, half a year at most. I promise." He’s nearly begging by the time he finishes talking. This location is his last chance, after all. Logan holds his breath, watching the landlord's face change as he weighs Logan's words.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, Logan finally hears the words he's been hoping for.

"Okay. Four months. That's all you get. You'd better have your portable thingamajig finished by then. Otherwise, you're outta here. You hear me? Out. Of. Here. Don't let me down."

Logan sighs, a wave of relief washing over him. Four months... a quarter of a year. That's going to be tight, but Logan's sure that he'll be able to manage that deadline if he works hard enough.

If there's one thing that Logan has never had a problem with, it's working hard.

xxx

And work hard, he did. For three months straight, Logan’s devoted every second of his free time to perfecting his design. He’s long since lost count of how many tests he’s run, how many times he’s taken his invention apart and put it back together in a completely different way, how many times he’s had to entirely scrap an idea or component… yes, the journey has been anything but smooth. And yet, looking at his finished creation now, Logan realises that every single second spent has been completely worth it.

Technically, Logan shouldn’t be using the word “finished”, since his invention has yet passed its final and most important test. But last week’s testing was the farthest that any of his prototypes had ever come, so Logan can’t help but hope that today, it’ll go just one step farther.

Well. There’s only one way to find out, now isn’t there?

Logan quickly pulls his trusty notebook and pen out of the ether, where he keeps his most important items. He flips the book open to a fresh new page. At the top, he writes the date, then a title: TEST RUN # —

He hesitates.

TEST RUN #WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE, HONESTLY.

There, perfect.

And so he begins. The first twenty or so tests, he completes without even thinking. Logan has done those ones so many times, to say that he could complete them in his sleep would be an under-exaggeration. He tests the prototype’s durability, folding ability, resistance to wind and cold and heat and water. Of course, he doesn’t run into any problems there.

Next comes the slightly more interesting tests. Logan places one of the two circles onto his apartment floor, then folds the second one up so that it’s smaller and therefore easier to transport. With a snap of his fingers, he sends it off to the location that he’s been using for testing: a vast and empty flower field that, as far as Logan knows, no one besides him has set foot in for a couple of years at least.

Next, Logan picks up a small six-sided dice and places it gently onto the circle that he’d laid on the table. He’s barely let go of the dice and pulled his hand back when a familiar flash of bright blue light fills the room. By the time the light is gone, the dice is, too.

Logan grabs a looking-glass off his bookshelf, the one that he’s enchanted to always show the flower field. It only takes him a second to spot his circle lying surrounded by tall blades of grass, and then only a second more to find the dice sitting right there in the center of the circle. Looks like the dice test was successful. Logan isn’t surprised. The dice test is another easy one.

His next few tests are all more or less the same as the dice test. The only difference is that he’s no longer transporting dice; for each test, Logan uses a slightly more difficult object. First, he picks up a —

Hold on.

If Logan were writing this story, he would surely go into incredible detail about each and every test, listing off every single object he tries, telling you which tests have stood in his way in the past and explaining what he did to get around them.

Luckily for you, dear reader, Logan is not writing this story. He's only living it.

Suffice it to say, his portable-teleportation-circles pass each and every test with flying colours, just like they did last week. With every test passed, Logan grows more and more excited. He had already known when he began test run number who-even-knows-anymore-honestly that it was going to be an overwhelming success, but of course there’s such a difference between knowing something is going to happen versus seeing it happen with your own two eyes. Last week felt like a fluke, you see. This week is proof that it was not.

xxx

By the time Logan completes his second-to-last test, he is so giddy with excitement and passion, he can hardly think straight (although to be fair, “straight” never really has been a strength of his). A rush of adrenaline courses through the young inventor as he jots down two familiar words: Trial successful.

And then suddenly, the time has come. “This is it. I am... about to perform the final test,” Logan says to himself, scarce able to believe that he’s actually made it until he says the words out loud. They come out no louder than an awed whisper.

He tucks his notebook and pen back into the ether, smoothes down the wrinkles on his button-up shirt, adjusts his necktie, combs through his hair with his fingers. Not because he thinks someone is watching him; it’s just that Logan can’t help but feel that he should look his best for a moment like this. It’s, he thinks, a moment deserving of trumpet fanfare, of multi-coloured confetti, of a loud and dramatic drumroll.

Alas, Logan has none of these. He’ll have to settle for the loud drumbeat of his heart thumping in his chest, instead.

Logan stares at the devices sitting in front of him. He gets to his feet. Dusts himself off. Starts to back away. As he walks backwards, something swells inside of him; something big and bright and demanding. Pride? Hope? Fear? Perhaps a mixture of the three? Whatever it is, it grows and grows until it threatens to engulf the normally-so-unemotional young man. It’s now or never, Logan suddenly realises. He’s got to move before this strange Feeling-Thing immobilises him.

So move, he does. Logan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then before he knows it he’s running forward, forward, forward and onward as fast as his legs can go.

Because it’s him, of course; Logan is the final test. Transporting around little objects is all well and good, but the purpose of his invention has always been to transport people, after all.

The tip of Logan’s toe lands in the transportation circle, the rest of him following close behind. As soon as he’s landed, a familiar tingling begins to spread through him; the circle is harnessing his mana and converting it into a teleportation path, exactly as it’s meant to do. For precisely two instants, Logan’s body is suspended in a strange little pocket between time and space. He’s surrounded on all sides by pure light, bright enough to blind even with his eyes closed.

Then, just like that, it’s over. Logan touches down on solid ground, somehow feeling at once like he’s drifted down gently as a feather and like his entire body has been slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the teeth in his skull. Slowly, warily, Logan opens his eyes to see that… something’s different.

No, scratch that. Everything’s different.

Logan turns around cautiously. The new location he’s found himself in is dimly lit, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust.

He takes in old and cracked wooden planks, stains marking leaky spots on the ceiling, and spiderwebs strewn all over the place. He’s standing in what appears to be the attic of an abandoned warehouse of sorts. Maybe not a warehouse — maybe a workshop, or an old storage unit. No matter. Whatever this place is, it’s very clearly not the empty flower field that Logan had been expecting to open his eyes in.

As disappointment shoots through him like an arrow to the heart, Logan realises that he can literally feel his hopes being ground to dust. How curious. It’s not a very pleasant sensation, to say the least. The young scientist had been trying his best not to let his hopes run away from him too much, but after all the success of the previous tests, you can hardly blame him for getting excited, now can you?

Logan sighs heavily. I suppose I have some work to do. He’s not looking forward to resigning himself to yet another month of tinkering and testing, especially now that he’s tasted success. Who knows how long it’ll take to identify and fix whatever problem caused him to end up here?

Speaking of, where is “here”, anyway? Logan, quite frankly, hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is. He probably should figure that out, before he begins worrying about repairs and re-runs. Stretching, Logan looks around for the exit.

Aha! There’s a staircase. Following these stairs down onto the next floor, Logan comes across a door, standing the slightest bit ajar. A warm glow surrounds the doorway; sunlight from the outside world. He smiles triumphantly, allowing himself a little bit of celebration for this small victory (he needs the validation to keep going, after the crushing failure — er — learning experience he’s just suffered).

After the darkness of the warehouse-slash-workshop-slash-storage unit, the sunlight’s sudden harshness startles Logan a little bit when he opens the door. That’s odd, he thinks. I could swear that the suns weren’t nearly that bright a moment ago. He’s still a little lightheaded from the brightness of the transportation spell, so suffice it to say, the abnormally bright sunlight isn’t doing him any favours. Logan blinks as he steps out the door into a forest thick with trees and shrubs. “You’d think that the foliage would block out the suns a little, now wouldn’t you,” he deadpans under his breath. Logan rubs his eyes. Then he rubs them again.

