#bc it feels actively ridiculous to say the truth which is that i spent like 12 hours typing on my computer and no i cant tell you anything

[hideyseek]

im free !!!!!!!! all my documence combined into one document now! now i have. 12 days to write another draft. you will be hearing from me again

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

[darkgeminisworld]

This is gonna be a rant about a probably toxic friend so if you don't wanna read it, this is a heads up.

Okay so for several reasons, most of them being that I need to move on, I decided to write this lengthy rant about a friend I'm pretty sure will not be a friend of mine for much longer, which sucks bc he's almost my only irl friend but also feels good bc he's exhausting and I'm pretty sure he's also toxic.

I've met this guy like 6 and a half years ago, and we pretty much bonded over shared interests pretty fast. The first thing that bothered me was that he'd always be late, which would be absolutely fine if he'd been honest about it. But writing that it's five minutes until he's there and then showing up 30 minutes after that, or writing "I'm on your doorstep" and taking another ten minutes to show up, almost every single time, isn't, especially since I strained to be on time the first months (meaning I'd be too early bc my brain only does too early or too late, nothing in between). And his being late wasn't just 20 or 30 minutes, several times he was over an hour late. Oh, and once when we had agreed to meet he legit wasn't home and I waited around 2 hours, which I really should have held a grudge for back then and been way more pissed at him.

The second thing that bothered me was that he was way too nosy. He'd ask if I'm free to meet and play video games or whatever and whenever I said no he'd ask what I'm doing and if I can't manage my time another way to make time for him. And the thing is, not only did I not ask several times after he told me that he's busy that day, but I actively told him, several times over the course of about the last two years, that it bothers me and asked him to tone it down. My problem here is only that he didn't stop after I asked him to, bc before I told him and asked him, how was he supposed to know.

Coming out to him went well, though he did ask me whether I'm into him, which... No. Obviously it could've gone a lot worse, but still.

The next is more a small annoyance, a small itch, although it might have been a warning sign. He couldn't handle defeat very well. In most video games he was better, but he low-key aggressively denied it when I pointed out the win-lose ratio in my all-time favourite video game series and he'd try to cheat at other games. If it was only about him being competitive I'd understand, but that doesn't mean trying to rewrite the past by blatantly lying about it and ridiculing me for pointing out that that's bullshit, especially since it's only games, played for the fun of it.

We also went to the cinema sometimes, though if it had been up to him it'd have been way more often and that's another point where he really didn't let it go after getting a no. Whether he wanted to watch a horror movie after being told, several times, that I really don't like horror movies, or just the general question of whether we'd be going to the cinema, he'd ask again and ask what I'm doing, why did I not want to go, would another time be good, couldn't I ask my parents for money (which, to be fair, I could have. But I preferred not to bc back then it was really stressful bc we had to move and renovate and I just didn't wanna add more frustration if that makes sense? Plus I wanted to get my hands on some things, which required to save up) etc. Almost every time we did end up going, it was he who initiated it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanted to see some of the movies just as badly as he did, but... And if he can't even accept "no" from a friend of several years (also a 100% guy friend as far as he is aware bc I didn't start to address gender issues with him), I'm worried about other contexts with that word. Also we did some kind of text role play (just texting back and forth with OCs inserted into several fantasy works like the Inheritance Cycle, who would parttake in the storyline, no set rulebook or anything) and his characters did some questionable and even outright deplorable things and when I wanted his character to suffer consequences, he always wanted him to get away with it. Like, his idea for one of his characters "pranking" mine in reaction to a prank which in itself was a retaliation to his character's pranks was kidnapping and waterboarding my character. And he kept defending it as a prank and demanded that my character should just forgive his character, like... It really made (and continues to make) me wonder and worry just how much of his darker thoughts I don't know about. And I don't know how accurate it is but I once saw a post with a quote that went along the lines of "man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." (btw I couldn't think of a satisfactory way to phrase it so I ended up looking up the quote and apparently it's from Oscar Wilde)

So I spent a fair amount of time arguing with him over that and trying to explain to the best of my ability why it was wrong, and for some time it went better.

Fast forward a few months to the blm protests or more specifically news coverage of it and info I sent him. He defended cops and blamed the protestors and even justified the atrocities of the cops, so that was the first instance where we had a huge fight. I practically drowned him in links and videos etc and some weeks into that I thought I'd managed to get through to him (Spoiler: I didn't really get through to him) so I kept it in mind but continued to have contact with him and everything (bc at the time I didn't know that I didn't really get through as much as I thought).

From there on it pretty much went downhill. We had been thinking about doing a trip to London for a few days (his idea but at the time I really wanted to go, it was around 2 years ago when I still practically worshipped that one author, she who must not be named) and to this very day he's not letting it go completely. Even though the pandemic puts lots of obstacles in the way and I have more important things to worry about, namely final exams and applications. Even though London is expensive as shit and I still have no way to earn money atm. And about the vacation, I finally canceled last summer (and gave the aforementioned reasons) and he completely lost his shit and got super aggressive, insulted me and tried to guilt-trip me into taking that back and agreeing to still go on that vacation with him. Then we got into another fight where he wanted me to cancel the vacation with my grandparents, which was already planned and booked and everything in order to make time for the vacation I'd already said I don't want to go on with him anymore and aggressively demanded (he didn't ask, he sent a demand and bombarded me with exclamation marks) to know when exactly I'd be going on vacation with them. Then he went offline after I refused and ignored the next few messages I sent him and only replied when I asked "what I'd I reconsidered my stance on the trip?". I mean, baiting him with that definitely was shitty of me, but the result showed that that was basically what he wanted, pressure me into still going on that vacation. That specific conflict had been going on for weeks, bc despite me telling him that it's counterproductive and detrimental to my mental health to increase the pressure and therefore my anxiety about getting a job to pay for the trip, he kept pressuring me while acknowledging that he's giving me lots of pressure and anxiety and even using that against me.

He also didn't acknowledge that most times we try to meet, he goes offline for hours before replying and disappearing again. That would be absolutely fine if he didn't accuse me of doing that, which btw is his standard technique and it took me a long time to realize that. He always tries to shift the blame to make me look like the one at fault, and he always, always demands that I apologize when we had a fight via WhatsApp.

And when I started enforcing my boundaries and telling him to stop asking again and again why I can't meet, what I'm doing, or demanding other explanations, he started to attack me for the kind of language I use, so when I'm ever so slightly sarcastic he immediately latches onto that and creates a new conflict.

But this still isn't all, oh no. He's also basically an ecofascist, and is fully okay with sacrificing social justice to save the environment, completely choosing to ignore that the people he's protecting are the ones at fault and that the ppl who contribute the least are the ones experiencing the hardest ecological consequences.

He's said multiple times that he thinks both sides are equally bad, in the context of left and right in general as well as antifascism and fascism and that he doesn't "condone the oppressed defending themselves with any means necessary" bc that, too, would include violence. He's defending the "right to free speech" even when right-wingers say really disgusting shit, he disagrees with prohibiting demonstrations of ppl who think that Corona is a hoax, he has zero empathy for ppl who are affected, who suffer long-term consequences from infections, not even for ppl who die from it (he literally said "people die anyway, that doesn't justify imprisoning everyone else") and somehow still thinks he has the moral high ground.

And the last bit he did was explaining to me, from his endocisallohet white guy perspective, how I'm "not discriminated against" bc gay ppl in my country can get married (only since 2017 btw) and when I, despite the fact that I shouldn't have had to and that it was a real blow to my mental health, wrote him a message that was almost the length of an essay, he calmly started to question my replies with the detachedness of someone who's discussing whether pineapple belongs on pizza and demanding further explanation. To top it off, he said that marginalized ppl have to always reply to everyone calmly and politely, no matter if it was offensive bc the person asking might be unaware of that. Otherwise, he said, everyone would be right to stop listening to us. Like, he literally said that we don't deserve human rights if we're not licking the boots of our oppressors if that way of thinking is followed through to the end.

I almost forgot, he also thinks that white ppl should have a say in whether something is a racist slur, or whether something is racist in general (we're both white, but at least I'm trying my best to unlearn what my upbringing taught me instead of being the cliché of the white person who goes "how dare you call me racist, I've never been more insulted in my whole life!", which is basically his reaction)

So up until this last fight, I conceded some ground to him to end the fights and keep him as a "friend" not only bc I feel horrible when I imagine losing one of my only irl friends but also bc I was hoping I could get through to him and educate him, to the best of my ability, on how to be a good ally to marginalized people. But the disregard with which he treats my explanations why the way he talked (wrote) about marginalized people is absolutely not okay and the fact that he just told me that he genuinely doesn't see how he did anything wrong even after I explained it to him in detail is just too much to bear at this point.

Oh, and while looking through the chat to prove him a liar I found that apparently, to him a promise is a promise, no matter whether it was given under pressure or voluntarily, so do with that what you will.

[hcllenic]

(DOUGLAS BOOTH, CIS MALE) - Have you seen APOLLO DEMETRIUS BLACKTHORN?  APOLLO is in HIS SENIOR year. The HISTORY MAJOR is 23 years old & is  a SCORPIO. People say HE is CREATIVE, INDEPENDENT, CALLOUS and CYNICAL.  Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog  that HE IS NOT HIS FATHER’S BIOLOGICAL SON.

content warnings for death, drug use ?? i think thats it

he’s cupid’s brother

from a very wealthy family that rose to prominence around 1921, taking power in a variety of places. kind of like the kennedys. likely cursed. apollo claims he doesn’t believe in said curse, but the truth is more that he doesn’t want to believe in the curse.

moves from highs to lows really quickly – one week he’s extremely extroverted and ready to fight god and the next he’s alone in his dorm ignoring a paper in the name of wondering if he actually has an identity beneath the one that seems to just have been formed to get his family’s attention / approval / warmth

is honestly very defensive – i don’t mean in arguments, but rather when it comes to relationships. he’s the first one to cut and run because he tends to anticipate the fall before it happens. he tells himself he doesn’t care about his siblings because he’s honestly convinced they would sell his soul to satan for one corn chip.

nothing is eternal and he really knows this – he’s constantly waiting for death to come ‘round the corner. or something else, equally dramatic.

bit of a morbid sense of humour that not everyone appreciates.

almost has this idea that the rest of his siblings are gonna have to die if he wants to end up happy and successful which he KNOWS is absolutely wrong and not productive at all but like.... that shitty luck <3

grew up, for the most part, at his parent’s estate in romania but he really liked to travel and would do so often, after he turned sixteen

he thought he’d found a loophole around the curse / bad luck / whatever u wanna call it by simply not dating but this girl he was like FULLY in love w died in a hunting accident when he was fourteen over summer break (they’d met at boarding school) and he was like. hm. fuck. could be unrelated but.... hm.

so now if he has feelings for someone he just panics. he figured out he was bi and doesn’t really have that much internalized homophobia but he DOES have internalized cursephobia. if he thinks he’s into someone regardless of their gender he’ll ghost them or start a fight w them intentionally or start deliberately trying to notice their flaws

found out he wasn’t his father’s son bc he found a letter his mom wrote to his actual father which was never sent

he burned the letter because, at the time, he was terrified of anyone else finding out. he’s pretty sure it was the only evidence.

