#but I was like this is the like city graveyard it is very public

[tiny-huts]

The entire Astarion graveyard scene was wonderful but I won't lie that the entire time I was picturing them having to run out of the graveyard bare ass naked after being caught having goth sex on a grave by a worker

[endcant]

save a bastion for queer culture in a famously hateful city

i’ll try to write a shorter and sweeter post about this later, but for now i will just beg at length.

there is a town near me called Murfreesboro where at various points they have banned or attempted to ban public homosexuality, drag, and pride flags. for a time their county’s youth incarceration rate was 48% (contrasted with the rest of the state at 5%) due to corruption in their local courts system. every juvenile case that made it to the wrong judge resulted in the child being sent to jail, because the county commissioner thought it’d be “cool” if the jail was a “profit center” (yes these are his actual words). these are just a few examples but suffice it to say, this is a very difficult place to grow up, especially for LGBT kids.

despite all of this difficulty, the area has a remarkable alternative music scene with a few small venues where queer people and young people who don’t fit in elsewhere can genuinely have fun and feel safe for the night. despite the city’s reputation, queer people in the broader area flock to the town for raves and DIY shows. in this area, music culture is intertwined with queer culture and leftist efforts to a much greater degree than i’m used to as somebody from the middle of california.

i really admire the venues and event organizers that cultivate a safe spaces like this in a place where it is decidedly unsafe for queer people, and where the youth are constantly in danger of having their lives ruined for totally arbitrary reasons.

this is why it breaks my heart that murfreesboro is trying to shut down a venue called The Graveyard Gallery. the graveyard gallery is a place where a ton of events are constantly held for lgbt, furry, and alternative communities. it is one of very few alternative places in the broader nashville area where i have felt really, truly safe and welcome as a person of color.

most recently, The Graveyard Gallery has come under attack for attempting to hold a Trans Day of Visibility punk show, with the apt title “Trans Day of Vengeance”. Conservative media, both local and national, directed the attention of their audiences towards this event, calling it “tone deaf” to have it on easter, and to have it sort-of-kind-of-close-to-but-not-quite-on the anniversary of the shooting in nashville. All of this, of course, ignoring that the date for TDoV was set in 2009, and that this was a small DIY punk show that really bore no threat to anybody. the show had to be canceled because of credible death threats, so it didn’t even happen, but that hasn’t appeased anybody.

in the wake of this, murfreesboro’s fire marshal has suddenly decided that the building is not acceptable for occupancy and it has to close immediately and for the forseeable future. people can claim it’s unrelated, but i’ve known people to have their businesses suddenly declined by fire marshals due to sheer bigotry before, and shitty towns will just use their fire marshal to bankrupt small business owners that they don’t like. i do not speak for the owners of the gallery on this front, but i personally believe that these things are related.

all this is to say, the graveyard gallery needs to raise money for their legal fees over this matter. this venue is very important to a lot of people, and may be even more important now that the city’s music scene is in the crosshairs of massive conservative media companies.

if you can donate please do, and if you can share this, please do that as well.

thank you for taking the time to read my post. i know there’s a lot going on in the world, but music venues are where people here gather, and music venues are often also a place where people organize to make meaningful change and promote causes that i know most of you would approve of. music is at the heart of this community, and the venues are where the music lives.

[silverskye13]

I am turning EB around in my head like a microwave and I have a couple questions:

What is EB and EX's relationship like? I know they view each other as family and EX gets EB's booth, but will we see how they interact more?

Did anyone wind up telling EB that hels!zedaph is dead? If not, does he have suspicions that he is?

and a more general Hels question (that is totally not related no siree) - what is the upkeep for the remembrance walls like?

EB and EX are on friendly terms! They previously saw each other,,, not as rivals in the traditional sense. They didn't openly attack or oppose each other. But EB viewed EX as a challenge: How do I stay distinct from my brother's shadow? Anyone looking for it would find it obvious. EB got Bigger and Louder whenever EX was around, and he used to be much bigger and much louder than he currently is. It's less that he was mean, and more that he was prideful. Becoming friends with Helsknight changed him for the better in that regard. Since he's mellowed out, he and his brother have become closer. They enjoy visiting with each other during Colosseum matches [EB will often stand with EX in the box and talk both before the events, and during intermission] and EX invites EB to a lot of parties, where they shit talk the guests together. We'll see them together once during RnS, but EB is a secondary character, and outside of the one appearance, I don't intend to have EX very involved in the story. He's kind of the unspoken god of the world: he gets a lot of mentions because he's very important to hels, but he's not very important to the plot lol.

Someone did wind up telling EB about hels!zedaph, though yes, he did suspect before he was told. EB hadn't gone looking for HZ for a reason. He didn't want to be the one to find out he was gone. If I can't see it, maybe its not really there.

And the Remembrance Wall Ramble got long so its under the cut!

[Hello future me cutting in here because I just realized you were probably talking about what individuals like EB would do to upkeep a name of a loved one. Mostly it involves regular visits. Keeping the stone clean, replacing it if it gets cracked, making sure it doesn't wear down. Nether bricks to me are a bit brittle, and the ones on the bottoms of the walls will crumble and break down over time. Most of the time, the Order of Remembrance is pretty good at getting them replaced, though they encourage individuals to do it themselves, to decorate the stones, paint or carve them, and overall keep the care personal. People will also sometimes leave gifts of food, flowers, and favored items at walls where loved ones names are kept. Walls are very colorful spots in hels, full of a lot of care.]

The Remembrance walls are, basically, graveyards. Alongside friends and family, who will make sure loved ones names are put down and remembered, the Order of Remembrance manages all Remembrance Walls in the city. We'll get into it a little in the upcoming chapters, but the Order of Remembrance church, and its knights, have a very active presence in hels. They are the cloaks seen most often roaming the streets, in twos and threes. They have regular routes they walk, with walls they are assigned to tend. They make sure the stones are stacked straight and don't fall, replace broken ones, and help people carve names. Many knights have prayer chants where they intentionally try to memorize every name on the wall. Their focus is on the idea that no helsmet is truly gone as long as some memory remains of them. They welcome helsmets approaching them with fond memories of loved ones, and will take testimony from people who know their time is coming. Their church is a glorified library and house of memorization. Part of their worship in remembrance of people is also in the remembrance of history, and they have at least one copy of every book, memoir, and journal in hels they can get their hands on. They have one private collection in the church, and one public library in hels, which they regularly update with copies of originals from the church library.

The only place outside the Order of Remembrance's domain is the shady side of town where Cleo's gangs keep the peace. For control reasons, Cleo doesn't like any opposing force on her claimed land, which includes Order of Remembrance knights. She does still have Remembrance Walls on her side of town, but they are up-kept by the people that live there as a community project. People get together once every few weeks, make food, talk about those that are gone, and make sure none of the stones are broken or stolen.