Goodness gracious, why is it so bright? Logan fights back an angry growl as the white spots in his field of vision persist, refusing to diminish even the slightest amount. Today was supposed to be a good day! Channeling his frustration towards the most immediate cause, Logan glares up through the leaves, at the sun —

Hold on.

The sun, singular?

That can’t be right. What happened to the other one? Logan looks away, then looks back, as if he might have somehow missed the presence of a massive star in the sky. Nothing. He stumbles around, straining to see if it’s somehow hidden behind one of the larger leaves. But no — there’s still nothing.

Suddenly, it looks like Logan might have a bigger problem on his hands than simply needing to do some minor repairs.

xxx

There’s a sort of throbbing pain coming somewhere from Logan’s left elbow.

He’s only vaguely aware of this, but vague is better than none-at-all, so he focuses in on that pain to try and ground himself. It works; after a moment, the fractured world begins coming back into focus.

Logan tries to inspect the wound, only to realise that he can’t turn his head, since it’s currently locked tight in an iron grip between his hands. His legs are curled up beneath him, too. He doesn’t remember assuming this bizarre fetal position. In fact, there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. How he got here, for example. From the darkness surrounding him and the hard wooden floor beneath him, Logan guesses that he’s somehow ended up back in the attic of the warehouse. His mind is still too scattered to grasp anything beyond that. But it’s a start.

Stiffly, Logan forces his fingers to relax and, stretching his neck, begins to massage the life back into them. How long did I spend, just… sitting there, waiting for nothing? he wonders, marvelling at how tense his arms still are. As he starts doing the same for his cramped legs, bits and pieces of memories start breaking away and swimming to the surface of his consciousness at last.

He remembers staring. He’d always been taught not to stare directly at the suns as a child; the ultraviolet light might burn his retinas, causing permanent damage or even blindness. But frankly, solar retinopathy had been the last of his concerns once he’d realised that there was an entire star missing from the great blue sky above.

He remembers shouting. Who can blame him for that, really? Something about knowing that you are completely lost and alone… it triggers something primal within the soul, awakening a beast that can only be pacified with a roar. “Lost? Of course not. I’m right here,” Logan wants to argue with himself, but he can’t. He doesn’t have any idea where ‘here’ is, you see.

He remembers sprinting. Illogical, perhaps, to think that by putting distance between himself and the ugly truth, he can make it go away. But we as humans do tend to fear that which we don’t understand, and to run from that which we fear. Logan had always considered himself fearless, and therefore powerful. To have that power taken away? That’s one more thing to run from.

He remembers stumbling. He took the stairs two at a time as he went, trying to go ever faster. At one point, when he wasn’t paying attention, he missed a step and went flailing downwards, landing hard on… his left elbow. The sudden fall didn’t bother him too much, though. In fact, it was almost reassuring, in a twisted way, to have his body’s state match his mind’s.

He remembers squeezing, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, telling himself again and again that he must be dreaming. Only dreaming. It’s all just a dream, and when he opens his eyes back up again he’ll be resting, safe and sound, in his cozy little apartment with his kettle and his teacup and his comfortable armchair and —

And…

He’s not dreaming, of course. This whole — what even is it that Logan’s gotten himself into, here? Is he in an entirely different world? A different dimension, even? — whatever it is, it’s here to stay. The realisation almost makes Logan want to retreat right back into fetal position.

But… no. No, no, no. Logan catches himself before he can slip back into the apathetic zone. He mustn’t panic; not a second time, at least. Hold it together, Logan tells himself. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

What he wouldn’t give for a calming cup of tea right about now.

The deep breathing does the trick well enough, though; Logan’s head is now much clearer than it had been only moments before. He’s still afraid, of course (he’s just been dumped out all alone into an unfamiliar land; who wouldn’t be?), but for the most part, his logic and reason have returned; thank goodness for that.

There’s a lot about his current situation that Logan cannot control. Not least of all, the fact that his unsuccessful experiment has stranded him in what very well might be an alternate dimension. He can’t control what’s happened to him, or what will happen to him next, for that matter. All that Logan can control is how he reacts.

It’s not about what’s happened. It’s about what he’s going to do about it.

“Giving up” is a completely foreign concept to Logan. He is a scientist, for goodness’ sakes! Not only is he used to things not going exactly the way he plans them to, his hobby hinges entirely on staying determined and finding solutions. Logan does not simply “give up”. And he’s certainly not planning on starting now.

Instead, he approaches the problem like he’s analyzing the results of an experiment gone off the tracks and trying to figure out what went wrong. Step one: observe and gather data. He’ll only be able to figure out the “what comes next” after he’s got all the pieces of the puzzle.

The second time that Logan walks out of the empty warehouse, the immediate glare of the sunlight doesn’t affect him quite as much — possibly because this time, he’s expecting it. Now, this may be silly, but the fact that he copes with the sun so easily this time around gives him a bit of a confidence boost; it’s almost like he’s just managed to defeat an enemy that, the first time around, he couldn’t even bring himself to face. This might not be so bad after all, Logan allows, striding out the door with a newfound sureness in his stride.

And his good mood only gets better as he continues to explore the forest surrounding him, distancing himself with every step from the abandoned warehouse where he had shed his insecurities. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that, besides the singular sun (which he can almost forget about, provided he doesn’t look up), the forest appears to be… exceedingly normal. It’s one that he wouldn’t even take a second look at, back in his origin dimension.

(Goodness, Logan reflects absently, the phrase “origin dimension” sounds so strange, doesn’t it?)

But of course, the flora and fauna in this forest aren’t exactly the same. There’s just enough variation between the two dimensions to fascinate Logan without frightening him, in fact.

That fascination, as it turns out, leads perfectly into step two: record observations, preferably on paper, for reference. Logan quickly conjures back up his notebook and pen to scribble down notes and make rough sketches of the forest’s almost-but-not-entirely-familiar specimens.

The conjuring takes a little more effort than usual, making Logan realise that his mana supply is probably getting dangerously low. Of course — he must have used up quite a lot of it earlier, when he was casting all of those teleportation spells. I’ll have to be a bit more conservative with my mana, Logan decides, until I can find a place to sleep and replenish, that is. The prospect scares him a little. He doesn’t like the fact that people depend on magic so much, but disliking it doesn’t make it any less true, and he’s certainly not exempt from that dependance. What will he do if he runs out?

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan’s attention is drawn a beautiful species of butterfly landing on an equally beautiful flower. Uncapping his pen, Logan smiles, grateful for the distraction. Mana can wait, can’t it? For now, he’s merely a scientist investigating an alien world — nothing more, nothing less.

xxx

He’s not sure how long he spends wandering through the forest, jotting down notes and observations, before his feet bring to a well-beaten path. This comes as quite a surprise to Logan, who had somehow been under the impression that he’s alone in the forest. The idea of finding another civilization both excites and unnerves him.

To journey or not to journey? Logan is conflicted on what he should do next. On one hand, if he doesn’t follow the path, he just knows that this decision will come back to haunt him. It’ll simply eat him up inside, the not knowing.

On the other hand… he has no idea what to expect, following this path. Where, or who, will the earth lead him to? How long will he spend walking? Does the path even end, or is this world nothing more than one big forest with a path circling all the way around? Does he want it to end? A path that leads to nowhere is better than a path that leads to danger, but in an unfamiliar land such as this one, the latter option seems a lot more likely.