SUCH a hedonist. he will do whatever he thinks is the most entertaining until a deadline shows up at which point it’s time for apollo to take a ridiculous amount of adderall and finish a ten page paper in three hours. they’re often riddled with spelling mistakes but they have made some good points. he HATES making up his works cited tho its like pulling teeth w him

relatively responsible driver by day but smth about the night makes him REALLY wanna speed. prone to road... exasperation?? its not rage idk

he has like... contained anger issues like he’s never directed them at anyone he just wanders off to have a fit and then returns. hnstly pretty sure he works out to let off that steam

he’s kind of intelligent but he’s also such a fucking idiot. he had no idea how to cook / do laundry / do ANY of that at all until he was alone at university and, after a week of literally just buying new clothes instead of washing the ones he owned, finally googled how to use a washing machine

absolutely not a monogamist and you should not trust him <3 that said i feel like he’s not secretive about that one particular aspect of his personality like he’ll let people know that if they want a relationship he’s not the person to be approaching which tbqh is probably there to mask how deeply he actually would love to be in a fully monogamous and faithful relationship lol he’s a secret romantic just like... doesn’t wanna get hurt. and he CLAIMS he doesn’t believe in the family curse but that’s kind of bullshit. he does. a potential simp pretending he does not have the capacity to simp

can be awful at taking advice. he’ll listen to it and understand it but he’ll disregard it anyway

very bad at being optimistic. he does feel a bit cursed, again, even if he claims he doesn’t believe in said curse. the blackthorn bad luck always feels like its nipping at his heels.

he can be sooooo dramatic. he’s obnoxious <3

but he’s also like..... relatively independent? he doesn’t like asking for help and he feels like leaning on people too heavily is a shortcoming on his part so he just. will not.

really good at group projects like for some reason he feels too guilty about not actually giving them his all and will actually put effort in whereas when it comes to his own individual projects he’ll just say fuck it (unless he’s genuinely interested)

studying history w an economics minor because he figured he should go for something more or less related to capitalism to soften the blow of running to academia

a bit sensitive about the fact that he’s not actually related to his father by blood. it makes him think about all the conflicts he’d ever had with his father post finding out about his real parentage and like... when he thinks about all of that i think he realizes that his family’s love may very well be entirely conditional and he’s afraid of that. which might be why it almost seems, smtms, like he is actively trying to push them away because he thinks if he leaves first its Fine :)

rlly likes creative ventures he just LOVES working w his hands its so soothing to him. will often be in the pottery studio after dark. he can play piano

wanted connections:

close friends (or as close as he can get) – he seems a little detached and there are def moments where he just vanishes without a trace for a week but they seem to be okay with this and he loves them for it. never feels suffocated by them at all. is occasionally afraid his luck will negatively impact them but so far, so good.

they hooked up a few times then he ghosted them and now its AWKWARD

enemies. please !!!! its unrealistic that he wld be able to exist without ppl hating him

and maybe enemies to friends / enemies to lovers tropes can happen like... i love that.

they’ve known each other for a long time and neither of them trust the other but they have spent many nights together and would probably call each other friends if asked.

they’re similarly chaotic / detached / miserable and sometimes they lean heavily on each other because they don’t really have anyone else who gets it.

they committed a crime together once

they’re attracted to each other but he goes out of his way to avoid them bc he’s like . that seems like the WORST idea. it rlly seems like he actively hates them

classmates

and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

someone he literally just argues with all the time. like thats the whole relationship

someone as obsessive as him who is willing to accompany him down history or science or whatever related rabbit holes and procrastinate with him. he wld die for them <3

[lovelylogans]

*cracks knuckles* it’s time for me to go galaxy brain on main.

i present: an overanalysis of virgil’s deposition (specifically, deceit weaseling badgering the witness)

so, virgil is very clearly reluctant to take the stand:

to which deceit responds “very well. you don’t usually have anything helpful to add anyway.”

to me, this reminded me of the past lines (i forget which eps and i’ll edit this post when i find it) in which numerous sides speak about virgil being unhelpful, pre-accepting anxiety arc: “virgil always seems to get you down,” “we’re talkin’ toons, dr. gloom!” in “becoming a cartoon” in which the other sides actively ostracized virgil bc he was unhelpful, or brought the group down.

let’s take a look at accepting anxiety part two (which is only 13 minutes long and we thought it was a MARATHON, weren’t we cute back then?) when virgil rises up, he says “i’ve decided to duck out... i removed myself from the equation. i quit. decided it wasn’t worth it. it didn’t seem like i was wanted. you all made that pretty clear anytime i showed up.”

later in that ep, 

 this clearly rankles virgil, so he takes the stand: agitated, on edge, keyed up—precisely as deceit wants him. 

“okay! ask me your questions.”

look at his posture, the tone of his voice—he’s hunched forward, arms crossed, bangs in his face. he’s on defense (from the defendant i’m so sorry i’ll go) and he’s irritated. deceit then asks him the clarifying question:

“you are in control of thomas’ fears, are you not?” honestly, it’s a fair question. he poses a similar question to logan earlier (logic as an oversimplification) though he does eventually highlight logan’s other roles (for instance, his punctuality.) 

however, look at that phrasing. you are in control of thomas’ fears. not you are thomas’ fear response. not you represent thomas’ fear. you are in control of those fears. 

back to accepting anxiety part two! “i’ve always aimed to protect you!” 

to quote logan: “look, anxiety, you’re a natural fight-or-flight reflex. that’s what you’re instilled in humans to act as.” 

to quote virgil himself an ep ago: “me being able to elicit fear doesn’t mean i haven’t grown.”

virgil’s been established, yes, as anxiety. however, it’s anxiety that he doesn’t want to overpower thomas with. in accepting anxiety two, as thomas says, he wants to work with anxiety to overcome those fears, rather than without him. virgil can elicit fear, true, but that doesn’t mean he intends for it to be so aggressively overwhelming—or, at least, that’s been my interpretation of canon, and if i’m missing something please feel free to let me know.

back to the most recent ep!

“oh my go-we all know each other! who are these clarifications for?? CUT TO THE CHASE!” again, i think this might be needling at virgil’s past. as fear/anxiety—someone not to include, someone to excise, someone to, well, fear. keep away from.

but look at how agitated he is. he’s so clearly on guard here, he’s so clearly defensive, he’s lashing out and shouting. after two questions. and admittedly one pointed comment. virgil does not want him here, he does not want to be in this situation, he wants out. cut to the chase indeed.

“is it true that you once said that ‘weddings are outdated, overly expensive pagentry?’”

i just really liked that imitation. i do also think, though, that this imitation tells us something about the past deceit and virgil relationship (friends, enemies, whatever it was.) personally, i can only get better at interpreting people the more time i spend around them. for example, a professor i have 3 days a week this semester? i can do a passable “oh, my” impression of her voice. but my roommate, who i have known since i was about 13? she and i have literally started saying “hell yeah!” in the exact same tone of voice, at the exact same time. i can do a much better impersonation of her. and granted deceit and virgil have the same face and similar voices, but look at deceit’s impersonation of patton (pretty spot-on) and logan (less passable) and then look at his impersonation of virgil. that’s on-the-nose. that’s practically perfect.

that’s an impersonation you get after a lot of time, study, and practice.

“yeah, well, i also once swore to thomas that the drink he left alone in the other room for ten seconds was definitely poisoned and if he drank it, he would die. i’m not exactly a beacon of truth.”

first, it’s just nice to know that i’m not the only one who panics about drinks getting poisoned. second, that line i bolded. that’s a turning point. that is a target. that is what deceit will narrow his focus in on.

“so you’ve changed your mind then?” see? narrowed in. focused. virgil knows it, too. look at his posture: he’s drawn his shoulders back, though he still has his arms in front of him. 

“next question.” however, i do think that there could also be an undercurrent of history there, which i won’t speculate about; i’m gonna just assume that it doubles back to the dilemma of this episode, ie, the wedding vs the callback.

deceit chuckles, there, and let me just say thomas that is a VERY good evil chortle, 10/10. anyway, “very well. as thomas’ anxiety, do you have any relevant information about his norepinephrine levels in regards to these two conflicting commitments?”

SCIENCE BREAK! note that i’m a journalism/english major and i nearly flunked out of chemistry in high school, so i’m mostly relying on google here. anyway, deceit specifically mentions norepinepherine, which directly stimulates adrenergic receptors. however, in my own research (again, not super known to be trusted here) i’ve found that anxiety is epinephrine. minor differences, sure, mostly centered on the effects that they have (norepinepherine, for instance, causes your blood vessels to narrow which increases blood pressure level, which epinepherine doesn’t do.) epinephrine, however, is the primary aspect of “flight-or-flight” response, aka virgil’s specialty. norepinephrine results in the formation of epinephrine: so essentially, deceit is asking if there’s an increase in norepinepherine, which would result in an increase in epinephrine: basically, is there gonna be a bad/anxious time happening any time soon.

science break over! virgil does not have the patience for it that i just spent researching and you just spent reading, though:

“i think it’s ridiculous that anyone is entertaining any of this. guys, he’s a liar! you literally know him as deceit!”

it’s true, we do know him as deceit. we also knew virgil as anxiety, which is where a popular strain of theory has popped up: ie, virgil being known as anxiety, and the name ‘virgil’ being a sort of lie. i’m not sure how much i agree with it, though i do think it’s a viable fan theory.

“glass houses, virgil. you yourself said that you are not a beacon of truth.” 

his tone—especially when he chides virgil about glass houses with the finger wag and the little tsk—is mocking. he’s taunting virgil. as in beware calling me a liar—we both know that you aren’t as honest as you seem.

“yeah, because i’m wrong a lot.” virgil’s still on the defensive.

“oh, so you’ve never been reluctant to share anything with the group then?”

this. this is the line that makes me think that it’s not quite centered on the name, coupled with deceit’s next line. if any of you have siblings—you know how you taunt them with something, or tease them, and they say “DON’T” or “STOP” or you get that response that you were looking for, because little kids are jerks, and you just say “whaat, i just meant insert thing here...” it’s vaguely like the “i’m not touching you!” defense. this scene gives me very similar vibes. deceit is definitely taunting virgil over something that he didn’t share—whether it’s with the named sides we’ve got, or if it’s with the unseen friends of deceit. 

let’s throw it back an ep, shall we? to that endscreen. “you are hilarious virgil, you always have been...” and “just be sure to keep up that personal growth, virgil. maybe soon, you could be rid of us all.”

definite history. definitely a pattern of needling virgil over their mutual past.

“don’t.”

“what?! i just meant your name...”

look at him. he’s delighted he’s gotten the reaction he wanted. he’s delighted that thomas is now glancing back and forth between them, curious about that history. and again, see, look, the petulant little “whaaat? i just meant...” and hey, look, another moment of deceit needling something of virgil’s past with the sides: they kept trying to figure out his name, saying his name was a big thing for him, and now deceit is bringing that up, too.

“DON’T!”

he’s an ANGERY boi! he does not want deceit prying, he does not want him bringing this up in front of the others, especially thomas, and he does not want to revisit the past.

“maybe that’s why it’s so easy for you to recognize me for what i am. like i said before, it takes a liar to know a liar.”

this is the point where patton breaks in, and this little scene is ferreted away for fanders to overanalyze until they’re dizzy (guilty!) but hey, that parting line, huh?

it takes a liar to know a liar.

so i think the main question is: what’s virgil lying about? is it his past as a “dark” side (which i think is pretty widely accepted fanon, and very heavily hinted in canon) or is it about a potential betrayal he did to the dark sides, or is it something that the “light” sides (and therefore the audience) don’t know about virgil yet? something that could really affect their trust of him?

either way, this scene was a little over a minute, and yet it provided this much for analysis, so. even if i’m wrong about most of it, i am not wrong about the fact that the deceit and virgil conflict is gonna be intense, everybody.