Erasing memory is a big taboo in hels, understandably. The universe is already cruel enough in taking people, and people, once taken, are woefully easy to forget [they were never meant to exist in the first place, after all]. On the sides of town where the Order of Remembrance upkeeps the walls, anyone caught stealing or destroying stones is tracked down by their paladins, and subjected to community service under close supervision. They're often roughed up in the process, but the paladins won't kill you for breaking a stone. Depending on whose stone you break, and how angry hels is that day, the same can't be said for anyone else who catches you. Repeat offenders, or people who destroy many stones at once with the express intent of erasing memory, are branded by the Order with a mark somewhere visible, normally on the hands. Anyone with that unlucky brand will see increased hostility from their peers, ostricization, lost of livelihood and home -- it's a great way to make everyone in hels hate you. Anyone on Cleo's side of town caught destroying a stone is hunted actively in the streets, and leaving her side of town will not save them. She offers high bounties for that kind of thing.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! I love your headcanons and fics! Can I request Astarion and a Tav that is a follower of Bahamuth the platinum dragon? Could it be a Paladin, a Cleric or a Sorcerer?

Oh, this is a nice idea! I've already made Cleric of Selûne! Tav and Cleric of Latander!Tav - time to see rare gods!

Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon is the deity of good-aligned dragons and metallic dragons, being considered the first of their kind. He is a sworn enemy of Tiamat, the Scaled Tyrant, who is the queen of the chromatic dragons.

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Cleric of Bahamuth!Tav

You are forced into marriage when you were fifteen.

A common practice in your area but that doesn't make it any less awful.

Your husband, a man who has buried three wives before you, is eager to consummate the marriage.

You barely remember the first wedding night and the nights that follow.

Only pain, beatings, and humiliation.

So you decide to run.

Your husband's people have been hunting you like a doe until one day you met a monk.

The monk fight your husband's people with his bare hands.

You are free but for how long.

He is powerful. He is vindictive. He is unforgiving.

You beg the monk to take you with him and he agrees.

You spend a year learning under his training - he is a wise man, kind and intelligent.

He teaches you the ways of magic and secret knowledge of dragons.

You assist him in his travels and help the less fortunate.

One day, he reveals his true form to you.

He is Bahamuth, the god of good-aligned dragons, who prefers to live with mortals.

Оnce the initial shock wears off, you swear your allegiance to him.

The Dragon God makes you his priest, a cleric of the light domain.

Bahamut does not demand anything from you except that you be a good person - otherwise he receives his blessings from you. That is all. You are not obliged to obey him.

As your first mission, you are asked to go to Baldur's Gate and help people who suffer from the Absolute cult but on the way to the city you are kidnapped.

You manage to unite people around you - you strike hope in your companions.

Even in Astarion, though, he will never admit it.

He mocks your religion and your faith but you are patient and, with time, he becomes more accepting.

You don't how to react to his confession - the forced marriage and matrimonial rape made a mental block in your head.

You don't know how to love.

But you know how to care and, gods, Astarion needs a dragon to be saved from his misery.

Your relationship is rather asexual - you both aren't sure you ever want to have sex.

You destroy his master with Flamestrike and Daylight.

In the graveyard, you both forget all your traumas - and spend a night in each other's arms.

In the middle of the acts you almost get arrested for public misconduct but you make a fuss showing your cleric symbols.

It's not like the poor guardian knows Bahamut doesn't require having sex on the cemetery.

With the tadpole gone, you are adamant about finding Astarion a cure.

Not just an ability to walk in the sun, but the cure.

Bahamuth must know how to do that but you can't contact him though you feel his presence.

You and Astarion decide to travel through Faerun.

With time, Astarion accepts your faith. Sometimes he prays with you and he always listens to your theological lectures.

Unfortunately, when there is a vampire, there is a monster hunter.

Astarion is killed - and his body turns to ashes.

You are devastated.

It's unfair.

You deny Bahamuth and spend a year doing everything he despises.

Murders, debauchery, crimes.

One morning you wake in a dungeon cell with a very familiar monk as your cellmate.

Bahamuth listens to your cries and complaints and... ask to forgive him.

He is a god. A dragon. He doesn't understand mortals.

You ask him to return you Astarion and he agrees.

Besides, he's wanted to pay a visit to Hells a long time ago.

He keeps his promise - Astarion is back. Bahamuth says he is going to the Astral Sea and you will probably not meet again in your mortal life.

When Astarion opens his eyes, you are too busy cradling him in your arms to notice something is off.

His eyes are green and his skin isn't that pale.

There is a beating heart in his chest and he breathes.

A resurrected vampire is a mortal.

He needs time to get used to his mortal body but his vampiric years feel to him like a nightmare.

One day he confesses to you that as he was praying to gods to save him he never prayed to Bahamuth.

He just didn't know such a god existed.

--

Tag list

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[thatlittleegyptologist]

Hi! I recently went to the Field Museum in Chicago which has an exhibit on Ancient Egypt. Along with the many artifacts on display there are also a lot of mummified persons. I believe that there is genuine educational value in examining these people since it can tell us about the culture at the time of preservation; however, I think that there is a disconnect for me when it comes to the display of human remains since I think it can be too easy to forget that they are/were people. (1/2)

I know that there are also elements of what surviving family/culture/modern country feel about the remains being on display and those must be respected. I was wondering how someone who studies Egyptology deals with these sorts of questions for themselves. At least for you, is there a difference between studying the remains and allowing the public to see them? (2/2)

You, personally, find there's a disconnect between the mummy on display and finding it's a real person. I don't have that issue and never have done. They are people, and always have been. Almost anyone who works in a museum that has mummies will tell you that we're quite likely to greet them in the morning, or as we pass by during the day, or as we're leaving. We treat them as people. I don't think you'd find anyone working in museums or Egyptology who'd say 'nah that's an object fuck it'. When you handle these remains, you are painfully aware that this was once a person. There is no escaping that, and I think too many people seem to be of the opinion that we don’t care at all. It’s simply not true. We work with their belongings, their bodies, their words, their names. If anyone is forgetting they’re human it’s certainly not us. We are all too aware that these are people. 

However, for me, running parallel to this: They're dead. And I don't mean that in a 'well hey let's do whatever the hell we like', just that they've been dead for a very long time. That's the reality. The person they were isn't there and hasn't been there for a very long time. I view it much like the poem 'Immortality' - 'Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep.' Great care is taken when working with human remains, because they are people, but at the same time they are very definitely dead. I cannot control what happens to my remains in 4000 years time, and tbh I'll be dead so I won't know. People always say 'oh no you can't say that you'd hate it if someone was disturbing your rest' and no...I wouldn't....I'm dead. I've got no idea what's going on. I can choose how and where I am buried, however, what someone is doing with whatever fragments of me are left in 4000 years is literally none of my concern.