Yes, it’s clear that the cons far outweigh the pros. Safety ought to be his priority here. The correct course of action, therefore, is to ignore the path and turn back to the forest. Just… just walk away. Walk... away.

Logan tucks his notebook into his back pocket and walks towards the path, cursing his incurable curiosity every step of the way.

xxx

Seconds stretch into minutes, then minutes into hours, as Logan follows the mysterious trail. There are times when he feels like he should stop, turn back before it’s too late, before the universe can throw anything else at him. But he’s too damned curious for his own good, and he can’t bring himself to.

Luckily for Logan, the universe seems to have had its fill of tormenting him today. The path does have an end, one that he reaches without encountering any hostile entities, and what he finds at the end is more than enough to make up for the hours of walking and waiting and worrying.

It’s a city. A city with people walking casually around, completely normal people just like Logan himself, which is exciting enough on its own — but what makes this discovery go from good to great is the city itself.

Simply put, the city looks like it’s been pulled straight out of one of Logan’s favourite science fantasy novels. He sees people riding around in elegant and futuristic vehicles with sleek metal bodies and four perfectly round, perfectly uniform wheels. He sees tall, towering buildings with bright yellow or white lights flickering in their windows rather than the dim, disappointing blue glow that he’s accustomed to. And everywhere he looks, he sees people tap-tap-tapping away on these tiny little handheld devices.

A gaggle of people pushes past him, every one of them fixated on their screens. When he catches a glimpse of what’s on these screens, he doesn’t blame them for being so tuned out to the rest of the world; if he had one, he’d be fixated, too.

On every screen is something different: digital calendars and checklists, looping pictures, games, perfectly uniform writing. Some people even have their devices held up to their ear and are talking into them, showing Logan that they’re able to pick up and store audio.

What kind of world must this be, for every single person to be able to own a piece of technology like this and not think twice about it?

The answer to his own question comes to him almost immediately. “A world where science is king, and magic comes second,” Logan realises out loud.

He knew it. He knew it! Science isn’t useless — it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! And it’s not hopeless to try and pursue a future of science. The proof that it’s possible is right here, in front of him!

His excitement fuels him forwards and into the city, where he begins flitting from building to building in a manner much like the butterfly he’d been sketching earlier; mostly arbitrary, based only on whichever locations catch his fancy. This results in him zig-zagging erratically from place to place, as there’s scarcely a single storefront or skyscraper that doesn’t catch his fancy. Everywhere he looks, he sees unthinkably advanced innovations being used in perfectly natural, casual fashions. Logan’s dreamed of places like this, but never imagined actually getting to see one someday!

What’s more — in all his exploring, he doesn’t once see anyone using magic. The life of these people is completely effortless. Completely automatic.

It’s the very life he’s been dreaming of for over twenty years now.

xxx

As the sun begins to go down, so too does Logan’s stamina. Panic had brought him out of the warehouse, concern had fueled him through the forest, curiosity had led him down the path, and finally intrigue had pulled him through the city — but though the intrigue is still fresh, the burst of energy he’d gained is wearing off, and now Logan finds himself at the unhappy tail end of an exhausting day.

All those emotions!  Goodness, Logan is in no way used to dealing with so many conflicting emotions in one day (indeed, he is in no way used to dealing with emotions, period). A long, long day of feeling has taken its toll on the young man.

He finds a city bench, which he trudges over to and parks himself down upon. Then, his thoughts finally settling down, Logan reflects and starts to develop some hypotheses on his current situation.

First of all, what went wrong with his invention? That seems as good a place to start as any. And he thinks that he might already have a vague idea:

As a general rule of thumb, small, inanimate objects are the easiest to transport from place to place; they’re much less demanding. Logan had tested large objects and they had gone through just fine. He’d tested small plants, with similar results. But his mistake was assuming that this was sufficient proof that his design was advanced enough to handle something as large and… well, “animate” as a human being. The fact is that his devices, despite how long he’d been working on them, were still primitive designs. Too primitive to safely teleport humans, at least. Add that to the fact that he must have already been running low on mana when he stepped in, and it’s not hard to see what went wrong. The teleportation pat created by the circles must have become unstable and broken somewhere between point A and point B, dumping Logan out and into this brave new world of his.

As to what this ‘brave new world’ actually is… now, that’s a little trickier. His best guess is that he’s ended up in some kind of sister dimension to his own. Centuries ago, Logan recalls learning, people had much more faith in the capabilities of science. Nowadays, everyone seems to assume that science was a much more ancient concept than magic, and it was then replaced when intellectuals started “proving” that magic was more reliable — but that’s not true in the slightest. In fact, the two of them started developing around the same time. One might say they were born of the same impulse, as it were: to control and shape the world to fit one’s own desires. That was what introduced science and magic into the world.

During that time, science was at its peak, whereas magic had only just begun to peek out. Over the years, the two battled for dominance. And in the end, magic came out on top and science unfortunately faded into obscurity.

Or at least, that’s what happened to Logan’s dimension. What if this world, then, had the same history up until that point, and then the two timelines… fractured? Magic was considered a foolish endeavour and was cast aside, while science stepped into the spotlight and thrived there.

So, then, it’s not only that people abstain from using magic because science is enough to sustain them. Rather, magic may have in fact been completely erased. But despite that… at its core, this dimension is remarkably similar to his own.

My own. It doesn’t feel exactly right, referring to the magical world as if it belongs to him. Logan suddenly realises that not once since getting here has he thought of that other dimension, or the things in it, as “home”.

A home ought to be a place where he feels comfortable, oughtn’t it? A place that he shares an intimate connection with. By that criteria, then, the ever-changing apartments he’s always cycling through are not his home. The dimension where everyone accepts magic and disregards science is not his home. Even his inventions — they’ve always been an attempt to make up for what he feels he lacks, and therefore artificially construct a home where there is none.

Logan gets back to his feet, leaving the bench behind, and looks around at the buildings surrounding him. At the sun still steadily dipping its way below the horizon, painting the heavens in all sorts of colour. The sight of it all fills him with a sort of serenity that he’s never known before.

Never once has Logan felt a sense of belonging, in the other dimension. Whereas here…

xxx

For some reason, much later, Logan is still walking. He is tired, yes, but his legs seem to have a mind of their own, growing restless whenever he sits still for too long. It’s as if they refuse to relax until he’s walked the length of this city, seen all that it has to offer him. So while the sky goes dark and more and more of those peculiar yellow lights appear in the windows, Logan keeps on keeping on.

Logan doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he’s already found it.

A small theatre, not at all unlike one Logan would expect to see near his old apartment(s), but for the glowing sign on the front.

EVEREST ETHEREUM, ENCHANTER EXTRAORDINAIRE, its large, bold letters loudly proclaim. Directly underneath, in text that’s a much smaller size: Today only — mind-muddling magical marvels for guys, gals, and non-binary pals of all ages!

A little tacky, perhaps, and whoever came up with the name and slogan could definitely stand to ease up on the alliteration, but the message grabs Logan’s attention all the same.

A magician, here! And one powerful enough to call themselves an enchanter to boot. Could Logan have been too quick in assuming that magic doesn’t play a role in this dimension? Perhaps it still exists, to a smaller degree. Perhaps only a select few people have magical capabilities. Perhaps Logan is jumping to conclusions again and really ought to stop doing that.

No, that last one isn’t much of a “perhaps”.