[sixcastappreciation]

sixcago gave me my gay rights

alternative title: review of the evening sixcago show on july third

this is like almost 4k and its mostly just rambling but i need to express how much i love sixcago

like at least half of this is just me being gay so i bolded some of the things that i found really interesting and isnt just me like, freaking out

so to start off: holy shit. the energy of the entire show was amazing, it was really funny and fun and the acting/dancing/singing was on point like i cant think of a single complaint on the part of any of them.

so to get into the actual show

ex wives

when the curtain came up and the smoke started pouring out i actually felt my soul leave my body it was such a good moment

less than thirty seconds in brittney mack made eye contact with me and i swear to god my heart stopped and i honestly had trouble focusing on the rest of the song

i am not exaggerating that is the whole truth and nothing but the truth

shes............. literally so good im still shaking as i write this like three hours later

the third repetition of the rhyme where they all sound kinda pissed off? they nailed that

adrianna was so cute when she said “you wont try that again”

andrea holy shit. thats really a wrap on that

abby got that like, kinda head in the clouds thing that i feel like is janes Brand during this part

when he saw my portrait he was like JaaAAaaa

i love brittney mack

courtney knew what she was doing with that prick line. get it girl

anna has the most angelic voice i swear to god

the six of them work really well together on stage???? like i know its all choreo and stuff but you could Feel the energy that they had together it was good

oh man the choreo for the end. im so gay

intro thingy:

adrianna with that riff!!!!! we stan

annas face after “herstory” was iconic. she knew what she had done wrong

you couldnt hear the intro for maggie bc people were cheering so loud

the way adrianna says maria made me gay

abby also knows what she had to say. she knows how cursed janes sense of humor is and she was really playing it up

protestent............ protestant

“we’ll tell you what you want what you really really want” this made me laugh so hard i dont rly remember the next like thirty seconds because i was dying

“the biggest.... the firmest......... the fullest..............” im. i cant

no way

“maria” AGAIN adrianna please. please i cant handle it

“OH muy bien aHHah” not to be Lesbian On Main but fuck this was so cute

her emotion during the monologue was SO funny

it was peak, it was so good

she really gets it. i dont totally know what it is but this aragon monologue gets it

when she said “really trying” she did like, a motion. i cant go into more detail but Fuck

so after “move me into a convent” everyone like, gathered around aragon and adrianna did a

well idk what youd call it but a like

her entire torso swung around in a huge circle right before “i dont think i’d look that good in a wimple”

and idk what it was but that part just made me Lose It

adrianna had this way of making it all a little funnier?

like catherine is usually pretty Serious, i think but it felt like adrianna knew she was playing a character who was Like That, if you will, and was kinda leaning into breaking the fourth wall a little

i can probably elaborate if that doesnt make sense

you say its a pity cos quoting leviticus ill end up kiddiless all my life

she said that with such conviction goddamn

oh, he doesnt remember

this was so good

the “sh-”s were really funny

the fucking. i dont know what it is but the *ting*

holy shit

i cant put into words

how much i loved that part

the pause after “i’ll go” was............ expansive

i just checked it was 10 whole seconds

that doesnt sound long but it felt like forever

she went high on “end of my life” and thank u for mine adrianna hicks

the amount of no’s was impressive and im heart eyes for it

adrianna just had really good stage presence

like i caught myself looking at her during the dance breaks of all the songs when i wasnt looking at brittney

it was just so fun to watch her go!

dluh

during the intro of like “yeah, you know, the really important one” andrea was doing some Dumb Shit in the background

like i dont know exactly what it was but she was just like

idk like noodling around in the back

and i caught her eye and she like, smiled a little

the gasps the rest of them did were....... cute

then andrea busted out a full on fucking witches cackle

then she stuck her tongue out and looked like she was taking a selfie and it was so cute

like, her tongue was OUT

“not my thing” had the BIGGEST uwu energy of anything ive ever heard

i thought people were kidding when they said andrea boleyn had uwu energy

they were not

pret a manger barely came across as a real line it was more like, an experience

the sorry not sorry choreo. its so funny and cute and simultaneously cursed

the way andrea delivered her lines here was just

it was like, cutesy and fun but also kind of cursed

uwu

when she said “are you blind” andrea like, gestured to herself, in a like “look how hot i am” kinda way

which might be the standard? either way it made me laugh a lot

don’t be bitter/cos im fitter was the only line in the entire production said with a british accent and it fucking slayed me on sight one hit ko

i actually like that they changed “mate, what was i meant to do” to “wait, what was i meant to do” because

it implies that anne had no other train of thought than the one she was on and thats very funny to me

i think it fits w andreas portrayal too

everyone was like, fake crying when anne fake walked down the aisle and it was really funny imo

and as soon as she got to the end anne like, turned, yk?

bro just shut up

the entire audience gasped after that

andrea had actual like, panic on her face

then she led into “i guess he just really liked my head”

and there was a beat after that, where everyone laughed

it was long enough that everyone got the joke

then she mimed the blow job

her riff on “hell”? iconic

“wait, didnt you actually die” no jane she was beheaded but she was fine

abby seymour said dumbass rights she has the Dumbest Bitch energy god

“catherine of aragon had tragically died” catch adrianna looking like, yeah it was so sad for me, how terrible, right?

then boleyn goes off

the. fury, passion, anger, zest, contained in andreas “MASSIVE-”

“over my dead body” andrea gave her this look like, youre damn right it will be

heart of stone

oof

okay so the monologue

oof

“i was lucky. okay, i was really lucky” o o f

“edwina” is still cursed tho

i dont know what it was about this. i dont know if it was abby, or the dialogue, or just it being live but

this made it clear that jane had been Through It

like, this monologue came across (to me at least) as unquestionably a “woman who was abused trying to justify it to herself” kind of situation

“and that’s not because i was scared,” she said, wearing an absolutely terrified expression

this is where she started tearing up i think

okay i gotta take a moment here because

abby was fully crying before the song even started

like somewhere about halfway through her monologue she started tearing up

i was looking for it specifically

i wrote this before the last part so see above

so by the first fucking like of hos you could hear her voice breaking

holy shit ms meuller what the fuck

im not kidding who gave her the right

at the stagedoor she said that after this she was like, “well thats it for my makeup” when someone complimented her song

she is crying. the first chorus and she is actively crying. in the breaks between her lyrics you can hear her crying

abby went high on a couple of notes in here

she riffed on “truthfully” and it was, wow

she didnt go for the whistle tones which was, honestly? the most relatable thing in this entire show

but a couple of the other notes she went high on and they were so killer

there was a second or two of pause after the end where everyone just, absorbed things before the applause

i have some questions for abby about this actually because i dont know if its just because the monologue was different than im used to but

i just want to know if abby meant to have everything come off like That but god

the mental gymnastics jane is doing here are so intense

this performance genuinely changed how i listen to hos forever

i dont think i can ever peacefully listen to this song again

this song gave me so many layered emotions thank u abby mueller

haus of holbein

hans................................. *holbein*

the chaos

i honestly barely remember most of it it was

i had no idea who to be looking at

but i remember it being beautiful

i dont have the words to express how

fucking funny it was

the accents were hilarious

like they werent great german accents, but that made it far better

they were leaning into the ridiculousness of it all

the way abby said “but we cannot guarantee that you’ll still walk at forty” had me on the ground

ive spent the last 24 hrs trying to figure out exactly why it was so funny and i think i got it

she dropped the german accent

and she straight up sounded like she was reading off the side effects of a pharmaceutical ad on tv

the freeze frame? legendary

anna and courtney (im pretty sure?) managed to look so genuinely offended that henry swiped left on them

your highness your highness your highness

god adrianna please

actually every h sound that came out of their mouths

but adrianna Got It

get down

oh god i gotta talk about “didnt live up to his expectations”

brittney like, half took off her jacket and gestured to her body and like, body rolled a bit and honestly? i was fucking dead

the sarcasm really jumped out here. brittney went off in the best way possible

she was fully fake sobbing right before “tragic”

fucking legend

brING me some pheasant!

the woof line is always a good moment but their facial expressions really made it work here

this song has the most outwardly complex choreo (ofc i cant speak to its actual difficulty) and every single one of them crushed it

brittney made eye contact w me again on “looking cute” and im deceased

oh god after “take my fur” she whispered “thank you. honestly” and gestured to herself again and like, i was dying

iirc brittney was like, skipping across the stage or something on “i look more rad” and snapped into position for “lutheranism”

we gotta take a moment to appreciate the operatic talent of that one “get down you dirty rascal” instead of the slo mo

like, ofc the slo mo is a good moment but

brittney went full opera and it was,

wow

shes got a voice on her holy shit

so much talent in such a tiny body

aCHYEAH

she picked the person sitting next to me to dance w her and

they did their cute little dance thing and then brittney gestured like, go sit down, and the person did, then stood back up and started dancing again

not like, in a bad way i dont think

it was super fuckin funny and after the song brittney was like “oh that was cute you think youre funny”

but i heard them talking at the stagedoor and like, brittney was chill it wasnt like a violation of anything

im not explaining it very well but it was really funny in person

everything about her on stage was just, so enrapturing

i dont have too many specific notes about this song because it would probably turn into just, me being gay, which is enough of this already

anyway! get down was good brittney mack is a stellar cleves

her fake crying is next level tho

the confrontation

boleyn, unprompted: i lost my head!

the beheaded cousins high fived after “nice neck” and like, stuck out their necks a bit it was so funny

seymours “i died”

we all know abby is gonna kill her line delivery

but GOD

and then after, she like, realized what she had said and struck a pose like, shit please still think im regal

the line itself was actually pretty, uhhhh, sad

theres something about boleyn roasting khoward in andreas voice

courtney with that “and your songs” had perfect timing

also “when will justice be SERVED” had such good punch to it

after she did that she like

rubbed her hand on janes face

and abby looked SO offended

theres something so, sincere about courtneys delivery of her roasts that i hadnt been getting and its SO much funnier to me

i forget exactly where but at some point boleyn aragon and howard were arguing

and in the background it really looked like seymour and cleves were having a normal conversation and i lost it like. they were just chattin

there were a couple moments of like, cleves and seymour interacting and it was interesting

aywd

courtney! mack! took! no! prisoners!

jesus christ

okay so i dont know if other howards do this or if it was just because i was seeing it live and up close and that made the difference but

for me the most compelling part of this howard was the fear

like yes there was the sadness/anger/etc like there was good emotion but

from the “he says we have a connection” re: henry, and then on, everything about courtneys body language just screamed that she was afraid

idk i might expand on this in a separate post because its a darker topic but yeah. holy shit that was emotional

not a single person clapped after the last line. they all waited until after “yeah, and then i was beheaded” before clapping

like the theater was dead silent. DEAD silent

it was like, so haunting because it was just courtney on stage at that point, with just the white spotlight on her, it was a Moment

im not sure i have the heart right now to get too deep into this

if it would be particularly interesting to anyone feel free to ask, im happy to get more into it but idk its just Emotional

actually this is already so long ima go for it

so on each “we have a connection” it was uhhhh parr and aragon (i think) who each put a hand on like, her clavicle

and for the first two verses she grabbed one of the hands and was like, flirty? ig

but on the one about henry seymour also put a hand around her waist and she like

she freaked out

and listening back to the audio i can

unpopular opinion perhaps but the actual emotion of her on stage didnt come thru in the audio

because it was so physical

like you could see how scared she was

which made it more relateable to me honestly

like she looked so so scared

it was heartbreaking

the confrontation part ii

oh BOOH OO MISTERESSES

“okay catherine, babes” is CUTE fight me

anna looked like, progressively more concerned as that beat went on, and then she just kinda like, deflated? it was really funny tbh

idk her parr feels Different than the parr im used to

during “oh im catherine parr i draw the line in arbitrary places” courtney was playing with her hair it was hashtag cute

