#prior assumptions and prior research

[oflgtfol]

WHY ARE YOU CONSULTING A SOCIAL SCIENTIST ON WHETHER ASTROLOGY COUNTS AS A SCIENCE. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER CONSULT ACTUAL ASTRONOMERS. BECAUSE THEY KNOW THE ANSWER THEY'LL GET THAT'S WHY!!!

[straycatj]

Not Rocky, only sucky — A record of the unauthorized use of my photo in Oliver Clegg’s work

This article documents the events surrounding the unauthorized use of one of my photographs in a work named Rocky by Oliver Clegg, from the initial discovery through to the current situation.

Please consider this a formal report for those who have supported me.

September 7, 2021

I posted a photo of my cat Kofuku and Mr.J.

At the time, someone even made a pixel art version of it, and many people enjoyed it together.

January 2023

A kind follower sent me a mention to a post introducing a “work” by Oliver Clegg.

Clegg later claimed he had tagged my Instagram, but in fact he had created a brand-new tag called “straycatmrj.” This has also been documented.

By that point, someone had already annotated his work via Hypothesis, raising questions about his use of materials.

February 2025

The traced work resurfaced. I began an investigation.

That same month, I consulted a lawyer through an initiative supported by Japan’s Agency for Cultural Affairs:

Bansou.Support – a legal support service for copyright infringement and similar issues on the internet.

I was informed that:

Because the image is viewable online from Japan, this constitutes copyright infringement under Japanese law.

In my case, this use clearly does not fall under fair use.

My rights are protected internationally under the Berne Convention, regardless of the creator residing in the United States.

April 2025

Once again, I saw another traced work posted.

The uploader promptly removed the post and even issued a follow-up to explain the situation. I deeply appreciate their response.

However, the traced image continued to be reblogged.

I decided to follow through on my prior consultation and contact the gallery representing Mr. Clegg.

April 30, 2025 (JST)

I contacted the gallery directly.

A lawyer had advised that “this kind of issue is often treated seriously as a matter of credibility by galleries, so it’s worth contacting them.”

However, I received no response—perhaps because I am merely a Japanese individual blogger.

May 3, 2025 (JST)

I sent a follow-up message, stating that unless I received a response by the close of business on May 6 (EDT), I would make the findings public.

May 7, 2025

With no reply, I published the facts and timeline on Tumblr.

Many people offered support. However, I also witnessed comments that ignored all legal context, and some individuals spread false assumptions and slander.

Such baseless speculation only reveals more about the mindset and behavior of those making it.

I would like to take this opportunity to again express my sincere gratitude to those who responded respectfully and supported me.

May 8, 2025

24 hours later, with more response than expected, I published a follow-up thank-you note in the form of a reblog.

May 9, 2025 (Night)

60 hours later, I discovered that the relevant Tumblr tags were no longer functioning.

I suspected a technical issue—or possibly a report by someone connected to the other party.

I contacted Tumblr Community Support, and they responded promptly, stating that the issue had been resolved and would be reflected within 24 hours.

Shortly thereafter, the tag search functionality returned to normal.

May 10, 2025

72 hours later: search results had shifted.

Tumblr Search When searching for the artist’s name, I noticed that the specific work featuring my cat no longer appears in search results.

Google Image Search The image now appears to be filtered under SafeSearch.

Once again, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who supported and stood with me.

Thanks again to everyone who helped clarify the origin of the image.

(This post may be useful to those researching digital appropriation or copyright boundaries in art.)

[mysticstronomy]

WHAT IS THE OLDEST KNOWN GALAXY??

Blog#491

Welcome back,

Wednesday, March 26th, 2025.

Astronomers calculate distances to remote objects by measuring redshifts, a yardstick of how deeply stretched the galaxy’s light is (and redder means farther away). GS-z14-0 was discovered to have a redshift of 14.3, besting the 2022 record of a galaxy found with a redshift of 13.2 that corresponded to a formation age of some 325 million years after the Big Bang.

And GS-z14-0 is some five times more luminous than that prior most-distant galaxy, according to Kevin Hainline, a professor at the University of Arizona, who helped lead the discovery.

“Nobody dreamed that there would be galaxies this bright at this high redshift,” says George Rieke, another University of Arizona astronomer who is the former deputy director of Steward Observatory.

According to NASA, members of the JADES team explained recently that “the light we see is coming mostly from young stars and not from emission near a growing supermassive black hole. This much starlight implies that the galaxy is several hundreds of millions of times the mass of the Sun! This raises the question: How can nature make such a bright, massive, and large galaxy in less than 300 million years?”

The galaxy is surprising for another reason, too. JADES researcher Jake Helton, also of the University of Arizona, identified an unexpected abundance of dust and emission lines from hydrogen and oxygen in the galaxy’s spectrum. The oxygen suggests that generations of massive stars have come and gone in the galaxy.

And there’s more.

The galaxy’s number of massive stars poses a dark-matter conundrum. Dark matter accumulates as the cosmos expands. Rieke says that “the problem with this galaxy is it’s pushing against what we think is the maximum mass for a dark halo at that time.”

The findings were made with JWST’s Near-Infrared Spectrograph, Near-Infrared Camera, and Mid-Infrared Instrument. In the latter case, researchers noted the irony that during the budget woes of JWST, the Mid-Infrared Instrument was frequently targeted for budget cuts. Now, along with its companion science packages, it’s targeting the earliest galaxies in the cosmos.

The findings from GS-z14-0 did not come easy. The team first observed the object more than a year ago, but its brightness and proximity to another galaxy was puzzling. While they had a preliminary redshift finding, the team later obtained a spectrum that confirmed the galaxy’s distance, along with its other puzzling properties, measurements that push but do not overturn models of stellar and galactic formation. The “naïve assumption,” said Helton, had been that these earlier galaxies would be smaller and fainter.

That’s why Hainline would go on to compare the finding to excavating a cellphone among ancient ruins in Rome because this galaxy is so much brighter than the previous record holder and seems more evolved in terms of composition.

Hainline and his colleagues were initially skeptical of the findings and later threw hands in the air with excitement. Hainline told Astronomy that the finding was “one of the weird great moments of my scientific career.” This is especially so because he recalls sleeping under a table during the Texas landfall of Hurricane Harvey. He was part of a skeleton crew left at NASA facilities to shepherd JWST during the storm. The GS-z14-0 discovery reminds him, he stresses, of the dedication of everyone who made the Webb Telescope and its ongoing findings possible.

Certainly JADES-GS-z14-0 won’t be the record-holder forever. As time rolls on, astronomers are destined to find even more distant, younger galaxies.

Originally published on https://www.astronomy.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, March 29th, 2025)

"WHAT IS THE COSMIC MICROWAVE BACKGROUND??"

[heartepub]

有緣無分

genre/warnings/wc. angst. indie film director!minghao x interpreter!gn!reader. weird books and copious insect mating descriptions (do those count as warnings?). unbeta'd, not proofread. 0.9k. note. for @studioeisa, in response to minghao + the last love letter from an entomologist, by jared singer. part of my 100 followers event !

As with any retreat house worth its salt, there are shelves filled with the most eclectic titles one could ask for. You’re reading them aloud, eyes bright with both curiosity and tipsy wonder. There’s a bottle of wine held loosely in your hand, which Minghao eyes as you run your fingers lightly over the books.

“‘Long Walk to Freedom’—Mandela, hm…‘I Could Pee on This’… ‘Almanac 2011’—Oh, NatGeo! …‘How to Live with a Huge Penis’…” you begin to giggle, finger still running along the spines as he makes a face behind you. “‘How to Good-bye Depression: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? or Effective Way?’” Your giggles grow louder as he snorts.

Minghao doesn’t need to know what malarkey means to grasp the utter absurdity of that combination of words.

You pull something from the shelf, handing it to him. “It’s the only book written in Chinese.” Obliging, he accepts it from you, patting the space beside him on the couch as he opens the book to a random page.

You flop down, the wine in the half-empty bottle sloshing with your motion. He gently extricates it from your hand as he reads the first sentence his eyes land on. “Sexual cannibalism is common amongst praying mantises. Typically, the female is the aggressor, which encourages males to approach the female carefully and cautiously when mating.” 

Minghao raises an eyebrow, intrigued even as his brain doesn’t quite parse the words. 

You continue from where he left off. His mother tongue fills the air, your accent endearing as it always is. But it’s all fluff in his head, nothing quite as important as the weight of your head on his shoulder. 

It is well into the night; neither of you have bothered with watches, and the clocks here are wildly unsynced. It’s an hour for dreams; the amber warmth of the indoor lamps meet the remnants of the lights from the pool outside. The result is a hazy mix of blue and orange casting mesmerizing shadows across your face.

“Oh, this is interesting,” he hums, pulling himself out of his daze to listen, “Some flies have been found to be monogamous, challenging prior assumptions of polygy- polygynous relations. Though postmating responses in female flies has been diplomatic, emerging research indicates that copulation, including the exposure to mating-specific pheromones, reduces receptors in certain neurons among males. This results in a severely reduced motivation to re-engage in mating behavior. Neither male nor female would mate with another, leading to loss in genetic material should copulation be unsuccessful.”

Minghao skims the passage. “Not diplomatic,” he corrects, “documented.”

“Mm. ��Kay.” The alcohol has already clearly gotten to you. Your words slur, ever so slightly. “I’d like to be a praying mantis in my next life. A true man-eater. Maybe a fly for the devotion.”

Minghao snorts again, the sound more unrestrained than usual. Perhaps a consequence of the second bottle. 

“Must be easy to love if you’re an insect,” you continue to muse, “Just pheromones, sex, then you give birth, then you die. No such thing as ‘cheating’. No room for emotions or family drama.”

“Seems like guys get the short end of the stick,” he replies after a beat. “Maybe not for me.”

You just giggle again, digging your head into his shoulder, only letting up when he yelps in pain. “Good. It’s men’s turn.” He just grunts, pushing you off while nursing the soreness. The moment his hand stops massaging his shoulder, your head has reclaimed its position. You’re saying something, but it doesn’t quite register—his mind has been weighing his next actions even as you talk glibly beside him. 

After a beat, he leans his head against yours. Your chatter dies quickly. For a while, you don’t move, until you shift slightly, allowing the top of your head to fit right under his jaw. He doesn’t usually drink; tonight was an exception, but he’s not too concerned. Not when it’s you and your warmth pressing against his side.

Nearly everything has been said and done; his flight is a red-eye, the early morning right after your impromptu midnight screening (A special edition, you had pitched to the head organizer, after your mutual bid of creative madness, where we add subtitles to the silent portions of the film, giving voice to what had been previously left unsaid). He and you had promptly been sent here, amid nature, wine, and strange books, in the name of unleashing the creative spirit.

Tomorrow, you’ll both have left the retreat house, ready with your hard drive of the edited film. A handful of hours after that, he’ll be back in China, to his life of writing and directing, or perhaps preparing for the next screening in some other country, in another film festival. 

Perhaps he’ll meet another interpreter, though he’s sure no one would ever quite be the same. No one else could linger between the cracks of himself, as careful as he was to choose what brokenness remains seen in the final iterations of his art.

Silence rests between you, not a burden, but a weight nonetheless. Even a whisper would feel like a scream. There is a precipice, but neither of you will jump. Only yearning can fill this space.

(In the early morning after you part, he boards the plane, How to Good-bye Depression: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? or Effective Way? tucked into his carry-on. His first petty crime. A purely selfish way to remember how you laughed every time you read the title.

Minghao hopes that the Buddhists were right about karma and samsara. If they were, he could be born as an insect in his next life. He could learn to love with the vicious devotion only lesser creatures have. If it’s you, he wouldn’t mind his turn.)

有緣無分 . yǒu yuán wú fèn, destined to meet but not fated to be together (idiom)

note. praying mantis mating description from here ; flies one is straight out of my 2am brain. yet another outtake from a wip yet to be written—this will not be the last you see of this couple (kae hates to see me coming)

[tryingahandinholdingapen]

thinking about the "consensual but not safe or sane tag" but like. what if instead of referring to sex it was referring to Tobirama's dubiously ethical science?

Imagining a fic/universe in which Tobirama is actually pretty well liked by his clan because he invents so much cool stuff they can then use (seals, jutsu including healing jutsu, knowledge, miscellaneous inventions) but you know, Tobirama needs to test things out sometimes. Theory is all well and good but ideally you don't want to be testing something for the very first time when you actually NEED it to work. But the ethics are. Dubious

Like he'll make sure he's certain of the theory before he does anything, and if applicable he will try to test it on mice or something before leaping to human testing. But if animal testing would be difficult/impossible for a particular invention (including diagnostic or healing jutsu, and some combat jutsu) he WILL just jump straight to human testing. Also sometimes "certain of the theory" means "I am certain one of two things will happen here, one of which is the desired result and the other...Isn't."

When talking human experimentation he prefers his subjects to be allies if possible. This is partly because of Hashirama (he assumes Tobirama wouldn't do anything too unethical/harmful to their allies, which may or may not be a flawed assumption but so far hasn't been an issue) but mostly because Tobirama is like. Well. One of the main advantages of testing something on humans is that they can give me coherent feedback on exactly what they experienced/felt/etc,but if the human in question is a prisoner or captured enemy they'll probably just fucking lie to me about it and that would impede further research quite significantly. Nah. Best stick to allies as test subjects

I want to say this is a universe in which a) because naruto-verse is so anachronistic and what people know is further complicated by jutsu vs technology vs keeping secrets, Tobirama's first step in helping the Senju clan develop the more complex healing jutsu was "figure out anatomy"; AND b) rumours abound about Senju Tobirama being an evil mad scientist who aims to steal bloodline limits and experiments on prisoners and there's always screaming coming from his lab... most people either fully believe this or are like "I'm sure he doesn't do any unethical experiments or test anything on humans or hurt anyone at all ever (except in battle/missions)" both of which are, of course, wrong. Just, in opposite directions

Anyway

Scenario in which an insignificant Senju is captured by another clan (Uchiha? or would it be funnier for them to learn secondhand?) and one of the first things the captors are discussing is after stripping them of weapons etc and possibly changing their clothes (look its pretty standard practice to have ninja wire, senbon, etc hidden in your clothes, it's a BAD IDEA to leave a prisoner in the clothing they had prior to capture) is "hey what the hell are these scars about?? were they tortured before or something??"

(okay pronouns are getting confusing with using plural they for captors+singular for prisoner+he for Tobirama so I'm deciding the prisoner uses she/her for sake of easy comprehension with pronouns for now)

And so at some point they question the prisoner and she's p out of it (concussion and or drugs and or shock and or genjutsu so she answers p easily she's like "which scars?"

and whoever is leading the questioning goes, "well, for starters, these scars here. when were you tortured and who by? how did you escape? (subtext: is this smth we need to be aware of/take into account and also how do we stop you escaping us the same way?)"

and she pauses a moment because what "I've never been tortured?? this is also the first time I've been captured. embarrassing really. normally people just try to kill me s'not like I'm important"

and the leader goes "..okay. how did you get these scars then?" whilst another of their group talks over them to say "wtf do you MEAN you've never been tortured it looks like someone cut you apart!"

and she goes "lab day :)"

and the leader takes a hint from the interruptor's wild gesturing to press "...how does a 'lab day' entail being cut apart?"

and she, alarmingly casually given shes talking about her own insides, clarifies "well, anatomy studies. duh. hard to study the insides of a person when the outsides are in the way, yknow?"

alarmed silence

"just cut...there, and there", jerking her chin towards two horizontal scars on one arm, "line between them..." there is indeed another scar connecting them, like a poorly proportioned H, "..and then pull the skin back to see underneath."

more horrified silence

"like flaps! or the pages of a book!" she continues (un)helpfully, "and then you draw out what you see under the skin, ideally with annotations and stuff. we've got some pretty good charts now"

"...and you say you've never been tortured before."

"nope!"

"and you don't classify that as torture because..?"

she's all blank confusion

"torture is damage or genjutsu or emotional pain inflicted by an enemy with the intention of extracting information and/or causing a victim to suffer," she reels off by rote. "that, another jerk of chin towards the scars in question, "was none of those?"

"...right."

"well I guess technically it was an attempt to extract information, yknow, the information being 'what does the inner arm look like in this spot', but if that alone classified it as torture then every conversation and observation would also be classified as torture, so..." she's still really out of it and getting distracted

"..of course. so your captor wasn't intending for you to suffer, even though you still have scars even now?"

"I mean, this was like. five months ago. I scar real easily but I also heal pretty well so those ones should be almost invisible in maybe three years?" she frowns belatedly processing "hey! captor's a bit harsh. I only had any restraints at all because I get real fidgety real quick and I kept moving too much when I tried to see what was happening. not a good idea to move around when someone's got their hands in your insides. my cousin is way better at staying still and still seeing what's going on, lucky bitch, so doesn't have to deal with restraints at all"

"you were conscious when this happened."

"yeah?"

"surely if they didn't want you to suffer the easiest option would have been to just knock you out until you had recovered from the.. injury. keeping you awake and not suffering, as you insist you werent, seems far more complicated"

she's kind of confused by this "well, yeah it was sort of complicated to figure out and implement and stuff but if I wasn't aware that wouldn't be nearly as useful?"

"...what"

"well. in this PARTICULAR case I guess it didn't really matter but USUALLY on lab days being aware is helpful. tobirama-sama says one of the top reasons to use human subjects is you can actually get active feedback on how they're affected since they can just tell you"

one of the interrogators, somewhat further from her and (mistakenly) too loudly not to be heard "god fucking DAMNIT I thought those rumours were exaggerated"

[yazzydream]

Geto's Massacre Incident Report (EN Translation)

Jujutsu Technical College Tokyo School

To the Dean and Teachers

September 28, 2007

Assistant Supervisor Misato Shokinji

Investigative Report on the Murder Incident Regarding Our School's Student

I will report about the subject matter as follows.

Subject of Investigation: Tokyo School 3rd Year, Suguru Geto

1. Incident Case Record

Date and Time of Occurrence: September 23, 2007 around 9:00 PM Place of Occurrence: ██ City, ██ Prefecture (former ██ village) Discovery of Occurrence: Discovered due to the assistant manager traveling to the target site when the mission operative (Geto) was late. Five days had passed since Geto was dispatched. Damage Status: Confirmed deaths of 112 residents of former ██ village.

2. Summary of Geto's Mission

Investigate former ██ village  In the village, getting spirited away has been passed down from generation to generation as a folklore.  However, in reality, incidents of strange deaths of villagers frequently occur-- according to the client's information and can otherwise be understood through research. Since it was surmised that 80% of the cases were caused by a Cursed Spirit, Geto was ordered to conduct a more detailed on-site investigation and to exorcise the Cursed Spirit in question.

3. Behavior / Conjecture 

 On September 18, Geto entered the former ██ village alone.  The mission's outline was provided by the assistant manager a week before departure.  There was no prior request regarding this matter from the person himself and it was the Technical College that ordered him to act alone. The reason is, it was judged in deference to Geto's own experience points, and that it was feasible for him to work alone. In addition, the target Curse was surmised to be about a Grade 1; lower than Geto’s. In addition, there is a shortage of jujutsu sorcerers.  Presumably at this time, there were no deviations from a usual mission. He didn't display any behavior at the time that he was scheming something.  9:00 am on the appointed day, we departed from the Tokyo school by car.  Geto and the assistant manager (Shokinji), just the two, moved together.  The target village is a village without any public transportation. It's impossible to approach the village by car, as entry is via a single narrow road. About a kilometer away from the village, near Kamiya intersection, Geto was dropped off and we parted ways.  Around 4:00 p.m., Geto started to act alone.  The duration of completion of the mission this time is from September 18th~September 19th; at most three days. Upon completion, I was supposed to be contacted as usual. (However, it was not a strict promise. Because of that, it's believed the discovery of this incident was delayed. Matters Requiring Improvement)  With the assumption he'll be staying in the village, we'd made arrangements with the client belonging to the fire brigade (Kiyotaka Kagetani, 43 years old, living with mother) to rent a room in his house. However, details such as if he actually lodged with them, remain unknown, as both the client and his mother have died.