Rather than drive himself crazy with what-ifs, Logan decides to go inside and see this enchanter’s performance for himself. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

The inside of the theatre is… underwhelming. That’s not to say the few posters and decorations hung up aren’t nice ones — they’re just not very impressive, that’s all. There’s a very conspicuous lack of the colourful banners and red-carpetry that he’d been expecting. The only other person in the room sits behind a simple folding table, head resting on the surface of said table and the rest of his body completely swallowed up by a baggy black-and-purple hoodie. All the audience members must already be in the theatre. Still, Logan is a little put out by how empty the room is. Surely, someone as powerful as an enchanter deserves a much more handsome welcome than this.

The door swings shut behind him with a loud beep. Logan gives a start and scrambles further into the theatre. As he does, the hooded figure resting on the table looks up for the first time, revealing a young man’s tired-looking face.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat. Speaking of handsome.

The other man blinks blearily a few times before he notices Logan. His eyes (which are smudged with some kind of dark substance — at least, Logan hopes that it’s artificial and not natural bags from sleep deprivation) immediately widen as he scrambles to sit up straight, jostling a plate of cookies resting on the table. The shadows cast by the man’s large hood aren’t quite enough to hide a deep flush colouring his cheeks; Logan guesses that he must be embarrassed at having been caught asleep on the job. “Don’t worry.” Logan quickly tries to reassure the man, seeing as he already appears to have enough stress as is. “I won’t tell your boss.”

The man’s hard, jagged fear visibly softens. “I — Um — thanks.” His voice is gravelly, but not unpleasantly so. Logan thinks the quiet scratchiness is in fact strangely soothing. “I swear that’s not, like, an everyday thing, I’m just…”

Logan quirks a brow, amused. The man checks himself.

“I’m just going to stop talking now. Thanks. Sorry.” Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, the man’s eyes dart away. “You’re here to see the show, right?”

Logan nods.

“Great. Tickets are twenty dollars.”

That makes Logan hesitate. “Twenty...?” What does dollars mean? It’s an unfamiliar word to Logan, who’s used to using precious stones or mana to make payments. Does the man perhaps mean sand dollars?

Then Logan notices the metal box that the man is pointing to. It’s filled with colourful pieces of paper and perfectly round metal pieces. Those must be dollars, then. Do they use paper and metal disks as payment here? That’s new.

The man in the hoodie apparently misinterprets Logan’s hesitation. “It’s actually not that expensive,” he reassures Logan. “Like, if you’ve ever tried to get tickets to, say, a Broadway show… well, heh. Let’s just say, twenty dollars is peanuts. Besides, these guys are really good magicians. You’ll never be the same once you’ve watched them perform.” He pauses. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my boyfriends.”

If Logan wasn’t already convinced before, he certainly is now. Only problem is, he doesn’t have any dollars.

Then again…

Logan eyes the money box carefully. Many of the pieces of colourful paper are printed with a detailed design and a big number 20. That’s most likely worth twenty dollars, then. So he only needs one of those papers to get a ticket, right?

Or, alternatively, something that looks like one of those papers.

“Pardon me, but would you mind terribly if I...” As casually as he can, Logan reaches into the box and plucks out a paper.

“Hey,” protests the man, leaning forward. “What are you —”

“I promise you, I am not going to steal your dollars. I would merely like to take a good look at this for a moment, that’s all.” He turns it over in his hands, inspecting the detailed design on the front and the back, feeling its weight, even giving it a subtle sniff to confirm that it doesn’t smell of anything. He debates licking it, but something tells him that would be a bad idea.

Then he snaps his fingers, and where there was one piece of paper, there now lies two.

Creating a convincing Duplicate of an item is a difficult task in the magical world, but that’s only because people’s eyes are trained to spot little tells such as slight distortions when held up to the light, or corners and edges that are ever-so-slightly darker or lighter than the original object, or details that seem to blur when you look directly at them.

But people might be less used to spotting Dupes here, since they don’t seem to use magic as often. That’s what Logan is hoping for, at least. He’s just used up the last of his mana creating that Dupe, so it had better work.

Only one way to find out. Feigning calm, Logan hands both of the dollars back to the man with the hoodie.

Their hands briefly touch as he does so; the other man’s fingers are surprisingly soft, especially compared to Logan’s own calloused ones. As you might imagine, this doesn’t help his nerves any.

Then Logan steps back, feeling his heart rate speeding up (for more reasons than one). The man’s mouth has fallen open, and he seems dumbfounded… but he accepts the papers without question. Phew. Logan lets out a sigh of relief and feels himself relax. He’s safe. Nothing to fear.

“That’s a nifty little trick you’ve got there,” a new voice quite suddenly speaks directly into his ear, startling Logan so badly that he lets out a small scream and crashes directly into the folding table, very nearly knocking the dollar-box and plate of cookies over.

With both his tailbone and pride sorely bruised, Logan scrambles to his feet, automatically adjusting his necktie, trying to ignore the burning warmth spreading across his face and neck. So much for ‘nothing to fear’, he thinks, humiliated.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims the newcomer, who Logan now sees is another young man. His eyes are wide behind the thin frames of his round glasses. “Oh gosh, I didn’t realise I would scare you like that. Did I sneak up on you? Are you hurt? Ah, darn. I should’ve given you some warning, or something, shouldn’t I? Are you okay?”

“I — no — well, yes, but — that is —” Unsure of which question to answer first, Logan fumbles with his words for some time before finally settling on a simple, “I am fine, thank you.”

The newcomer begins to say something else, but he is interrupted before he can get anything out. “Hang on, what do you think you’re doing?” At this, Logan turns to look at the first man, the one selling tickets, worried that he has discovered Logan’s Dupe, but he isn’t looking at Logan. Instead, his finger is pointed accusingly at the newcomer, whose bottom lip is now stuck out in a pout.

“I know, Virgil, I just missed you!” ‘Virgil?’ Ah, that must be the ticketmaster’s name. “Roman and I have been stuck all alone without you for, like, two years already!” Two years? This man has been in isolation for two years? That seems... cruel. “Plus I got hungry and wanted to come grab some cookies.”

“I thought you had cookies backstage, Patton!” the ticketmaster — Virgil — replies, sounding exasperated. (Oh. Backstage. He was exaggerating when he said two years, then, Logan corrects himself.)

Patton shuffles his feet. “Well, yeah, we did. But, uh, we… lost them?” he tries unconvincingly.

“Lost them in your stomach, huh,” deadpans Virgil.

“Hey! No!”

Virgil gives Patton a skeptical stare.

“...Maybe a little. Anyway, the cookies don’t matter!” insists Patton, quickly changing the subject. “Either way, I wanted to come see you again before the show starts. Maybe help you out here, give you less work to do. Um, but that might have backfired, I guess? You know, since I almost scared this poor fellow right out of his pants just now.” He turns to the poor fellow in question, who has been watching this exchange play out, unsure of whether he should be saying anything. “Sorry about that, by the way. I thought that trick you did was really terrific, that’s all, and I guess I got carried away.”

“Not a problem,” Logan replies briskly. “Why don’t we both… forget that whole thing ever happened, please.”

“Aw, but I was going to ask if you could teach me how to do that!” says Patton.

Logan isn’t sure how to answer that. I’m actually a magician from an alternate dimension, and that money is nothing more than an illegal illusion. No, thank you. Besides, from what he’s heard so far, Patton is going to be performing in the show he’s about to see. If that’s the case, shouldn’t he already know how to make a Duplicate? It’s a very simple spell, after all…

Luckily, he’s saved from having to come up with a response when Virgil breaks in once more. “Hey, I hate to cut this whole bonding moment short—”

“I cradled you in my arms,” giggles Patton; Virgil ignores him.

“— but I don’t think you’ve got time to learn an entirely new trick before the show starts. Seriously, you can’t be out here. You’re going onstage in fifteen minutes, tops.”