BACKING VOCALS RIP CATHY PARR

idnyl

a cute little b flat major 7

yeah anna parr seems

hmm

she seems like she’s just, over henry

like from the start she just has no time for him

idk im Conceptualizing

anna uzele is

her voice is next level

she put survived in the “got married to the king became the one who survived” in air quotes which i think is an interesting note

anna got really physically into the “remember that...” bit of it and everyone in the back was also having a good time with it it was Good

andrea. she stuck her pointer finger between two of her other fingers on her other hand for the “my sixth finger” line and it was SO funny

khoward keeping aragon in line was

not the hot take i was expecting but nevertheless the one we deserved

both for “dissolution of the monasteries” and “well actually”

idk it was a cute character moment

one of *unsure, disgusted, vaguely annoyed* siiiIIIiix

abby was right in front of me and she looked SO uncomf

yeah, i read

iconique

andrea like, threw her head back for this line

the pause after “theres not much we can do about it now” is

painfully long and so so so funny

i was only really looking at brittney but she was like, arms down head up no body language it was SO funny

also her “yeah?” ended my life

she raised the mic up to her mouth while not moving an inch of the rest of her body

the part where they get all meta. has me dead

it was about halfway through this second part that i realized cleves had her coat back. i dont know when that happened. if anyone else knows when exactly anna of cleves gets her coat back after it gets taken off in get down please tell me. i genuinely want to know

this actually distracted me

i got vibes that they genuinely hated henry during this part

first off, mood

secondly, good

annas riffing. god.

she is so talented

dsfjksdf they all straight up left

six

the opening moment is really sweet and kinda funny

abby again killing it with janes cursed lines

courtney howard is actually so cute

when shes not being heartbreakingly sad that is

like her “bye!” was so cute

theyre all so supportive of each other its very cute

megasix

adrianna and abby both looked into my camera and like, i died

at the end anna and brittney were doing some dumb shit as they walked off stage and it was SO cute

after the show

i went to the stagedoor and it was a really fun experience! ive never done that before

it seemed like everyone was being pretty respectful and stuff, thank u six fans for being sane

i got four signatures on my program dklfjsldfjds

abby was such a sweetheart, we actually talked a tiny bit

i told her i loved her line delivery (because uhhhhhh i do) and she said that she tries to get in that comedic timing when she has Those Lines and like yeah

she was seriously the nicest

the ladies in waiting came out as well and everyone cheered for them and lets be real they DESERVE it

lemme sidebar here actually and talk about the ladies in waiting because

they killed it

bessie on the bass was living her best life at literally all times

brittney was also super sweet! i told her she had good energy (because uhhhhhh she does) and she was very nice about it!!!

i didnt really talk to anna or andrea but i got their signatures!

also speaking of my program im still losing my mind over “remembered for: headlessness” and “remembered for: staying alive”

thank u sixcago program

in conclusion! this was such a great+special experience!!! all of the actors were incredible, it was so wonderful

im also not claiming any of this stuff was unique to this performance or to sixcago in general this was just the stuff i noticed as i was watching it. if you clown on this post ill end u

[undyinglegends-blog]

Hi there so please allow me to scream about one Joshua Kiryu bc i've been sitting on this for ages now

I'd like to preface this by saying that Yoshiya "Joshua" Kiryu is not a monster. At least, he's trying not to be anymore.

Joshua knew a few things for certain in life: Firstly, he could see things other people couldn't. He was heavily ostracized by other kids for the things he could see--people with arrow-tipped, wiry wings, people who had died and were now running around Shibuya with timers on their hands, animals with glowing tattoos for legs, arms, tails, that would attack those dead people and cause them to disappear, strange red symbols that would float around, yellow symbols that would latch on to people and, a few times, himself. No one ever believed him, of course. "Stop lying," his parents would tell him. "Stop crying for attention." He eventually learned to just stop mentioning it. Later he learned to just stop telling people the truth at all, since they never believed him. People heard what they wanted to hear, and what they wanted to hear were things that benefitted them in some way. "Home life is fine," he'd say. "I'm fine," he'd say. "Everything's fine," he'd say. And people would believe him then, because that meant they didn't have anything weighing on their conscience.

Secondly, nothing he did was ever good enough for his parents. Top of his class, winning numerous awards in math and science at his school, and it was never enough because that was their expectation for him. Perfection was their standard. Sometimes Joshua would get a couple questions wrong on an exam, and his mother would look at him and tell him she was disappointed, that she expected better of him, that she didn't want a failure for a son, and Joshua would agree because what else could he do? They wouldn't love him if he wasn't perfect. So he tried to be perfect. He really did. But come his tenth birthday, when the world became nothing but him and a pair of silver headphones, he just... stopped caring.

Thirdly, the world was dull and gray to him. Unbeknownst to him, Joshua was suffering from depression. He found himself feeling unmotivated, unusually tired all the time, finding no joy in even the smallest of things that he had found to be hobbies of his. And the world around him felt just as gray and lifeless as he did. It took a lot of effort to just get out of bed in the morning as he grew older.

Then he met Hanekoma.

Hanekoma was and still is the only person that Joshua genuinely trusts, the one person who ever took him seriously and treated him as something of an equal, and most importantly, the one person who actually confirmed that all the things that he had seen for his entire life were real. Hanekoma told him about the Game, the Underground, the Reapers and Players. And Joshua listened to every word, feeling complete relief at the fact that he wasn't crazy.

But the more Hanekoma talked, the more Joshua realized that he didn't want to just learn about the Game; he wanted to be a part of it. There was nothing for him in the living world, he thought. Parents who barely knew he existed and fought all the time (Mother was stressed, Father drank because he was stressed, Mother got more stressed because of his drinking which made Father more stressd), peers who constantly mocked and ridiculed him, and a world that was moving so fast for a tired, goalless boy. In the Reapers' Game, though, there was a goal. Everyone could use pins, everyone was put on equal footing. And there was one goal: to win. There was something.

[SUICIDE TW]

He was afraid of doing it, initially. He didn't want it to hurt. But he knew he had to. He wanted to. He wanted to get out of this endless hell of his life and do something for once.

So on July 30th, 1995, Yoshiya Kiryu hanged himself in his room, and was later found by his mother the next morning. The funeral was minimal; very few attended.

[TW END]

He can still remember the look of hurt, of regret in Hanekoma's eyes when he saw that Joshua had entered the Game. But Joshua excelled in the Game, being able to use a wide variety of pins--not all of them, but certainly a large array of them. He and his partner made it to the end of the week, and while they both had scored enough points to return to life, only Joshua's partner did. Joshua wanted to become a Reaper. He even told him to keep his entry fee--his mark on the world, other people's memories of him, any information about him. He wouldn't need it in the Underground. The Reapers could not keep his entry fee in full, so only minimal information on Yoshiya Kiryu was released back into the living world.

Joshua immediately became a Harrier Reaper, and was very efficient in his job of erasing Players. But upon learning about the position of Composer, the most powerful being in Shibuya, he set his sights on that. For once in his existence, he had drive, motivation, a reason to do something, and it was wonderful. The world, for once, had color to it as he fought and got stronger. This was where his quietness grew into confidence, and confidence grew into arrogance. A couple slips let him find that people’s reactions to him flirting with them--especially cute boys--was not only hilarious, but kept people from getting close to him. Why bother? No matter how lonely you are, your life made it pretty obvious that friends weren’t for you.

Eventually, he took on and defeated the previous Composer. His ethereal form reflected the age of his soul--how long he had existed, how old he would have been had he lived--and suddenly, he could hear everything in Shibuya. Everyone’s thoughts and emotions were readily available to him, all at once without filter. And it stayed like this for around 10 years (if we assume twewy takes place in 2007). Joshua could hear and see everything in the city--every horrible crime, every fight, every meeting between friends, every death. He had to pay special attention to the deaths, of course, to see if they were strong enough to be Players. He was bombarded with information, especially with the rise of popular culture and the city’s fixation of the consumption of goods.

This overexposure to people and consumerism, as well as his own cynical viewpoint warping his perspective, caused Joshua to gradually grow to loathe the city. And the city grew duller and more vapid in response to Joshua’s will. He is the city; the city is him. They affect one another. The omniscience cause him to become horribly numb and disenfranchised, not blinking at death or murder or suicide any longer because he had seen it so many times.

[SUICIDE TW]

Finally, it came to a tipping point, where Joshua was going to destroy Shibuya--and himself along with it. And he thought he was finally going to get his wish for death, to stop his miserable existence. Kitaniji was actively trying to stop him; any of the Reapers who wanted his job could just try to kill him; and even Hanekoma, the one person he genuinely trusted, thought it best to help Minamimoto become Composer and destroy Joshua in order to protect Shibuya. And once more, Joshua Kiryu felt completely and utterly alone. Not even the person he trusted more than anything thought he was worth saving. Every path lead to Joshua’s death in some manner.

[TW END]

So he was willing to put everyone’s lives on the line. He felt nothing as he killed an innocent teenager and made him fight for him, put him through hell just so he could prove that the city was stale and stagnant, just as he had always thought.

The time Joshua spent with Neku began to plant the seeds of doubt in his mind. Neku was no longer fighting for himself, he was fighting for another person, one he had just met and yet already cared about. Multiple times throughout the week, Neku had helped other people, in some cases without a bit of hesitation, because it was the right thing to do. He saw Shibuya’s people grow and change, both in good ways and bad--including his own proxy. It didn’t make sense to him. This want to help and protect people... the fact that someone once as cynical as him could gain that was baffling.

Even as baffling was Joshua faking his sacrifice. Well, not entirely faking. Neku would have most certainly been destroyed by the level i flare, and had Joshua been a tenth of a second later, he could have been seriously injured himself. He didn’t get out of that unscathed, either--the attack had grazed him as he jumped to a parallel world, and it had hurt a lot more than he thought it would. Any later, and he could have easily been in far worse shape. That week in that alternate timeline let him think, and he did everything he could to justify to himself that all of this was wrong, that the moment Neku was presented with a strenuous situation he would revert back to his old ways, and Joshua’s plans to erase Shibuya could go on as planned.

But then Neku didn’t pull the trigger. He had every reason to, but he didn’t. Joshua had won their Game, and he could do as he desired with the city. But he couldn’t destroy it. Not after going through that week with Neku, after watching him fight Kitaniji in order to rescue everyone--Joshua included--from the Conductor, after being unable to shoot Joshua. He didn’t know what was going through Neku’s head or why he didn’t shoot--but some small, deeply-hidden part of him thought that maybe, maybe it was because Neku thought Joshua was worth saving.

“I can’t forgive you. But I trust you.”

He still doesn’t understand how that was possible.

The following week left Joshua to reflect, to fight with Hanekoma over what he had done to protect Shibuya, and to finally realize the disgusting, emotionless monster he had become. Even just a bit of the weight of what he had done slammed into him full-force, and he slunk into momentary despair over what thing he had turned into. Since then he has been guilt-ridden and remorseful, but is unsure of how to even begin to approach the subject. Only recently has he left himself start to acknowledge his emotions, because the guilt and horror at what he had done was just too strong to push aside.

Since the end of TWEWY, Joshua has been trying. He’s been trying to become better. He is slowly beginning to try to understand people, to understand that people’s lives--even his own, to an extent--have value, to try and be just a bit more selfless, to try and care. It’s certainly difficult, uncomfortable, and extremely foreign to him, but he’s trying. (I tend to play him like his KH3D incarnation, hence this is how the original game leads to this--) He doesn’t want to continue to be the monster he had been.

Becoming a Reaper was like he got tinted glasses. Eventually, the luster faded, and the world was gray once more. Because of Neku and crew, Joshua Kiryu finally feels like he can see color in the world that he couldn’t before.

[thesubtextmachine]

I don’t know what ships you know, but 🍃 for the prompt meme?

Here you go! It’s a Kalancy piece. Also I’m gonna tag @nancykali bc I’ve been following u long enough to know that you like this ship so I figure de you might enjoy it.

Here’,s the AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299080

And here’s the fic:

Summer rolled into Nancy's life like a cherry red sports car: slowly and with the luxury of models in glossy fashion magazines.