 The following is the mission's investigative report that was conveyed by the assistant manager from inside a moving car.  In the village, there is folklore about being "spirited away."  There is even literature that remains. Passed down from the Edo period... It's a common enough legend. However, even aside recent years, It's characterized by how it continues to feel like a natural happening.  There have been five cases in the last ten years.  March 19, 1998, A 26-year-old woman disappeared.  May 7, 2001, A 67-year-old man died abnormally.  July 24, 2002, A 4-year-old girl disappeared.  August 4, 2005, A 57-year-old man and a 46-year-old woman were found to have died abnormally.  September 13, 2007, A 46-year-old man died abnormally. As features,  ・Both disappearances and abnormal deaths occurred within a 50-meter radius of a limestone cave, which is considered to be a sacred area to the village.  ・Young women and children → Disappeared、Middle-aged and older or men → Found died abnormally.  ・The ones who died abnormally have no heads.  From these and other such commonalities, it was conjectured that it is the action of a Cursed Spirit inhabiting the vicinity of the limestone cave. So, in order to confirm the truth from the legend, it is believed Geto investigated from inside the village.  It is estimated that from the time he began to act alone, around 4:00 p.m. on September 18th, he opened the case, investigated, and collected the target Cursed Spirit. However, since all the villagers involved have died, there is no one left to testify.  Only, if this matter was caused by a Cursed Spirit, it is certain Geto achieved destroying--

[–cut off]

　On September 19th (time unknown), a village massacre incident occurred. 　112 Villagers died. In the subsequent arson, 70% of the village was burned down. 　(On September 23rd, when the College headed to the site, there was not a single living person left in the village. There is no eyewitness testimony.) 　An investigation into the cause of death determined they were all victims of Cursed Spirits. 　In addition, according to an inspection of the residuals, it was concluded to be that of Suguru Geto's Curse Manipulation. 　It is believed that after killing the villagers, Geto set fire to the village and fled. 　Regarding this incident, Geto's motives remain unknown. 　Village resident registration information did not reveal anyone who had a blood relation with Geto, nor anyone with personal involvement with him prior to the mission. 　Note that, since there is information that there was a lineage of jujutsu sorcerers in this village, it is being further investigated to see if they share any attributes with Geto and whether that had anything to do with his motives.

4. Punishment Here On, etc.

Suguru Geto is even now at large. In accordance to Article 9 of Jujutsu Regulations, he is subject to execution as a Curse User.

End.

[loveanddeephistory]

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends: Trowels and Scales Chapter 2

On Ao3

About: Petunias for anger and resentment, Datura for deceitful charms, Tansy for hostility, Thistle for misanthropy, Wormwood for bitterness.

Flowers for a wedding, flowers for a funeral. Flowers for hatred, flowers for love.

You manage to find stability in the chaotic aftermath of the botched Lemurian excavation, but the mystery continues.

Contains spoilers for: Just about all of Raf's lore lmao

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I did not expect this to be as well received as it was! This will be an ongoing fic, though chapters will likely be spread out. I never envisioned myself being one of those fic writers to have dramatic life updates between chapters, but here I am with a chapter that took over a month because my dad had a heart attack -_-' He's okay!!! I am literally growing grey hairs though lmao

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Summer slipped away like the sands of an hourglass. Each day brought something new, be it in information, relationships, or work. The temperatures continued to rise, until the peak of summer came and went. With summer came more pierside carnivals and games at sunset, swimming at the pool or in the ocean. And while you were both busy people, you finally managed to find time for an official first date with the infamous artist.

Jobs came and went. Finding stability after the events of the Lemurian excavation was... difficult even on your best days. Rafayel's confirmation that Ever was behind it all only made you more determined. You needed to get to the bottom of this, to find them, to help them. If they were still even alive, that is. The concern consumed many of your days. When you weren't working, you were researching. Digging. Trying to find anything and everything you could on Ever and its past. You didn't find much. Hardly surprising, given its shady involvement with a lot of things. You qualms were more focused on ethics and the environment, but you knew there was more under the surface.

You got lucky to secure another contract with the same museum you had been working with the past couple months, this time a grant to focus on research of the maritime artifacts in its collection. A surprisingly large collection had been donated a few decades prior by an eccentric man, boldly proposing they were Lemurian artifacts. Weapons, remnants of clothing, from thousands of years ago. As your eyes scanned over the documents in front of you, it was hardly a surprise to find the museum director at the time discounted most of the man's assumptions. But with the rediscovery of Lemuria, the museum wanted to take a second look. 

You put down the file, looking over the series of artifacts laid before you. From your years of experience, at first glance they certainly did look Lemurian to you. They also resembled the artifacts recovered from the very first part of the excavation, which showed Lemuria existed in the first place. But just because they looked like Lemurian artifacts that didn't mean they were. You needed to verify. You put on your goggles and set the documents to the side. With all the preparations necessary, you began to take samples of the different items to send to a lab. Check the composition and compare them to the other confirmed artifacts. Radiocarbon dating was an option to check the dates on these, but you'd need carbon matter to do so. Something that had once been alive. But even then to have a suitable sample size that could harm the integrity of the artifact, so you'd need to discuss options with the current museum director.

You assembled the baggies of what you needed for lab testing, turning back to the list of items the old man had donated. Weapons, some scraps of clothes all listed out one by one... Your eyes fell upon the last item on the list. A shiver ripped up your spine, almost making you physically jump. Bone.

It wasn't specified what kind. You turned back to the table, looking over all the artifacts again. You hadn't noticed a piece of bone on the table, so you gave everything an even closer look. Your eyes trailed over every artifact, getting as close as you safely could. While your eyes were focused, your mind wandered. Over tea, on a rainy day, Rafayel told you about Raymond. The obnoxious man who begged Rafayel to sell that painting to him. 

Blood in the water.

You were hardly at liberty to name Rafayel's artwork, but you had already given it a name in your own mind.  All those images had been woven together. The painting. The skeleton of a Lemurian. The skeletal hand in your nightmare. Rafayel said people didn't know if Raymond's 'art piece' was truly that, or if it was a real skeleton. Knowing what you know now? You had a feeling you knew which one it was. Your eyes finally fell on it. A small bone. A metacarpal. You carefully picked it up, even more grateful you had your proper gloves on. Even touching it felt wrong, but as you carefully turned it over in your hands, you found some marks on it. It wasn't like an animal had nibbled on it. The cuts were clean. Like a well aimed strike of a weapon.

You carefully returned the bone to its place, hurriedly writing some notes. You'd need to report to the museum director, but as you checked the time you were surprised it was close to closing. You needed to clean up and lock up. The room the museum had given you to analyze the findings had a locked door, so you could safely leave all the artifacts in the room, albeit you would feel better returning them to their proper homes anyway. You carefully began to put the artifacts back in whatever archival storage had been used for it. It was slow work, making sure you used two hands, moved slowly... it was always jarring how different the museum world and the excavation world were. But both had their reasons to exist the way they did. As you finished putting away the last piece, you peeled off your gloves right as a familiar song began to fill the air. Enya's Caribbean Blue. The ring tone you set for Rafayel filled the air with melodic singing, as well as a light buzz from your phone vibrating. You scurried to the counter where your personal objects rested, answering the phone.

"Hey cutie, did you forget? I'm outside!" Rafayel's voice filtered through the phone, a welcome warmth to end the day.

"No! No, I didn't forget. I was just packing up the artifacts they had me looking at."

"I thought that contract ended?"

"They renewed it with another grant, they have me looking at some potentially Lemurian artifacts."

"You don't say! Why not just sneak me back there and I can gave you a yes or no, huh?" You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

"Rafayel, no, I can't do that." You shot him down. You grabbed your bag and headed out, locking the door behind you. "Buuut, I could ask the museum director if it would be okay. I don't think she'd mind having the master artist Rafayel look over some stuff."

"Yeah, yeah." You held your phone to your ear as you made your way through the halls. You dropped off a copy of your end of the day notes for the director to read in the morning, as well as organizing the baggies of samples in the right place. They would be transported to a lab as well. The work day was over, so it was time for your official first date with Rafayel. Your schedules made it nearly impossible to find a good time, so up until now it had been some calls and texts back and forth. "But what were your thoughts? On the artifacts?"

"Oh they certainly look Lemurian to me. I did some swabs for chemical analysis so we can get a better idea of what they were made of, and we might have a chance to do carbon 14 dating."

"... cutie, less science."

"We can do some testing to see roughly how old they are." You chuckled as you clarified. "Carbon is organic matter."

"I knew that one."

"But it breaks down over time. By testing the amount of carbon, knowing how many years it takes to break down, we can do the math to figure out roughly when the living thing died, and thus roughly what time the living thing came from. Be it animal, plant-"

"Person?"

"And person." You pushed the front door open, finding the familiar mop of purple hair not far away. You went ahead and hung up. He immediately lifted his head, briefly looking irritated, until you called out to him. "Raf! Over here!" He turned his head to face you. His expression lightened, and walked quickly to join you. Summer's evenings were steadily becoming cooler, so he was in a crisp white shirt with a cream, red, and blue cardigan hanging off his shoulder. The setting sun made him look even more ethereal than usual. You picked up the pace, hurriedly joining him as he wrapped his arm around you for a brief hug. He hadn't been as nearly as touchy as he was on ebb day, though you figured it was for the best to take things slow. "How was your day? Thomas still on your back?"

"Always." He chuckled, beginning to guide you down the sidewalk. "When isn't he? He's trying to talk me into hosting another gallery exhibition day in a few weeks, I've got another collection he thinks that would do well. Timing isn't right, though." You cocked your head, falling in step with him.

"How so?"

"Ah- I have a familial obligation. My aunt's getting married. She'd understand if I couldn't make it, she knows how crazy things have been." Rafayel said it casually, as if a wedding in the family was no big deal. You grabbed the sleeve of his cardigan, lightly tugging on it. 

"No way! Congratulations to her. You totally should go! It isn't every day a relative gets married. Are you two close?"

"I guess you could say that." He hummed, looking forward. "Yeah, we're kinda close. She's the one who got me into singing, but I decided painting's more my style."

"Still, I think you should go. It'll be nice. I'm sure Thomas would understand, a familial obligation absolutely comes first. A gallery exhibition can be rescheduled, a wedding is a bit harder to move around." His arm slowly slid off your shoulders, instead held outstretched between the two of you. You lift your hand and intertwine your fingers, your calluses rubbing on his. The calluses of a hand holding a paintbrush, and the calluses of a hand wielding a trowel. But calluses nonetheless. As you both walk through Linkon, you could hear the distant laughter of children playing in the green spaces. Young couples flirting and playing games. It was the perfect time for some summer games.

"I'm still not sure, but I'll see if I can go." Rafayel was trying to play it cool, but you had learned enough about him to see through a part of that mask. You nudged his rib with your elbow, offering him a smile when he looked down at you.

"Do it. I don't think you'll regret it." 

Once you two approached the ongoing festivities, the first thing to catch your eye was a tank full of fish. You made a beeline for it, dragging Rafayel along with you even as he loudly complained. Unlike the day you first encountered Rafayel on your old college campus, the fish in the tank were all red flammula. You grin, tugging him closer by his hand. "Rafayel! I think I ran into this same stand walking home after I saw you in the college cafe. There was a little blue fish here- but now I'm only seeing red..." The owner of the stall looked over, appearing confused.

"Oh? Perhaps you are misremembering. I have never had blue fish here."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Really?" You lifted your free hand to your mouth. "I distinctly remember it being blue..."

"I see you have the memory of a fish." Rafayel exchanged something with the owner of the stall, getting a little paddle. He offered it to you, his lips slowly curling up in that boyish grin. "Maybe you just were thinking about that book of legends too much." You carefully unwove your fingers from his, taking the paddle. You peered over the edge of the tank, spotting multiple fish curiously darting around near the surface. You looked back at the small paddle. You were used to maneuvering equipment underwater, but that didn't necessitate catching fish. "You've got five shots. Let me know if you want the help of a professional, my little archaeologist."

You scoffed a laugh. Challenge? Accepted.

"Little archaeologist? That's a mouthful." You teased, accepting the paddle from him. He didn't respond. He just cocked his head, watching with his characteristic smirk.

Attempt one. You waited, still as a statue, until the fish seemed to calm down. One was swimming near the top, so with a single, quick flip of your wrist you tried to capture it. Only for it to dart out of the way at the last millisecond. That's fine! Not every move will be a winner. Attempt two. You switched tactics. You held perfectly still, the paddle already in the water. The fish took a minute to settle themselves, but eventually did. One fish curiously approached the paddle, and the second it hovered over it you tried to scoop it up. It panicked and flopped off. You looked at the stall owner, who shook his head. Didn't count, it didn't stay on the paddle.

Rafayel clicked his tongue, leaning in over your shoulder. "Why don't you let me have a turn? I might have better luck."

"Gimme one more try, and the stage is yours." You repositioned the paddle, still using the second method. Except this time, not a single fish would approach the paddle. You stood still as a statue. Seconds painstakingly crawled past, until you finally gave up. You groaned. "Okaaaay, stage is yours." You offer him the paddle. He took it between his fingers, deftly twirling it until the base hovered over the water. He tapped it, causing ripples to spread across the water. One little red fish darted around, and with a simple scoop, Rafayel caught it in one try. He extended it to you, the fish wriggling but not seeming to panic. You lit up, grinning as he showed off his prize. You clapped your hands as the stall owner gathered the supplies to package the fish up to take home.

"Soooo, whadya think of my skills, cutie?" He leaned in, obviously fishing for praise. You put a finger to your lips, mock humming in thought.

"Hmm... Overall? Decent technique and skill, nice flick of the wrist. Well done!" Rafayel beamed as he handed the fish to the man, who gently put the little fish in a bag with some of the water. "But... what are we gonna do with this little guy?" The stall owner handed the bag to Rafayel, who took it gently. He held it up to eye level, making you peer up into it. The fish seemed right at home, calm between the two of you. "I travel too much, though I guess I could ask a neighbor to take care of him."

"I could take him home. Fish and fish care are right up my alley." You shifted your gaze to his face, giving him an expression that screamed really? "I am!" He defended himself, the tips of his ears a touch pink in the early evening glow. 

"You travel a lot, too. It might be easier for me to get someone to take care of him in my apartment building. I'm friendly with my neighbors."

"Nope, he's gonna come home with me." He held the bag higher so you could no longer peer into it with such ease. "We can coparent."

"Woah, I'm too young to be a parent!" You teasingly protested, gently nudging one of his ribs again. He stuck out that bottom lip, rubbing his assaulted rib with one hand while the other still held the bag. "And besides, isn't that a little forward? Adopting a child on our first date? What're we even gonna name him?"

"It's fiiiine, he's a fish. He'll feel right at home with me. And you'll have a reason to come to Whitesand Bay more often." He lowered the bag again, allowing you both to get a good look at him. The little red fish flicked one way and then another, curiously watching the two of you as you puzzled over a name.

"Flame?"

"Ew, too basic. Gloriosa? For the flame lily? Still has flame in it."

"Too extravagant. Something simple but not basic."

"We could do something from Lemurian folklore."

"Nah, that's too try hard. How about..." Rafayel hummed in thought, before snapping his fingers. "Reddie."

"Reddie?" You looked between Rafayel and the fish. You wanted to complain. But the longer you looked at the fish, the more you liked it. You cocked your head. "Okay. Reddie. Hi, Reddie." You bent over to look into the bag, without getting too close. "You don't think I'm crazy for seeing a little blue fish in that tank, do you, Reddie?"

"He doesn't." Rafayel confirmed. He extended his hand, that playful, boyish grin on his face. "Let's pick up some pet supplies for Reddie here, we can go back to my place to set something up for him. Get a proper tank going, the right nutrients he needs... Maybe grab some takeout for dinner together?"

"So long as it isn't sushi. Don't need our son here wondering if he's next." You grin at the bag again, before your eyes cut up to Rafayel. "But... the wedding. Won't someone need to look after him if you do decide to go?" Rafayel slipped his free hand into yours all over again, beginning to gently guide you down the familiar area, slowly making his way towards the parking lot where he had left his car. That same, beautiful car you two had hidden in after being followed on campus. You still couldn't believe the tax bracket difference.

"I think I know a thing or two more about flammula than you." He teased, opening the passenger side door for you to get in. You weren't as hesitant to just hop in as you were the first time. At least, dressed for the museum rather than using old field boots, you weren't as concerned about dirtying up the interior. "I'll set up a way for him to get the food he needs even when I'm out of town for long periods of time. Reddie will be fine. If you're really all that worried, you know my door is open, you can just swing by."

"You really need to stop doing that. I know your fire evol makes you pretty powerful, but still." You buckled in as he went to the driver's side, carefully handing you Reddie so you could hold him for the ride to his new home. "What if someone breaks in to hurt you? Clearly you and I have both had our fair share of not so admirable secret admirers." 

"Eh, it’s fine, no one's given me trouble yet." The engine purred to life again as he pulled out. He looked effortlessly ethereal and beautiful doing anything. Including driving. You reached under your shirt, pulling out the necklace he had given you. For the sake of the artifacts you kept it under your shirt so there was no way it could bump into anything by accident. As it rested against the top of your shirt, it caught Rafayel's eye, making him glance over. His lips turned up, and he caught that familiar glimmer. "You're wearing it." 

You looked down, admiring the pearl pendant and the fishtail clasp attaching it to the chain. You ran your thumb over the tail, that old habit prevailing even with the new necklace. "I always wear it. The old one reminded me why I do this, why I should keep going. This one?" You lifted the pendant up with your thumb, bringing it to your lips to kiss. "It reminds me of a new reason. Of our agreement." Rafayel's eyes returned to the road, but even his side profile showed off that dazzling, sincere smile. "Speaking of... so... this aunt of yours. She's a Lemurian too, isn't she?" The sincere smile dropped. Like a stone in the ocean. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, stiffening for a moment. But the light caught on the pearl again. His muscles relaxed the moment it did.

"Yeah." He confirmed. "She is. My Aunt Talia." You smiled reassuringly, nodding your head.

"All the more reason you should go, you know. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but keeping these kinds of ties is important. Especially with everything going on."

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled. "No need to preach."

"Then I won't. But I think you should go. Not like you have to stay if you don't want to. Go get her some pretty flowers, stay for the ceremony, then head out." It was left as a simple suggestion. A comfortable silence fell over the car as Rafayel mulled it over. He seemed conflicted, going back and forth over the whole ordeal. But his heavy, grumbled sigh told you everything you needed to know.

"Fiiiiiine. I'll have to tell my aunt if I say or do something wrong to blame you."

"I can be your scapegoat, I'm not worried about it." Off in the distance, you saw a familiar little pet store. Likely your first destination before heading home to set up Reddie's new home. "But don't forget flowers. They hold more meaning than some people realize."

A Bouquet for Bitter Ends

Petunias, for anger and resentment

Rafayel had packed his bags as soon as the two of you were done setting up Reddie's new home. He knew a florist, so he'd be discussing flower options with him to surprise his aunt. You sat on the edge of his bed as he debated between suits, while you pointed out something more simple would fit an outdoor wedding. Something light and loose since it was still summer, something easy to dance in. He packed two extra suits anyway, alongside the outfit you had suggested. It was a casual night in with takeout, but a perfect first date nonetheless.

Albeit, much too short. The very next day was back to work, back to life as usual. Rafayel didn't disclose where the wedding was going to be, nor was it really any of your business, but you figured it must be out of town since he didn't text you as much in the coming days. So it was back to life as usual, the occasional phone call and text to check in on each other and share information where necessary. The museum director had given her explicit consent for you to use the bone for radiocarbon testing. But as you gingerly held the metacarpal in your hand, gently turning it over, your lips pressed into a thin line.

As Dr. C liked to say, archaeology was a non-renewable resource. And a destructive science, as well. While advancements had been made it would still take a few milligrams of bone matter in order to date it. Whatever part of it you used would be destroyed. You let the bone rest in the palm of your hand, looking it over. It hadn't been treated with any chemicals, and this museum had always been good about keeping all resources in safe, archival storage. It was a good contender for testing. But it just didn't sit right with you. You gingerly put the bone down, letting it rest. You pulled off your safety gear, grabbing your phone and stepping out.