Patton sighs. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right you’re right you’re right,” he says, though his voice is barely above a mumble.”

“What was that?” Virgil pointedly cups a hand around his ear.

“You’re right! You always are. Ever the level-headed one, aren’t you?” Patton walks around the table to embrace Virgil affectionately, pulling down the purple-and-black hood to give him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil shrugs out of the hug and shoos Patton away, babbling about showtimes and baked goods and tickets, and all the while trying to hide his wide smile behind dainty hands that aren’t nearly large enough to cover up his joy. Logan pretends not to notice.

“Enjoy the show!” is the last thing that Patton says, grinning with unabashed cheerfulness at Logan and — are his eyes deceiving him, or was that a wink? Before Logan can even process Patton’s words, the charmingly cheerful man has reached around Virgil, snagged a cookie or three, and strolled away. Logan watches him nibble at his newly acquired treat as he disappears through a large door marked BACKSTAGE.

“Don’t worry,” murmurs Logan, fighting a smile of his own. “I have no doubt that I will.”

xxx

As he watches the enchanter sweep grandly into center stage, Logan feels like he’s staring up into the sun’s glare all over again. Everest Ethereum’s regal red velvet robes are illuminated with all manner of golden sequins and sparkling trim, glittering so brilliantly in the dark theatre that Logan briefly has to lift a hand to shield his gaze for fear that he’ll go blind otherwise. His eyes adjust quickly, though, and once they do, Logan is able to look more carefully at the enchanter, Everest. Framing his face is a meticulously styled halo that’s just as red as his robes are, and he’s got a golden crown perched on his head to match the rest of his ensemble. He is, in a word, beautiful.

Moments later, Patton comes trippingly traipsing out from the other side of the stage with a large wooden box in tow. His outfit, a blue skirt-and-tuxedo combo, is significantly less flashy than Everest’s, allowing Logan to conclude that Patton must be the enchanter’s assistant.

Patton and Everest reach the center of the stage at almost exactly the same time — was that choreographed? A coincidence? Or are they just that in touch with each other? — as thunderous applause echoes through the theatre, where Logan is seated among many other eager audience members. Once the applause dies down, the performance begins. Logan leans forward in his seat, eager to catch his first glimpse of magic from this new dimension.

It only takes a few minutes for Logan to realise that there’s about as much actual magic in this so-called “magic show” as there are dolphins in the desert.

What he’s watching is decidedly not magic. There are no spells, no incantations, no nothing. It’s all simply misdirection, distracting audience attention towards one location on the stage while a sneaky sleight-of-hand takes place in another. Patton scurries around and fetches items and tells awful puns while Everest stands center stage and dramatically waves his hands around, but Logan knows that it’s nothing but an act.

He can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or impressed, or an odd mixture of the two.

Very disappointed, for obvious reasons. He’d come into the theatre hoping to find that he isn’t completely alone in his magical abilities. It’s one thing for him to say that he can survive without magic, but it’s another thing entirely to actually try it. He’ll be able to figure it out in time; that much, Logan is certain of. It just… would have been nice to have someone who could help guide him through this transition.

But then, at the same time, very impressed. Despite the letdown, Logan has to admire how clever all of the tricks are. He can’t even begin to guess how many of them work, and isn’t at all confident that he’d be able to recreate the same things with magic. The scientific dimension has yet again proven to be far more inventive and creative than the magical one, it seems.

Plus, he has to admit that though it’s not in the traditional sense, Everest is enchanting. He is nimble fingers and laughing eyes and flaming hair and words that sing as he speaks them, and he is downright bewitching, all of him.

xxx

“Alright, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!” Patton says, walking up to the front of the stage and squinting in the brightness of the stage lights. “Gosh, it is so great to see that we have such a full house today, and especially since we’re going to need to pull up an audience member for this next trick! I’m looking for one very brave soul to come on up here and lay all his cards on the table. Let’s see, how about… you there, in the front!” Patton finishes, pointing directly at Logan.

Directly at Logan.

Logan realises quite suddenly that his hand is stuck up in the air as high as it can go.

Huh.

“Come on up! Don’t be shy, now,” calls Patton merrily, undeniable kindness colouring his every word. Logan debates pretending not to hear him, but eventually decides that that would only do more harm than good, and has no choice but to get up and pick his way through the rows and rows of seats, then climb up onto the stage where the full force of the stage lights hits him so hard, it almost makes his ears ring. Logan watches recognition flicker across Patton’s face, but the blue-tuxedoed man doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your name?”

Logan, he tries to say. The word gets caught in his throat. He coughs and tries again, awkwardly: “My name is Logan.”

Patton turns back to the audience. “Alright, everyone, give it up for Logan!” The words have scarcely left his mouth before the building starts shaking with applause and a few scattered whoops and whistles. Patton waits for the noise to die down before turning back to Logan. There’s a mischievous expression on his face that makes Logan very uneasy indeed. “You know, I didn’t quite catch you that first time. Guess your volume was too low…”

Logan blinks.

“...gan?”

Low… gan. Lo-gan.

I might scream.

It’s a tempting notion, but before Logan can act on it, Patton seems to read his expression and hurries to move on. “Alright, Logan, your job’s going to be a super simple one, okay? We’re going back to the basics with this trick. I think everyone’s seen this one performed before. All I need you to do is pick a card, any card!” So saying, Patton gestures towards Everest with a flourish; Logan watches on in amazement as Everest pulls playing card after playing card out from behind his ear, until he’s got a full deck in his hands.

The enchanter hands the deck to Patton. The audience applauds dutifully. Patton grins.

“Okay, okay, settle down now. That’s just the beginning,” he calls. Then, turning to Logan, Patton fans the cards out face-down. “Go ahead, pick one. Now look at it. Memorise what’s on there. Don’t show it to me, okay? You can show it to the audience if you’d like, but make sure that I can’t see it.”

Logan obliges, pulling out a 5 of Diamonds and showing it off. He gets the feeling that everyone knows where this trick is going except for him.

“Great. Okay, now just slide that back in here, anywhere you’d like” continues Patton, still holding the cards in the same fanned-out position. Once Logan has done so, Patton shuffles the deck thoroughly before handing it back to Everest. Logan watches as Everest performs a series of complicated hand movements, shuffling faster and faster until his hands and the cards are nothing more than a blur of colour and motion, and then all at once —

“Is this your card?”

Logan’s eyes widen. The enchanter is brandishing the same card that he pulled out! “I — yes, it is!” he announces, nodding. “How did you…”

The other half of his question is drowned out in the cacophony of clapping that follows. Both Patton and the enchanter shake Logan’s hand while Patton’s lips move. Logan can’t hear him, of course, but it’s not difficult to infer that Patton is dismissing him.

Shakily, Logan walks off the stage and returns to his seat, feeling one part alarm, one part confusion, and ninety-eight parts exhilaration.

xxx

Much too soon, the performance is over. Logan surges to his feet along with the rest of the audience as the lights go back up, applauding until the palms of his hands are red and stinging.

The crowd carries him out into the no-longer-empty lobby, where Logan leans uncomfortably against one of the red brick walls. Perhaps he’s supposed to leave the building now, but he hesitates.

He doesn’t know where he’ll go once he’s left. And there’s something else, too, Logan realises after a moment. For some reason, leaving the theatre feels like leaving behind the last trace of magic that Logan will encounter for a long time. Yes, the show was made up of clever illusion rather than actual mana, but something undeniably magical happened in there tonight and Logan doesn’t want to walk away from it just yet.