School itself let out with a long sigh of relief, complete with Steve's graduation and enough babysitting cash to pay for a bunch of meals at the diner that Steve got a job at. She splurged a couple dollars on a nice red lipstick, the kind of accessory that would be guaranteed to become a staple in her summer look.

The day that school ended, Nancy was officially avoiding the inevitable high school party, instead she opted to spend another aimless all nighter with Kali, Steve, and Jonathan.

The week before, they had agreed on starting the summer off with glass bottles of orange soda in the Wheeler basement, following the age-old tradition of sneaking the boys in the house when the Wheeler parents were asleep.

Nancy and Kali had long since moved their sleepovers to the basement, making up elaborate card games and dancing around to whatever tapes they could find. They also made a habit of using the beige wall phone to good use, making prank calls while twirling the twisting cord around their fingers.

This night, spent listening to the sound of thumping from stomping feet the floor above and chewing on popcorn that was heinously sugary, Nancy and Kali found themselves curled up on the worn couch in the basement, talking slowly in between bouts of silence.

Kali's head was resting on Nancy's arm as she stared out into space until Nancy interrupted her lulling train of thought with a gasp of quiet realization.

"Kali! I just realized!"

"Realized what?" Kali asked, arranging herself so she was properly facing her best friend. The struggle to remain close while still properly facing Nancy proved to be difficult, but the end position ended with Kali sitting cross legged an perpendicular to her, using the opportunity to take the bowl off the table and onto her lap.

"Have you ever been to a junior high sleepover?" Nancy asked, the answer obvious in the still, cramped air of her basement.

"Why would I ever go to a junior high sleepover? I’m sevent-"

"Well, when you were in junior high you didn’t get to go to one. I think there is only one way to fix this," stated Nancy, confident and a bit punch drunk on her cherry soda.

"Time travel?" asked Kali, trying desperately to snark her way through the flashes of her junior high years that attacked her mind. Labs are never really the best place to have a good sleepover, after all.

"No, my beloved Kali," said Nancy, pointedly ignoring the subsequent flutters in both of their stomachs at the endearment, "we are going to give you the junior high experience you deserve. It’ll be the perfect way to kick this summer off."

"If you say so, then it must be true. What exactly does the junior high experience entail?" Kali asked, taking a handful of popcorn.

"Makeovers first, calling crushes second, and truth or dare third. That's the junior high sleepover activity trinity."

Kali's eyebrows rose and fell, and she grabbed some more popcorn.

"So, are you in?" Nancy asked, smiling with maraschino-stained lips.

"Definitely."

-

Steve and Jonathan arrived around 10:30, sneaking in like proper "ninjas", as Steve whispered when all four were properly in the basement. Nancy was ready, brandishing a bag of makeup as if it were a weapon. There was also a loose bag of Halloween effects that she pulled for the novelty, and she commandeered her friends in a cross legged circle. The makeup sat as a centerpiece in the middle, arranged in a perfect mess of a pile.

"Kali. Since this is your first junior high sleepover, choose who gets made over first," Nancy said, seriously as if she was leading a church service.

Kali, a bit out of her depth, shyly pointed at Jonathan, was was minding his own business, checking the battery on the camera that Nancy made him bring.

"Let's get 'im!" Steve yelped, loud enough that the other three had to shush him through their light giggles.

Nancy let Kali make the first move, handing her the tube of bright pink lipstick. Kali had to bite back a smile as she began to move towards Jonathan, trying to keep him still despite his laughter. She managed to keep him in place long enough for him to receive the messiest application of lipstick possible, but that was child's play compared to when Nancy pulled out her blue eyeshadow.

By the end of the ordeal, Jonathan had experienced the sensation of three pairs of hands on his face at the same time, and he had baby blue eyeshadow that went to his eyebrows. Steve took the liberty of drawing hearts on his cheeks with Nancy's eyeliner pencil. In the end, it was positively fantastic.

By democratic vote ("I didn’t study my ass off in Gov to not know that Kali shouldn’t make all the decisions, we are a constitutional democracy, dammit!" whispered Steve, nudging Nancy until she gave in), the group then descended on Kali, much to her performative annoyance.

She had sworn to keep her eyes closed, so as to make her makeover a surprise. Kali had gotten oddly familiar with the feeling of sticks and powders being shoved on her face, until she was shocked out of her calm when she felt her hair being pulled.

She cried out, opening her eyes and falling out of the clutches of her friends, ignoring the subsequent shushes, instead focusing on the fact that she had somehow fallen perfectly into Nancy's lap. Why was Nancy even behind her?

"What the hell was that?" she seethed, not making any motion to get out of Nancy's lap.

"Ssh, stop fussing, I’m braiding your hair," Nancy placated, bringing her hands back to where they were on her hair. Kali took a slow breath out, before officially settling into Nancy's lap and closing her eyes again.

"Okay, okay. Do your worst, guys," she said, and it resumed.

"You ruined the penis I was trying to draw on your forehead," muttered Steve, and Kali laughed so hard that she undoubtedly ruined Steve’s second attempt.

When they were time, Nancy tapped on Jonathan's shoulder, beckoning towards the camera.

"We gotta keep this memory, I'd say."

Jonathan nodded, and went to grabbed his camera. Steve took the picture of Kali and Jonathan together, arms sling over each other's shoulders as they smiled widely with their ridiculously made up faces, the flash lighting up the dim basement.

Nancy and Steve went next, both equally decimated by their makeovers. Their picture was somehow more silly than Kali and Jonathan's, due to the faces they pulled and the bunny ears they gave each other.

If the sound of the shutter and the light of the flash didn’t alert anyone who was upstairs, Kali was pretty sure that the ensuing laughter at the mental image of all of them together, looking like rejected clowns, did the job. However no one stored downstairs to haul the boys out of the house, so the sleepover activities continued.

-

The calling crushes section of the night came at around midnight, which was admittedly ill-planned, since they couldn’t casually call anyone at midnight. They instead decided to skip straight to the truth or dare part, rearranging into a proper circle again instead of the malformed dog pile that came from the makeovers.

"So, Steve, truth or dare?" Kali asked through her yawn, starting off the game.

"Give me a dare, baby," he said, imitating some kind of cool guy. The rest of the circle rolled their eyes in response, but continued playing despite his apparent dumbassery.

"Hmm... lick the floor," Kali said, awkwardly trying to land the balance between too extreme and too safe.

Steve only shrugged, bending down awkwardly and letting his tongue graze the prickly carpet. Jonathan crinkled his nose in mild disgust, but they kept their reactions generally temperate to avoid waking anyone up.

"So, Nancy, truth or dare?" Steve asked, keeping the game going despite the musty taste in his mouth.

"Truth."

"If you had to name your kid after a disease, which one would you name it after?" he asked.

"Influenza. Sounds kind of cute. Jonathan? Truth or dare?"

The game continued like this, quiet and restrained. Kali was beginning to fall asleep when she was eventually called on again, and she mumbled her soft "dare" as she leaned in slightly to Nancy's shoulder, mimicking the position from earlier that night.

"Kiss me," Nancy said, laughing with her special exhausted air. Kali lifted her head from Nancy's shoulder, her heart rate speeding up as her eyes flicked down to her crush's blueberry-blue lipstick. Everything seemed to move at half-speed, in a kind of fuzziness that let Kali's often repressed thoughts float to the surface.

Blood rushed in Kali's ears, diluting the sound so she had no idea if the boys were laughing or gasping or crying, and she leaned into Nancy again, and soon she was so close that she could see nothing but her large, doe-like blue eyes.

Time either sped up or slowed, there was no way to be sure through the veil of 1am decision making. Kali leaned in, and vaguely wondered if she'd have blue lips or if Nancy's lips would become burgundy from Kali's lipstick.

She just had to see for herself.

In the perfect buzz of the basement air, Kali collided with Nancy, reveling, for a moment, that it was as soft and perfect as the imagined it would be. She felt Nancy's hand on her hair, like earlier before with the braiding, and smiled as they separated. Nancy seemed caught in a heavy-lidded laughter, and Kali let her eyesight fall to her lips.

Burgundy was imprinted on the blue of Nancy's lips, and it made Kali smile properly, before turning her head to the boys across from her, who shot her a subtle, congratulatory thumbs up.

What a way to start the summer.

[dubsdeedubs]

A Thousand Natural Shocks [15/16]

[A/N: I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU SAW THE LAST OF ME

split the last chapter into two bc i figure yall would like a six thousand word thing NOW as opposed to a 15 thousand word monster god knows when.  long story short, i finished school for the term, i have a job for summer (in boston!) and i’m ready to WRITE]

[AO3]

Near the end of 1972, about halfway through earning his first doctorate, Stanford Pines experienced an Epiphany.

Though slightly less graceful and Romantic than having an apple fall upon his head, or even reciting Goethe while gazing upon the rays of a setting sun (as always, Tesla never did anything by halves), the effect on the young scientist proved no less than electrifying. Certainly no less dramatic, judging by the foot-wide spray radius of the resulting half-mug of coffee shattered onto the floor.

A particularly difficult proof had been the catalyst; specifically, a problem that had been built on such theoretical ground that the soon-to-be Dr. Pines had to navigate several levels of hypotheticals and complete nonsense - that albeit did have some meaning with three textbooks' worth of context and a state-of-the-art graphing calculator 'borrowed' from a university laboratory - to even seriously approach the question itself.

A study of the relation of objects and velocity in zero-gravity conditions outside the known universe, which in fact had nothing to do with his field of study at all. Or any field of study relevant to humanity for the next hundred years, for that matter.

(Questioning why the man had spent forty-three sleepless hours validating a concept that had nothing at all to do with practicality and usefulness would show no less than a deep, fundamental misunderstanding of the person Stanford Pines was.)

Ford lifted a hand, felt his own face slowly, contemplatively… and was suddenly, unhappily aware that he did not remember the last time he had taken a shower. Still staring at the wall with unfocused eyes, he opened his mouth, somehow managing not to recoil from the immediate stench of his own Terrible Hygiene Decisions, and spoke out loud to the audience of himself and one snoring roommate.

- It is important to note, however, that words are rarely enough to express a particularly complex idea,. Case in point, Ford's thought process had already finished the marathon when his sentence had just begun to leave his mouth, and in fact, was contemplating whether to jog back to the starting line for the complimentary juicebox.

He thought: space is enormous, space is complex, to an extent that it is necessary to accept that space is of a scale beyond all human comprehension. It follows then that most, if not all of the rules that governs it - if any existed, which was also up for debate - would not make any logical human sense. Perhaps, it was here at the edges of the universe that dimension boundaries blurred, that the divide between mind and body weakened, that reality itself gave a Great Big Shrug.

Then, perhaps -

"Space," Ford said slowly, softly, with the hesitant tone of a man who saw himself approaching a terrible, unknowable truth, "is big."

A tear welled at the corner of his left eye.

Stanford was Not Wrong. But had his roommate been awake and therefore, had thrown a pillow at Ford's head, there was no creature in the history of existence that would have blamed him. At least two would have bought him a drink for the trouble.

Unfortunately, the magnitude of Ford's breakthrough was undercut somewhat by his sudden loss of consciousness and short-term memory about forty-three seconds afterwards, after an attempt to walk straight through the nearest wall. While he would live on despite reaching this critical mass of awful life choices, the fact that his human mind had erased all of the night's events in a desperate attempt at survival would turn out to be a missed opportunity.

Had he remembered, then more than thirty years later, hanging slack-limbed and dangling in a dark place that was both completely in his head and somewhere on the fringes of a distant galaxy, Stanford would have felt greatly validated in having proved his theory correct firsthand.

...Though perhaps, with the deep, leaden exhaustion that pooled in his gut and dragged at his every limb with near physical weight, the less things his overworked mind had to deal with, the better.