As an Egyptologist, and someone who is familiar with how archaeology, the passing of time, and the encroachment of 'modern' humans (relative term, since this has been going on for a long as humans have been building ever expanding cities) into areas that were previously the realm of the dead, I need you to know that we are continuously disturbing the dead during modern life. Remains of humans long since dead are being moved all the time for things like building work. London is full of churches that used to have graveyards. Those graves have been dug up and moved, and they’re not individually reburied. They’ll dig a pit, and they’ll place all the remains from that graveyard into the new pit, and then rebury them. Euston station in London is literally built on top of a graveyard. So many buildings around the world are built over burial sites. This is because for many places, burial sites used to be outside the city walls, but as the city grew over the centuries, and the graves of those there were hidden by time, new buildings were built above them. When that building gets removed, suddenly there’s bodies everywhere, and you’ve got to move them. They can’t stay or they’ll be destroyed. So, they get moved. Some to new grave sites (as above), and some are kept for study. It all depends on the nature of the remains. 

There is obviously a difference for me between the scientific study that Egyptologists undertake (not me personally. I'm not interested in mummies that much) and those mummies being on display. Scientifically we can learn a lot from mummies; from the causes of death, age at death, how hard a person’s life would have been, if they had any disabilities, how mummification was performed on them, various DNA studies (which will be difficult due to the advanced decay of said DNA) etc etc. When they’re on display, they’re not specifically for Egyptologists. They’re a means to connect visitors with the Ancient Egyptians as humans. Now, when I say this I don’t mean ‘ohh people don’t think the Ancient Egyptians were human’ what I mean is that the Ancient Egyptians lived so long ago that it is to most people unfathomably long. They can’t connect with the people who made these things. Who lived these lives. This is often why we get conspiracy thought relating to Ancient Egypt. People, today, cannot conceive of people then doing these things. Mummies are a way of reconnecting the people of today with the people back then. They remind us that these objects we’re viewing were created by these human beings. They remind us of our own mortality, and even perhaps our own wishes for death. They are there not just as ‘things’, but as the type of people that made the things you see in the exhibit, and the people that made Ancient Egypt the civilisation we know and love. 

In Ancient Egyptian culture, it was normal for death to be a part of everyday life. Be that funerals, craftsmen making items that were for burials, people working on tombs, visiting the tombs of loved ones, and the House of Life (where mummification happened). Life expectancy was shorter, and people were more prone to dying from things that today we'd shrug off with a cup of coffee and a paracetamol. As already mentioned, part of this culture was going to visit the dead to bring offerings so that their Ka (life spirit) may continue to live on in the Afterlife. During this time you would also speak the name of the dead, as it was important that the name lived on too. In fact, their tombs would have little passages carved saying 'as for those who pass by my tomb, please speak my name and say a voice offering of....' In fact, I’m reliably informed that this is precisely what the Field Museum asks you to do upon entering the exhibit, which is quite a way from ‘disrespecting the dead’. Without this happening, the Ka and Ba of the Egyptian would die a ‘second death’, which for the Egyptians was permanent. There was no coming back from this, and it was something they desperately sought to prevent. They didn’t want to be forgotten. To have their names unspoken. To lie in a dark place, never to receive offerings that would sustain them. That was the worst thing that could happen to a person. To be yanked out of the afterlife because you’d been forgotten (see: Disney’s Coco, which has very similar themes). 

The dead in Egypt weren't always 'buried', which is a sort of misnomer to be honest. Sometimes they're down a deep shaft, which the family would visit, and sometimes they're in the coffin but the coffin isn't buried. It's just there in the room the family visits. Sometimes it's just a mummy on a shelf in catacombs. These are places the Egyptians would go frequently. Perhaps every few days, and almost certainly every few weeks. They would speak with the dead, they would leave offerings, the whole family would go along. There are children’s drawings on some mummy bandages and cartonage from the time of Ancient Egypt, showing that not only were they on display, but they were taking their children and the children had access to the deceased. They were not obsessed with death, but it was an intrinsic part of their lives. Even during certain festivals, they would go to the tombs of their family and get absolutely wasted and then fuck in the tombs. So, you see, the Egyptians had very little qualms about the dead being on display and visited. That is, after all, what they’d do themselves. They were not shut away and forgotten about. A museum display, with their names able to be read, offerings from tombs surrounding them, and they are not forgotten, is almost the ideal conditions for an Egyptian’s afterlife to continue. 

Western culture has, and I sort of paraphrase Caitlin Doherty (Ask a Mortician) here, got quite weird about death. We do one of two things: say 'ew dead people gross. put those away' or say 'oh no we're not respecting them put them away'. We shy away from death. It's always to be 'put away' so as to be out of sight and out of mind for various reasons. Now, some cultures, ancient or otherwise, have qualms about their dead being on display, and we should respect those, so I am not talking about those cultures here, only about Ancient Egypt (waits for the anon who didn’t read this part to yell at me). However, death as an overarching theme in society is something western cultures do not like to talk or think about. We sidestep the uncomfortable truth of our own mortality under the guise of civility (don’t you care that these are people? Put them away!) or ‘death is too gross or too sad’ (eww dead body) to talk about. No matter which of these angles people come from, the end result they want is the same ‘put it in a dark hole/room and let’s not talk about it any more’. If more people were honest with themselves, mummies make them uncomfortable because they force people to confront the unknown of death and dying. No one knows what will happen to their remains in 4000 years, and that’s frightening. No one knows if they’ll even be remembered, and most likely we won’t be. As the poet John Keats has inscribed on his gravestone ‘Here lies one whose name was writ in water’, as he faced the very human realisation that we are but blips on this earth and we cannot know the future. Mummies are a gentle way to force us to confront that innate fear, even if we’re not aware that it’s what they’re doing. When I see mummies on display, I see people, I see their lives lived thousands of years before mine, and I can see their wants and fears laid bare. Seeing their names and ages at death makes me appreciate how fragile life is, and yet the care of others that went into preserving them so they could rise anew. I see humanity. Hide that away, and you break the connection between the objects on display and the humans that created them. 

Carefully thought out displays, and trust me we think them out before we make them (unless we haven’t got the funding to update them yet), can be ways in which the idea and reality of death can be introduced to people gently. Especially children. It gets them thinking about their lives, and also death, so when they are confronted by death due to the death of a friend or family member it is not something they have no knowledge of or ways to understand. School groups are often introduced to the mummies by name, and asked to say hello. They’re then taught about the person’s life and what their job would have been and maybe even how they died. Some school groups are even asked to think of what they’ve been taught about the Egyptians wanting to take with them food wise to the afterlife, and say to them out loud ‘Nesamun we hope you get bread and ox meat in the afterlife!’ and then asked to say goodbye to them too. It gives them an understanding of the dead, shows them their humanity, and also shows them they have nothing to fear from the dead (a common thread in western culture). We did this with my niece when my grandma passed in 2020. She was two and half, and didn’t really understand what was happening. The permanence of death is a difficult concept to explain to a toddler, and she was full of questions. We explained what cremation meant, and what graveyards are, and she asked more questions that were too difficult to answer. So we took her to the museum and showed her the mummies. ‘Are they dead like momma?’ she asked. ‘Yes’ we replied, ‘these are people who died a very long time ago’. ‘So they’re not coming back?’ she said with her classic eyebrow quirk ‘no, sweetheart they’re not coming back’ ‘what’s his name?’ she demanded ‘Panesittawy’ a thoughtful pause ‘did he have a momma?’ ‘yes he did’ she traces the outline of the face on the coffin on the glass of the case ‘she isn’t coming back either is she?’ ‘no sweetheart’ then, as I’ve never forgotten, ‘ok bye dead people hope you like the stars!’ and toddled off. Now when we go to museums, she likes to be introduced to all the mummies if we know their names, and says hi even if we don’t know their names. 