So, he doesn’t. He stands and he waits, and he watches people animatedly talking to one another as they stream out the door, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He watches the cookies disappearing as they get snatched up into the fists of greedy toddlers and equally as greedy middle-aged men alike.

He is squinting at a young fellow’s t-shirt, trying to decide if the text on it reads Could or Couldn’t Be Gayer (he’s quite fond of the sentiment either way) when a sudden shout and the sounds of scattered applause catch his attention. Logan looks up to see the enchanter walking out the backstage door and into the lobby, Patton trailing close behind.

At the sight of the two of them, Logan is quite glad that he chose to wait around.

A group of small children run up to tug on Patton’s skirt. One of them holds up a black device larger than her own head. “Will you take a picture with us?” Logan hears her say. Patton smiles warmly.

Logan’s heart feels warm, too.

He’s about to move forward in the crowd to try and get a closer look at the pair of them when someone sidles up next to him. Logan glances over to see Virgil, still clad in his black-and-purple hoodie.

“So?”

Logan furrows his brow. “So, what?”

“What did you think of the show?” Virgil clarifies.

“Oh. Oh, it was...” Logan trails off. He’s not sure if mere words can express everything he’s feeling right now.

The silence drags on. Virgil winces. “Uh-oh. Does that mean it was bad?”

“No! Not at all. I just — argh.” Logan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to adequately express himself.

“Take your time, buddy.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I guess… it wasn’t quite so bad.” Logan finally gets out. “In fact, it was the best time that I’ve ever had.”

The ghost of a smile flits across Virgil’s chapped lips. “That good, huh? I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Roman and Patton are just amazing, aren’t they?”

“Roman?”

“Yeah. Wait, shoot, I’m not supposed to say that.” Alarm briefly darkens Virgil’s expression, but in the next instant it’s disappeared again. Whatever mistake he just made, he appears to be too tired to care. “Ah, well, secret’s out. Yeah, that’s the enchanter’s real name.”

Logan doesn’t understand. “But the sign says —”

“Yeah, I know what the sign says, I designed it. You didn’t think he was actually named Everest Ethereum, did you?” Virgil makes an odd sound, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh. “Roman just wanted a really fancy stage name and wouldn’t leave me alone until I changed it. I mean, at least it’s not as ridiculous as ‘Sir Squiggles the Brave.’ Don’t laugh.”

Logan arches a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I first heard it, too.”

“Okay, I know that you aren’t insulting Sir Squiggles,” a familiar voice interrupts their discussion. Logan and Virgil look up to see Everest — no, Roman, Logan corrects himself — standing in front of them, velvet robes and all. “Especially because you named our hamster that very same thing barely a week after shooting it down for me.”

One of Roman’s arms is slung affectionately around a giggling Patton’s shoulder. He uses the other to gather Virgil up in a tight hug.

“Hey, gross, let go of me! You’re gonna get your sweat from the show all over my new hoodie, Prince Underarm-stink,” Virgil splutters, though Logan notes that he doesn’t make any actual effort to extricate himself from the embrace as he continues to complain loudly.

Roman lets go of Patton to plant a kiss directly into Virgil’s purple hair, who suddenly goes silent. “Good to see you too, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.”

“Ugh, you are the literal worst,” Virgil tries, but the fact that he’s laughing takes away most of the insult’s sting.

Roman replies confidently, “Shut up, you love me.” And he proceeds to shut him up thoroughly with kiss after passionate kiss, until the man has been reduced to nothing more than a blushing puddle in Roman’s arms.

Logan shifts uncomfortably. He feels like he’s intruding on a very intimate moment. Apparently Patton notices, because a moment later, he grabs his shoulders and very deliberately turns Logan away from the awkward scene and towards him.

“It’s Logan, right?” Patton asks, dropping his arms. This catches Logan off-guard; he didn’t think that Patton would remember him. He nods. “Ever gone up on stage before?”

“No, never.”

“You were really brave to step up onto the stage tonight, you know. That takes guts. It’s always especially scary the first time.” Patton blows a wayward blonde curl out of his face, looking at Logan with interest. “You didn’t seem to be too worried, though.”

“Well, why would I be?” says Logan quizzically. “All I had to do was follow a few simple instructions. That’s hardly something to worry about.”

Patton looks surprised, but only for a moment. Then he starts to laugh.

Logan isn’t totally sure what he said or did that Patton finds so funny, but whatever it is, he doesn’t regret it at all. Frankly, he would be perfectly content to do nothing but listen to Patton’s bubbly laughter for the rest of his life.

“Wow. You know, it sounds so much simpler when you put it that way!” Patton tells Logan once he’s recovered enough to form words again. “Public speaking? Easy peasy, you’re just reading words off a teleprompter. Building a house? Just following the blueprints. Programming the next big social media app? Just writing a few lines of code. Painting the Mona Lisa? All you’ve gotta do is —” he’s starting to snicker again — “is — is put paint on a canvas!” And then he’s off again, laughing, laughing until he’s gasping for breath, laughing with so much joy and mirth that Logan wants to laugh too.

Because even though he doesn’t understand what the joke was or what a teleprompter or a social media app or a Mona Lisa is, he understands that Patton is carefree and smiling and it’s because of him.

How wonderful.

A minute passes, then two, before Patton is finally all laughed out. By this time, Virgil and Roman have separated and are staring at Logan so intently that Logan starts to wonder if there’s perhaps something on his face.

Fortunately, Roman speaks up then, and his words reassure Logan that nothing is wrong. “I’m impressed, specs. The necktie and button-up shirt had me thinking you were bound to be a pretty boring guy — no offense — but it looks like I misjudged you, hmm? Anyone who can make Patton laugh like that is definitely worth my time. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Roman,” cautions Virgil. “You’re starting to sound like an entitled brat.”

“Excuse you, I am not!”

“Definitely entitled,” Logan mutters. The words come out louder than he meant them to.

Virgil’s face lights up as he pokes Roman playfully in the arm. “Ha! Hear that, Ro? Even he agrees!” He turns to Logan in approval. “You know, I like you.”

Roman huffs, putting a perfectly manicured hand to his chest. “You’re both just jealous of me.”

“Kiddos! Play nice!” It’s Patton this time, swooping in to play mediator before Virgil and Roman can take their play-fighting any further. Logan sends Patton a silent thank-you as Virgil rolls his eyes fondly.

“Okay, yep. That we are, Roman. You got us.” This seems to pacify Roman, who allows his hand to fall back down to his side. Logan is grateful for the comfortable silence that follows.

Said silence doesn’t last very long, though. After just a moment, Roman speaks up again. “Pardon me, Logan, I hope you don’t mind my asking. Where are you from?” Seeing Logan’s confusion, Roman adds, “I mean, did you move here from another country or something? Your accent, it’s one that I don’t recall ever hearing before. And trust me, I would remember if I had.”

“I… have an accent?” says Logan, unable to mask his surprise.

“It’s very subtle,” jumps in Patton reassuringly. “I didn’t even notice, actually. Roman just has a bit of a knack for these things.”

Hm. Well. Considering how Logan lived in a completely separate dimension only a few hours ago, he supposes that probably shouldn’t be that surprising to learn. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course — the three of them would definitely think him crazy if he claimed that he’d come from an alternate dimension where no one believes in science and magic is a regular, everyday kind of thing.

Instead, Logan vaguely replies, “Oh, you’ve probably never heard of the place where I come from. It’s pretty far away.” Which technically is not a lie, unless the space-time continuum works in a very different way from how he thinks it does. Before any of them can ask him for more details, Logan adds, “In fact, I’ve scarcely been in this city of yours for a full day.”