Lemuria has been found. Now, it is your responsibility to help protect it.

You didn't know the first thing about burial rites, or beliefs around death, or how to properly treat remains in Lemurian culture. So the right thing to do would be to ask a member of the community. You stepped outside, the warm sun beating down on you as you pressed on Rafayel's contact picture. A new picture of him and Reddie. You held your phone to your ear, leaning against the wall outside the museum in a private area. It was the middle of the workday, not many people were out and about. Good. The phone rang a few times, and for a moment you prepared yourself to leave a voicemail. But finally, his voice entered the call, groggy from sleep.

"Huh...? Hey cutie."

You couldn't help but smile. "Hey, Rafayel. Did I wake you?"

"Nuh uh, no..." A yawn interrupted him. You just laughed. For someone who calls you cutie, he was adorable himself. 

"If you say so. I had a few questions based on some things I'm finding at the museum." He hummed to acknowledge what you said, so you continued. "There's a piece of bone. Metacarpal, finger bone. I got the all clear from the museum director to do carbon 14 dating on it. But... that would destroy the part of the sample I send in. It would only be around 20 to 50 milligrams, probably on the lower end of the scale, but then that part of the bone will be destroyed." You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, then rapid rustling, as if he was sitting up quickly. "I don't know..." You looked around. "I don't know about Lemurian burial practices or how the dead are supposed to be treated. I don't know for a fact that its Lemurian, but I have a hunch. What... what should I do? What do you want me to do?"

A silence hung in the air. You kept your phone close to your ear, glancing around to ensure no one was hanging around or eavesdropping on your conversation. Finally, a heavy sigh came from the other end of the phone.

"Don't do the testing." His voice was firm. He was clearly awake now. "Don't mess with it. Put the bone back where it came from. And leave it alone."

"I can do that." Your voice softened. "I won't do anything to it. I'll tell the director there was new carbon matter on too much of it and it wasn't as good a candidate for testing as I thought."

"Make whatever excuse you need to. Just leave it alone."

"I will, I promise." You gently assured him.

"Swear on the sea." His sharper tone caught you off guard. "Human promises mean little to me. They aren't known for keeping their promises. Swear on the sea you'll leave it alone."

"I swear on the sea and on our agreement to leave the metacarpal alone." You confirmed. Your free hand thumbed the chain to the necklace again, the charm hidden under your shirt. You had agreed to help him, promised it to him. And you would hold yourself to that. If Lemurian culture would not allow the radiocarbon dating of a piece of bone, then you wouldn't do it. It'd save the museum the money anyway, it wasn't a cheap test. Win win, in your eyes. "That's why I wanted to ask you, first." There was a long, heavy sigh on his end of the phone. Followed by a brief silence.

"Thanks, cutie." His tone was one of genuine appreciation, but mild hesitance. You cracked a smile, glancing at the picture on your screen. The goofy face he made at Reddie immortalized. "Maybe I owe you a Lemurian culture lesson when I get back. That way we're on the same page."

"That sounds great. You still owe me some more amendments to the Lemurian Legends book anyway."

"Forget that book. I'll just tell you the real versions of the stories. At some point." 

"I'd love that. We'll make it a date." A notification popped up on your phone. Something about breaking news. You didn't look at it, mindlessly dismissing it. But as you did so you glanced at the time. "I'll go ahead and let you go. Thanks for the help, Rafayel. I'll leave the bone alone and report to the director with my excuse. Sorry to wake you."

"Don't mention it, cutie." His tone took on that familiar teasing lilt. You could already see the smirk on his face. "You did the right thing, y'know."

"Calling you? Yeah. I know." You confirmed, your smile widening. "I've got your back. I gotta go back to work now. Hope you enjoy the wedding, and feel free to use me as your scapegoat."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. See ya, cutie."

Your playful farewells finalized the call, so you hung up. Once you did so the same breaking news notification popped up. You briefly skimmed over it, before the name caught your eye.

Raymond.

You pulled the notification back and opened the link.

Breaking News; Former Scientist Found Dead in Home

You sat up a little straighter, scrolling down to skim through the article. It was short. Only the facts were listed, and at the bottom it said the Hunter's Association was suspecting foul play. The man was only 39 years old, found dead in his bathtub with a delirious smile on his face. He had been suffering from hallucinations, both visual and auditory. He had met with his primary care physician multiple times, the renowned Dr. Zayne. But even he couldn't pinpoint the cause of his newfound hallucinations. Any and all information on potential suspects were to be reported to the Hunter's Association. You leaned back against the wall.

That bastard from the art gallery was dead. You figured you should be somewhat grateful. Rafayel was right, his hubris got him in the end, one way or another. You shivered, remembering the way he spoke to Rafayel, the way he made demands and touched him so casually. And the mental image of a Lemurian skeleton flashed before you. Wait. You stood up fully. The skeleton Raymond had. Rafayel mentioned it. You did a quick search on your phone, though no one had any pictures of it. Made sense, Raymond likely wouldn't allow photography, and his family likely wouldn't either. Rafayel said people didn't know if it was real or just a piece of art. But he said that before you knew he, too, was Lemurian. 

There was a very real chance the skeleton itself was once a Lemurian. The shudder ripped through you, from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Every cell of blood ran cold. You started to scroll through suggested reports, though most said the same thing. The facts were the facts, and the Hunter's Association would be handling it. That, admittedly, surprised you. Why would the Hunter's Association be involved? Wouldn't it be the police? Unless Wanderers or Metaflux were involved, that is. But as you scrolled, you found a comment expressing your same exact concerns. The official Hunter's Association social media account responded to the comment.

"We are currently investigating the death of Raymond due to the metaflux fluctuations consistently occurring in his home. It is unclear whether a Wanderer or person may have been involved. However, Raymond's home will be closed to both family and the public until the metaflux fluctuations have been brought under control. Please report any suspicious sightings of either human or Wanderer to either law enforcement or the Hunter's Association."

Metaflux. You'd been lucky to have never been exposed to large quantities of the stuff. Work kept you on the move, so you weren't in Linkon for some of the biggest fluctuations or attacks. But you had felt it before. That uncomfortable feeling in the air, the way it would shift. The way your skin would crawl. Much like the way you felt when staring at the blood in the water. Your eyes slowly turned down, back to your phone. You continued to search furiously, and a loose timeline began to form in your mind. It appeared Raymond's odd behavior began shortly after he got the piece of artwork from Rafayel installed in his home.

The blood in the water. The one that had you captured. The one you began to hallucinate from.

The phone nearly slipped from your hands, but you quickly caught it. The sudden chill coursing through you, much stronger than the one before, had you rushing back inside. The inside of the museum was much cooler than the hot late summer sun, but you just needed to move. No. The timeline is too perfect. He wouldn't. That's insane. It had just been a nightmare, and the painting reminded you of it. There's no way. You went ahead and went back to the original news story you read, forwarding it to Rafayel in a text. You didn't caption it. No emojis. No teasing jokes. Just the news report. 

You were left on read. 

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, reentering the museum. The front desk workers side eyed each other as you walked past, drifting to the back room where you had been working. It wasn't uncharacteristic for you to step outside to call and ask someone for a second opinion, or call a lab ahead of time, or whatever else. This was different. You re-entered the room, shutting the door behind you as your eyes became dead set on the bone. You put your phone alongside your personal belongings, then washed your hands thoroughly according to protocol. With the right tools, you tenderly returned the bone to its archival storage. 

"You won't befall the same fate." You murmured to the bone, tucking it in its archival storage away. The skeleton on display in Raymond's home was a clear image in your mind, even if you had never seen it. The skeletal hand of your vivid nightmare plagued your mind, even all this time later. You turned, glancing at your phone and other personal belongings in the corner of the room. Rafayel didn't leave you on read. Ever. Up until now. You wet your lips. Your corkboard all of a sudden had a new component. 

Raymond was more than an obnoxious art aficionado. He had to be.

Datura, for deceitful charms

Finding information on an ongoing case run by the Hunter's Association was difficult to say the least. It took days for the pandamonium to die down, and they certainly wouldn't be releasing any information during the panic. There were murmurs online of the sea monster murders off in Verona, that took place a few years back. The serial killer had vanished without a trace, but it was odd that Raymond died in a way much too similar to the final victim. 

You sighed. Your first day off from the museum in a while, yet you find yourself working and researching all the same. You looked up at your cork board before you. The missing archaeologists. Ever. E.D.A.S., court case 896318. Lemuria. Rafayel. You tilted your head, looking at the post it note of his name you left up there. All of this began when you two met. You took a slow, deep inhale before turning back to your computer. He should be back soon, he promised to text you when he got home. Try to find time for another proper date. You scrolled through more information, feeling like your eyes were going to glaze over when you found an old archival website.

Ever's past employees. You blinked. You specifically were looking into Raymond. There's no reason for him to be here, unless... You clicked the link. Thankful you were using a VPN and a couple layers of protection for all of this. The website loaded, and on an old webpage, there the man was. Standing front and center around a team of fellow Ever researchers. Multiple segments were heavily redacted, with notes from the archive site's admins noting that this information was initially redacted and nothing they could do would reveal it. But it was enough. You ripped off a sticky note, abbreviating some notes.

Raymond. Ever employee. Old projects. 

On another sticky note you added the sea monster murders. Raymond's death appeared all too similar to the last of the murder victims- dying with a smile. But the other person was at an opera show. The opera singer, Mo, had vanished without a trace the very same night. You frowned. Mo. Wasn't that a Lemurian term? Meaning homeland, if you recalled correctly. You grabbed the Lemurian Legends book from its place on your bookshelves. In the margins, in his artistic handwriting, Rafayel had denoted that exact thing. You sigh, putting the book back down as your phone lit up. Once, twice, three times.

You scooted your chair back over to look at the messages, finding Dr. C's contact photo popping up. You opened her texts, finding a link to an announced maritime excavation in Verona itself. You quickly look down at her other messages.

Dr C: This looks cool!!! I can be a reference

You: Sorry doc, I've got a contract with the museum right now. Besides, I've had bad luck with excavations these past few months :(((

Dr. C: All the more reason to break that streak. Good pay, housing provided, stipend for food, and it's just a phase one. Talk to your museum, maybe they'd be willing for you to start researching remotely?

You paused, thinking this over. It might be worth it. The few things you did have to send off to the lab would take a few weeks to get back to you, and you had a copy of all your notes so you could do research on the side. You switched text messages, texting the museum director to ask what she thought. You were lucky enough to get an immediate emphatic yes. The original donator of the supposedly Lemurian collection was from Verona. There'd be plenty of ways to do some additional research while there, plus it meant you could spread out your contracted hours covered by the grant. Perfect. You immediately switched back to Dr. C.

You: Museum director is cool with it, I'll apply today!

Dr. C: Good! Best of luck, I'll send in a reference letter.

You switch from your phone to your computer, pulling up your updated resume. You scanned through the application and everything looked good, it didn't need a cover letter this go around. So you submitted your materials, thankful to see a note on the application that they would ideally get back to applicants in less than a week. With that done, you turned your gaze back up to the corkboard before you. Sans the typical red string seen in movies and shows, it certainly looked the part of a detective's messy board. Pictures, names, context clues. They were slowly forming a web.

One that you found yourself trapped in. 

Raymond. Ever. E.D.A.S. The excavation. Lemuria. The archaeologists. Raymond’s death. The skeleton in his home. The bone in the museum. Rafayel.

Each piece of the puzzle brought more questions than answers, and soon it felt less like you were someone watching the web, but an insect trapped within it. Seeing the signs, but no spider in sight. Not yet. 

Your phone vibrated again, that silly picture of Rafayel with his cheeks puffed up while looking at Reddie popping up on your phone.

Rafayel Qi: Home now! U wanna come over?

The text was accompanied with that same yellow chick, his little wings wide open with a heart between them. You smiled, picking up your phone again.

You: Ofc! Be there soon! 

You: I need to see our son

You: Oh and u 2

Rafayel Qi: how dare u!!!! 

Rafayel Qi: u need 2 see me first 

The text was then accompanied with said yellow chick stomping his feet. You couldn’t help but grin at his antics. With how playful he was being you figured the wedding went well. But then again, sometimes he was hard to read, even more so through text. He had a knack for being able to hide his true feelings from you. A survival tactic, but one you hoped you could show he didn’t need. Not with you. You shut down your computer and grab your things, typing a response back with one hand as you got what you needed.

You: Leaving now!!! See u soon!!

In response came the yellow chick with a heart again. Your boyfriend's favorite emoji set always made you smile. You grab your bag and throw it over your shoulder, leaving your apartment for the bus stop. Off to see your man.

The bus ride was quiet. Only the odd quiet conversation went on around you. Fine by you, you were buzzing with anticipation to see Rafayel again. He did appear to be in a good mood. As the bus came to a shuddering stop in Whitesand Bay, you hop off and beeline to the familiar white house in the distance. The polished marble nearly blinded you. But the familiarity of it at this point meant that could be overlooked. As usual, Rafayel left the gate unlocked. You made your way to the door, which was also unlocked. For sake of manners you knocked as the door opened. As the door swung open you found Rafayel's back to you, facing his large easel in his workspace.

He turned around the second the door creaked, and a warm smile bloomed across his face.

"There you are, cutie. I was waiting for you forever." His exaggeration only made you laugh as you shut the door behind you. You made your way in, taking your shoes off at the door. You joined Rafayel, who immediately reached to ruffle your hair. "And you said you were gonna see Reddie first. Glad I managed to intercept you." He smirked in that quintessential Rafayel way. You could only laugh, thankful to have him back.

"It's good to have you back. How was the wedding?" You turn to walk to the fish tank where Reddie was swimming around. He looked well fed. You could hear Raf's unhurried footsteps behind you. He leaned in over your shoulder, watching the red fish.

"It was fine. Caught up with some old friends, got to see my aunt. Gave them my blessings and called it a night. Thanks for the outfit recommendation, I ended up going with what you suggested. There was more dancing than I thought." He finally planted his chin on your shoulder. You watched his reflection through the glass of Reddie's tank. He seemed more relaxed now that the wedding was over. No more weddings or impending art gallery deadlines meant some more time to hang out. "How's the museum?" 

"Fine." You looked back at Reddie. "Got cleared to look at a different excavation. Here's hoping I'll have better luck with this one, compared to the last two..." You shot him a look. He cleared his throat.

"Yeahhh... sorry about that first one, Ever's a bitch." He rubbed the back of his neck. Though he didn't seem particularly apologetic for his own role. "And the second one, too."

"Eh, oh well. I'm just happy to have lost their interest for now." You turned back to Reddie. He seemed perfectly content. His tank was decorated with seashells and plants, a well curated home. While it wouldn't compare to his natural habitat he was right at home anyway. As you admired the home you two created for the fish your mind drifted back to that phone call with Rafayel before the wedding. About the bone. A fake skull sat in the tank as well, and Reddie darted in and out of the eye sockets.

You took a deep breath.

"Could you tell me about Lemurian burial customs?" The question prompted Rafayel to raise his eyebrows. He looked at you through your reflection, his eyebrows then settling into a furrow.

"Why? That's hardly a welcome home baby I missed you kind of conversation."

"I'm sorry, it's not, but it is a conversation based on our agreement." You lifted the necklace he gave you with your thumb. The mark of your covenant. "I need to know what I should do, if anything." Rafayel took a slow, deep breath of his own. His eyes slowly shut. He took a moment to himself. His chin remained planted on your shoulder, and you didn't try to make him move. He moved on his own a few seconds later. He straightened his back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Humans aren't typically allowed to know these kinds of things." He began slowly, his voice taking on that deeper octave he used when dead serious. "Are you sure?"

"I need to know what I should do with the bone. Do I wrap it in a specific cloth? Do I not even look at it? I... admittedly don't even know if it's really Lemurian, but I have a hunch." He raised a hand and shook his head.

"No, no. Don't doubt yourself now. I agree." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We... without divulging too many details, death isn't inherently a bad thing for Lemurians. When the time is right, we return to the sea in its purest form. We become seafoam and be one with the water forever. There's a whole ritual, the Sea Moon ceremony. There shouldn't be any bones left. Nothing." The loss in his voice was a stark contrast to his words. While death was supposed to be neutral, if not positive, his tone filled with anger and remorse. 

He lost someone.

You opened your mouth, wanting to reach out, to comfort him. But his shoulders were tense. He wasn't looking at you anymore. You took a single step towards him. You lift your hand, like you did during Ebb day, and hover it over his cheek. Not too close. Close enough he could feel the warmth of your skin. His nose twitched. Close enough he could smell your skin. Without even looking, he slowly, hesitantly, closed the gap himself. He pressed his cheek into your hand but still didn't look.

"I'm sorry." You murmur. He cracked his eyes open, those blue-pink eyes landing on the necklace that fell between your collar bones. The pearl that caught in the light, the wire fishtail wrapped around it and connecting it to the chain. He lifted a finger, touching the charm before looking up at you.

"For what? This isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry this has happened to you and your people. I'm sorry archaeology and anthropology as disciplines have been so cruel to you. I'm sorry I can't do more." You murmur. His eyes narrow. He drops the charm, snaking his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you to his chest, and all you can do is put your hands on his biceps to steady yourself. This wasn't a hug trying to comfort you. No, this was for him. How could you deny him that? You wrap your arms around him right back. You lean in, just holding him. "You all deserve better than all of this. I'm sorry, Rafayel."

The room fell quiet. Only the low hum of the motor for Reddie's tank, the distant roar of the ocean, and your breaths filled the space. But the moment was necessary. Overdue. So long overdue. His strong arms, he definitely had the physique of a swimmer, curled around you. Not holding too tight. His touch tentative. As if he, too, was trying to figure this out. You don't make him move. You just keep leaning in. Finally, after a few long moments, he pulls back. He puts a bit of distance between the two of you. His eyes bored into yours. As if he was searching for something. For understanding, for recognition, for memory. 

His lips finally curl into a smile. The veil had lowered once again. He slowly, carefully lifted a hand... before mussing up your hair. You gasp and whine, lifting a hand to swat his away as he breaks out into laughter.

"Okay, okay, that's enough of that." He grinned, watching as you tried to fix your hair. "Stay for dinner? My treat." You finally look back at him once your hair had more or less been smoothed into submission. His teasing grin disarmed you from any real frustration that may have been there. You just sigh, but your lips betray you by widening into a smile.

Of course you would. And he knew you would, too.

Tansy, for hostility

Thus far, this excavation had been the most successful one you had been on in months. No missing archaeologists, no EVER offers, nothing of the sort. Nothing but good work. Thankfully, the dig site wasn't far off, so you and your team could dive yourselves to do the work. The ocean welcomed you back, and it felt like you had finally regained its good graces. Good weather and tame tides kept everything on track. Which meant you could enjoy your days off without guilt.

The scent of seawater mixed with various local goods, and the waft of espresso from a local coffee shop added a sting of acidity to the air. Somewhere in the distance someone must have just finished a cigarette. Your footsteps reverberated on the cobblestone path, an accompaniment to the street performers lining the paths. Laughter, conversation, shouting, singing. The air swirled with it all. A beautiful symphony of sights, sounds, and scents. You approach the doors of the library, letting yourself in with a self indulgent laugh.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,”

You spoke the verse aloud to yourself, smiling at your own reference before another voice chimed in.

“Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife."

The voice was deeper. Lower. You turn on your heel and find an older man standing near the bookshelves, his back to you. His voice held an edge, the depth of age and experience sharpened with the experience of an actor. He recited the prologue with ease and smoothness, as though he was merely holding conversation. "Romeo and Juliet. Prologue."

"I- yes." You stammer for a moment, taken aback. You take a step forward, tucking your journal under one arm while offering your hand to him. "I'm one of the archaeologists in town, I-"

"Yes, yes." He finally turned. Everything about the man carried both strength and anguish. Deep lines were etched into his forehead, though under his sensible clothes it was clear he had the physique of a fighter. He waved a hand dismissively. "I know you nuisances are in town." 