So, as an Egyptologist, I know full well that Ancient Egyptian mummies are people. I have no disconnect between the body and the person. I treat them with compassion and joy, as if I were greeting old friends. They teach me about their lives, through scientific study, and I teach other people about their lives through outreach. I am a voice and intermediary between the past and the present, and together with my deceased colleagues we can remind people of just where they came from, while ensuring that their names get to live on anew. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for contacting an old childhood friend?

So I (28NB) made a good friend (27F?) in the third grade at a very religious private school. We were thick as thieves and did as much as we could together. Sleepovers, parties, movies, she was really the only close friend I had like that growing up. We sort of fell apart when she got moved to a different private school in the same city for seventh grade, and then I went to a different city’s public school starting in eighth grade.

In the meantime, I went through a lot of self discovery, became agnostic, found out I was nonbinary and other flavors of queerness. Whenever I thought back about her, I imagined her as still essentially the same as we both were in middle school. The super Christian, long blonde hair blue eyed Southern girl who wouldn’t really understand my life as it is now. Not in a malicious way, but just assuming she was like the others from the same school I had run across since then.

The crux is that my mom was going through her old facebook account for pictures, and found that she was still friends with all the mom’s from the middle school. So she checked out my friend’s mom’s page. And there she was, at a recent family Christmas party, in an ugly Christmas sweater, hair shaved off, and arms around another woman (from presentation, we don’t know anyone’s current pronouns). It made me happy to find out that she was like me in this way.

I want to reach out to her with some message of “Hey, same hat!” but I’m worried that that sort of message from a long forgotten friend may seem weird and creepy. Like I had been stalking her to refind her information (I had a facebook account that used to be friends with her, but over the years I had deleted all friends and stopped posting, it’s just a memory graveyard, though I can tell she is keeping hers updated) and I don’t know 100% if she is actually queer, or if she just has a new best friend that she brings to Christmas dinner.

It’s also possible that I’m completely overthinking this and she would actually like me to reach out to her? Maybe I should leave out the stuff about being queer until after we’re already talking? So it doesn’t seem so completely out of the blue?

What are these acronyms?

[gilbirda]

The Vampire Bat

For DPxDC Week!

Day 1: Lazarus Pit.

[Read on AO3]

---

Jazz met him for the first time when she was doing that internship years ago. It had been a once-in-a-lifetime chance and she bet everything she had on making a good impression on the Arkham Asylum director.

(For whatever good it did, because even if she had made an impression she had to leave Gotham before the end of her internship. Danny needed her.)

She found him hurt and alone, with death all over him, still smelling like graveyard dirt.

He couldn’t be much younger than her, even if he was tall and very fit under the burial black suit.

Jazz followed him around, half wondering how a revenant was walking the streets of Gotham and half keeping an eye so he wouldn’t find a quick second death. She wanted to see as well if the guy, like all revenants, instinctively walked home or a familiar place - if he had loved ones that gave a light on the mystery, she wanted to talk to them.

Soon he was picked up and brought to a hospital, where he would be properly taken care of.

She hoped she wouldn't meet him again, but if she did, she wanted to solve this mystery.

***

Jazz met him again by chance, some years later.

She was on a forced vacation after Danny complained she was too bossy and he was a grown man now and ‘I don’t need you breathing down my neck all the time!’ and ugh-

So. Yeah. She was subtly sent a link to the Arkham Asylum job portal and details about her new flashy apartment in the city. Completely furnished.

Subtlety was not Danny’s (or his friends’) specialty.

So here she was trying to figure out if she wanted to go back to her dream or not, and if she really could just walk back in and ask for a second chance, when she felt him.

Her senses had gotten sharper with time - her liminality ramping up in the time it took Team Phantom to settle Danny as the ruler of the Infinite Realms. Somewhere along the way they accepted the fact that neither of them was completely human anymore, with Jazz herself embracing it rather easily given the circumstances.

Her only complaint? Having to consume ectoplasm regularly to compensate for her inability to make the stuff herself.

That’s why when she sensed the revenant from years ago, she could pinpoint his location easier than she did when she was younger.

She sniffed him out, finding that his smell had changed with time - the baseline graveyard dirt stink was still there, just buried under the most potent ectoplasmic fragrance she ever detected in the Living world.

He was not a ghost. He still had the warm middletones of a Living creature. But he was familiar enough to make her mouth water.

Jazz watched him, carefully following him around as he walked around the isles in the Classical section of Gotham’s Public Library. Everything he touched, everything he breathed at, smelled so deliciously that she got sidetracked imagining how he would taste.

She needed to know.

So bad.

Maybe this vacation thing wasn’t that awful of an idea after all.

***

She found him again, but in the craziest way possible. Also, maybe she had found out one of the city’s biggest secrets by accident.

Her mystery guy was a vigilante.

Not that it changed anything for her, mind you; it even made things more exciting. If he was used to the weird stuff going on in Gotham then she could approach him more directly and not lose time in silly games.

Once again she followed him around like a, well, like a ghost, having fun with the chase around the rooftops without him noticing. Or maybe he did? Sometimes she caught him looking around at the shadows, stopping to check them before doing his next jump.

It wasn’t until a few nights later, when she had to stop her chase to talk to some very lost ghosts that didn’t know they were dead, that her little game came to an end.

The click of the gun, once upon a time, would have made her heart stop for a moment. Now she knew it wouldn’t actually kill her, just push her officially to the other side of her Life/Dead status.

She turned, her hands lifted in the air.

“Who are you and why are you following me.” He growled. His aura did a flare that was supposed to scare her, but she had seen worse. One wasn’t the Princess of the Dead without fistfighting a few gods here and there.

She smiled softly, lowering her hands. “You noticed me?”

“I’m the one asking questions.” Red Hood didn’t lower the gun. “You have to answer.”

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Jazz's chuckle was lost in the cold Gotham breeze. “I thought I would never see you again and then I did and there’s something about you-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He growled.

“Oh, right, you don’t know me. It was… four years ago? I think. Yeah, four years. You were wandering around and revenants are vulnerable, so I watched you-”

“What?” He really liked to interrupt people, huh.

“Revenant? A type of undead. Not actually a zombie,” she rolled her eyes, offended, “those are a different thing.”

“You knew me? Four years ago?”

“Yes? Not, like, know, know you. I was in the neighborhood and sensed death on you and I needed to check.” She sniffed again, walking a bit closer. The gun was still pointed in her direction, but he didn’t move. “Something’s changed, though. You smell like death but also less like death, and more like ectoplasm. Were you revived?”