Not that there were many thoughts to be had in the first place. There were only two things that Ford was aware of. One, the nothingness he could 'see' - that was, the closest approximation in English to a much more esoteric concept - spreading out before him for miles in every direction.

Then, there was what he couldn't see but could feel nonetheless: the burning weight of a gaze magnified by a hundred, thousand times, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. A mystery, one that would normally call out to Stanford Pines with a force greater than a siren's song.

But Ford was tired, too tired for anything that involved any kind of active consciousness. He had been on some kind of journey, one that had been long and difficult but ended too soon all the same. He had wanted more - more time, more chances, more of… something. Someone.

But that didn't matter now. He had finished. He was over, he was complete.

He could rest now.

And he did, because time had no meaning where he was now. He knew without knowing how that with a blink there would come a minute and leave a millennium. For the first in a very, very long time, there were no voices to be heard in his head, not even his own. There was no desire to think, to probe, to question. This was an ending, his ending, and because it was good and he was happy he should stay like this forever -

Ford!

- but.

It took every bit of strength he had for Ford to lift his head.

The darkness opened their many eyes.

He was surrounded from every side, every angle. He was within, somewhere deep inside the innards of some colossal existence, part of the bigger whole. But despite the cool slide of substance over his exposed skin and the eerie green brightness of the light that had illuminated his surroundings, he felt calm, safe.

He was protected here, he knew. He was theirs, after all.

And They Were His.

Distantly, Ford could see the glint of stars.

Ford, wake up already, would ya?

He could feel a pressure, a solid and physical hold that he could feel first on his chest and then tightly around his torso. It was different, incredibly so, from the distant knowing, existing, of the here and now.

C'mon, he heard, coming quick and fervently desperate, Sixer, please -

It wasn't a voice, not one that could be measured by soundwaves and governed by physical laws. He felt it more than he heard it, the superficial annoyance, the raw panic underneath, the bone-deep gnaw of familiarity that came with a nickname that had meant such different things to him over the course of his lifetime.

"Stanley."

The pinpricks of light around him shuttered,

blinked,

and

Ford opened his eyes, cautiously and slowly, with the dim confusion of someone who didn't remember closing them in the first place. He squinted groggily through a pounding pain in his head that felt somewhat like a particularly bad migraine, or if he had been momentarily been blinded by some kind of thousand-watt camera flash.

...Something had happened.

Well. Yes. Clearly, he thought irritably just a moment afterwards. It was just incredibly difficult to think while being rather roughly shaken, which did the very opposite of help his headache or sort out his jumbled thoughts.

Ford let out a long, pained groan, too dazed to form coherent words, and flung - flopped, mostly - his arm upwards. He hit something solid - and sentient, he thought, when he immediately heard a surprised yelp.

The jolting movement stopped abruptly. A moment later, he heard his brother's voice, hoarse and uncertain, somewhere on the edge of his narrow line of sight.

"You… you good there, Sixer? Genius brain of yours still - tickin' on okay?"

Stan sounded concerned, but Ford couldn't imagine what for. In lieu of an answer, he pushed himself back up, eyes still clenched shut in a vain attempt to lessen the throbbing pain in his head. A hand on his shoulder steadied him, and another handed him a familiar pair of glasses.

"I'm fine, Stanley," he said, with far more certainty than he actually felt. The cool stale air and the unyielding chillness of the metal underneath his fingers meant he was in his basement laboratory, but not much else about his current circumstances were obvious.

Ford's glasses creaked alarmingly as he unfolded them open but did not break, which, he thought distantly and somewhat ridiculously, meant the reinforcements he had had done several months back in Astucía V had been a good call after all. He fumbled them on, opened his eyes -

He hissed and slapped a six-fingered hand over his eyes, uncomfortably aware that the noise he had just made was more likely to have come from a startled alleycat than a grown man.

Just a bit too much of Stanley.

"I gotta say," his brother said hesitantly, an expression of careful concern on his craggy face. "You… don't look anything close to fine right now. Heck." Stan let out a shaky breath of laughter, and gave Ford an unreadable look that he almost didn't catch through his fingers. "...Just the fact that we're having this talk right now makes me think that you're still bit scrambled up over what just happened, and -."

"Your pants," Ford blurted.

There was a brief, shocked silence. Stan opened his mouth, closed it again. "...Uh. What about my pants?"

"Your pants," he repeated, suddenly unsure of how and why he had ended up in this specific, current conversation, "are not on you."

In fact, there was not much of anything on his brother at all. Not the cheap suit he had been wearing like a uniform for the past several weeks, not the musty old fez usually perched on his gray hair.

(though of course Stan wouldn't be wearing that fez, he didn't have it anymore, which Ford knew because -

because - ?)

Which begged a question. Many questions really.

Starting with what happened in the past week why can't I remember any of it to why do I feel like someone just tried to force their way into my head with a wooden spoon, and most likely ending with why are you sitting naked on the floor of my private lab.

Typical concerns.

His brother opened his mouth slowly, as if he had only just realized the fact himself. Judging by how Stan glanced down at his own nude form with a look of dawning comprehension and inexplicable relief, was probably more or less accurate.

"Oh," Stan said blankly. "Well. I mean, yeah. It sure does looks like it."

He snorted, a sudden chuff of air through his nostrils. "Geez, Ford. That's it? That's all you're going to say to me, after everything that's happened?"

"Is…" Ford paused, reconsidering. He put his hand back down, suddenly feeling very foolish for his earlier dramatic reaction. He had grown up with his brother, after all. Why, had he been expecting to see something more when he opened his eyes than a gut and a truly frightening amount of body hair?

"Is there something that I should be asking you about?"

Stan's immediate, stunned silence was reply enough. Then, Ford realized unhappily, there was just one possibility, really. The only thing in the world they still both cared deeply about.

"Did - did Dipper and Mabel call? Are they facing some kind of trouble?"

"T-the kids?" Stanley repeated, utterly bewildered. "Oy, shouldn't I be the one askin' you that? They called you. Not - not me."

"They - did?" He replied weakly. "I can't… recall."

His brother looked at him for a long moment. Somewhere along the way, his shocked stare had evolved into a hard look of leaden understanding.

"...Y'know what, don't worry 'bout it," Stan said finally, voice hollow. He suddenly looked very drained and small, huddled without clothing in the dim light of the laboratory. "It doesn't matter."

There was something unsaid, something Ford was missing without knowing what. "What - what were we doing down here?" He asked hesitantly.

"...Dunno," Stan said blandly, not meeting his eyes. "Maybe we sleepwalked."

It was a clear lie, even by his brother's bottom standards. Ford bristled. "This isn't the time for jokes, Stan. If you're attempting to lie, at least put even a smidgen of effort into it!" He paused, tried to figure out a way to ask his question without sounding like a confused old man, and failed.

"...Stanley, what's going on?"

"I'm. I'm not sure how ta explain." His brother grimaced. "And maybe... maybe you don't remember it for good reason."

There was much unsaid, but Ford got the sense that the conversation had hit its last wall, at least where Stan was concerned. Still, he wasn't quite yet willing to let go of the mystery in front of him.

"While I was unconscious," he said haltingly, blinking through the clouded thoughts and muddled memories that haunted his every attempt to remember, "I thought, maybe, that I saw - some type of, creature, entity, a green light -"

Stan jerked. "Don't," he snapped, in a way that made Ford flinch despite himself. "...Sorry," he said after a long moment. "I just. Don't…. don't think 'bout what you saw. Not too hard. Let's just -"

His brother took a deep breath, let it back out. "Let's just let them go."

"Them -?"

The dead serious look in his brother's eye killed any questions Ford had felt compelled to ask.

"Alright," he said carefully instead, mentally filing the topic away for a less... volatile time. "I… shall."

His brother nodded, then drew himself up with a grim look, slow and hesitant, movements carefully deliberate other than his subtle shivering from the cold.

But then, just as it seemed he had made it, his knee (distorted) bent the wrong way. Stan crumpled to the ground almost immediately with a grunt of pain, large frame folding like a house of cards. Ford jolted at the familiar sound.

Familiar?

"New knees," Stan hissed inexplicably. He pushed flat against the ground, hefting himself up in slow, careful jerks. "Hell. New everything. Ford, can ya give me a hand? Just for this one bit."

He wasn't listening. There had been something there, then in that split-second of pain and dropped guard. As if a glint of residue light from the machinery had came and caught a moment too long in his brother's eye -

Oh, Ford thought stupidly, and it dawned on him like sun through the clouds.

The rest was autopilot. He moved forwards the final few steps and knelt down to catch Stan's look of pure confusion, saw his brother's mouth open in confused, kneejerk protest, and thought, with the most adamant certainty he had felt for a very long time, Stanley must be so, so cold -

Ford shrugged off his worn coat in one fluid motion and pulled the weathered warm cloth around his brother like a shield. There was a kind of reassuring certainty in the way it settled and pooled around him, as if it was tethering him to the ground with its comforting weight.

In ways his coat frankly shouldn't, logically. It had been a close fit on Ford himself, and despite the muscles gained from decades of space travel and the differences that came with the many years passed, he was still obviously of a smaller built than his barrel-chested, big-gutted brother. The old coat should not have covered Stan completely, let alone have practically enveloped him in the way that it did.

But then again, logic and logistics rarely had a place in the old tales. Ford should've known they wouldn't have much weight here.

He clung onto his brother in an embrace that was not returned, partly because Stan hadn't been given much time to react, mostly because Ford was near certain that he had inadvertently trapped his brother's arms against his body in that initial covering of not-quite-mantle. He had no complaints nonetheless.

The warm weight of his brother under his arms felt like an ending.

Stan shifted against him. "Ford?" His voice came in barely a whisper.

"Stanley," Ford said wetly, partly as an address, partly as a confirmation. "If you ever attempt another ridiculous, utterly pointless sacrifice in our lifetime, I will singlehandedly paint that Stanmobile of yours the brightest yellow I can find."

His brother jerked in his grasp in any unholy mixture of a twitch and a shudder. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would. And you know what else?" He continued, relishing every word. "I will sell it at a quarter of the market value. To a teenager."

"Over my dead bo - urk!" Stan wheezed as Ford tightened his grip even more. "...Huh. Too soon?"

He almost did not dignify the question with a response. "Yes."

His brother said nothing for a long moment. "I… I guess this means you do remember, after all," he said finally, hesitantly. "For a moment there, I thought ya wouldn't. I figured that -"

Stan broke off with a deathly wheeze. "Sixer, if you don't let me take a breath in the next five seconds -"

Ford let go immediately, even took a step back from the realization that he had been holding on just - a little bit too forcefully. "I didn't realize," he tried, watching his brother gulp in air as if his life had depended on it. "I was just -"

"Don't worry 'bout it. I'm fine," his brother interrupted, putting a hand up to halt Ford from babbling further. He thumped himself on the back and winced, sounding just like the old man he was supposed to be. "Whew. My nerd brother got strong. You spend a year in the cow throwing dimension or somethin'?"

That gave Ford pause. "There's - a cow throwing dimension?"

"Yeah. 'Course. There's some real weird places out there, deep in the multiverse. Even before they got there." His brother scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Don't get me started on the one without depth perception. Though, that was funny in a 'Three Dupes' kinda way, sure. Would make a great TV channel. Just wouldn't wanna live there."

"...No," Ford said slowly, "I don't imagine I would either."

They stood there for a long and awkward moment, perched over the smoldering remnants of a conversation that had only ever been a distraction from much harder topics lurking under the surface. Stan shuffled a bit and clung onto his brother's coat as if it was tethering him to reality, sneaking wary glances at his brother whenever he thought he wasn't looking.

Ford, on the other hand, stood silent and hesitant, unsure of how to broach a subject. The subject, as it was.