Ah. 

You get used to less than warm welcomes in this field. You drop your hand, instead rubbing the back of your neck. "I also am here on behalf of a museum in Linkon. A man donated a significant number of supposedly Lemurian relics some years back, and I'm helping them research it. He was originally from Verona. I was hoping to do some research on the history of the area, and check family histories and birth records." The man finally fully turned to you. Despite his age, his eyes were sharp. Full of wit and intelligence. Though there was a deeper fire in them. A black fire. A fire all consuming, all encompassing. Not like Rafayel's, a fire of passion. Not like Rafayel's, a fire of creation.

His fire was that of destruction.

Blood in the water.

A flash of light recaptures your attention. A glint on his metal nametag- Amund. "I was just looking for the section on local history, and wondering how I'd get in touch with the people who run the local archives. Every time I go, it's closed." You explain yourself while sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. Being unwelcome in town is one thing, being unwelcome in the very library was something else entirely. "I'm just trying to help the museum get to the bottom of it. Radiocarbon dating isn't an option, we don't want to damage anything. And we want to know as much as possible about the donor. He didn't offer his full name, he was just known as K."

Amund tensed. He clicked his tongue, picking up a book to point down an aisle. "Local family histories... I'll let the archives know. We all know K. Why he donated anything in Linkon..." His brow furrowed and he grumbled his words. "Local history down that aisle, on your right. Be careful. The books are old."

"Of course." You confirmed with a polite nod, hurrying down the aisle he pointed to. Anything to escape the awkward and heavy air that had just formed. "Geez." You murmured it in as low a voice as you could, pulling out your journal as you walked to a table. There were only a few scattered around, so you just grabbed the first one you saw. You set yourself up with journal and pen, then began to navigate the library aisles to pull a book or two that looked promising. You weren't sure how much work you'd be able to get done with the mildly hostile librarian. It didn't take a mindreader to know he didn't particularly want you here. You opened your journal, beginning a new entry on your notes as your phone vibrated suddenly from your pocket. You mindlessly fish it out, looking over the names of the books before you, noting the author's name and the title, before turning your eyes to your phone. 

A video from a popular gossip account on social media. Just a typical social media notification. Typically you wouldn't bat an eye at it, but the photo attached caught your eye. You'd know that familiar mop of purple hair anywhere. You tapped on the notification and the social media app loaded, before revealing the video in question. You recognized the scene. Raymond's house. A crowd of people dressed in mourning attire stare as a middle aged woman screams at Rafayel, the only person not dressed for a funeral. He seemed entirely unbothered, his steps measured and calm as he walked away.

You had your phone on mute, you're in a library after all, but the caption clarified what the women said. Raymond's mother, the woman shown, was accusing Rafayel of killing her son. Your eyes widen. You open the comments, finding a slew of commenters ridiculing the woman. A painter, one as well known as Rafayel, killing a scientist? Impossible. Besides, Rafayel was nowhere near the man the day of his death. While news had leaked about the metaflux and Rafayel's painting being connected, the Hunter's Association hadn't pressed further. As far as the legal system was concerned Rafayel was wholly and entirely innocent. You took a screenshot, save it to a hidden file on your phone, then shut your phone off.

Why would Rafayel go to his funeral in the first place? It was clear the two didn't get along. Was it a final 'fuck you' to Raymond? You sit back in your chair, pondering it. Sure, Rafayel was petty enough to pull a stunt like that. But... why? Why would he when he likely knew people were drawing connections between him and the painting? He was far from stupid. So if he went, it was for a reason.

You turn back to the books before you. 

It takes you back to the day you met your now boyfriend. It all began in a library, after all. That fateful day. Honestly, you should thank your lucky stars. Sure, he admitted the first meeting was an accident and everything after was calculated. But there was still something that stirred your heart when you thought about that first interaction. An archaeologist and a Lemurian, what an odd couple. You put these thoughts to bed as you gave your full attention to the books before you. Amund agreed to speak to the archives on your behalf. Hopefully you could get to the bottom of whoever K was. It seemed promising, since Amund himself said "we" all knew K. He and other local elders must have known him personally. So long as you're speaking of the same person.

Book after book, you made your way through the aisle. This was merely a preliminary check, noting books that sounded and looked the most promising based on chapter titles and brief skims. You didn't have all the time in the world so you ought to make the most of it. The windows to the library allowed sunlight to come through, and soon the bright sun's rays went from a clear radiance to the glow of golden hour. Your journal was filled with notes, with the best books underlined and starred. You return the rest of the books exactly where you found them, for fear of the wrath of the librarian, before grabbing your stack and returning to the front. Amund sat there, reading some other book.

"I would like to check these out, please." He cut his eyes up. He slowly closed his book, taking the books on the counter. He grabbed the stamp and marked each of the books. Gods, when was the last time you watched someone do that? In this age of rapidly changing technology every library used some kind of scanner or digital interface. It was incredibly nostalgic. 

"One week, or two weeks?"

"Two, please. I'm not sure I'll be able to complete them and archives research all in one week." Amund turned, lifting a pen to write this information in a register.

"I expect them in perfect condition."

"Of course." You confirm hurriedly, nodding your head. He turned his eyes to you, scanning you over slowly. Before settling on your eyes once more. He slid the books over the counter. That was confirmation enough. You gather the books and safely tuck them in your bag. "Thank you." You express your gratitude before making your way out of the library. If the streets were lively in the afternoon, they were bursting with energy on the verge of night. Street performers danced, sang, whistled, and played their instruments. The streets filled with their symphony. You turn in the direction of your lodging, already heading down the road. In spite of the mild hostility from the librarian you would call that visit a success. And you would have plenty of time to continue these visits. Plus, it was hours to log for your work at the museum. 

As your footfalls joined the general ambiance of the area a woman's voice, as rich and melodic a voice you'd ever heard, came over you. It was coming from the a little cafe you had stopped by a few days ago. It had lovely outdoor seating. A woman sat with another figure, shrouded in shadow. The woman looked familiar, with her perfectly styled purple hair. She wore a rich black and white dress. Likely custom made. Your footsteps caught her attention. She turned to look at you, and an immediate knowing smile came over her.

"Rafy! You should have told me." Rafy? You glanced back over to the man shrouded in shadow. As you got closer he became clearer. And, indeed, it was Rafayel. He was standing still as a statue, a flower in his hand. As your eyes settled on the flower he gently closed his fingers around it and tucked his hand behind his back. The woman stood up, gently smacking at his arm. "Oh, don't be shy now, Rafayel. You know I wanted a proper introduction!" Rafayel winced, though the overexaggerated grimace revealed he was just being dramatic.

"Auntie! I didn't know, either!" He whined.

"Rafayel? What are you doing in Verona?" You cock your head, approaching the duo now that you know Rafayel is there. He turned to you, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I had to leave my aunt's wedding early on in the reception to handle business, so I wanted to come and visit her to extend my final well wishes and blessings." You put two and two together, so you turn to the woman and smile. She didn't look like she was much older than you. But you recalled your conversation with Rafayel in the car. She was a Lemurian, too.

She smiled in return, everything about her radiating composure and grace. She was beautiful. Her groom was one lucky man. "You can call me Aunt Talia, dear." 

"Auntie." Rafayel turned, his voice revealing surprise. His reddening ears revealed embarrassment. "We just started dating-"

"Nonsense." Talia patted his arm. "Your beloved is family. No arguments." The affection in her voice made your own cheeks redden. A far cry from your reception at the library. "Rafayel was just telling me all about you. You know, I was so excited to hear he finally found someone. He speaks highly of you. What are you doing in Verona?"

"I have the same question." Rafayel jutted out his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked away from the scene. You grab your field notes and wiggle the book in the air.

"Got a job off the coast of Verona. The museum cleared me to come and do it, they were just excited for me to come here so I could do some extra research for them on the side." You explained. Rafayel peered at your field notes, before extending his hand. You hand over your field notes without concern. He opened the journal, beginning to skim through the latest editions. "You were so busy with Thomas I didn't want to bother you, I did text you to let you know I'd be out of town. So far it's the most successful excavation I've been on in months."

"Ahhh." Talia hummed sympathetically. Your eyes cut over to her, and her expression alone told you she already knew of the events of the past few months. "My condolences. I imagine it was frightening, hearing about your colleagues." You nod your head, looking back over to Rafayel. He was offering your journal back. Now that he wasn't being sheepish, you could see what he had tried to hide. A flower. Hawthorn, it looked like. Rafayel followed your gaze before shaking his head.

"Aunt Talia wanted me to have a piece of her bouquet." He explained with a nonchalant smile. "Hey, the sun's setting. Aunt Talia needs to go home anyway. Why don't I walk you back to wherever it is you're staying? You can tell me all about this dig."

"With no interference?" You shoot him a teasing smile. His aunt turns to give him a pointed look, but he laughs anyway. 

"No interference. This dig's all yours. Promise." He displayed his palms, only holding the hawthorn with his thumb. He walked over. In lieu of his usual dress clothes, he wore a loose white shirt embroidered with grain on the collar. Loose black pants, and a pair of shoes fitting the warm climate. He hovered an arm over your back, prompting you along as you bid farewell and congratulations to his aunt.

Finally, the two of you begin to walk down the path towards your lodging. You take the moment of quiet to look up. The beauty of the architecture struck you. You tilted your head, admiring the shadows dancing on the buildings in the golden hours' light. Rafayel follows your gaze before cracking a lopsided smile.

"Into architecture too? Nerd."

“No, I just recognize the style. I've seen it in pictures and videos before. This kind of style is unique to this region and has a long history. It was featured in one of the Assassin's Creed games.” Your eyes remained fixed on the beautiful buildings. You fondly recall being handed a controller and jumping and climbing around these kinds of buildings in game.

“I didn’t take you for a gamer.” His brows lifted in a sign of momentary surprise.

“One of my best friends is a gamer. She got all As in history class specifically because of that game series.” 

“Are all your friends nerds?” His surprise faded into light hearted teasing, nudging your rib. "Egg head." You reach out and gently smack his arm. He winced, but his barely restrained grin clued you in that it was all in jest. "No! How could you? That's my painting arm! If I can't work for the next two weeks I'll have to tell Thomas it's all your fault."

"Oh wow, you really are taking my scapegoat offer and running with it." 

"Yeah, you're an archaeologist, you've got dues to pay for all the stuff your kind have put mine through." He huffed, again being overdramatic. Though there was a grain of truth. You walked a little closer to him, nudging his hip with your own as you walked side by side.

"Speaking of your kind..." You drop your voice. A melodic singer accompanies a street band, joining the crash of waves and call of birds. "Verona. Your aunt. All the street musicians. The librarian. He was kind of..." You drift off, trying to find the most polite way to say this. Rafayel's expression twisted into a grimace.

He rubbed his face with one hand. "Okay. Yeah. First off, yes, I know what you're asking. Not everyone, but yes." He looked at you through his fingers. "And Amund was what? Ornery, rude, pissy?"

"I wouldn't say any of that..." You drawl out your words, but Rafayel shakes his head.

"Nope. You might not, but I will. Because he is. All of the above. And more." Rafayel ran his fingers through his hair before sighing. "And yeah, I already confirmed my aunt." He dropped his voice this time. "But some of the others as well. Survivors."

"Amund mentioned that everyone knew K... That was the only identification of the man who left the Lemurian collection with the museum." You prodded him gently. His nostrils flared.

"K. I should've known it was K." He murmured. 

"What do you mean?" You tilt your head. He turns his head towards you, and cracks a smile. He reached over and ruffled your hair. You swat at him, but he just laughs at your halfhearted hits.

"I bet you can guess. We knew him. Me, Aunt Talia, Amund... I didn't know he was the one who donated that stuff. Now I really wanna see that collection you're working on. Small world, huh?" He tilted his own head with that boyish grin. A hint of a teasing smirk taking over it. "Maybe some repatriation is in order?" You reach up to fix your hair after he thoroughly messed it up.

"That's a lot of paperwork, and you'd have to admit that he was Lemurian, and that you're one, too." You clarified. "Plan on outing yourself to the whole academic community?"

"Nah." He shrugged. "Sounded nice, though. Didn't it?"

"Trust me, if it was my call alone I'd gladly let you. But it's not my stuff. And K entrusted it to the museum for a reason. I hope so at least. Now that I know he's confirmed to have been from here and people here knew him, I'm hoping the archives will finally let me look through some records." Rafayel's eyebrows furrowed.

"Were... they not letting you before now?"

"The archive would be closed or just about to close if I stopped by, and there wasn't any way for me to call or contact them to ask for a time to come by. I didn't really get the warmest welcome." You drop your hands. Your lodging was just up ahead. You could see and hear your fellow professionals milling about, cleaning the house, preparing dinner, laughing and talking. "None of us did. But I could tell I wasn't really welcome in the archives or the library." Rafayel didn't respond with words this time, simply humming. You took a few more steps, not breaking the silence that fell. 

"I'll be in town for a few more days." Rafayel was the one who broke the moment of quiet. He was walking you all the way to the door. "Can't promise I'll be able to see you, we'll probably have different schedules. But maybe we can grab something to drink after your work day." You look up at him. He was smiling again, but it felt unnatural. His mind was elsewhere. You cracked a small smile of your own. At the door, after verifying no one was looking out the window, you lean up and press a little kiss to his cheek.

"Please. I'd love that, Rafayel." You lean away again. His eyes widened, and the smile vanished. The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks bloomed red, and he quickly looked away.

"O-okay, cutie. I guess it's a date." He immediately cursed under his breath at his own stutter. You don't stick around to tease him this time. He was flustered enough as it was, and while it was fun to tease him, you weren't sure how open you were to being teased by your coworkers. Besides. How public did Rafayel want this relationship to be anyway? You open the door, and he must have shared your thoughts. He began to walk away, almost in a slight daze, one hand lifted to touch his cheek.

"It's a date, Rafy."

Thistle, for misanthropy

The following days of the excavation went well. As well as they could, anyway. While you're all professionals that doesn't mean technology won't sometimes mess up, leaving to spend more time taking manual measurements. But if that was the worst thing to happen during this dig then it would be a smashing success. Especially compared to the last two. 

You peel off the layers of your scuba gear, finishing taking some videos and pictures of the excavation for the day. Your fellow crew members were chatting it up, someone mentioning going to the cafe for a pick me up before they closed. Another asked if they could tag along. You weren't really listening all that closely. You dried your hands once you freed them, grabbing your field notes to document some details before they slipped your mind. The scribble of your pen on the waterproof pages became the main sound in your mind. Until a hand appeared before your eyes, snapping once, then twice, to gain your attention. Your eyes dart up and one of your colleagues looks down at you with a smile.

"Hey! We were all gonna go to that cafe in town after we get all the gear put away at the house. We were asking if you wanna come." Jason grinned down at you. A well meaning albeit overbearing supervisor. You shake your head, lifting your journal. You got one specifically for this excavation. Waterproof pages that could be used immediately after work, before you even finished drying off. You'd copy your notes over to your personal journal during some free time.

"Not this time, guys, I need to update my field notes. Some of the pictures weren't matching up with the numbers we had originally so I'm gonna compare them." Jason leaned in over your shoulder, peering at some of your immediate off the top of your head notes. His thick brows were drawn tight.

"Ooh, good catch. You don't have to do that, though. I can stay behind to handle that. I'll catch up with you guys."

"Nah, I'll handle it, I was on photography duty today so I noticed more things." You wove him away. While what you said was true, it wasn't the whole truth. You had a date. You'd handle the official work first, then head off to meet with Rafayel. You weren't embarrassed or trying to hide your relationship. But discretion and tact were the name of the game, especially given the otherworldly details of your relationship and agreement. Best to just be subtle for now. Though it wasn't easy. Rafayel was an internationally famous artist, paparazzi were bound to catch wind eventually. But you both agreed you wanted control over how and when the news gets out. It was time to be subtle.

As everyone made their way back to the house you tucked your journal away for the moment. As one of the divers you only took in the equipment you immediately used while the others brought in the rest of it. You got to strip, shower, and change to begin your official work. You pulled out older pictures from days and the week previous. With everything laid out you got to work puzzling out the discrepancies, adding details and notes to your field notes as you went. The talk and laughter of your teammates faded to background noise as you got in the zone. It took a few minutes, but you successfully located the discrepancy. Underwater markers were always more difficult than on land markers, and one of the rods that had been placed seemed to have been moved. It was a negligible change, but after crunching some numbers you identified it to be the problem. Probably just some loose sediment and underwater currents, or a curious critter, that knocked it about.

You documented your realization just as your phone vibrated. You grabbed it off the corner of the table. You glanced outside, a blur of movement catching your eye. As you came back to the real world mentally you hear the distant laughter of your comrades. They must be heading out. You turn back to your phone.

Rafy <3: Still up for our early-dinner date cutie?

You grin the second you read the text. 

You: Yup!!!!!! So excited!!!! See u in ten?

Rafy <3: c u then cutie ;)

The short exchange was everything you needed. You tuck your phone back away, gathering everything you had laid out to put it back where it belonged. The physical copies of photos put back in the supervisor's room, your field notes safely lodged in your shared room. You change out of the t shirt and shorts into something a bit nicer for a casual date night. You grab your set of keys to the house, locking everything up since you were heading out. You grab your bag with some personal belongings to best carry the keys, your phone, your journal, and your knife.

With everything squared away you lock the door and head out. It was a beautiful day, as usual. You hadn't experienced a bad day yet in Verona. It was almost fairytale like. The architecture, the view, the scent. Everything about it was just beautiful. A part of you had to wonder how much of that was due to its inhabitants. Not everyone. But a few. A few of the people you saw out on the street were Lemurians. Was it the antique shop owner? The street performers? The man leaning against the wall, smoking while giving you passing glances? The woman dancing with a small child, or the baker shaking his head at a squabble outside his shop? Multiple of them? All of them? None of them?

You snap out of it. Truly, it's none of your business. You focus back upon the path before you, your footfalls echoing on the cobblestone. You look up to hunt down the sign of the restaurant Rafayel had asked you to meet him at. Soon enough you find it, right outside an alleyway. It was small. Easy to miss. But as you turn into the alley the scent of local cuisine washed over you. You followed your nose more than the path, the various spices and scents guiding you to a restaurant tucked behind the other buildings. Hidden away from tourists and guests, known only to locals and friends.

Rafayel was already waiting, pouring over a menu with sunglasses perched atop his head. He wore a loose white shirt that hung upon around a black tank top, black pants to match. As your footsteps came closer he finally looked up, grinning as he saw you. "There you are, cutie." He welcomed you, standing up. He pulled out your chair with an overdramatic flourish, before beckoning you to sit down. "My darling."

"Good to see you too, Raf." You laughed your greeting, but his flattery still made your ears turn red. You approach and sit down, letting him tuck your chair in. "Someone's in a gentlemanly mood." 

"Nothing but the best for my cutie." He sat back down, passing his menu to you. "My treat. Catch of the day is usually the best, everything's fresh."

"It smells amazing, Raf, thanks for telling me about this place. It's obviously not for the tourists." You glanced over the options. The chatter around you in two distinct languages. It was tucked away, a 'if you know you know' kind of place. And Rafayel brought you here. Your heart jumped. You decide to go with his recommendation. You put the menu down, and give Rafayel your full attention. He leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. "So, how's your visit going? Spending some time with your Aunt Talia?"

"Here and there." He shrugged. "She's perfectly smitten with her husband, they're spending more time together than anything. I'm catching up with some other friends while I'm here."

"Oh, are you from here originally?"

"Not really. But I did live here a few years." He shot you a smile. "My aunt was my vocal coach, but I decided painting was more my thing. Moved to Linkon, and... well. You ought to know the rest. Only a few years later I met you." He winked.

"Not a conventional meet cute, you know." You don't specify, not knowing who exactly was around you. But Rafayel knew exactly what you meant. He laughed.