He tensed. So yes, someone revived him. His loved ones? She should know if there was a magician powerful enough, and with access to this much ectoplasm, in the city.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You mean you don’t sense me?”

His silence was enough.

“Oh well, how about now?”

She let her tight control of her aura go for a moment. It wasn’t a good idea to broadcast her status and power all the time, especially if she wanted to keep a low profile. Also, the Spirit of Gotham had let her into her city, but Jazz didn’t want to push it with a power play - she may be the Princess, but Gotham was older and her claim was stronger.

“Holy shit.” Red Hood flinched, putting away his gun. Then, he took the helmet off to look at her with his own eyes. “You feel just like the Lazarus Pit.”

“The what?”

Both looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“You really don’t know?” He insisted, frowning. “The League of Shadows?” She shook her head. “Ra’s al Ghul?” She shook her head again. “Immortal guy that has been using the Lazarus Pit to artificially extend his lifespan?”

Okay that rang a bell. “And has a creepy cult of assassins and lives in a mountain?”

He chuckled at her wording. “That guy.”

“I know of him. We’ve been looking into his case for a while.”

“We?” He arched an eyebrow. “Are you the death police?”

“I’m the Princess of the Ghosts, actually.”

He stopped and looked at her as if he were considering she was joking or trying to mock him. After a few seconds of pondering, he shrugged and rolled with it.

“And what does the Princess want with me? Take me back to the Afterlife?” By his little smile, he wasn’t taking this seriously. Did he think she was not being honest? What was the point of lying?

“If I wanted to take your soul I would already have done so,” she took a step closer. If she wanted, she could jump on him and take that sweet smelling ectoplasm, but she behaved. No need to act like a barbarian. “I just thought you smelled nice.”

He didn’t expect that. His cheeks turned a bit red. “That’s the worst pickup line ever. Very creepy.”

“Who said anything about pickup lines?” She slowly reached and brushed a bit of his hair away from his neck, the movement sending that sweet smell in her direction. “I’ve never encountered this scent and I’m curious.”

There was recognition in his eyes. He knew there was something different about him.

“Let’s say there’s an explanation for that. What would you do?”

What wouldn’t she do?

“If it’s harmful for you, I’d find a way to help and then kindly ask you if you are interested in a bit of fun." By the way his eyebrows rose, he got what she meant. "If not, then I want to kindly ask you if you are interested in a bit of fun and if you could let me take a sip."

"Are you- Are you like a vampire?"

She hummed, amused by the comparison. This wasn't the first time someone made a comment. Maybe she was a vampire after all, just not hungry for blood but for ectoplasm.

"Not for human blood.” If her smile hinted at her pointy teeth, it wasn’t on purpose. “So that’s a no?”

His smile was devious when he answered: “I never said I was against it.”

---

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[springbloggy]

Ultimate Woody Timeline Theory

This is something Quinton reviews brought up in his latest video that I've been thinking about, and I think I have come up with an interesting, plausible timeline.

So tldw; for a very long video, Woody is a character that appears across icarly,victorious, sam and cat, and henry danger. He is odd because he is the same character but in different roles across each show. For example, in iCarly, he sells pearphones, while in Victorious, he is Jade's personal slave. Using all the examples that Quinton lists I have come up with my own personal theory on the history of this character, how he ended up as Jade's slave, and even how he ended up becoming a grass themed supervillain.

Woody aka Paul's journey begins somewhat ordinarily. He lived with his un-named girlfriend in Seattle and had a sibling rivalry with his brother. However, his rivalry with his brother ends up nagging at the back of his mind, since after all, his brother always "wins" and gets what he wants. This causes Paul to worry about the longevity with his girlfriend, is she really his life-long other half, or will his brother steal her from him like he has done so many times in the past? This causes Paul to become desperate, if Paul's brother gets his girlfriend, then Paul will be left truly alone.

Paul's first idea was to get tickets to Kesha, who is his girlfriend's favorite singer, however the contest being notoriously difficult caused him to cheat to win the tickets, even faking his hometown in order to make his lie more convincing. This ends up backfiring on him as Kesha finds out about the ruse.

So now, publicly embarrassed, his girlfriend starts to distance herself from Paul. Worried that the Kesha incident may be the straw that causes Paul to loose his girlfriend to his brother, Paul becomes frantic about being truly alone. However, maybe if Woody had a "plan b", then maybe Paul could never truly be alone, as he will have a second girlfriend covering his back.

This leads Paul into making the worst mistake of his life, as while he's alone at a restaurant, he tries to pick up on the very under-aged Carly as an attempt to make her his "plan b".

The wider public ends up finding out somehow, which causes Paul to change his name into "Woody" as a way to hide his identity. To make things worse, his girlfriend ended up finding out, straining their already strained relationship more. As a way to win her back, the girlfriend ends up making a plan with Woody, make money and she will stay, however if he doesn't make money, she's going to leave. A year-and-a-half later, a desperate Woody tries to make the last bits of money for his girlfriend's agreement by pitching a phone case to Gibby.

This fails as Gibby has no money for the case and no one else accepts the offer, causing the girlfriend to leave Woody for good.

Depressed and outcasted, Woody moves to L.A., perhaps to return to the place where he "started" from, perhaps to gain stardom to win back his girlfriend, or perhaps to leave the city that hated him. Whatever the case, Woody is now hard on his luck and tries out bit jobs in order to make ends meet, including working at the graveyard.

However, one day, Jade comes across Woody and offers him payment to appear in her videos, but the caveat is that he has to do whatever she tells him to do. So Jade constantly makes videos hating the guy and doing whatever she can do to embarrass or break him.

This is what ultimately breaks Woody, after years of living under the shadow of his brother, failing to stay with his girlfriend, and being outcasted, Woody decides he has had enough and turns into a literal supervillain: the Lawn Ranger.

But not before he takes a photo of the person who hurt him most, his brother, and photoshoping it into his ideal supervillain self.

Did I think way too much about a bit character from multiple children's sitcoms? Maybe. But in the end, isn't that truly in the Quinton Reviews spirit?

[resetting37]

Funerals in Evelow

hi !! I have not done a world building wednesday segment in a long time ! but I am back, and I wanted to talk about how (most) funerals go about in Evelow, the primary setting of my story.

I'm going off of this prompt, and just answering the funeral and death related questions. Death is (unfortunately) not that big of a plot point in my story, but it does come up, especially at the beginning ('wait, there's a timeline to this nonsense ???')

How is a funeral held? funerals are held actually around a month after the death. However, if it was a terminally ill person or someone whose death was predicted to be coming, then it may be a lot sooner. This is because funerals are planned very slowly and time is taken to decide on tomb arrangements, location, scripts, etc.

(If you're wondering if the attendees are looking at a super decomposed body or if the embalming methods are hella advanced, um, both ? The decision to embalm does have to happen early on, but some people believe that the decomposition makes mourning more effective. Others want to look at their loved one as they remember them. Also, Evelow is the city that has advanced genetic therapy, so some cell manipulation is complimented with the chemicals to preserve the body longer. Freezing is also done, but don't forget to thaw them out in time ! sheesh.)