"You were going to let me forget," he said instead.

That, at least was somewhat familiar ground - accusations, arguments. Anger. But despite himself, he couldn't muster up the usual fire. It was as if he was reading off lines off a sheet, fully aware how they should sound but utterly unable to put himself into a mindset that now felt so utterly alien to his own.

"...Yeah," Stan admitted, voice carefully neutral. He avoided his gaze adamantly. "I would have."

Words swirled around in his mind, questions and demands, but none of them felt real or right for the moment. There was only one thing he could ask - "Why?"

Because so much had happened since the moment Dipper and Mabel had left town. Because he had learned and experienced things that had forced him to reconsider the views and beliefs he had clung onto throughout his life, because he himself had changed so greatly that he could barely recognize his past self.

Because if Stan had just let him forget, because if he hadn't seen the green glint in his brother's eye and the pieces hadn't all came back together, he would've just -

"Wasn't worth it." Stan looked up at him, gaze level. "Normal human isn't made to look into certain parts of the universe and come out with all their mental bits intact. And - " He grimaced. "Ya already know what happened to the last guy who saw me like that. So, I figured ya couldn't remember for a reason."

He let out a breath. "And I… just decided to take the hint."

"It wasn't just your choice to make," Ford said quietly. "I didn't -"

"Well, it wasn't all yours either, alright?" Stan snapped, a surprising explosion of sound that made Ford flinch. "And it wasn't like I could just ask you then for permission to drive you insane -"

"Stan, that's not what I meant."

Stan stopped at that, and sucked in a deep breath, clearly surprised by his own vehemence. "...I know it wasn't a great choice, Sixer," he admitted. "But as far as I could tell then, that was the only one I had." Until you just - came around. ...Just typical, y'know? How you end up side-stepping my entire moral conundrum just like that."

Stan paused, grimaced, clearly attempting to phrase a difficult question. "...What was it, in the end?" He asked at last. "That made you remember?"

"I saw your eyes," Ford said without thinking.

Immediately, an expression of pure horror burst into existence on his brother's face as his hands flew up to scrabble at the soft skin of his face.

"Stan, Stanley!" He exclaimed, grabbing his brother's hands to keep them still, to stop him from hurting himself. "That's not what I meant, your eyes are perfectly normal! They just - caught in the light, I suppose, and I was reminded of -"

"Oh," Stan said blankly. His fingers unclenched. He pulled his hands carefully out of Ford's slackened grip and lowered them slowly, awkwardly tangled with each other, to chest level. "Yeah. I, uh. I knew that."

Another silence fell on the two of them. And - wasn't that just perfectly ironic, that the two of them finally escaped the constant arguments and bickering by just not talking at all?

"Stan," Ford said at last, as steadily as he could. He needed to know, nearly as much as he didn't want to. "Are you alright? Honestly alright?"

"Sure I am," his brother replied with exaggerated nonchalance. "Look, you might be a sci-fi adventure hero or whatever, but all things considered, you're not that strong -"

"You know perfectly well that I'm not talking about that," Ford said, cutting despite himself. He put his hands behind his back to hide the way they were trembling. He had quite enough of diversions. "There were -" he paused, trying to find words that would not come to describe the things he had seen in and around his brother. "...You were coming apart in front of me. Before."

Stan winced and pulled Ford's coat tighter around himself. "It's fine, Sixer."

"No," he said frostily. "No, it really isn't. I saw you disintegrating, crumbling away -"

"...Don't ya think that's a little bit too dramatic - ?" Stan tried.

" - and all I knew," Ford continued, tone biting, "as I saw my own brother disappear into Gods knew where, was that there was nothing I could do but watch."

Stan shut up, clearly realizing correctly that his brother had no patience left for self-deprecating jokes and digressions from the topic at hand.

He took full advantage of the silence. "I was out of my depth," Ford admitted. "Every resource I had at my disposal, every bit of knowledge I had collected in years and decades traversing the multiverse, and yet I was utterly useless to help my own twin. I didn't - I didn't know what to do."

Ford paused, unsure how to explain how devastating of a fact that was to him. Him, Stanford Pines, the man who had the facts and a dozen university degrees under his belt, at a complete loss. He… might not have made the best choices in his own life, but knowledge was something he prided himself on possessing. It was how he defined himself. He - he had needed it.

And without that...

"I - still don't know," Ford said at last. "I don't understand how we're both alive. I don't know why you're corporeal again." He paused. "...Why you lost all your clothing. I can't be sure that this isn't some kind of - complex hallucination, and that I'll be waking up to actual reality in a few minutes. I…"

He trailed off. Had to swallow down something leaden to continue.

"I don't even know if you can stay."

Stan jerked at that. "Of fucking course I'm here to stay!" He exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Moses, Ford, I wouldn't just be sitting around here wasting time if - alright, look at this," he said, brandishing a single hairy arm in front of Ford's eyes. "This is one hundred percent human here, yeah? Nothing else. No more - green eyes, no weird cosmic… stuff. What you see is what you get."

He glanced down and grimaced. "...Ugh. Just wish I coulda thought myself up a smaller gut."

"But how do you know that, Stanley?" Ford demanded, tamping down on the smallest flutterings of hope in his chest. These were not answers, not yet. Just - blind reassurances, vague promises, and he had quite enough of those over the past few days. "How is this - even possible? Just before this, you told me your - your original body was gone, that all you had was -"

The wriggling star stuff, the gaping rip in reality, how his brother's skin had ripped to show empty space underneath.

"- that. How can you be back, how can you be human, if -"

"The deal, Sixer."

The words were said simply and matter-of-fact, but it cut through Ford's protests like a hot knife through warm butter. "What?" He said at last, after a moment of confused silence.

Stan gave him a pained smile. "Yeah. Just typical, huh? It's... always about the deal, in the end."

"I don't understand," Ford said slowly. "Your deal was to bring me back to this dimension, and you fulfilled that weeks ago. My presence here should be proof enough of that. What does that have to do with any of our present concerns?"

"Well, it was to get my brother back, to be specific. But yeah. Simple. Straightforward. Least," Stan said with a shrug, "that's what I thought when I made it. And in my defense, I wasn't in the best state of mind at the time, what with crashing straight off the mortal coil and all, but."

He shook his head disbelievingly, a helpless grin on his face. "The wording. The wording."

"The… wording?"

"It was pretty damn vague, wasn't it?" Stanley exclaimed, and the glint of excitement in his eyes reminded Ford suddenly of how his brother had always loved playing with words and meanings. It… was a comfort, seeing how that hadn't changed. Even if he had ended up using the ability to scam summer tourists instead of becoming a truly fearsome lawyer.

"Think 'bout it. Even after I fixed that portal, got it activated and brought you back home… I still didn't get my brother back, did I?"

"...Actually," Ford said slowly, "I would venture to say that that's exactly what it means."

"Aaaand that's why I'm the con artist and you're not, Sixer. See," Stan waved a hand wildly, as if gesturing to an invisible whiteboard with circled words and highlighted passages. "I brought Stanford Filbrick Pines back to this dimension. You. But getting my brother back - cuz in the way I really meant it, it wasn't just physically -"

He paused, as if genuinely waiting for the drama of it all - "That didn't happen 'til much later."

Stan gave Ford a meaningful look. "Couple weeks and about an hour or so later, if I had to really guess."

It took Stanford an embarrassingly long minute for the pieces to click. Remembering what exactly had happened a couple weeks and an hour or so after his return from the portal (which… was right now, wasn't it? Give or take a few hours. It had been a couple weeks and he had returned in the late afternoon and, oh) required substantial effort after the amount of rattling his brain had gone through.

But once he did -

i'm here. you did it. now fulfill your end of the bargain and

- the realization came quickly.

His eyes widened despite himself. "No. No."

"Hah." There was not much humor in that single bark of laughter. Stan looked away, an unreadable expression on his face. "...Yeah."

"That's - absolutely ridiculous!" Ford exclaimed, flabbergasted despite himself. "That's just semantics!"

"It always is with these things, Sixer."

But he was too caught up in the middle of an indignant rant to reply. "Not to mention, it's utterly pointless! I mean, surely, you must have already known that you had me back in every meaning of the word there is, the moment I stepped through that portal, you didn't need me to tell you that I -"

The uncomfortable look on Stan's face stopped him short.

"...You - didn't know," Ford finished lamely.

"What can I say, Sixer?" His brother sighed. "Punching me in the face didn't exactly - help with that.. Or tellin' me that you were kicking me out the moment summer was over. Those just… kind of gave out a certain impression, y'know what I mean?"

Ford opened his mouth, already preparing an indignant defense… and closed it.

If nothing else, he had learned in his time back on Earth not just when to admit that he was wrong, but how to do it. This was a conversation to be had somewhere other than the basement they had just almost died in, sometime when they weren't tired to the bone and struggling to keep themselves upright.

Perhaps it was a conversation never to be had at all in terms of words and arguments. One that would do, would've done, much better with actions and apologies.

Regardless, not here. Not now.

"I have to admit," Ford said evenly, "this all sounds very… sadistic. Like... some kind of cosmic joke. A poor one, at that. Didn't you make your deal with yourself?"

He paused, realizing he had no desire to delve into that specific tangle of identity issues and questions of existence now. " ...Ah, more or less. Did - did neither of you know the rules behind the bargain?"

"Well," his brother said, scratching his head. "I get why you ask. But you hafta keep in mind that ol' Six-Sights wasn't exactly an experienced con-whatever back then either. Baby eldritch consciousness' first soul-stealin' deal. That kinda thing."

"What I'm saying is. They... didn't really know what they were getting into, I didn't really know what I was getting into, and… there we went." Stan helpfully illustrated the magnitude of the ensuing disaster by wiggling his fingers of both hands widely. "Complete and utter disaster, classic end of the world kind'f stuff. Though... it could've gone much worse than it did. Much, much worse."

Stan lowered his voice to an aside. "And, ta tell ya the truth, I'm pretty sure the rules existed a paygrade or a twenty above us. Both of us. Six-Sights and I - we were just hopping along to some cosmic playbook."

"But surely, there must be something out that decided how this all works?" Ford exclaimed, aghast. "Some kind of creature that created them in the first place?"

"Well, whatever it is, it strikes me as something that smiles a whole lot. Plays a lotta cards." His brother paused in deep thought. "....Amphibious."

"Amphibious," Ford repeated blankly, a tiny spark of memory from his multiversal adventures nagging at him briefly before dying without much fanfare. Just a coincidence. "Amphibious?"

Stan smiled ruefully. "...Whatever it is, at least its got a soft spot for the misfits. The universe isn't usually too kind to a force of nature with a conscience, or a useless knucklehead who can't even scrub barnacles off a ship bottom."

Ford twitched.

"'Specially when the two are the one and the -"

"Don't."

Stan turned his head slowly to stare at the hand gripping his shoulder, bloodlessly tight. It takes Ford a moment too long to realize it's his own, that he had moved without even realizing it himself. It's an immediate reaction, that's what he will explain it to himself afterwards. Instinct.

"...Don't say that about yourself," Ford said haltingly. "You're not useless. Not by any measure. And -"

He doesn't know what to say for a long second, cursing his inability to speak even somewhat intelligently about his own thoughts and emotions. But what else was there to say? Just the idea of valuing his brother in those terms of worth and purpose felt unfamiliar and ridiculous.

(But he had, hadn't he?

He dispelled those thoughts with a grimace. That had been… long, long ago. A lifetime, by any standard. He had all of this one to prove himself wrong.)

Stan looked to Ford's face, then to his hand, then back again, clearly at a bit of a loss for words.

"Y'know," his brother said conversationally, an extra slight roughness at the edge of his voice. "I feel like I should be lookin' for a hidden spy camera. 'S like… like I'm waiting for that mindless reality TV guy to jump out of the floor screaming at the top of his lungs."