"No, no, not at all. But distinctly us, don'tcha think?" Rafayel's eyes trailed down your outfit. Settling on the necklace draped across your neck, laying between your collarbones. Just seeing the pearl seemed to make his gaze soften. The elusive Lemurian and an archaeologist, meeting at the library, by pure chance and fate. Distinctly you, indeed. You looked away, but your lips curled into a grin all the same. He doesn't need to hear you confirm it. He had a knowing smile, like he could read you like an open book. 

A waiter approached, immediately greeting Rafayel in a different language. Rafayel took your menu and handed it to him, carrying conversation until he ordered for the both of you. His body language shifted, switching to whatever was appropriate for the regional dialect. His hand gestures became more exaggerated, his eyes even more expressive. The waiter laughed at whatever he said, clapping him on the shoulder before vanishing back into the main restaurant. Watching him speak another language was wildly attractive in its own way. The way his words flowed so smoothly, like velvet. The way his accent shifted effortlessly. How his body shifted to match his words. You watch him with admiration until his eye caught yours. His lips curled up into a smirk, his eyes shining with mirth.

"Hear something you like, cutie?"

"Yeah. You." You wink. "Your voice... you sound beautiful. You absolutely could've made a killing as a singer." He shrugged, but you could see how he was preening at the praise and flirtation.

"Yeah, could've. But painting is my passion."

"How many languages do you speak, anyway?" You tilt your head, perching it in your palm. He leaned back in his chair to think. 

"I can speak just about any romance language. Lemurian, obviously. The language we're speaking in currently. Mandarin and Cantonese." He listed off. "I know some latin." You scoffed a laugh. 

"Okay, now you're just showing off." 

"You asked!" He nudged your ankle with his foot, grinning at you. 

"Yeah, yeah, I asked." You laugh. You were impressed, obviously. "Lemurian. I've heard you talk about it, but I've never heard you really say a word in it." His smile dropped. There was a glimmer in his eye.

"Oh? Do you want to hear something?"

"Sure. Indulge me." You lean forward, curious if he would. He put a hand to his forehead, leaning his head down as if he was thinking hard about what he wanted to say.

"Bulshee'ahgan.1"

Your eyebrows furrowed. It was beautiful. It made your cheeks turn pink and your heart skip a beat. But you weren't sure what was said. "What does that mean? Blushe- blushee-ah,"

Rafayel didn't even bother to hide his grimace as you attempted to recreate the sound. "Don't hurt yourself, cutie." He patted the top of your hand. "I'll tell you later. See if you can find it in that Lemurian language book."

"It's not that advanced, and even then I don't know how what you said would be spelled." You mildly protest, but he just pats your hand again.

"If you can't figure it out or find it, then I'll tell you. I thought your nerdy little brain would love a puzzle." 

You huff softly. "I'm an archaeologist. Not a linguistic anthropologist. Different subsection of anthropology." A waft of cigarette smoke settled over you, and a man walked past to get a table on the opposite side of the patio. "But I'm not opposed to a challenge."

"There you go." Rafayel grinned. It was perfect timing, with that your food came out. The identical plates of fish and vegetables made your mouth water, and as soon as the waiter left you both began to eat. The food was so good, so well seasoned and spiced, the fish flakey and not overbearing. You hummed, caught up in your own little world. You almost didn't catch the way Rafayel was watching you. The way his lips were curling into a real smile. You paused.

"Is there something on my face?"

He hummed, lifting his napkin and wiping a bit of the sauce off the side of your mouth. The sudden touch and proximity caught you off guard. You watched him, big eyed. His eyes were focused on your lips, dabbing away the sauce. As he remained close to you, his eyes drifted to the side. Looking somewhere past you. He then looked back to you. "You're cute all pink, you know that?" You lift a hand to your cheek, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. He chuckled, giving you your personal space back as he put his napkin down. "Consider it payback for the cheek kiss."

"What? Mad it didn't land somewhere else?" You manage to quip back, grabbing your fork again as you tried to calm down. He tilted his head.

"What if I am, hm?"

"Well, tough. We're both eating fish. So no kisses." You point to your plates with your fork, earning another laugh.

"Okay, okay, that's fair. No fish breath." He grinned. 

Dinner continued without a hitch. Between bites you'd discuss work or Rafayel's visit. His Aunt Talia had married a dressmaker. Her black and white dress was designed and sewn specifically for her. He tried to be aloof, but the way his eyes would momentarily brighten or he'd smirk when recalling his aunt's joy and pride gave him away. He was trying to be tough. But he was happy for her. 

As you finish your meal Rafayel excuses himself to go inside and pay. You take the moment to sit back and enjoy the ambiance of the little restaurant. The chatter in different languages, the birds crying overhead. It was just far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the main path, but it didn't lack its charm. You fold your napkin, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of cigarettes again. You look up and find the same man that had come to the restaurant stealing Rafayel's seat. You sit up straighter. "That seat's taken, I'm waiting for my partner." You speak clearly and firmly, grabbing your bag. The young man leans forward.

"Relax, just wanna talk." His voice alone sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "I know you're one of those archaeologists. I just wanna talk about whatever you've found."

"I, under contract, cannot discuss that." You reiterate.

"Not the one in Verona." He clarified.

You slip your hand into the front pocket of your bag. "Which one, then? Unless it's one I've published research on I likely cannot talk about it, and if I have I'd recommend you read the research rather than ask me now, however many months or years later." He rolled his eyes, leaning in across the table.

"Relax-"

You lean back, grabbing the knife and pulling it out. It wasn't fully open, but you'd had enough experience to do so quickly if necessary. Would this guy be stupid enough to try to pull a stunt here in front of so many people? "No." You were ready to stand up. "You're being weird." The man grumbled something before his hand darted out, reaching for your wrist. You jump up and out of your chair, flicking the knife open. The sudden movement accompanied by the loud scrape of the chair against the ground drew attention to you. You weren't usually this jumpy. But all the events of the past few months had certainly made you more wary. You heard measured footsteps behind you, and a flicker of pink in your periphery clued you in.

"Stop." Rafayel wasn't requesting it. No, he was commanding it. The man before you looked up, clicking his tongue.

"Stay out of this, I just had a few questions." Rafayel kept walking forward, soon standing right by your side. You could feel eyes all around you. An audience of restaurant patrons- and potentially others. 

"No. If you're harassing my cutie you're gonna have to deal with us both. Got questions? Go on. Ask. If you can ask the professional alone you can ask with me here, too." He spoke slowly, easily. The man clicked his tongue.

"Just wanna know what happened to that little expedition to Lemuria. You were supposed to go too, weren't you?" Your blood ran cold. No one outside of the management team, Rafayel, and Dr. C knew that. Rafayel scoffed.

"Last I checked everyone who went on it vanished without a trace." He wrapped an arm around your waist, easily pulling you into his side even though you stood ready with your blade. "And yet, my cutie is right here. Sounds like you're getting people mixed up. I get it, some of them start to run together after a while." You momentarily shoot him a pointed look. "But not my cutie." He quickly clarified. The man huffed.

"Bullshit."

"I don't know what your problem is." Rafayel held you a little closer. "But if you're following my cutie we're gonna have a problem. Leave." You kept a tight hold on your blade, staring the man down. You could handle yourself, but damn you'd always appreciate backup. You slowly tear your eyes from the standoff, eyeing the rest of the patrons. Many of them watched with interest. Some with disgust. Though, for once... it wasn't pointed at you.

It was pointed at the man that smelled like cigarettes.

He held his hands up, beginning to walk away. "Sure, sure. I won't touch your cutie." He drawled it mockingly. "Just had a few questions, no need to get all macho."

You take the moment to take in the man's features. Scrawny. Skinny frame, very wiry. Thin hair. The tips of his fingers yellowed from smoking cigarettes. He didn't look familiar. But you'd burn him into your memory now. As the man backed away you took the moment to make a point, throwing your knife.

It flew through the air and embedded itself in a wooden noticeboard right by his head. The man flinched. You and Rafayel wore matching looks. A simple message conveyed from both of you.

Try me.

He finally buzzed off, turning and jogging off down the alley to enter the area. Rafayel keeps you close, both of you waiting until his footsteps fully receded before relaxing. You sigh, shimmying out of his grip to go and get your knife.

"Good aim." Rafayel's compliment hung in the air. You yanked the blade out of the wood, checking it for any damage. 

"Thanks. And thanks for stepping in."

"Wasn't about to let you handle that creep alone. You're just a magnet for that type, aren't you?"

"Ew, don't make this my fault." You grimace, flipping it shut again before putting it in your front pocket. Easily accessible. You turned back, rejoining him before picking up your bag. Rafayel was looking at the other patrons. He didn't look sheepish or apologetic. Just serious. Everyone else was quiet, trying to figure out how to respond. They didn't get the chance. Rafayel turned on his heel, wrapping his arm around your waist again and pulling you out. You eagerly join him, falling in step with him.

"Fucking humans." Rafayel dropped his voice to a disgusted grumble. 

"So he's not-?"

"Nope. I'd know if he was one of mine." He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Noticed that he was watching you after he came in. I thought I smelled cigarettes when you first spoke to Talia and me." He shook his head. "Should've known." You run your fingers through your hair, blowing an exasperated raspberry.

"Think..." You hesitate, looking around as you walked to verify no one else was around. "Think he might be with you know who?" Ever. You really couldn't understand why they were so interested in you. The Lemurian excavation, sure. But you didn't go. You didn't see the dumped weapons. As far as Ever knew, you were just an archaeologist that had qualms with the ethics behind their company. Plenty of groups did, you weren't unique in that regard. 

"Maybe." Rafayel grunted. His eyebrows were drawn tight. Gone was the mirth and humor from dinner. Now he was determined. Focused. And absolutely pissed off. His one word answer didn't bring you any comfort. You lift your hand, resting it on the one on your waist. You brush your thumb against his knuckles.

"Hey." You softened your voice. That caught his attention. You pulled him out of his thoughts. When he looked at you, it felt like you were looking at a whole different person. The light in his eyes was gone. Only pure determination there. But as you squeezed his hand his gaze softened for a moment. And as his eyebrows lifted the light returned to them. "He interrupted our date. Let's not let him get the best of us, though. May I ask you about... your people?" You hesitated again, almost drifting off, but steeled your resolve and asked anyway. His lips turned up again.

But it wasn't the same as the smiles from before.

"Go on."

"So... Amund." You start with that. "Grumpy old librarian. But Lemurians are known for looking young for a long time. Just how old is he?" You end up on what you hope is a lighthearted question. Raf's snort confirms it was.

"The answer isn't that simple, cutie." He nudged your hip with his as he walked, but you keep pace with him with ease. "Can your scientific mind even handle the magic of Lemurian blood and reincarnation?"

"Sure. I'll bite." You shrug. Even if he's pulling your leg, it's just nice to spend time with him. He hummed.

"Okay, just stick with me, then." Rafayel peered around, making sure you were both alone. The sun was just about to finish setting, and most shops were closed for the evening. Tourists had gone to whatever other restaurants were open or were heading to their lodging, so the streets were yours and yours alone. "We're kind of at a disadvantage since we're literally fish out of water here. We can handle it and survive, but we'd all be better off back in the ocean. Amund is pretty old. We do exist in a reincarnation cycle. Believe it or not I have some passing memories of mine, and Amund has most of his memories. With that in mind, Amund has witnessed thousands of years. But his body itself isn't that old."

You listen intently, taking all of this information in. You did have a scientific mind, yes. And a part of you wanted to question it. But another part of you strangely resonated with what he said. A feeling washed over you. The warmth, the right-ness that washed over you the first time you read a fairytale that featured Lemuria. It felt like something was here for you. 

"Define thousands of years old. Are we talking two thousand, or are we talking the collapse of the bronze age?"

"Collapse of the bronze age." Rafayel confirmed with a laugh. "Amund's never been fond of humans, but he's been around for a while and knows a thing or two." Your eyes widened. You stop dead in your tracks, making him stop as well.

"Amund witnessed the collapse of the bronze age? Seriously?" You grab both his arms, eyes boring into his. "Tell me. Are. You. Serious?" Your sudden change in tone made his eyes widen, and he held up his hands to placate you.

"Don't hurt me."

"No, I'm serious." You hold him still. "Are. You. Serious? Amund was alive for and witnessed the bronze age collapse?" The intense eye contact held him still. He nodded his head. You let go of him, laughing. "No. No way! Seriously?!" You turn to him again with a giddy grin. He was flabbergasted. But he nodded. "Rafayel, that's one of the biggest mysteries of humanity! Holy shit!"

"Don't get your hopes up, he's never liked humans, he might not even know. And if he did he probably wouldn't tell you." He put his hands on your shoulders but you keep going.

"Rafayel do you know what this means?! Some of your elders know what the first songs sounded like! They may know about the invention of language in regions near the coast. Holy shit. The invention of writing. Of storytelling." You run your fingers through your hair. Rafayel gave you a gentle shake.

"Woahhh, sloooow down." He spoke slowly. "Not everyone has memories of the time. Not everyone has full memories of their past lives. And a lot of Lemurians didn't interact with humans all that often, especially not in the earlier stages of humanity. Calm down. Don't get your hopes up." You do take his advice, taking a deep breath. But the excitement still burned bright within you. Your cheeks hurt from grinning. While Rafayel looked like that shifty eyed monkey meme at the moment, your excitement did rub off on him. He cracked. And he smiled at you. He lifted a hand, ruffling your hair again. "But you're cute when you get all excited. Nerd."

You don't bother to smack his hand away. You just let him touch you however he pleased. "It's not every day I meet someone who could just... know the answers to some of my biggest questions." He finally tugged you along again. It was a welcome break from the tensity the interaction at the restaurant brought.

"I get that much." He agreed. You looked up. He was walking you back to the house again. What a gentleman. You leaned into him while you walked, just enjoying the steadiness of his presence. "You know, I didn't really have the best view of your profession before I met you. And Dr. C, admittedly. It's... kinda neat to know we have someone on our side." He nudged you, and you nudged him right back.

"Of course. I've got your back, fishy, and from what you've done for me ever since we've met I know you've got mine." You smiled up at him. He looked over. The moon reflected in your eyes, the distant sound of waves... He smiled. Warmly. Truly.

A proper, genuine smile.

You lift the pearl around your neck, pressing a kiss to it right in front of him. "I guess this is a mark of our agreement, huh? Our covenant, I guess you could say." Your thumb trailed over the fishtail again. The comfort your old necklace brought amplified tenfold by the meaning and intention behind the new one. His eyes flashed for a moment. In the low light of the night they appeared more blue than pink.

"Yeah... a covenant." He agreed. He reached out, his finger tracing the pearl as well. "I guess that's fitting for us." 

Up ahead you could make out the outline of the house. The lights were on, and you could hear laughter and talking. Rafayel stopped walking. He turned to you, and you to him. He slowly brought the pearl to his lips, pressing a kiss to it just as you had done. He needed to bow his head to do so. When he lifted only his eyes to you once he was done your heart skipped a beat again. 

"We have to stop doing this." You murmur. "Stopping just outside. One day, I want to invite you in."

"But not tonight." He finished the thought for you, his voice low and soft. His eyes trained on yours, still bent down. You lick your lips. You're close. You're both so close. His fingers twitch, sliding up the chain of your necklace, trailing up your neck before settling on your cheek. 

"Not tonight." You agree breathlessly. Each rise and fall of your chest, each heartbeat. He was feeling it. Experiencing it as if his own. "Do you want them to see you?" 

"No." He murmurs. "Not yet." 

You lick your lips again. You understood. You felt the same. So close. You're both so close.

A particularly loud laugh from inside make you both jump. You turn to each other. Waiting. Before quietly, breathlessly laughing. Not tonight. He stands up straight. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We've got a covenant after all." He points to your necklace with a cheeky smile. "I'll be heading back to Linkon soon. Thomas is gonna have my head if I don't start on some paintings soon. Let me know if something happens, okay? I'll get over here quick if a creep comes after you, and send some friends or relatives if I can't get here fast enough."

"I can handle myself." You gesture to your blade. "But I'd appreciate that. Thank you." You clasp your hands in front of you. Even though he was standing upright now, he didn't seem to want to be the first to walk away. You didn't, either. But your phone began to ring in your bag. You quickly fish it out. It's Jason. You didn't tell anyone where you were, a bit of a no no especially given what just happened to you. They were probably worried, wondering where you vanished off to. You didn't tell them you'd be out. You turn back to Rafayel. "Good night, Rafayel."

"Night, cutie." He nodded, bidding his farewell in turn. You answer the call, going up the stairs, telling Jason as much. You look over your shoulder, finding Rafayel doing the same. Each time you paused, he did, too. Until finally you kicked off your shoes and opened the front door. You turn back one last time. You caught Rafayel staring not at you, but at the house you were living in. A faraway look in his eyes. Some deep seated frustration, or anger. But you don't have time to comment. When Rafayel feels you staring, he looks at you. His eyes soften. He smirks, and waves one last time. Before turning and walking away.

Wormwood, for bitterness

A month passed. You and your crew had gathered all the information you could on the site, and your sponsors were pleased. The excavation was a success, and barring the odd encounter while on a date it was a flawless dig. Even with technology malfunctioning, teammates arguing, and mild hostility specifically from the librarian and archives, you couldn't help but feel satisfied. You tug the bag of equipment up and onto the deck of the boat. The company that had contracted all of you was paying for your trip back to Linkon. Most of the equipment came from various universities and scientific institutions in the area, so you and a few of the others were managing the return. 

Jason was one of the others joining the boat trip. He grabs his bandana, wiping his face as the sun beats down on all of you. But after a brief survey, he nods his head. Everything was ready. A thumbs up to the crew on the ground sends the rest of the people who lived closer to Verona off. You take the moment to pull out your personal journal again, reviewing your notes from the archives. Whatever Amund and or  Rafayel said to them worked. They let you in and had some information on K available. It wasn't much. It was just information on when he first moved to Verona, when he left for Linkon City, any family... It was more than what the museum had. You'd need to reach out to any surviving family for permission to use this information in the museum's database. And it was very possible they would say no. But it was worth asking.

"Hey." You nearly drop your journal as Jason suddenly appeared before you. He lifts his hands, smiling sheepishly as he realized he startled you. "Sorry- thought you heard me walk over. I was asking if you were ready to go."

You tuck your journal back in your bag, flashing him a thumbs up. "Yup, I'm ready!" Jason turns and waves to the person driving the boat. With that, final preparations to set off began. You make your way to a seat, sitting down inside near a window. Jason and a few others follow you, joining you in other seats. Finally, other passengers boarded, and the boat was off. You take the time to look over the notes you compiled for the museum. It wasn't much, but it gave you a better picture of who K was. You had texted a picture to the museum director, letting her know you would digitize your notes and share them with her. She hadn't gotten back to you in a few days but she was probably just busy. The bonus of the pay from the excavation and the additional museum hours when you went to the archives would be helpful. Every little bit helped.

The journey back to Linkon was quiet. Other passengers and your crewmates laughed and chatted around you, and you'd join in where you felt so inclined. Memories of the dig, of scuba diving for leisure in other areas, exploring the beautiful Verona... and, of course, your more private memories of a date night with Rafayel. In spite of an intrusion, the date overall went well. You got to enjoy a good dinner and a lovely walk. Not to mention, you learned another new nugget of information about Rafayel and his people.

The internet connection wasn't great on the boat. You spent time talking with people or glancing over notes in your journal. The hours slipped by, and soon Linkon was in sight. The closer you got to the city, the stronger your signal got. The boat docked, and you got to work. You all waited for the other passengers to get off first before helping get the gear on the trucks awaiting you. They would be taken back to the institutions you had gotten them from. It took a good hour, on top of the long boat ride. Your phone was occasionally buzzing in your bag but you just figured it was your phone finally catching up with any messages you got during the trip.

You waved off one of the trucks with Jason as your phone began to constantly buzz. A phone call. you fish your phone out, seeing it was the museum director, and gladly answer. You grin, putting it to your ear.

"Hey! I just finished up here at the dock-!"

"Please tell me you're with someone who can verify your presence at the dig." Her voice was firm. You freeze. You slowly look up at Jason. He raises an eyebrow, and you pull your phone away to put it on speaker.

"I just put you on speaker with one of the supervisors from the dig, Jason Yasuhiro."