So after all the planning, people must register to attend or else they cannot enter. (If the dead person was apart of the planning before their death, then they can make their own invitation list.) This is because there are strict arrangements and many people have duties within the ceremony.

The funeral begins at the burial site. (Unless there were wishes to be buried in secret !! In that case, it can be anywhere. We'll talk more about burial sites in the next question) Everyone in attendance is expected to have a turn at saying something publicly to the dead person. You can technically opt out, but you'd have to be a sobbing mess in order to avoid the stigma that comes out of attending a wedding and not having anything to say about the dying person.

There is a scribe present who records everything. Everything written down will be put into a book(let; depends how much was said) and that book will be attached to the burial site. This is so anyone who visits in the future can read the book that talks about them. Evelow greatly values historical texts and recording everything, so remembering passed people in this manner is appropriate.

So yes, funeral ceremonies can last a very long time. This is why they take a long time to plan. If anticipated, intermissions can occur. There have been occurrences of them lasting days. Fatigue is expected. But many times, people want the funerals to last, so they'll accept the fatigue.

What happens to the body after someone has died? So yeah, bodies are buried ! Usually. Really depends on the person. Preferably in a casket because of the stigma Evelow has against the natural world. In fact, it's more labor-induced to bury them without a casket. To get approval on open burial (i.e. just burying them as is. no coffin or cardboard box or anything) the ground has to be tested for toxicity and purified. In general, the ground is fine.

If you have made recognized achievement within Evelow, then you can be nominated to be buried in the inland garden. The garden is what surrounds the temple and even has statues and other highly decorated tombs. The council has to approve this. And given that most of the figures here are either past councilmen, emperors, etc. It's kind of an unfair little secret club.

So where are people usually buried ? Usually at the home of a loved one or a place significant to them. So yea, there's just little books scattered across Evelow being like "hey this person was buried here, want to read what others said about them ?" (if it's a public place, it has to be approved, blah blah) If there's no designated location, there's a mass graveyard on one of the far reaches of Evelow. It's very large and there are lots of people buried there, but many people try to avoid this fate. There's another stigma behind being "buried in the graveyard."

I don't think they call it a graveyard, just the burial ground (that's 'the' not 'a'.) Though some people like to be metal and call it the "land of the mournless" which brings me to the next question

How do people mourn? There's A LOT of mourning involved in Evelonian deaths. No celebrations (unless you despised the person lol) not even to be happy that they lived a good life, etc. (Which is kind of why cloning is a thing in this city. It's very much not a common thing, but man, some people don't want to die, is there harm in preserving yourself in some manner ?) So yeah, it ties with the desire to record everything as mentioned above. There's a lot of value in preservation in Evelow, so to lose a person ??

Which is why it's considered very important to spill your heart out when it's your turn to speak at the ceremony. You have to say it all, so it'll be recorded and kept by the body forever ! So much so that loud crying is encouraged. (Which I'll give credit to Evelow for that, good for them. However, this also means that if you're not publicly mourning someone, people might take that as you not caring about them. Which is fine if you're not close to them, but you know. People have to be mindful of that.)

What is consider an appropriate amount of time for mourning? However much time you need ! There's no obligation to be like "okay this person died a year ago, time to move on" you can mourn as long as you like. Of course, this can be harmful when it comes to the mourning person's health, but people are welcome to continue mourning while going on their daily lives so that the mourn does not consume them.

What color is used for mourning and funerals? Okay, so as of now, many colors have the same symbolism in Evelow as they are how I'm familiar with ? I should change that (at least to a degree, since I am also an artist and I like to consider color theory) but I do want to keep black as the symbol for death and decay and mourning. And since death is feared in Evelow, then everyone wears black to a funeral.

People are supposed to wear their heaviest garb, wear custom made attire, and go all out for the ceremony. The more extravagant you are, the better (which means that I should redesign the camryns outfits as shown above, it was their mother that died ! We shouldn't able to see these guys under all the veils and cloaks !! Um. remind me to draw that sometime.)

"You mean people are supposed to wear layers of black drapery and attend a multi-hour-sometimes-days-long ceremony ??" Yes, it's supposed to be exhausting.

•

Okay so that's about the end of my ramble ! I should talk a little on how funerals and death is seen in other places like Recom and especially Dile. Dile was where Audrey grew up and when her parents died, she was kind of alone in her mourning. So when she goes to Evelow and sees people acting like it's the end of the world to see their loved ones die, Audrey's like "finally, someone who gets me."

also disclaimer I'm not implying that I think this is the right way to go ! this is just how Evelow does it. And not even everyone in Evelow. It's considered controversial to show any happiness behind a death, but some people are pushing back and insisting on celebration of life, and that death is such a regular part of the life cycle that it should be properly incorporated into people's lives, and not seen as this tragedy for all cases of it.

[braceletofteeth]

☀️🌙✨ tarot questions ✨🌙☀️

Strength l,

Death and

Temperance

Strength: what is your dream occupation?

Had you asked me that a few years back, I'd definitely say writing. It was my passion and the thing that brought me joy the most in the whole world. But university took its toll on me, and I lost that. I can't really write anymore, and ever since I realized so, I've been looking for other things I'd like to do, but so far haven't come up with much.

I certainly like to learn new languages, though. I wish I could occupy myself just studying them, and entertaining myself with whatever I feel like it the rest of the time.

However, the word "occupation" makes me think of "job". And, in that case, I'm always considering what would be most ideal for me. At the moment, I'm enamoured with the idea of being the caretaker of a vacation house of some rich family that can afford an extra house where they only spend one month of the year. OR caretaker of tombstones. It felt good to clean them when I visited the city's oldest graveyard last year, despite my family judging me from a distance. I don't think they get that this is how I show my respect to the dead.

This occupation would be perfect if public graveyards weren't so insecure nowadays, with robbers and what not. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, it would be reckless for a young lady such as myself to wander there alone.

Anyways. Abandoned places. That's what I've dreaming about. I like the idea of tidying things up, fixing what's broken, and not having anyone around to tell me how I should do my job.

Death: what are three things you want to do before you die?

Live in a house of my own. The house must have at least one window from which I can see the color of the sky, but other than that I'd just be happy for being able to choose what I'm going to eat and for not feeling unsafe at home.

Visit faraway places to see things I've never seen in person before, like snow, a bear, and a sky so full of stars you can barely see the pitch black darkness of the void.

Fit in. Not anywhere, not with anybody, but beside a person or between people with which "fitting in" takes no effort. As if we're parts of the same machine, in harmony and/or working towards the same goal. I want to find my people and I want them to recognize and accept me.

Temperance: can you describe a strange dream you’ve had?

Oh god... The most recent one that I can remember in details was actually a nightmare.

It would go back and forth between past and present. In the present, I was following the story of two women. One of the them was a lawyer; the other, with the lawyer's help, was trying to bring justice to long deceased women who had been experimented on decades ago.