"There's - really no need to worry?" Ford offered, slightly confused with the direction the conversation had gone. "There are no hidden spy cameras in my laboratory. I've checked quite thoroughly."

"I didn't mean it seriously, Sixer -"

"...Other than the set gifted to me from the shadow government, of course."

Stan gives him a Look. "Y'know what," he said finally. "I'm not even gonna ask."

"But," Ford tried again, honestly feeling just a bit put out. "You do understand what I just -"

"No. Yeah. I do. It's just…" Stan dragged a hand down his face, obscuring his suddenly quiet voice in a way that Ford could barely hear what he was saying. "...Just, hard to believe. I mean I do," he added at the stricken look on Ford's face. "...Mostly. I need some… time, yeah. What can I say, a whole lot's happenin' and I'm just an old, old man -"

"We're the same age, Stanley."

"Well," his brother revised with a shrug, "then we're both old men, so I say we both need some sit-down time that isn't on a cold metal surface."

He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. "Y'know what sounds real good? That old armchair of mine, in front 'f the TV. Hugs my butt. Would hug yours too, I'm sure. Same butt."

"That's not how that works," Ford protested, before he could stop himself. "...Even if all of our physical features were identical at birth - which is already a false premise, considering we have a certain major difference - after my decades of running from the galactic police and your decades of…" He paused. "...Sitting on your couch watching melodramatic avian detective reruns -"

Stan scoffed. "Just cuz you don't appreciate a finely crafted children's show with multi-generational appeal -"

"My point is, Stanley. We do not have the same butt." Ford paused, then said with the straightest face he could muster, "Mine is clearly superior."

Stan gaped at him, and he really shouldn't feel as triumphant as he did about shocking his brother into speechlessness, not when he was fifty-eight years old.

That thought lasted for about two seconds before Ford decided that no, that was exactly why that had felt so good.

"You nerd," his brother said finally, disbelievingly. "Fine, y'know what? Great. Perfect. We'll go upstairs and you can plop your 'superior' wrinkly ass right in front of that TV. Watch all the ridiculous sci-fi series ya want. You've earned it."

Ford perked up at that. "Ridiculous sci-fi TV, you say?"

Stan rolled his eyes in familiar exasperation and reached up to peel Ford's hand from his shoulder. The moment his hand took hold of his, he froze. His expression was unreadable as he felt across the palm of the glove, and when he turned his hand into visibility, Ford could see why.

The surface of his glove had been utterly destroyed, torn and melted in equal intervals, especially impressive considering Ford had gotten them tailored with both fire-proof and knife-proof material. Bubbles of congealed vlastik, supposedly indestructible by the vast majority of forces in the universe, lined the edges of his hand.

And yet, the exposed skin of his hand was untouched. Literally, it seemed, because it was the soft, raw pink of newly regrown flesh - uncallused, unscarred, unrecognizable.

It matched perfectly the shade and hue of Stan's own extended hand and wrist, which presumably continued to the rest of his body. It does not take long for Ford to understand.

"Stan," he started, and his brother flinched immediately.

"...This isn't a conversation I'm having right now," Stan said loudly, as if he could block out the possibility by sheer force of will. "Nope, nope, nope."

Ford looked again at the new, new skin on his hand. What existed before had been dead, destroyed beyond all recovery. It had become a blank slate now, missing decades worth of history written down in healed white scars and telltale calluses. They… hadn't been the best memories, but they had made him him.

"I never wanted you to give up so much for me," he said quietly.

"It doesn't matter what you wanted, alright?" Stan snapped, an outburst that seemed to surprise both of them. "...It was what I wanted. Isn't -"

He faltered. "Isn't that enough?"

There was nothing Ford could say to that. For a single moment that felt like years, they stood, eyes locked and bodies tensed, neither willing to take that final step and break their delicate silence.

Then his brother sagged. "My balls are gonna fall right off if I hafta stay down here for another minute," he muttered.

The unexpected vulgarity of the statement killed all tension in the room near immediately. Ford winced, aghast. "Stanley."

"Look. We'll talk." Stan looked at him, a pained expression on his face. "I just - I really need pants for this conversation, alright?"

[oc-festivities]

Character solidifying for S ?

i’m love them!

1-7 can’t be answered bc they have amnesia and I don’t even know the answers to those questions.

8. How does your character feel about religion?

they follow the stranger! it’s a little annoying that the stranger chooses when to stay or go and when to visit, but besides that, they really look up to him.

9. What about political beliefs?

They’re definitely against the New Initiative, as they helped run an underground information ring against it.  I know why M/Leader and I/Compassion hate the New Initiative, but I don’t know about S yet. But currently, they don’t see the people of Jashtall as bad, just the government.

10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?

book-smart definitely. they’re very intelligent and intellectual

11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated?

oh, they see themselves as very intelligent as well, and it’s straining for them to have to explain things to Mies and others who may not understand as much as they do.

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

I keep trying to throw in large words into their speech, but I don’t know many big words myself ;;;;;;;;;;

13-15 n/a :(

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

They used to be a librarian, but now they wander around as a part of Mies, doing odd jobs and errands. I don’t think they had any qualms against being a librarian, except that it would get lonely from time to time, and they’re neutral about adventuring. They like seeing the world, and everything it has to offer, but they hate that they have to be so social and that there’s not much down time.

17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When?

Before Mies, they were a real homebody, which the stranger tried to counteract. Some of the stranger’s tasks required for S to go around and distribute the information they collected, or act on it in some other way. I don’t know any specific locations, but I’d assume it’s just around Jashtall.

After Mies was created, they wander around with them, so far it’s just been to Kajjitan, and Ashtal mainly.

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

The only thing I know is that they worked with I/Compassion and her bakery for a time, but that’s all.

In regards to their current travels, they found friendship, new information, and some of their lost memories.

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

I imagine it was when they first discovered that there are some people who are happy to live in ignorance. They spend so much of their time learning for the sake of knowing, somebody casually saying “ignorance is bliss” would probably make them faint. It still really bothers them, but after they started working with the stranger they learned that there’s some things you have to let go.

20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?

The war, and the rise of the New Initiative. They were on the outskirts of both as far as I know though.

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

They come off as a little awkward because of the years spent prioritizing ideas over people. Their hero is 100% Arai: knowledgeable, kind, generous, immensely bright, and driven. They hate people who are okay with not knowing. Especially in regards to the New Initiative, not knowing is dangerous.

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

Well there’s…. Whatever weird relationship they’re in with Ko. As for friends, they don’t have any outside of I/Compassion and E/Enthusiasm, and even then, E’s relationship with them is strained. They love curiosity, and admire skill. I imagine them to be more English/Humanities aligned, so an ideal partner would be someone who is just as curious and just as knowledgeable about a subject S doesn’t know as well, so their relationship would just be a bunch of excitedly sharing information of their passions back and forth.

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

Stability, openness to new ideas and experiences, feeling comfortable around them. I think they like sex, but in their current form, they would never even think about it.

24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

For I/Compassion’s bakery, they acted as an information gatherer. Within Mies, they act as the one who fixes and does the technical part of the golems. In the party, they help gather information through their god.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

They really enjoy reading, but they also like tinkering with the golems. They really enjoyed trying to solve Arai’s code though. Maybe they have a future in cryptography?

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

It’s very snowy in Jashtall, and they lived closer to the capital, so they’re used to living in a small city most likely. As with most other Jashtallans, they like the monochromatic color scheme with high collars and cloaks. Their hair reaches to their shoulders and its kinda wavy, which makes it looked more unbrushed than it usually is. After they made their deal with the stranger and turned into a tiefling, they started adopting a “darker” sense of fashion, thus, the fanged earring.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

They like it okay. They have to bind to get their ideal look, and sometimes the size of their lips will get to them, but otherwise they’re okay with their appearance. One of the lucky things about living in Jashtall is that it’s always cold, so they can wear lots and lots of layers. As far as quality goes, there’s probably not a lot of holes in their outfits, but they’re not exactly made of silk either. I imagine good quality clothes with typical fabric that might be found nearby. Their typical outfit is probably a undershirt of some kind, a long sleeved shirt, a sweater, a jacket, and oftentimes a cloak. Typically they wear normal shoes (I imagine something like oxfords), but if the situation calls for it, they’ll begrudgingly wear boots.

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

For the longest time, they were secluded, never really going anywhere other than their library and their home. Because of that, they aren’t really sociable, and M/Leader or E/Enthusiasm usually end up starting conversations for S. They will also occasionally get extremely focused on a task, and will become so wrapped up in it, that they will forget to eat or sleep. This isn’t as much of a problem now that they have Mies, but there are still some times they will unwittingly ignore their health in pursuit of a goal.

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

In truth, they’re worried about what they might find. There’s so many things that could have gone wrong in their past and there’s hardly any way they can fix it now, so they prefer to move on and stay focused on the here and now. As for forgiving, they can, but they would be a little wary about trusting that person in the future.

32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?

In a lot of social situations, they prefer to run away. Mies has made this easier, as somebody else almost always takes the reins, but before if something happened, they would just try to end the interaction as soon as possible and get to somewhere they felt safe. In physical situations however, I imagine they get the same hyperfocus they do with work, where nothing matters but the achievement of their goal, whatever that may be. And if someone is in the way of them achieving their goal, they are to be ignored or thrown aside.

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?

I can see them drinking, but I don’t think they’ve ever been offered drugs. They’re not sick, but they’re not exactly healthy either. They live a very sedentary lifestyle with frequently skipped meals and probably not enough sleep.

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

If any of these, probably revengeful. They hate what the New Initiative did to Jashtall and Arai, and they want to make them pay for using his inventions for evil.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

They would be a little aggravated, but failures are just things they need to think more about, or try harder at.

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

No, and no

37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

They’re very prone to daydreaming. Either that, or trying to predict what will happen. They don’t have a lot of memories, so there’s not much to live in, but every once in awhile, they’ll revisit certain moments.

38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?

Enthusiastic, definitely.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?Stupid people. They understand that there’s some people who were not given the opportunity to learn, and they hold no malice towards them, but they can’t stand it when people don’t know anything but think that they do.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

They’re not really a joke-teller, but they don’t mind hearing jokes.

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

They’re aware of their strengths and weaknesses, but they’re definitely capable of self-irony. As for idiosyncrasies, there’s some that they’re aware of, and some they’re not aware of.

42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

They want to be free from Mies. I don’t think they’d sacrifice any people, but I think they would give up any material possession to return to a singular body.

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

Just the wraith thing, and they’re honestly cool with just letting Ko know about that.

44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?

Typically if a life objective just involved them, they would put a lot of effort into it. But now that they’re part of a group, they realize you have to account for others, and so they push their own objectives back so that they can have some order they complete tasks.

45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?

yes / yes / varies / no / I wouldn’t say so / yes / no

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

Mies is tall with average weight, posture, etc.I don’t think much of their life before because I don’t want to overstep what might have been planned, but I would say they’re on the shorter side for humans, a little underweight, with bad posture. I don’t think they mind any of the things listed above.

47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible?

They would like to appear more important, but they don’t feel that the age they project matters, as long as it’s somewhat close to their actual age. They think that they would like to be visible, but in reality they would like to be invisible.

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

It depends on their mood. Typically they’re not too energetic, so probably lazy, half-movements. When they’re excited, they start tapping their fingers or moving their hands a lot more than usual.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

Medium pitch, medium strength, typically slow rhythm unless excited, average pronunciation. Idk if accents exist in this world.

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

Typically it’s just a blank, bored expression, but if they’re focusing on something, they’ll furrow their brows, and if they’re interested in something, they’ll raise their eyebrows and widen their eyes and they’ll have a little smile.