“Ooh! On vacation, are ya?” asks Patton.

“Actually… no. I’m looking to settle down somewhere here.” It’s not until the words have left his mouth that Logan realises how true they are. He doesn’t want to leave the city. “It’s been, well, challenging, adjusting to the knowledge that I’m living somewhere completely unfamiliar. Especially since it wasn’t exactly my decision. I —” He cuts himself off, unsure why he’s confiding in these near-strangers. “I’m sorry, this is probably too much information, isn’t it?”

Roman replies quickly. “No, no, don’t worry. You’re not TMI’ing.”

“I’m not… TMI’ing?”

“Yeah. Like, TMI, but used as a verb.” Roman clarifies, not very helpfully.

“What’s TMI?”

“You know, like… too much information? It’s an acronym.”

“Oh, I see.” That must be a new vocabulary word from this dimension, then. Logan grabs his notebook from out of his back pocket and scribbles that down.

Virgil squints. “Are you making a flashcard?”

“No. Yes.” Logan coughs. “Not important. Are you quite certain that I’m not, er… TMI’ing, as you say?”

“Yes, we are quite certain,” says Patton, straightening his spine and imitating Logan’s posture. He giggles. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t much else to say. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s it, really. I haven’t done anything exciting yet; I haven’t yet figured out where I’m going to sleep tonight, even,” Logan admits, sliding his notebook back into his pocket. “But to be quite frank with you, sudden change is hardly a new concept for me, anyway. It’s been a while since I was able to hold onto living quarters for more than half a year at most. So you needn’t worry about me.”

The silence that follows is far from a comfortable one.

Eventually, Virgil is the first to speak. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Logan, but… from the way you just described your life in the past, it sounds like you never really felt like you fit in anywhere. And if that’s the case, then I’d honestly say that this change might be for the better. You can move on now, you know?”

“Virgil’s right,” Patton pipes up. “Why not try taking a look at what’s on the horizon, instead? Keep exploring! Don’t just tolerate change, embrace it! Get out there and meet some new people, ya know? In fact, I think you’ve already got that last one in the bag,” finishes Patton meaningfully, gesturing around at himself, Roman, and Virgil.

Roman nods, looking thoughtful. “Ah, it’s just like I always like to say: leave the past in the past, make a plan of attack. Start looking forward and stop looking back.”

“Roman, you’ve literally never said that.”

“Oh, hush, Northern Down-snore.”

Virgil sticks out his tongue.

“Ahem. Anyway. Logan, to welcome you to Florida, I’d like to offer you the best gift you could possibly get. A formality, of course, since I’m already certain that you will accept.” Roman pauses dramatically. “Would you like my phone number?”

Phone?

Logan sighs heavily. He’s getting sick and tired of hearing words he doesn’t understand.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I don’t own a… phone.”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replies Logan crisply. “I’ve never made a joke in my entire life.”

“Oh. Oh, my sweet cheese pastries. In this day and age, you don’t have a phone? Seriously, where did you even come from?” Roman says, scandalised. Without waiting for an answer, he moves on. “This simply will not do. Logan, how in the name of a forest fairy’s hairy armpits do you expect to survive out here without a phone?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologise to me.” Roman rubs his forehead. “Logan, this is unbelievable. Okay, tell you what. I always carry an extra phone around with me, just in case. I’ve decided that you will be taking that phone with you when you leave the theatre today.”

“What? Oh, no no, you don’t have to do that,” Logan protests.

“Don’t even try to argue with me, Logan. It’s an old model, but it’ll serve you well enough until you can buy a phone for yourself. And it’s already got all of our contact information in there and everything!” Roman suddenly stops. “Oh, but… I just remembered I left it at home today. Hmm. You don’t have any plans for the evening, do you?”

Logan shakes his head, dazed.

“Perfect! Everything’s coming up roses, you see? Stick around a little while, then; I just need to get out of this heavy bathrobe here and then the three of us will be heading back to our apartment. You can come with. I’ll give you my — your — phone, and then you’ll be free to go. Or,” Roman pauses and exchanges a look with Virgil and Patton, then continues, “if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you’re welcome to spend the night at our place. There’s a pullout bed in the couch. It’s not exactly a luxury mattress, but it’s comfortable enough.”

“Roman!” hisses Virgil. “You can’t just invite people into our house like that! Like, obviously I’m cool with Logan staying over, but… that’s a really creepy move, dude.” Virgil turns to Logan. “Sorry about him.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, Roman gets fired up a lot — hang on, what did you say?”

Logan shrugs. “I said, I don’t mind.” And it’s true; he doesn’t. In fact, Logan is absolutely blown away by the incredible kindness he’s just been shown. These three young men only learned about his situation moments ago, and now they’re offering him a place to stay and a ‘phone’, free of charge? It all seems almost too good to be true.

Logan opens his mouth to tell Roman something along the lines of thanks, but no thanks, but stops. His only other option, he realises, is to make the long trek back into the forest and along the path, then stumble around with no mana until he can find that abandoned warehouse again. Which sounds less than ideal. Who knows what might be hiding in the dark?

Fortunately, Patton’s voice breaks into Logan’s thoughts before his imagination can answer that question. “So?”

Logan pushes up his glasses. “You’d be willing to let me stay the night with you, just like that?”

“Absolutely,” replies Patton firmly.

“Well, if you’re certain, then…” Logan is aware that this is most likely exactly how most kidnappings begin. But then, there are far worse fates than getting kidnapped by three beautiful young men the same age as him. And he really doesn’t have much of a choice. Logan swallows his pride and nods. “Then, thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this —”

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” beams Patton. “I’m just glad you’re not going to spend your first night in Florida alone.” Virgil nods. “Seriously, it’s no sweat. You don’t need to repay us with anything.”

“We-ell…” Three sets of heads turn towards Roman as he makes a vague gesture, flourishing a long, crimson sleeve. “There is one thing.”

Logan feels his heart plummet into his shoes. Of course there’s a catch.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” protests Roman. “I’m not about to make you polish our bathroom with a toothbrush or anything; I’m no evil stepmother. All I ask is this: once you’ve found a place to live and gotten all settled in, you give us a call.”

As Patton gasps and Virgil’s eyes widen in understanding, Roman grins.

“Let us all take you out on a date sometime, yeah?”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #sanders sides fic #lamp #spectral scribbles #holy cheese this was such a rollercoaster of a fic to write #hhhhhhhhhhhhh i am #not exaggerating #when i tell you that i am SHAKING #tw panic #tw negative thinking #tw food mention #tw caps lock #spec made something

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

About the Musca, Cas, Dean and (queer) sexuality in 14x06

There are many little callbacks to season 7 in the episode, from Harper’s deception that reminds of Jeffrey with his demon to the very slogan ‘reading is fundamental’ inside the library, and I am pretty sure that the very specific choice of black goo as the characterizing trait of the Musca is supposed to remind us of the other famous black goo monster we’ve met in the show, the Leviathan. In an episode where we are subtly reminded that the Charlie from the apocalypse world never had to deal with Leviathans, because the Castiel there never opened Purgatory and Richard Roman was never possessed by anything... she and Sam have to deal with a different black goo monster. (Slightly out of topic, but also interesting how Sam was ‘well and truly alone’ at the end of season 7 and now he praises the benefits of being among others to Charlie.)

But the Musca doesn’t really have much in common with the Leviathan, when we consider the monsters themselves. A human-fly hybrid who tends to stick inside hidden communities except for the occasional bad egg... shapeshifting cannibalistic monster divided in multiple bodies... we have to widen the scope of our perspective to see what kind of parallel hides here.