The experiment had happened in a swimming club/school. There was psychological torture and physical abuse that would come from the instructors, and also some kind of toxic gas (?) that would induce violence between the swimmers. It was... gruesome, to say the least.

Back in the present, the indignant pair of women fighting for justice were paying a visit to one of the people responsible for the experiment. The director of the swimming club/school. An old lady that didn't seem to ever display any emotion in her eyes. The women felt anger and repulse in her presence, but were also terrified of her. They tried very hard not to show that, in case she could sense it and take it as weakness.

There was a long discussion about human rights or something like that, and I woke up after. The strangeness of the dream comes from me not knowing why tf would my subconscious inflict such horrifying images and gut-wrenching feelings on myself when I was supposed to be resting :)

[pacificwaternymph]

So in the superhero au, how do funerals for supers(or anyone with a secret identity) work? Like, are their identities public at death? Do the supers, or their everyday identities, just "go missing"? Are there laws? What happens if a mortuary worker sees their face? I know i'm probably reading waaaay too far into this, but after your last post, i'm fascinated.

Superhero funerals are very public affairs. Although it's different from city to city depending on how the hero group in that city works, in the one where this story takes place, the funerals are funded via public donation, since superhero groups are essentially nonprofits. Not run by the government, but still very far within the bounds of legality.

There are laws in place to protect the superhero's identity even after death, including that a super's body is not allowed to be displayed in any way for risk of putting any living relatives in danger should some jackass decide to remove the super's mask. There is also a law that prohibits anyone from removing a superhero's mask unless absolutely necessary, to which there are very strict guidelines determining what is and is not considered "necessary."

There's basically a public memorial service where a symbolic, yet empty, coffin is laid to rest in a graveyard made specifically for fallen superheroes. The coffin contains any specific symbols, items, costumes, or whatever else that the super specifically requests to have buried there, and whatever isn't usually gets donated to a museum.

Their civilian identities are given separate, regular funerals. A lot of times the other supers they worked with will show up in civilian gear, but otherwise it's just a normal funeral. The cause of death is just marked as "died in a superhuman conflict," which in a city full of superpowered individuals, isn't uncommon.

Hope this answered your question <3

[danse--macabre]

5, 6, 7 from story!

5. How do they react to the Player Character taking their first tadpole power?

They're all for it! Not actively asking to slurp down tadpoles, mind, but they see no reason not to take advantage of newfound powers. Tirazel is power-seeking and will applaud the player for being willing to be a little gross for a little power. It's very in fitting with her necromantic practice, so.

6. Will they stay with the Player Character regardless of siding with the goblins or the tieflings, or is it possible for them to leave the party permanently?

Tirazel will stay with the party regardless. I think she'll applaud you for your tactical alliance with the tieflings -- she thinks this will be more advantageous to gaining allies in the long run, and is a choice others will approve of. She'll express regret about this missed opportunity if you side with the goblins, as this is the more bloodthirsty choice, and she doesn't particularly think the absolute rouses or inspires. If you challenge her on it, she'll call you naive - and tell you people aren't going to take in would-be mindflayers with open arms, and they need to start making allies now.

She can leave the party during her act 3 personal quest, see here: [link]

7. What can they be found doing at the tiefling/goblin party?

In the background, she's animated a few skeletons who dance to either Alfira's songs or whatever the goblin equivalent of music is. They have fun animations :)

She's WAY too stuck into party planning. Tirazel was a big party girl back when she lived in the upper city and loves an occasion. She'll not-so-subtley ask you personal questions, such as 'favourite colours' 'if you were a creature, what kind would you be' 'do you prefer bawdy ditties or soulful ballads'.

She'll use this information to put on a big, flashy magical display with dancing ghosts, magic fireworks, and a very pretty and/or rousing bard song with personalised lyrics. She works with the bard/musician of each faction respectively - your answers will be what she fed the bard. I think she genuine wants to impress you - she was used to being paraded in public in the past, flashy public displays were her life once, and so it's an easy thing to do and think of (though deep down, she wants something far less public). she also wants to see how you react to being put in the spotlight. if you react negatively she'll just bat it off with 'oh darling you're so easy to wind up <3 it's just a bit of fun, enjoy the celebration!' and act like her intention was just to embarrass you and rile you up (it was not. she sincerely wants to impress you with this overblown performance).

If you want to romance her, you can request to see her alone, after her big performance, in a more *ahem* intimate setting. She'll lead you away from camp, through the forest, to a battlefield where there are fresh graves, blood still in the air, and a few of spirit motes dancing around prettily. She can draw them to you and have them light up your face like fireflies. You'll have a conversation where you can flirt, flirt, flirt, that can lead to a fade-to-black scene (sorry Astarion but Tirazel is actively competing to have a messier graveyard fuck scene).

[thelazyhermits]

Please tell me Fortune doesn’t get kidnapped again before or after the War Arc…I don’t think anyone can take it if it happens a fourth time. However…I think it would he interesting if Stain confronted her and told her she’s ‘a real hero.’ It wild definitely take her by surprise. By the way—what was the thing about Fortune that made him approve of her? Was it cause she was willing to put herself in danger to protect her students’ futures? And does he ever learn about how she and Izuku helped save those kidnapped girls? Personally, I think his approval of her would skyrocket if he knew about how they thought of her as their hero…

LOL don't worry, there are no kidnappings in the war arc 😂

Instead, Fortune willingly ends up on the battlefield with Tokumei's help cause she had a vision showing her that Gigan would be sicced on her, and she knew she couldn't afford to remain at UA/in the city.

Tokumei, who had been observing everyone like he always does, helped her out since he quickly calculated that the graveyard where his mother was laid to rest would be destroyed if Gigan went on a rampage in the city, which he wanted to avoid.

Since there won't be a prison break, Stain doesn't get the chance to escape, so there won't be another meeting between him and Fortune. At least, I don't have a plan for that right now anyway.

In regards to what made Stain approve of her, it was the fact that Fortune put herself at risk to save Tensei and Idia and how she's been keeping All Might's secrets.

Stain mainly wanted to meet her once he found out that she had been having visions about All Might since she was young, and he wanted to see if she was someone worthy of the information she surely gained from those visions.

Since she obviously never revealed anything to the public and put on a satisfactory performance once he met her, Stain decided that she was a real hero, especially when she tried to hold onto Midoriya when the Nomu grabbed him, making her the only person who tried to save Midoriya before Stain acted.

I doubt that Stain gets updated on the news in prison, so I don't think he knows about Fortune and Midoriya saving those kidnapped girls. If he did, I think he would approve of their very heroic actions.

[megbits]

Candlesticks

I have a short piece in the "reader post" section of the newest issue of the Oregon Humanities magazine. Copied below, or find the whole issue at: http://oregonhumanities.org/rll/magazine/underground-winter-2023/

OH does themed issues, and this is more or less what came out immediately upon reading their prompt for this season's "underground" theme.