"Jason, nice to meet you. Can you verify this person was with you in Verona for the entirety of the excavation, with no possible way to be in Linkon at all during that time?' Jason shared a bewildered look with you.

"Uh... yeah? There's no way anyone could get to Linkon and back in the few times we weren't together. What is this about?"

"Good." She sounded immediately relieved. "There was a break in at the museum. We're still trying to check everything. No footprints, no fingerprints, no alert from the security system, all of our video footage wiped... this was a professional."

You gasp. "Ohmygods- I'm so sorry! Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is fine, it was a week ago at night. No one hurt. The only thing missing right now is that metacarpal you were working with in the potentially Lemurian collection." She sounded downright exhausted, but also relieved. "I didn't suspect you, but the police might reach out to ask you some questions since so far the only thing missing was from a project you had been working on. You were the last person to see the bone." Jason again looked to you in shock. You put a hand to your head. 

"Do the police-"

"No. And I told them they shouldn't suspect you, you were out of town when this happens. Besides, you have access to things much more valuable. And you have a damn backbone. I know you better than that." She reiterated firmly. "I'm just giving you a heads up. Jason, you may need to speak to the police as well to confirm the alibi. Sorry to scare you just after getting back home."

"No, no... thanks for letting me know." You run your fingers through your hair. A break in. A break in that so far, targeted a bone that had been a part of the donation by K.

You clench your teeth. No. It couldn't be. Rafayel wouldn't. Would he?

You take a sharp breath. "I'm gonna head home, now." You fib, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder. "I'll see you Monday back at the museum."

"Okay, perfect. Since that's the only thing missing you should be good to resume research. You just won't be able to enter the room you had been using, the evol police still have it taped off." The poor director sounded exhausted. You could only imagine the hell she was going through. Talking to the investors, the police, assuring donators the museum was still a safe place to donate to... What a nightmare. "I'll see you Monday."

With this farewell you hang up. You drop your arm, staring off towards Whitesand Bay. It wasn't far. This dock was just a few miles up the beach from Rafayel's private strip of it. You look up. The sun had already begun to set. Ideally, you should go home. Shower, unpack, do a load of laundry. Flop face first into bed to take a nap. 

You tuck your phone into your bag again.

"Hey..." Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you need a ride? My truck is parked nearby, got permission to leave it here while we were in Verona."

"Sure. Think you can drop me off near Mo Art Studio?"

You were lucky Jason wasn't pressing for details. You didn't feel like outing your relationship at the moment. But you had questions that needed to be answered. Rafayel. Was he the one who did this? Did he take the bone? You didn't want to falsely accuse your own boyfriend. But something was fishy here. You rub your face, staring up at the familiar gallery as Jason drove off back towards Linkon. You push the gate open, taking steady steps towards the door. You pushed it open as you always did. 

"Rafayel?" You call out his name, taking a brief look around. He wasn't painting. And the door to his bedroom was wide open, so he wouldn't be in there. You walk past Reddie's tank, briefly stopping to at least say hi to him and sneak him a little fish food. But you finally find the back door leading to his private strip of the beach. It was wide open. You sigh, placing your bags on the floor near the door. You walk out, following the footprints in the sand. The necklace bounces with each decisive step you take.

You weren't going to accuse him of anything. Just ask if he knew. After all, if he didn't, he ought to be just as concerned as you were. You follow the footsteps, taking you pretty far up the beach. The sun was rapidly setting, replaced by the moon and stars. You don't need to pull out your phone for light. His footsteps guided your feet, leading you straight to him.

When you finally found him, the moon had reached its higher point in the sky. How had that much time passed? You lift your hand to your head. You look down.

His footsteps were gone. How did you get here?

You look up. Silhouetted in the water, Rafayel stands waist deep. He outstretches his hand. A small, off white object glowed in the moonlight.

Bone. A metacarpal. 

Your eyes widen. But you don't say a word. You watch, standing just beyond the waves. Rafayel slowly lowers his hand into the water. The bone fizzes. Before turning into seafoam, slowly drifting out of his hand. He reaches out, as if trying to catch some of it, but it evades him. His arm drops. Splashing in the water.

You wait. You look at the seafoam. You slowly bow your head, your fingers coming to the pearl again. You weren't sure what you were doing. But you knew, somehow, you needed to be quiet for a moment. You hear another splash and look up. Rafayel is closer to land now, but his back was still to you. You give him a few seconds. Before clearing your throat, hoping not to scare him.

He whips his head around with inhuman speed, eyes wide in a furious expression.

Much like the merman of your nightmare.

Blood in the water.

Rafayel's gaze immediately relaxes upon seeing you. He smiles, wading to shore. "Hey, cutie." His voice was soft and melodic. You put a hand to your head again.

"That was the metacarpal." You don't ask. It wasn't a question. It was an observation. His smile doesn't waver. He comes out of the water entirely, wet clothes be damned, and opens his arms. He isn't denying it. But you can't deny him, either, can you? You walk over and lean against his chest, letting him hug you. This wasn't a hug for you. It was a hug for him. "I'm sorry." You murmur. The sea moon ceremony. You suddenly recall your conversation with him about burial rituals, and throw your head back to look at the moon. You turn back to him. Instead of frustration of confusion, you felt sudden understanding. You throw your arms around him. "You laid them to rest."

He stiffens for a moment. Before slowly, steadily, hugging you tighter. "Hope I didn't get you in trouble." He murmured against the top of your head, pressing his nose against your hair. You don't stop him. You just squeeze him.

"I'll be okay. Next time, just... tell me. Let me help you." You lift a hand, tracing his cheek. He flinched.

You drop your hand. 

But before it could fully drop to your side, he catches it. He presses your hand fully against his cheek. This time he nuzzled into it. "This is my responsibility. Not yours."

You remove one hand from his back, lifting your necklace again. He lowered his eyes to it, watching it closely. "No. I'm a part of this now, too." You protest. "You asked me to help you. So let me help." You drop the charm, but his eyes remained glued to it. His eyes only slowly lift, taking you in from bottom to top. His eyes locked on yours. There was no light in them. The moon and the stars couldn't reach them. "Don't shut me out of this. Let me help you."

Rafayel laughed. Not mocking, no. But low. Dry. 

"Sure, cutie." He stood up straight, but you just threw your arms back around him. Hugging him tight. That caught him off guard for a moment. He stood still. You could feel how tense he was. But as he wrapped his arms around you again, he squeezed you tight. "Okay. Okay, I will." You didn't see his eyes as he said this. And a part of you didn't believe him anyway. But you just took a deep breath.

He needed time. 

He slipped a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"I got you some welcome home flowers." He murmured. "Flame lilies. They're nice. They're in a vase back at my place. Why don't we head back there?" He slipped his arms around, one around your waist as the other removed your arm around his neck. "And I'll make us dinner. I didn't eat lunch today, so I hope you're hungry." You look up. Light had made its way back into his eyes. And you could see the love in his gaze. It was real. It was true.

You manage to smile. "Flame lilies. Do you know what those represent in the flower language?"

"Yeah, I did some digging after you mentioned it." He winked at his own cheesy archaeology pun. "Flame lilies. Passion, pride, rebirth, honor... and love." He guided you forward his hand on the small of your back. Your footsteps intertwined on the sand, kissed by the waves almost reverently. "I want you to have them. They make me think of you."

1: Touring in Love reference. Not written out in game subtitles, recreated the sound in letters as best I could! 

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; THE FINAL FINAL

Shen Qingqiu Propaganda:

The entire series is told from his POV and the story seems like a comedy. The side stories from other characters POVs make the story sound like a tragedy. He thought that Luo Binghe hated him and wanted him dead while everyone else knew that Binghe was in love with him.

the whole book he’s using his OWN interpretation of the world to explain literally everything, not knowing that his introduction into the world changed it so fundamentally that his prior knowledge of it is less than useless. he’s like “binghe is being sweet to me because binghe is sweet to people that wronged him before repaying their slight a thousandfold, and he only adds their acceptance of his sweetness to his tally of their sins!! i have to run away forever or he’ll tear my arms and legs off!!!!!!” and binghe in reality is like “wow the love of my life my beloved shizun is scared of me still :( i should act sweet and nonthreatening so he’s not scared of me :(“ and he literally doesn’t have this corrected until the end of the book. but even when that one thing is corrected he still is like “haha okay but these other six things-“ bro……. cucumber bro………….. you homosexualized the world just accept it

He examines the entire reality he's isekai-ed into as if it's still fictional and his inner monologue ignores any "character trait" of the people around him that doesn't fit into his perception of "canon" despite everything he's done to change reality from the canon of the novel he first read. He routinely mislabels his own emotions as well as making heteronormative assumptions about himself and the people around him before he finally realises he's in reciprocated gay love with a man. It's a book that benefits being read twice, so the second time around you can focus on the implications Shen Qingqiu blatantly misses.

Transmigrates into a novel he “hates,” assumes he’s doing a good job pretending to be the character whose body he got stuck in, assumes other characters will stick to their original paths. Lotta assumptions, lots of rationalizing, lots of incredible feats of misunderstanding/misinterpreting things. His internal narration is also hysterical.

Lemony Snicket Propaganda:

(I would like to preface this by saying that Lemony Snicket is the author's pen name, not a real person, and he exists as a character in-universe as well as being the one in-universe who writes the books!) I'd say he's unreliable because he spent time collecting information about the Baudelaire kids and then... wrote books about it. He has no idea what any of their dialogue actually was, what they were thinking, or even the whole plot, he's just doing research into the incidents and then filling in the gaps to make it a story. What ACTUALLY happened to the Baudelaires? Nobody really knows for sure

While the Baudelaire siblings are in potentially life threatening danger, he will randomly start talking about his own life and just leave the siblings hanging. For example, once Count Olaf was threatening to kill Violet, and then Lemony randomly began talking about how he met the love of his life at a costume party. This man CANNOT stay on topic. Usually when a new character is introduced, Lemony tells us right at the start that they’re either going to die or that the Baudelaire siblings will never see them again. Foreshadowing is not subtle in these books. CONSTANTLY emphasizes how miserable he feels while writing these books. At one point he admits that he had to put his pencil down and go cry for a while because of how sad it made him. Once he filled an entire page with nothing but the word “ever” to emphasize how dangerous it is to put forks in electrical outlets. He also repeated a paragraph about deja vu later on in the book to give the reader deja vu.

[joydoesathing]

in your tnmn au, which us state it takes place at? like i mean as in the setting of the location of the apartment

I assume that the apartment and the whole game is somewhere in the Western US, but in my AU, it would be somewhere in California.

I made a list of reasons for why I chose that (and also plausible reasons on why I think the actual game could be set in the Western US, so prepare for me to go all world building mode):

1.) The Western US is FedLandia

For those who aren't that familiar, federal land is basically land that is governed by the federal US government and not by the individual state and there's a high concentration of federal land located in Western states. One of the primary owners of federal land is the Department of Defense (the military sector of the government).

Based on the research I did, basically the government can do any operation they want on federal land. The military, for example, uses some of the federal land as weapon testing ranges (there's that joke that some people back in the 1950s have nuclear bombs casually going off in their backyard). So following the lore, the Trojan Horse Project could be considered an operation under the military since it's the one funding it and I also assume that the doppels were actually developed to be weapons for espionage.

So in a way, I believe that those involved in the THP do creating and testing operations of doppels on the wide ranges of military-owned federal property and since it's on federal property, most of the operations that goes on it is mostly kept hush-hush from the general public, cuz y'know, it's secret federal government business (like Area 51 type stuff)

You could argue that it could be possible that the game could take place in the Eastern US too, since there is federal land owned by the military located there, but the problem is the secrecy of the THP operations. As seen on the map above, there's only very little federal land on the East coast and the rest is state-owned land where the general public is located (and the population is quite packed in the Eastern states). If they wanted to keep the THP and its operations as top secret as possible, I feel like it would be more logical if their central base of operations would be somewhere where there's not much people living nearby and can't just have random access to (i.e. the Western states with loads of federal land and a generally less dense population)

2.) The DDD is managing and monitoring apartments

So, my assumption is that the DDD is some kind of special ops group created in the military, since they are directly involved in the THP. So, the personnel of the DDD are selected military personnel and their bases are just adjacent to regular military bases near the central base of operations of the THP

I also think that the apartments where doormen are stationed and modified with special anti-doppel security features are also government property, managed and monitored by the DDD ( and by extension, the military). And to ensure an adequate amount of DDD personnel get to places where doppels are located in in time, it would be more convenient if the apartments were built on or near federal land, where military bases are stationed.

And for my AU, I chose specifically California since it is said that the apartment is located downtown (so yeah probably in a city there)

3.) The occupations of some of the neighbors

Dr. W: Since she is lead researcher of the THP, she should naturally live nearby the central base of operations is located, which is somewhere in another state adjacent and east of California

Stephanie : Prior to moving to the apartment, she was already stationed in a military base in California, so it's just convenient for her and her mom to move to the apartment in downtown Cali.

The twins (this is only applicable in my AU): They work in Hollywood so again for convenience sake, they thought it would be best to live in downtown Cali.

Since the above mentioned neighbors have to come home everyday, their workplace needs to be nearby (you can't convince me that they'd be willing to travel interstate everyday just to come home)

4.) Aliens

The whole alien storyline we have with Chester in campaign mode is quite timing because that was the era where UFO conspiracy theories and sightings were all the rage or at least where the most prominent alien related incidents occured . Most of the prominent UFO/alien related topics and incidents seem to happen in the Western US (e.g. The Roswell incident in New Mexico and Area 51 in Nevada)

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 weapons don't weep 🕸🕷

pairing: insomniac peter parker/spider-man x huntress!reader --(reader is kraven’s daughter / fem-reader / reader has scars from fightin’, but no other descriptions are used)

rating: mature/explicit (18+)

prompt: "I would die for you." // "I don't want you to die." // "I would kill for you." // "I don't want you to kill." // "Then I have nothing to offer you." // (source)

tags: past enemies, secret identity, reveal of identity, canon-typical violence, established fwb relationship, POV second person, no use of Y/N, blood & injury, hurt/comfort, reader struggles to quantify her worth when she’s not being used as a weapon, explicit sexual content.

*takes place after the events of Insomniac 2.

-> the reader doesn’t know who spider-man is, but spider-man knows who she is, considering she doesn’t hide her face/identity. You can read the prior parts here and here or find the whole series on ao3.

🕷🕷( READ ON AO3 ) 🕷🕷

Peter doesn’t ask questions about your scars. Although, that’s maybe because you don’t let him. Whenever he opens his mouth in a querying manner with his eyes on the marks, you grab his chin and kiss him until he’s panting and wordless. This arrangement works better without questions.

You and Peter haven’t defined ‘it’ yet. So far, ‘it’ includes working his garage to help with his foundation, getting take-out, and fucking him on the couch or the floor (the bed, you wordlessly decided, was too intimate and so you started pulling his clothes off before he could get you there). Plus, it's thrilling to fuck Peter on the floor. It feels rushed, heady, and impulsive. Today, you skip the take-out and work your tongue across his sweaty, salty throat instead.

Your hand curls into his short, soft brown hair, and your nails graze against his scalp. You’ve never known how to let things go once you got your hands on them and Peter is no exception. He whines into the hollow juncture of your throat, his hips snapping into yours, and your nails dig into the solid, sinewy heat of his shoulder. Peter is surprisingly fit for a cute, nerdy researcher. His lean musculature cages you in and brings you to new heights.

“Oh fuck,” you bite out as your neck arches backward. Your hand glides across his damp skin until you reach the nape of his neck. You cling to him as he holds you in his arms, his thighs tucked between yours as he kneels beneath you and shallowly thrusts into you. “’m close,” you warn him, gasping.

“Already?” he teases, “so soon?” You hear the smile in his voice, feel it pressed against your collarbone, and you swallow the growl in your throat.

You say, “Oh, fuck off, Peter.” You clutch his scalp tighter, letting the strands pinch between your fingers, and tug.

“God, yes.” His breath tickles your moist neck.

When you and Peter started sleeping together, you assumed he was the romantic and sensual type. The type of guy to kiss you throughout sex and want to cuddle afterward. The type of guy who called it ‘making love’ instead of sex. Now, your assumptions weren’t too far off. Peter does like kissing you and he likes you close. But, you’ve figured out what kind of mood he’s in based on how he kisses you. And thankfully, he likes a little wildness, too. You doubt you could ever tame yourself—even for him.

He enjoys it when you rake your nails down his back, when you cover his collarbones in love bites or pin his wrists over his head when you’re riding him. It’s fun. His surprising athleticism and flexibility have resulted in a range of experimental positions, although, Peter seems to favor the ones that he can see your face. Again, you don’t talk about it.

The ridges of his cock slide gloriously through your folds, earning a hiccup torn from your throat, and Peter clutches tighter. The slow, shallow rocking creates a new, wonderful depth that presses into your front wall, sending pulsing shock wave after shock wave through your nerves. You whine. Your body trembles.

“I can feel you,” he rasps before his mouth works over your jaw. “Squeezing…” he bites the word out and clenches his eyes shut. There’s nothing you like more than seeing Peter reduced to putty in your hands. His fine cheekbones grow ruddy and his lips glisten with saliva. He’s so painfully earnest. All his emotions ricochet across his face like flames. Sweet, and cute Peter, with his tense arms and beautiful brown eyes, and his kissable mouth waiting for you to devour him.

You kiss him, stroking your tongue over his, and forcing your mouths to breathe the same air. “Peter,” you whimper, gyrating your hips, “gonna make me cum—you’re gonna make me—”

“Yeah?” he mumbles against your mouth, “want you to, want you so bad.”

Your swollen clit rubs against him, creating a slick and tempestuous friction, as his cock steadily thrusts into your drenched cunt. His calloused palm drags over your ribs, skating across raised scars and old bruises, before he cups your breast and squeezes it, kneading the flesh between his fingers, and pulling another moan from your throat.

“Peter, peter, p-peter,” you pant. Something inside of you shudders and cringes at this wanton, weak, and breathless tone that he carves from your chest. You buck into him as he rolls your tight, peaked nipple between his index and thumb. You are as taut as a compound bow drawn back to strike. You clutch his hair tighter, unraveling, and your other hand dug into the hard curve of his shoulder. Peter groans like you ripped the air from his chest. You snap and cry out as your walls pulse around his hard cock, your body quaking in quick, short bursts.

Your back hits the carpet and Peter – sweet, kind, generous – Parker thrusts hard, fucking you through the swelling waves of your orgasm, as the wet, slick sound floods your head and your heartbeat threatens to pound through your chest. You yank his hair and his head is pulled back, exposing the beautiful, vulnerable column of his throat that’s covered in reddish-purple bruises from your teeth and tongue. Through heavily lidded eyes, you watch his mouth drop open and release a guttural cry of your name before his hips snap erratically into yours and you feel him finish.

He’s huffing, gasping, like you wrought his soul and wrung it dry before he collapses forward and onto your chest. You loosen your grip on his hair and let your palm settle on his nape, idly stroking your fingers through the fine, sweaty hair at the base of his skull.

What would Peter say if he knew the real you? If he knew you grew up alongside hunters and trained to kill. If he knew you and your siblings were taught to compete for your father’s attention and praise—no, praise was the wrong word—Kraven gifted knives, not compliments.

It doesn’t matter now, of course. Kraven, and the rest of your family, are gone. Dead. You’re the lone huntress who remains for better or worse. Whether you earned your father’s respect or not is irrelevant.

But would Peter still press his lips feverishly to yours if he knew who you were? Really, truly knew you. If he knew of your nightmares, triumphs, and proud kills, would he still clutch you to your chest or hold your face in his hands while you came?

In a rare moment of post-coitus vulnerability, you say the quiet part out loud, “Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning because of you.”

Peter lifts his head from your breastbone, his flushed expression pinched with curiosity. “What?” His lips quirk into a smile. “Because of the sweat?”