The Leviathan were (was?) a mirror for both Dean and Cas. This is not the place to digress in this direction, but the split-in-conflicting-parts, shapeshifting, self-devouring creature represented Dean’s issues with identity and mental health, and Cas was counterposed to Dick Roman in multiple ways. The Leviathan can be even seen as an allegory for their relationship - they get out of Purgatory as Dean and Cas’ relationship shatters, they get defeated by Dean and Cas working together as they reconcile.

What about the Musca?

A creature ‘hybrid between a man and a fly’ who has left his community just reminds me of Cas, who for all intents and purposes is currently a hybrid between a man and a fly angel, and has left heaven. But of course, the similarities just highlight the differences. Cas didn’t leave heaven because he couldn’t find a mate, but rather... because he has found one, but, unlike for the Muscae, that’s not what he was supposed to do.

“When a male fails to find a mate, he abandons his community and starts using people's bodies to nest” - in Cas’ case, he’s used a person’s body because that’s how angels function. Muscae are not supposed to behave like that, but are supposed to stay among themselves, mate within the community, and mind their own business. Angels instead are ordered to go on earth to perform tasks on behalf of heaven: that’s why Cas had to possess Jimmy in season 4, or the lady in 1901. Angels pick vessels because heaven sends them on earth to interfere with humans’ business.

The way Charlie and Sam speak about Muscae is reminiscent of how Dean and Sam and Bobby spoke about angels in 4x02. They appeared in books, but supposedly no one had seen an angel in a very long time... Charlie and Sam also doubt that Muscae exist because supposedly no one has ever seen them, but it becomes clear that someone must have seen them, otherwise where would the information in the book come from? We learn the same about angels - Dean might not believe they exist, but plenty of people have seen them before or interacted with angelic things in some way...

So the Musca is an anti-Cas of sorts. This Musca left a community that cared about him, even though he’d abandoned them, and lived in isolation and squalor, just “pining” (hello, little scented trees) for companionship. Cas has left a community that didn’t care about him as a person, and has chosen a loving family instead. He’s been doing his fair share of pining, of course, but in a completely different context.

His angelic ‘family’ cared about him when he acted like ‘an angel’s angel’, and shunned him when he started acting more human-like... which was his real personality all along, but he simply had not had the opportunity to explore that part of himself. This journey been coded as a coming out/transition of sorts, and Cas’ human family as the found family that welcomed Cas while his ‘biological’ family would not accept his truth regarding his identity and relationship choices.

Sort of like the Musca, he could not find companionship within his original community, but unlike the Musca he found genuine companionship outside of it. He’s been pining, it’s not been perfect and it still not is, but he has found love, not death and squalor. From the perspective of a ‘regular’ angel, though, living among ‘mud monkeys’ is not really that different from the Musca living in filth and dead people. But Cas knows better.

What about Dean? Now, keep reading if you’re not the kind of person who dismiss interpretations of a text as a ‘stretch’, when in fact text means fabric and a fabric that doesn’t stretch tears, so a good text is a text that can be stretched in multiple directions.

Also warning for mention of gross homophobic stereotypes and the Aids crisis.

The Musca’s isolation is textually linked to sexuality. He can’t find a mate, so he abandons the community. He lives in squalor and dirt, surrounded by corpses. Things have changed a bit lately, but if you go back not too many years this is the picture that a homophobe would paint of homosexuality/queerness. A man who won’t marry a woman (non-monogamous bisexual men or men who can be in relationships with women but not in a heteronormative, ‘proper’ manner also count) and becomes isolated from his community as a result (of course, for homophobes the only ‘real’ community is their own heteronormative society, as they don’t believe queer bonds are real or positive) and chooses a lifestyle of loneliness, filth and death, which is something I’m having a hard time even typing but homophobia’ll be like that.

In support of this kind of interpretation we have the other subplot of the episode. In the Harper-Vince-Jack storyline, there is a theme of ability/inability to create a family. That’s the card Jack tries to play in order to change Harper’s mind about having Vince kill him - that she’ll never be able to have a family with Vince: “what would it be like to be with someone alive? Who could walk you down the aisle in front of the whole town? And start a family with?”.

Interestingly, he also talks of a love that can be lived openly and publicly, which has all sorts of subtextual implications. Homophobic ideas of same-sex relationships are exactly those - you cannot have a normal marriage in front of the whole town, you cannot start an actual family. ‘But you won’t be able to get married and have children’ is a typical homophobic response to someone coming out - especially from parents who want their kid to give them grandchildren. Of course those are bullshit because hiddenness isn’t inherent to queer relationships/identities, but is due to the threat of homophobic violence (physical, emotional, economical...) and plenty of same-sex couples would get married and have/adopt children if there weren’t laws that forbade them to.

A lot of parents also act grief-stricken when their child comes out to them because they’re genuinely convinced that being queer automatically means a life of suffering and loneliness (and don’t get me wrong, in many places and situations being queer not a walk in the park, but it’s not an automatic sentence to pain and desolation).

Basically, the life of the Musca after leaving his community is pretty much what homophobes think of life and relationship as a queer person (especially a queer man or a queer amab person). A “bad egg” (a bad egg is an egg that has no use for either reproduction or nourishment) that leaves his community to pursue a lonely lifestyle inextricably linked to death.

But what about Dean? Let’s jump back to season 1.

This post is already pretty long so I’m not going to delve into detail here, so let’s just get to the point: the show establishes in the first couple of seasons that Sam feels like a freak because of his own direct connection to the supernatural. He doesn’t feel like he fits among ‘normal people’ because of his personal and family history. Dean, on the other hand, feels like a freak who cannot fit among ‘normal people’ because... he embraces the lifestyle his father has put them on, because he can’t stand the idea of losing his father’s approval because without his father approval he’d be alone, because people always leave him, because... you know the drill.

Unlike Sam who tries to fit with the normal people, Dean rejects entirely the idea. He knows he’s not normal and won’t ever belong in a suburb. He seems to embrace the hunting lifestyle, no connections, just fun hookups with no strings attached... Obviously we find out pretty soon that Dean craves for connections, that he clings to the concept of being a ‘good son’ because he fears that everyone leaves him, so he tries his best not to be abandoned by his father. He is haunted by the idea of being abandoned by everyone until he remains alone. And he clings to family because he’s convinced that he cannot really have anyone else other than blood family, because who would want him?

And over the course of the show, he finds people. He loses many, but he keeps collecting new family members - not tied to him by blood, but found family. He learns that family doesn’t end in blood, and then he also learns that it doesn’t start there either. He redefines family. If people didn’t keep dying, he would have pretty much a commune by now.

He’s not arrived to the culmination of this journey yet (I’m assuming there’s a culmination of a journey because this is storytelling and it’s not random and intricate as real life is) but he is nowhere near that young man who clings to sticking to the ideal conduct his father expects from him because he thinks that if he loses his blood family he’s lost it all, who is terrified of loneliness and deep down suffers how he’ll never be able to settle down with a respectable wife in a nice little house.

He used to think that he couldn’t have love because love was for people who could get married and have children and a dog and a white picket fence. Now he acknowledges that love comes in all shapes and forms and can be ‘crazier’ than something already pretty weird. He has realized that family can be found outside of blood relations, and that blood relations alone don’t make family; and he has realized that love exists in many forms, including weird, crazy forms. He can have family and he can have love even if he doesn’t fit into certain schemes.

I’m not sure I’ve made justice to the topic with this post but I guess it’s long enough for now, I’ll end it here :)

#my spn thoughts #spn meta #spn 14x06 #dean and queerness #cas and identity #cas and the angels #spn