Because of the goodness in you, you want to say. In the months that have passed in his company, even before sleeping together, you are – and continue to be – baffled by Peter’s selflessness. He helps old people carry their groceries, he leaves an extra penny (when he has one) in the dish at the bodega, and one time he helped a woman with her cumbersome, folded stroller on the subway stairs during a slushy, cold winter storm before joining you at the turnstile, and the way he gently held your bleeding hand and carefully wrapped your injured palm in gauze.

You close your eyes for a second, collecting yourself, remembering yourself, and you roll your eyes when you re-open them.

“Yes,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with your hand, “up and at ‘em, Parker.”

“You’re more than welcome to use the shower.” He places a quick, almost self-conscious kiss on your sticky cheek before sliding off of you. “But, I can’t promise there’s hot water,” he adds with a grimace.

You sit up, admiring your handiwork for a selfish moment. His tousled, fucked-with hair, the hickeys on his throat, the pink hue to his cheekbones and ears, and his glossy, pupil-wide eyes that regard you with...something...attraction, probably, if you had to guess.

“That’s alright.” You snatch your underwear from where it landed on the coffee table. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time, same place.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “You could stay,” he offers while pulling on his black boxer briefs. “It’s getting late.”

You scoff. It’s barely eight. “I promise I’ll get home safe.”

You can’t afford to indulge him – to be vulnerable is a death sentence. This arrangement is all you can give him. You can kiss him in the garage and let him hold the door open for you and suck his dick on the couch, but you can’t stay. To stay would be to admit that you feel safe with him. To stay would be to admit that you trust him. No. No. It’s better to go home, to your one-bedroom with pockmarked walls and your careful traps and scraps of Kraven’s leftover technology.

He doesn’t know the real you, you remind yourself, and that’s a good thing. Peter deserves someone uncomplicated for his little quiet life. You have no illusions about yourself and what you mean to him. This arrangement is built on mutual attraction and the stressors of late-night lab work. It’s a fun distraction. Nothing more. Nothing less. And, if you’re being honest, you like the simplicity of it.

Despite the horrors of being Kraven’s daughter, you liked having a place among the hierarchy and having a role to fulfill. A job. And Peter gave you that. He gave you a purpose outside the hierarchy of bloodshed, trophies, and cruel competition.

You are his partner in the foundation and you’re trying to find a cure for cancer. That’s your role. You just so happen to fuck him on the side, but that arrangement can be dissolved whenever without any hard feelings on your end. Simple. You like simple.

“Text me when you get home?” He holds the front door open for you.

You grab him by the collar of his cotton t-shirt and press your lips to his. He melts into you, his hands finding your waist, squeezing your hips, and pushing your spine against the doorframe. The kiss has your toes scrunching inside your boots and you’re almost tempted to take him up on his offer – stay and earn a hundred more kisses, and a few more orgasms until you’re boneless and drunk on dopamine. You sigh into his mouth and catch his lower lip between your teeth and give him a light, teasing suck before releasing it.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind?” he breathes, sounding ever-so-eager.

You pull away, smirking. “Nope.”

He places one hand over his heart. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

A surprised laugh escapes your throat. “No way. You’ve got the spirit of someone who will live into their eighties and spend retirement feeding ducks and pigeons in the park.”

Peter smiles, though it’s hard to know if he’s smiling because of your joke or your unexpected laughter.

“If I’m lucky,” he says, still smiling.

***

“You know,” Spider-Man begins, his legs swinging over the ledge of the building you were both perched upon, “you said ‘one time’, but if I’ve done my math right, then this is like the hundredth time you’ve helped me.”

You don’t remove the binoculars from your face. “Your point?”

“Just makin’ observations,” his tone is light, but there’s something else there – you can sense it as easily as you sense animals moving through the brush. You drop the binoculars and let them dangle from your throat where they bump against the sore pieces of your chest that Peter marked. The subtle, thrilling twinge of pain sharpens your focus.

“I’m not doing this for free,” you remind him.

His lenses widen. “I’m supposed to pay you?!” he asks incredulously. “Since when?”

You shake your head. “I have my reasons for tagging along when your targets are interesting enough,” you say, “and they aren’t monetary.”

“Then what is it? It can’t just be my company.” You hear the smile in his voice. “Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were.”

You bite back your smile, bring the binoculars back to your face, and return your attention to the street. Sometimes, Spider-Man will say something that reminds you so fiercely of Peter that it makes your heart ache. A good person would cut ties with Parker, end the arrangement, and let him find an uncomplicated lover without a serrated, damaged heart. But, alas, you’re not a good person. You decide to text Peter after this and see if he’s interested in pretending to watch a movie with you.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?”

Your reply is short. “That’s none of your business.”

He sighs and mutters almost to himself, “Can’t blame a guy for trying…”

***

Your plans to text Peter fly out the proverbial window when the explosion sends you flying into a concrete wall. There’s no way he won’t question the bruises that’ll undoubtedly litter your back like Dalmatian spots.

You cough, rolling onto your side, and blink past your tears toward the shifting shadowed shapes of Spider-Man and the armored human on the flying bat-shaped glider.

The smoke has a strange, otherworldly green hue. Your instincts kick in. Your knees curl forward as your palms brace yourself and you push upright and remain crouched. You tug the scarf around your neck toward your nose and cover your mouth. You recognize toxic bullshit when you see it.

You notch an arrow and squint through the haze. Spider-Man moves insanely fast. His body contorting and twisting, dodging near-fatal blows at the last second, and jumping back into the fray like a snapped rubber band. But, your opponent matches Spider-Man in speed, using the glider to dodge or flip out of the way of his webs. You hold your breath and a bead of sweat tickles your temple.

“Easy,” Kraven’s voice fills your head. The smoke shifts to verdant, lush leaves surrounded by moist heat, intensified by the recent rainfall, and you are surrounded by your father’s breath and the hum of insects. Your fingers press into your cheek as you draw the bowstring back. The green-armored villain tosses several blades and Spider-Man stumbles back, clutching his ribs, and your breath trembles. You must kill this creature. You must find it’s weak point. The tip of your arrow tracks toward the villain's skull. The design of it is strange. It’s almost...impish.

‘It’s too well protected’, you think, frowning behind your scarf, ‘we need a different opening.’

Kraven admonishes, “Do not rush, Huntress.”

The yellow eyes pierce you through the leaves. You release your arrow and it sings through the air before catching on the goblin’s large, insect-like yellow eyes of his helmet. As the impact rings through the smoke and fire-filled building and the goblin is knocked from his glider, another sound cuts the air, and a rush of wet, warm copper fills your mouth.

You glance down and stare stupidly at the two small blades that are lodged inside your chest. Your yelp is strangled by the blood in your throat. The concrete beneath your knees is strange and off-putting. Weren’t you outside? You cough and bloody phlegm splatters on your shirt and over your chin.

A cry rips from Spider-Man’s throat, “Huntress!”

“What did I tell you?” Kraven sneers. “Too soon. You could have killed him if you had waited.”

“Shut up,” you say thickly, stowing your compound bow on your sore, bruised back. “I’m busy.” Spider-Man still needed your help. You’ve thrown the goblin off, but he isn’t giving up. His wide, bleeding eyeball glares at you through the broken yellow glass even as he defends himself against Spider-Man’s agile attacks.

Kraven says, “Is that any way to speak to your father? You will choke on those words, girl.”

You pull your hunting knife from the sheath on your thigh. “Looking forward to it.”

The pain should cripple you, but you’ve trained under more duress than this. Your inhale is ragged and impeded by the stuffy, claustrophobic heat. It’s agony. Your lungs, with joyously shared breath with Peter a few hours ago, rattle and crinkle with blood. You push forward and into the chaos. The goblin is faster than you expected for a target that’s covered in iridescent green armor that’s reminiscent of a beetle's shell.

The upside to fighting with Spider-Man and against him is that you know his technique. You know how he moves, where his feet will be, and how he follows through. There is a fluidity to it that you’ve never experienced with any other hunt. Your blade clangs loudly against the forearm armor of the goblin, and it’s enough of a distraction for Spider-Man to get a good, solid hit.

However, you sense the fight isn’t over. You understand, through virtue of being Kraven’s daughter, that this creature, this man, will fight to the death.

The black shadows start to crawl at the edges of your vision. You grunt and block a kick that would’ve landed on your sternum. You clench your jaw and your blade, trying to fight off the prickling numbness that trickles into your fingers.

“Careful, Spidey.” The Green Goblin laughs. “Your girlfriend doesn’t look too good.”

“You could make this easy by just giving up,” says Spider-Man, “have a nice and relaxing vacation in jail. But noooo! Bad guys always gotta -” he lands a kick “- make things so-” another kick, followed through with two quick web bursts “-difficult!”

A small lick of pride works up your spine. Spider-Man isn’t merely holding his own. He’s pushing the goblin backward, cornering him, and soon there will be nowhere left for him to run. The goblin laughs. Something flashing catches your attention. It’s the goblin’s glider and it’s – your eyes widen with realization - oh fuck – it's counting down. You shove your blade into the Green Goblin’s armpit, the only weak point you managed to catch and grab Spider-Man’s arm.

“Trap,” you wheeze. The bomb-rigged glider has barely five seconds remaining. Your body jolts and a pained scream shapes your mouth as Spider-Man pulls you into his arms and shoots a web toward the broken, metal support beams above.

There is a rush of smoke and cinders and terrible, terrible heat.

“Stay with me,” Spider-Man says above the roar. You cling to him, your chest and stomach slick with blood and smearing against his red and blue suit. The void swallows your vision. The world is a blur, a rush of sound and sensation, and your head lolls backward.

***

You smell singed, burnt clothing. You taste is metallic, harsh blood. You wiggle your fingers. You are, for the time being, alive.

You open your eyes and catch Spider-Man removing his burned mask. Short, brown hair and earnest coffee-hued eyes, his skin smudged with soot, and trails of shiny blood glistened from both ears.

“Oh good,” you wheeze, “it’s you.” You want to laugh, all the little moments of Spider-Man reminding you of Peter now make sense in retrospect. You resist the urge to giggle. You don't need further pain added to your delirium. 

“If it was anyone else,” you continue, “I don’t think I’d die for them. But, I would die for you.”

It’s such an easy truth to give him. Peter, who gave you purpose beyond bloodshed, is a worthy person to die for. Spider-Man, your once-enemy, a worthy adversary, who risked his life for a city that you weren’t sure deserved him, is a worthy person to die for. You’re glad they’re one and the same.

Peter crawls to you, hands tenderly cupping your jaw, and says, “I don’t want you to die.”

Your fingers trail lightly over his bruised cheekbone. “I’d kill for you, too, if that means anything.”

“I don’t want you to kill,” he chokes the words out.

“Mhm.” The tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Pain or grief? It’s hard to tell. “Then I have nothing to offer you.”

How shameful to admit it. You are a weapon and weapons don’t weep, but here you are – you are weeping. You try to muffle it because it’ll hurt from the blades protruding from your skin that pieced into your body armor, and because it’s been so many years since you’ve cried that you think you might’ve forgotten how.

“Don’t – don’t say that.” His thumbs stroke your face and graze over your lips. “You’re more than Kraven’s offspring and you’re brighter than his legacy ever was. You are more – so, so so much – more than that. Now, hold on, for me? Okay? Help is coming.”

You close your eyes. In that building of greenish smoke and torn-asunder concrete and twisted metal, was it really your father’s ghost that came to help you and taunt you in equal measure? Perhaps it was. It serves as a good reminder. You’re a killer. A hunter. No matter how domesticated you pretend to be, you cannot escape the thrill and excitement you feel before and during a hunt, and that delight, that euphoric release, cannot be replicated and it cannot be tamed. You drop your hand from Peter’s face and weakly hold his wrist, your thumb pressing into his pulse point.

This is always how your story was meant to go. You are destined to die at the hands of a greater predator – just as your father before you. How foolish of you to dream otherwise. How naive.

“I am what they made me,” you admit softly.

“Stop.” Peter shakes your shoulder and your eyes snap open with a pained, sharp wince. “Stop acting like this is goodbye. I need you to fight this, Huntress. I need…” He swallows and his eyes are bright, almost glassy when they meet yours. “I need you.”

A thousand arguments jump to your tongue but you don’t have the energy to articulate them. The tempestuous pull of oblivion laps at your consciousnesses like the swell of the sea. It would be so easy to let go, to release, and to succumb. So, so easy. No more pain. No more doubts about your place in the world. No more pacing around your apartment waiting for the next call to action. No more desperate searching for your father’s half-brother. You don’t even understand why you want to find him.

‘I don’t want to be alone anymore,’ you think in a shock of clarity (it seems near-death has its uses). Your eyelashes flutter. The lull of the void sings her siren’s call to you. It would be so, so easy to let go.

“You aren’t alone,” Peter says urgently. Oh fuck. You said it out loud. How does this keep happening? How does he keep effortlessly pulling the truth from you? Your defenses are good. They’re well-built and maintained and nobody has ever, ever managed to get past them.

Until him.

“Listen to me,” he says your name sweetly and desperately. Usually, that tone is reserved for when you’re lost in the throes of each other's skin, and so, you do as he wishes. You force your eyes to remain open, and you hold his gaze even though it feels like he’s burning you with it, and you grip his wrist tighter – let him be your anchor, your tether, to this wicked, heartless world.

“When I lost Harry, and when I lost Aunt May, I thought I’d never...be capable of finding someone like you...and I was afraid to let someone get close. And I’m terrified...I am so fucking scared that I’m going to lose you. I don’t want to lose you,” he says your name again as if to punctuate his sentence.

“I don’t care about your family, or your history, or any of it. I care about you. So, stay. I’m asking you to stay. Please. Please stay,” he says through his tears and you clumsily reach forward, gripping the front of his suit, and pulling him weakly toward you. You press your forehead against his. His expression fractures with tenderness and it presses into your skin like a hot, sizzling brand.

“Apply pressure to the wound,” you whisper, tasting blood and salt, “and keep me talking.”

He does as you ask and you do as he asks. For the second time in your life when Spider-Man asks you to stay – you do.

[yeloenk]

“i don’t get why people think bullying is okay”

why are you… acting like you didn’t look over the list and post it. you’re part of the bullying problem too.

you don’t just post a list of peoples names for funsies and later go “oh oopsie! bullying is bad!!” like you didn’t participate

i thought you were really cool. this is really disappointing to see, man.

again,

i want to clarify that i answered the anon list with the intentions of others using as a block list. a list people can use to know who to avoid, just spreading awareness. i genuinely do not think bullying is okay? i didn't know people would use it as a hitlist or anything like that before people let me know. i knew hitlists existed, yes, but it did not cross my mind people would use it as one or that it even was one. i'm not used to being caught up in stuff like this, i've always purposefully kept myself in a pretty sheltered corner of the internet so i wouldn't get involved in potentially dangerous things.

i did take a hand in encouraging harassment, but please, understand it was unintentional. i've already explained why i answered the list and apologized—i also immediately deleted the list after seeing people tell me how it had misinformation and that people could potentially use it for witch-hunting. you're acting like i kept it up and never acknowledged my mistake. i didn't just go "oopsie!" and ignore what happened.

don't make assumptions about me. i've been a victim of bullying throughout my teen years, and in no way do i think it's okay. it can do serious damage to a person. i really did think the anon was spreading it as a blocklist. i did carelessly post it without thinking, which was absolutely my bad and i take accountability for it. but calling me a bully for a one-time unintentional thing like that is ridiculous.

you can feel free to unfollow/block me if you wish, but i'm not gonna sit here and let people make remarks on my character like this. i'm sorry if you think i'm a bully, but i'm not. i know my mistake of participating in encouraging harassment was a big one, and i am ashamed i didn't do any research prior to answering the anon. i would never want any harm to come to anybody because of me, or in general.

plus... i'm not acting like i was never a part of the issue. i acknowledged it and took responsibility for what i did. what i did was not okay. my apology is literally two posts down if you scroll on my blog for a few seconds. it's your choice to accept the apology, but blantantly lying and acting like i'm pretending to not have been a part of the problem is plain silly.

[whcwashe]

Hello, Welcome, Hi --

So given that this blog has been around since .... like, literally before the premier of the NBC show because I'm a maniac who saw it at SDCC - Liv has gone through a long, long evolution. Some of you (most of you) have been here throughout that time, but if you haven't - I figured I'd list out some of the more important bits of world building that I've done. Eventually I'll make sure I link this in some kind of searchable fashion, but for now - take a peak under the cut for your basic Liv related facts. Also bear in mind that I can flex this to fit her into non-show canon, and the whole thing is a mesh of research and script reading, as well as bits pulled from the initial comic inspiration.

There is no organization here really, apologies in advance.

AGE: 27 at the time of the pilot episode.

Parents: Georgia Aberdine and Jasper Winters. As best as I can tell, Liv was likely born when they were young, likely around 20-22. Jasper panicked and took off before she was born in an attempt to keep Liv safe, but he stayed close by. The pilot script mentions that he had all of her school pictures hidden in the mill house, so he was keeping an active eye on her - it's why the mill house was build in Atlanta.

We can guess - from info pulled from the pilot - that it's likely that Jasper attempted to block the development of Liv's abilities through magic. My assumption is that Jasper likely died within 6 months of the pilot episode, which is why her abilities suddenly start to appear. Without Jasper keeping that magic active, the block dissolved - hence why she suddenly 'wakes up' as John puts it. It is also possible that Manny put the entire thing into action himself, and found a way to dissolve the block and 'wake' liv up, simply for the purpose of kicking John back into action. This is unresolved by the pilot, but regardless - her abilities are unlikely to go back to sleep just because she's out of the picture.

Liv's abilities: While the pilot puts a heavy emphasis on Jasper's amulet - which Liv leaves behind - the amulet is not the source of her abilities. It simply focuses it. It's likely that leaving the amulet behind slowed things down some, as she's got no one to teach her how to harness the abilities once she leaves Georgia. But the scripts seem to indicate that Jasper was likely the most powerful psychic on earth prior to his death, which means none of that's going to go away just because she left some jewelry behind. Her abilities continue to develop regardless, and likely in a much more confusing fashion. If she goes back to Atlanta, and reclaims the mill house - it's likely she'd learn how to properly use them. If not -- well, god speed to her.

Her abilities seem to vary quite a bit, but I've always boiled it down to:

A. the abilities to see each layer of the universe - ghosts, demons, the worlds underneath ours, above ours, hidden from ours, etc. As viewed in the pilot - the more her abilities develop, the weirder color gets - it seems likely that she loses the ability to see color the way we see it. Things become much more gray toned if she's fully locked in. B. the ability to track and predict trouble via scrying, mostly by using her own blood to pinpoint magical occurrences. This does, unfortunately, require opening a vein. Or many. Magic always comes at a cost, her cost is unfortunately blood. C. She's likely to be a strong magic user - if anyone teaches her how to harness it.

The Mill House/Jasper: Jasper is heavily based upon Baron Winters from Night Force. Baron Winters is .... well, a complicated dude. Possibly connected to Adam and Eve, as well as Lillith and the serpent. His job, more or less, is to balance the forces between Good and Evil (Which is likely a job that Liv would have had to inherit from him). He has an immortal pet leopard named Merlin. Who may actually be Merlin, it's hard to say.

Does this mean that there might be a leopard wandering the Mill House?

Yes. At least if we're playing around in a more comic oriented universe. OR MAYBE HE'S THERE JUST FOR FUNSIES, WHY NOT.

The Mill House is also heavily based upon Wintersgate Manor. The Manor in itself is .... crazy. It serves as a gateway to different locations, time periods, and dimensions. It literally has a doorway to the Garden of Eden in it. If we combine our information, basically this means the house can be anywhere, at any time, in any dimension. It changes as it sees fit, and per the script - holds the largest stock of magical items on earth. It seems likely that Jasper was collecting items for safekeeping and holding them in the house. It has anything and everything you can think of, including a room that you can change to .... well, whatever you desire most at that moment.

Post Pilot: I look at it as two separate universes, one in which she stays put (because lbr, she almost certainly would have had they not decided to write her off) and one in which she flees to California. If she stays, well .... the mill house is hers, and hopefully John gives in and actually teaches her how to use her abilities.

If she flees .... well, it's almost inevitable that she eventually comes back. The pull would likely be too strong, paired with the guilt of leaving, and the fact that she can't contain her abilities even if she wants to. If she DOES go to California, the bottom line is that she'd likely be diagnosed with schizophrenia and medically institutionalized. And even if she's not -- well, there's a heavy dose of PTSD that comes with watching 5+ people die in rapid succession around you just because they happened to be near her. Furthermore, the survivors guilt would pack a wallop, and the pull to finally figure out who she is, and where she came from.

At the end of the day, her destiny is probably inevitable. She'll end up back at the Mill House one way or another. It's just a matter of time.

[cogitxre]

TASK 2.5 :: THE ITEM.

DURING THE INTERROGATION . . .

{ ✦ } Several items were found missing from THE TRAGEDY's quarters. Did you take anything that belonged to them? Did you see them in possession of anyone else?

Milo processes the list, foot tapping.

"I don't know anything about most of these."

A truth. He had never placed much interest into Vincent's private affects. His eyebrows furrow, trying to recall any of them.

"The last place I saw the watch was…on Vincent, I believe; so if it wasn't there at his death, that may be a good place to start."

A likely assumption. He didn't know it to be true, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was. A small hesitation elapses, the pause stretching for more than a few seconds.

"…the vial, I found. It was lying on a table in the museum—but I don't know who placed it there. I didn't even know it was Vince's."

All true, mostly. This early in the game, it was better to build up a rapport with honesty than it was to try and turn the tables on the masters' heads.

"And I took it, yes. I've been trying to decipher the symbol on the front. No luck as of right now, but…I could always let you know if I find anything."

The offer hangs from his lips, bouncing off a half-raised shoulder. When the other woman betrays her answer, eyes darting to his hands, his pockets—he has to resist the urge to smile.

"Ah…it's not on me, I'm afraid. Apologies." TRUTH.

AFTER THAT NIGHT . . .

torn from the pages of a journal entry of one Milo Foss.

– vial: found within the scales of Lady Justice. – depositor: unknown. – liquid: clear, green tinge, viscous. tends to "ooze" in drips and drops. – unable to test prior to interrogation; was moved away from equipment soon after. tests have not gotten far. – research: symbol on outside. appears to be alchemical in origin, though the exact definition remains elusive. clearly obscure. further research is required. – final results: inconclusive.

[drdemonprince]

I should probably preface this by saying that this is a genuine question, not an attempt to "own" anyone, not a troll, etc. I'm genuinely curious and interested: Has there been any good scientific studies done on the question "Does having a kink about a 'problematic' subject, reading about it, fantazising about it, roleplaying it, etc., make a person more or less likely to do that problematic thing in real life?" Do you know of any good research papers or articles on the subject? Maybe it's a whole field of study?

I feel like if I ever (god help me) would have to defend a position of "other people's kinks, no matter how disgusted they might make me feel personally, are none of my business" to someone, it would be useful to have some kind empirical science to point towards.

Again, I'm not trying to be a jerk saying "source, please?", I'm genuinely interested in reading about it.

So a good place to start here is in thinking about how this kind of topic gets data collected about it. So if you're wondering about the relationship between, for example, fantasizing about bestiality and actually abusing animals, your primary way of being able to study actual, real-world behavioral outcomes would be to identify a source of data on acts of bestiality...which would almost exclusively come from the police state. If you really wanted to study who actually does commit these acts and what their history was, you'd have to look at people who were convicted for having committed animal abuse of a sexual nature.

The problem is, that data isn't necessarily representative of what abuse actually occurs and how often. The police aren't trustworthy, the carceral justice system is profoundly unjust, not every person gets investigated or tried fairly, and even if all those systems DID operate justly and fairly, you'd still be missing all the people who never got caught. And we know that since these systems are racist, classist, ableist, etc, that they are not 'catching' real offenders from all groups equally. Poor & Black people who have committed these acts are most likely to get caught, rich & white ones least likely. And so the data is skewed.

This is FURTHER complicated by the fact that even if you do look at this data, you are only seeing the people who *have* harmed animals sexually, not the people that haven't, and so that is going to be susceptible to confirmation bias of your prior assumptions and not be representative of the whole population if you use it to draw conclusions. So, for instance, if you look at the porn habits of every person who has been convicted for bestiality, you will probably find a lot of bestiality porn (both fantasy and real) in their histories. Okay, not surprising... but of the average people watching this porn, how many actually go on to offend and how many don't? We have no way of knowing. And because such an activity is so stigmatized (and in the case of real porn, itself illegal), you're going to not be able to get self-report surveys from the general population on this.

If you did try to give out surveys on this kind of stuff, you might be forced to report any of your respondents who did admit to doing something illegal. It wouldn't really pass most ethics boards to do this research at all.

So you can see why this is such a shadowy field of discussion. The thing to keep in mind is that the number of people who do get arrested for things like bestiality, child sexual abuse (especially the kind that is driven by an attraction to children rather than your garden variety case of a parent abusing their power over their kids in multiple ways, including sexual, but the sex is incidental), etc are very small. These are vanishingly uncommon crimes. and we can't really trust the police state to give us reputable information on this. and it is very hard for scientists to study well, and most who study it do approach it in a pretty sensationalistic way.

So, to answer your question, yes you can hop onto google scholar and dig around for studies on 'paraphilias' and their relationship to criminal offenses, but most of it is going to be profiles of people locked in mental health institutions and jails that SOUNDS super scary and fucking disgusting but is not a good reflection of whatever the hell is going on in the actual world. I think it's evident that a hell of a lot more people are fantasizing about this stuff than are offenders. Especially if we are drawing a distinction between fantasy and porn that depicts actual abuse. The people drawing dogs fucking on like deviant art or whatever probably do not pose any actual threat to real animals 99.99% of the time.

And if and when a person with a desire to DOES harm animals, it is because of the legal construction of animals as property that it is possible for them to do so. once again power is the root of the crime. more than a 'paraphilia' making someone like, evil. a lot of this stuff is values based and a philosophical case about how the world works rather than a specific statistical claim. but the number of real offenses that happen are so vanishingly thin that we could barely empirically study them anyway -- it's too small a sample size, and there is no ability to locate comparison groups of non-offenders who share these kinks.

I hope this helps answer your question. Obviously I am using bestiality as one example here but you could apply this to CNC and rape porn, child abuse and age play porn, etc etc.

[summerlycoris]

The facts about Vanessa’s history prior to Security Breach. (And a summary of the different companies involved in AR and HW.)

I won’t lie, this (hopefully!) effortpost was prompted by watching Dual Processes latest video about Vanessa, where they state that ‘In AR, Vanessa pretends to be an IT Rep to trick Silver Parasol Games into giving her full access to the game.’ Which was… interesting, to me. Because it showed Vanessa’s email to Steve Wilson, who works for Anna Kwemto, who works for…

We don’t actually know the company she, or her underlings, work for.

Anyway, this isn’t made to target any specific people- Dual Processes’s video about Vanessa is brilliant (no spoilers- go watch it!) despite my quibbles at the very start. And the corporate chains in HW and AR, are confusing and easily mistaken- to the point the fnaf wikia has a lot of errors I needed to shift through while researching this topic…

I’ll lay all my chips on the table straight up- I had to find out a lot of Vanessa's backstory just before Ruin released, because I wasn’t really following fnaf until after Ruin was announced. I’d dipped around the HW days.

But I’d noticed a fair bit that, because few people played AR, and even those who did play AR likely didn’t see all the emails, that there are a lot of assumptions about who works for who, and who does what. False info that led me into believing a lot of misleading information about Vanessa before I looked into it more.

This misinfo even goes as far back as HW- do you think Vanessa works for Silver Parasol Games in HW? It’s a common belief- but I think it’s a misconception. And I’ve brought proof to the table.

Anyway, the point of this is to lay out anything about who works for who, and where they work. Because corporate chains are complicated, in a series that is already complicated enough!

First things first, what companies are we dealing with?

Well, there’s Silver Parasol Games. Which gets shut down and brought out during HW’s development. (Tape Girls Tapes- 1, 10, 15) I’m not gonna try to put years of operation because… no. But I do need to make it clear it shuts down prior to Vanessa beta testing the game.

People working at this company named in HW include Dale, Jeremy, and Tape Girl. If you go off the scrapped fake website for Silver Parasol Games, then the company also includes Gabriella, Tonya, and Aiden. (One of the two girls is likely Tape Girl.)

There is also Another Potential Development Studio, which is unnamed but suggested to be buying out Silver Parasol Games. (Tapes 10, 15). We don’t know much about this company other than Vanessa must work here during HW. [She never mentions a boss, or coworkers with this company.]

For AR, there is Anna Kwemto’s company, which is a subcontractor working for Fazbear Entertainment. It goes unnamed in AR.

The people working at this company include Anna Kwemto, Daniel Rocha, Raha Salib, Steve Wilson, and Mark Cho.

DLZ Shipping Solutions- a company that shipped animatronics parts to… they don’t say which company. But we at least know which person- Lisa Jameson (regional director of logistics for an unknown company.)

Their employees include Jimmy Hauss, (before getting fired) and James Strand.

Fazbear Entertainment- has a variety of teams and job positions. I’ll try to list them all here, though not in order of operation sorry. Kayla Stringer- Legal. Vanessa A- Security. Luis Cabrera- IT. Shonda Ford- legal. Greg Abernathy- IT. Dan Ximenez- IT. Jerome Khan- Accounting. James Campbell- IT. Todd C- Office Staff. Aiden Jackson- IT. Ivan Gagarin- Accounting. Diannah Larimore- Marketing (laid off). Maria A- Marketing (laid off.). Cheryl M- Office Staff. Anand G- Legal.

All from here on out have unknown job roles- Kenneth Freeman, Christie Buckley, Ben Pulley, Karen Soto, Brenda Tanaka, Stanley Howser, Jack Sims, Jay Murphy, Charles Ramirez. Jim Campbell.

There are also basic login details from some unknown people, from another unnamed company in ‘Security Incident Log- September.’ They are J_B and A_L.

There are also more workers who don’t have a specific company they’re tied to- but are working with the Funtime Service. These include Nora- R&D. Tristan- Compliance. Charles- QA. Isolde- Customer Service.

Okay. So that’s the raw data. Kowalski- analysis!

Jim and James Campbell are… interesting. They could be brothers. They could just have the same last name. They could just be a mistake- someone misspelling a name and accidentally making two characters where there should be one.

Honestly, I’m assuming it’s a mistake. AR was being made in that timeframe where Scott was pretty hands off about the story, and barely communicating with Steel Wool about SB. This is likely just a mistake that no one cared enough about enough to notice or correct. Like Luis being in IT in AR, then in Marketing in SB. Without any foreshadowing that he was transferring.

I wish they’d clarified which company Lisa Jameson, Nora, Tristan, Charles and Isolde worked for- or if they worked together, even. It sounds like they all work with the funtime service, based on the emails. But I can’t be sure of it, because none of the Nora/Tristan/Isolde/Charles emails reference Lisa, and vise versa.

*sighs*

It’d be useful to know if they work for Anna Kwemto’s company, Fazbear Entertainment, or somewhere else entirely. Because that’s the key to figuring out whether Anna Kwemto’s lot were scanning circuit boards for game development (unlikely for the timeline- but as said in the Jim and James rant- Scott wasn’t communicating with his teams. And its unlikely Steel Wool was communicating with Illumix either.) Or whether they were scanning circuit boards to recreate animatronics for the funtime service.

If Lisa was working for Anna- then it’s fairly cut and dry. They’re working in a warehouse storing animatronics, with an office attached for more hands-off staff.

If Lisa was working for Fazbear Entertainment in-house, then that leaves the possibility that Anna Kwemto’s lot weren’t running the Funtime Service. (Since Lisa’s emails imply her warehouse has ‘active animatronics’ too- including Bonnie eating a cat… which… I could’ve done without knowing thanks game.) And the Nora/etc emails explicitely talks about the new animatronics being sent out with the Funtime Service.

Also, sucks not knowing for sure who and where from J_B and A_L are. I’m assuming that they’re unnamed people from Fazbear Entertainment’s IT department- considering when Vanessa hijacks herself an IT email address, it has the same layout (V_A). But it’s not confirmed and no one with these initials is written as working for Fazbear. (Unless I missed something- please let me know!)

With Anna Kwemto’s company- it scans circuit boards of animatronics, which is why people might confuse them with Silver Parasol Games. However, they are never stated to be involved in game development. And by the time Vanessa has left Another Potential Development Studio to join Fazbear Entertainment, Silver Parasol Games should no longer exist as a separate entity. (Considering it was going to be bought out by Another Potential Development Studio while Vanessa was working there.) Timeline-wise, Anna Kwemto being the head of Silver Parasol Games doesn’t add up. And circuit boards could be scanned for a variety of reasons- say, if you’re making replicas of old animatronics for the funtime service.

(But that’s getting into speculation- while it’s implied they’re a subcontractor running the Funtime Service for Fazbear in the emails, there’s no explicit proof. Only the email from Raha Salib to the rest of the crew talking about an unknown user giving commands to all ‘active animatronics’ really gives us a hint to them running the Funtime Service. And that doesn’t neccesarily mean active animatronics are from the Funtime Service.)

‘Where are you getting a timeline from Summerly?’ from the games.

Vanessa gets infected by Glitchtrap, because circuit boards are sent to Silver Parasol Games and scanned into the Freddy Fazbear Virtual Experience. (The in universe VR game Vanessa’s working on) Vanessa can’t start being possessed by Vanny and acting weird around Luis before she get’s possessed- so HW must happen before the storyline events of AR.

During the story of AR, Vanessa (most likely Vanny puppeting her) locks out all of Anna’s workers, including Anna, after they scan some circuit boards and got a virus. Because they’ve been locked out, all ‘active animatronics’ become impossible to control. Around this time, either Vanny or GGY sends out a data package using a new account- ‘_pizzaplex’ that presumably 1. Targets the pizzaplex currently in the process of either being built or operating, and 2. Infects the animatronics there.

(Again- Scott was hands off during this time. I know this contradicts The Storyteller.)

If it was any other way around, Vanessa wouldn’t be infected with Glitchtrap during AR. She’d just be… being extremely weird for no good reason. Doesn’t make sense storywise.

Ultimately, these random companies and workers aren’t important except for acting as reference points- who works where and whos coworkers with who?

The important part is Vanessa. And this post does have something to say about Vanessa. Mainly, what I’ve already included- no, she did not work for Silver Parasol Games. But also something I had falsely believed prior to doing this research- she didn’t work at Fazbear Entertainment before working as a security guard there during AR, either. Or at least, that’s never proven. She works for the company that buys out Silver Parasol Games. Then probably job hops between games, to get into a position that is more useful for Glitchtrap. A position at Fazbear Entertainment.

It’s never explicitly stated that Vanessa (or Vanny) is sending the tutorial emails to customers of the funtime service. But considering the focus on collecting remnant, the sender being ‘FAZ//...AR ENT##AIN_!MENT’, and the repetitions of ‘funFUNFUNfun’ and similar throughout those emails… It’s likely Vanny is sending out those emails after hijacking the funtime service animatronics. (Which would explain why she wanted to work at FazEnt, and why she locked out Anna Kwemto’s lot if they were running the Funtime Service animatronics for FazEnt.) Basically, in order to control the animatronics, she needed to control the subcontractor (s) and have a position in FazEnt to exploit.

Why did she want to control the animatronics? Remnant, probably. The modified emails sent from ‘FAZ//...AR ENT##AIN_!MENT talk about collecting remnant. And some of the animatronics sent out through the Funtime Service emulate the Funtime Animatronics… like Funtime Freddy and Circus Baby. Who would have stomach hatches, if whoever replicated them didn’t think too hard about what they were building.

Basically, Vanny needed remnant. Possibly for rebuilding Afton. Possibly for fixing the Mimic. She could risk herself getting remnant personally… or she could get some machines to do it for her. These machines would also be useful for, say, disposing of some meddling therapists at a later date.

This may even explain what the scooper's there for in Ruin. Vanny may have been using the scooper on the Funtime Service rentals to receive their remnant after they killed someone.

Anyway, that’s all I got for now.

[taxmacabre]

Chernow: A Bad Historian?

Though better historians/researchers than myself have posted aplenty on the speculative nonsense Ron Chernow gets up to in his biographies, he sometimes still gets praise for his work. Yes, sure, he's bad at his conclusions, but he's a good historian.

Right?

I would argue, no. Not even close.

His sources seem extensive, and can certainly serve as a jumping board for the budding historian - but he cannot be trusted. Even his sources are sometimes either lied about (directly or through subterfuge), edited, or plain untrue. Let me take two pages as an example in his biography of Alexander Hamilton, page 74-75.

Midway through the first page, he states,

"Hamilton had already informed his distant St. Croix readers, "This city is at present evacuated by above one half of its inhabitants under the influence of a general panic.""

He then gives a source - a source, however, which has not proven to be Hamilton at all. This is a similar mistake he made on p.68, 69 and 72 (that he drew wild assumptions about Hamilton's disposition and opinions on, unsubstantiated as his source is dubious). It wouldn't be this harmful of a thing to do, if the exact same source which he blatantly pretends must be Hamilton, just because it was printed in the Royal Danish Gazette, addressed from an anonymous New York soldier, wasn't used again and again and again.

Michael Newton does a better job than I do in proving that these were not, in fact, written by Hamilton. In his book (Alexander Hamilton: The Formative Years, Ch.13), he explains that the anonymous letter attributed to Hamilton by Chernow had been published previously in London newspapers, and just reprinted for the Danish Gazette. Chernow's entire argument for why it obviously must be H, falls through.

Then, Chernow states that in April 1776 (where the current narrative of the book is at) that Washington stayed at a Hudson River mansion called Richmond Hill. Fair enough. But then follows a wild assumption; that Burr visited Washington in that house, quit it in disgust, and wrote this letter (this is the one Chernow cites here!) - a letter which was written more than a full year later, and has no mention or reference to Burr visiting him at Headquarters.

We do know that Burr was appointed aide-de-camp of Genl Putnam on June 22, 1776, as seen in this General Order. He later joins Col. William Malcom's regiment, as seen here. This appointment is what the above letter was in reference to - not, as Chernow assumes, about Burr potentially meeting Washington in New York.

Not only that, but Chernow continues,

"Something about Aaron Burr - his penchant for intrigue, a lack of sufficient deference, perhaps his insatiable chasing after women - grated on George Washington."

What? Where does he get any of this information? From the fact that this letter - the same letter that happens a year after Chernow alleges it took place - went unanswered? As usual, this speculative nonsense goes unsourced. Chernow wants Burr to be the antithesis of Hamilton, the villain of this sordid tale - and he is willing to make up facts and bend the truth to make this happen.

[If anyone can find the source for Burr's supposed few week sojourn at Washington's headquarters as ADC and subsequent firing by the Genl, please, let me know. I can find plenty of other sites and books repeating this, but no source is ever given.]

At the top of page 75, he mentions (assuredly) that in June, 1776;

"Hamilton gallantly led a nighttime attack of one hundred men against the Sandy Hook lighthouse outside New York harbor."

No one but Chernow has ever asserted that Hamilton led this attack. Neither Hamilton himself nor any of his contemporaries mention his involvement, let alone his leadership.

Instead, this attack was led by Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Tupper. (Who, a year prior, had already led a mission against this same lighthouse). He wrote what happened after the attack on the lighthouse to Washington on June 21st,

"I advanced within 150 yards of the light-house in so secret a manner that my party was undiscovered, I advanced with an officer and desired to speak with the commanding officer, and after a few words he fired several shots at me, but as God would have it, he mist me. I returned to my party and ordered the artillery to play, which continued for about an hour, but found the walls so thick as to make no impression."

Here's some more information on this.

Yes, he sources a great many things - but clearly, that does not make it a reliable piece of work. And remind you - this is barely 1,5 page of closer scrutiny.

So, sure, read his work, as his is one of the few complete cradle-to-grave biographies out there on the subject (for now). But oh god, be careful. Don't trust a thing coming out of this man's mouth. Don't trust the Pulitzer he won. Do your homework, and stay vigilant.