Candlesticks

We left them buried in the basement of the old house. Me, I would've taken them along, but D. made his disapproval of my grimy street rubbish very clear. It was one thing to have them sitting on top of the landlord’s pile of old paint cans and another to pack them away in boxes with our coats and linens.

Candlesticks are what you call those white plastic tubes that are screwed into the street to mark a perimeter, such as a separated bike lane. They are not particularly durable, as evidenced by the ease with which drivers routinely busted through them in our neighborhood. Sometimes the wreckage felt intentional, like motorists were playing a game of knocking down bowling pins.

Collecting them happened by impulse. Walking one day, I noticed two of them blocking a lane they had helped buffer just earlier that morning. Once in my hands, setting them back down felt like littering, while trashing them felt like complicity in destroying city property. So they came home with me.

But once I’d taken those, I began to see more, and once I saw them, I couldn’t leave them alone. As the collection grew, I began scheming. Maybe we could stealthily build a lane on a street in need of one. Maybe I would amass so many we could do a kind of art project: a pile of bollards like a pile of bones, representing all the injuries they failed to prevent. But before my little infrastructure graveyard could grow that large, we moved. Our landlord was of the more negligent variety; my guess is that they still live there in the basement.

I had almost wound up in a graveyard myself once, despite all the white paint on the crosswalk and a helmet on my head and the red light telling the driver to wait their turn. What my candlestick collection did, first, was to remind me that I was not alone, by sheer evidence of all the other “near misses” out there. But then, as someone who had often advocated for more bike lanes in cities, it began to do something else. The candlestick pile asked a question: Is this really what we want to build? Bowling pins for SUVs?

Presented like this, the answer seems like an obvious “no.” Who wants to scrap for a tiny piece of public space in which to exist, only to be threatened with death each day nonetheless? No one. But likewise no one, yet, seems to have quite the right answer for changing the public culture of how we live and move together on our streets—how we make room for everyone.

Still the need and desire for new and better answers is there, buried in that old basement.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 39

Original Title: ��坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is the product of my limited knowledge of Chinese characters as I attempt to learn the language. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 39

The home had grown as quiet as a graveyard because of the ghost's disappearance. Lin Yan didn't dare go home and made various excuses to stay at the hospital. He was a meticulous and gentle person. The old man was satisfied after a few days in his care. He even sighed thinking about how his daughter could have broken up with someone like him.

"Lin, I don't think you can forget Weiwei. How about, when she wakes up, I'll set you two up again. When buying clothes, you get the new ones, but for relationships, old connections are better than new ones. . ."

Lin Yan's hands stopped moving. He smiled good-naturedly at his former would-be father-in-law: "Weiwei is too good for someone like me." Seeing that the old man seemed to want to interject, he continued, "I've been busy with school, and I have an internship, so I can’t ask for someone to wait for me when nothing will come out of it.”

Hearing the polite refusal in Lin Yan's tone, the old man sighed pitifully and refrained from commenting.

For five days in a row, Yin Zhou and the little Daoist priest stayed up all night and went out to look for the lost soul as soon as it got dark. Halfway through, they were reported by an old lady wearing a red armband for disturbing public order because of the loud noise they made while passing through a residential area and had to stay in a police station overnight. After a few days, the dark circles under their eyes were no lighter than Lin Yan's.

Things took a turn for the worse in the early hours of the fifth day. It rained heavily for several days, and the whole city became like a sea. The TV kept broadcasting the news that passersby were trapped, the houses at the bottom of the bridge were flooded, and drivers had drowned in their cars. When the two came back, they looked like drowned rats. The little Daoist rushed into the room wringing a wet T-shirt in his hand, stammering, "I-I found it, this water is gathering yin, and it almost washed into the sewer to some unknown place. "

"The soul is born outside of the body and can be very confused. Usually, it stays in place and won't wander around, but the streams of water carry yin. If it rains heavily, if a soul gets washed away, even if you find it before seven days, it'll be useless, the body and soul won't reconnect. A person without a soul is no different from a lunatic. L-Luckily, I caught this in time."

The little Daoist set up a small brazier and threw a talisman paper and blocks of pine incense into it to burn. The entire ward was foggy, and the surrounding smoke gave off the mysterious atmosphere of an old countryside. A pale blue-green shadow floated towards the hospital bed. Yin Zhou, who knew about the cherished jade, secretly dragged Lin Yan closer: "Just wait until she wakes up and ask for clarification."

"I don't care, as long as she's okay." Lin Yan hesitated before he walked out of the room with a cold face. He looked at the curtain of rain outside the glass door in the first-floor lobby.

There were still three hours before dawn. The foyer was deserted. A mother and daughter in the triage area in the corner were dozed off with a saline drip hanging beside them.

Time passed.

The little Daoist priest and Yin Zhou came out of the elevator. Seeing Lin Yan standing at the door, lost in thought, Yin Zhou pouted and said, "He hasn't smiled since that thing left. It's like he's possessed." Yin Zhou didn't notice the young Daoist's embarrassment. He patted the jade pendant into Lin Yan's palm, "She woke up. She's drinking porridge in bed and recuperating. She also remembered what happened that night. She said that she met a grandmother with her granddaughter burning paper offerings at an intersection in the middle of the night. She was wearing floral print clothes and a red scarf. Do you know who she's talking about?"

Lin Yan was stunned: "Second Immortal Gu?"

Yin Zhou spread his hands: "Dude, your recent evil infection is so powerful that you can't get away from it. Fortunately, my yang energy hasn't been affected."

"She doesn't know why she had this piece of jade in her hand. Even after asking her several times, she said she couldn't remember. It's kinda weird how we kept asking her."

Why did Second Immortal Gu and the girl in red pester Weiwei that day? This matter has nothing to do with her. Why did Xiao Yu's waist ornament appear in Weiwei's hands? He always cherished the things that Lin Yan bought for him. . . Various thoughts twisted together in his head. Lin Yan suddenly remembered what he had deduced before. If the girl in red wanted to stop Xiao Yu from regaining consciousness by killing herself, this whole thing, the reasoning of the temple master, the time of death of Second Immortal Gu that was tampered with, all of it pointed to Xiao Yu. Someone was instigating the conflict between him and the ghost. This hadn't stopped because of the temple master's disappearance. It actually intensified. . .

What if the purpose of "it" was to separate Lin Yan from Xiao Yu?

What if "it" had been waiting for the right moment to kill the ghost that Lin Yan had accidentally led from the grave into the human world?

What if the thing making the ghosts vulnerable was a curse. There was a person pulling the strings of this curse, a person hiding in the shadows. The black hand stretched out in the mist. . . Lin Yan gasped and looked at the dark flower garden. Would he be in the same danger as well?

Yin Zhou wanted to say something, but he found that the look in Lin Yan's eyes wasn't quite right. He kept staring at the dark curtain of rain outside the door. After a while, he turned back suddenly: "Do you have an umbrella upstairs? I'm going out. I can't drive in this weather."

"Are you asking to die? The people trapped outside can't even be saved, what are you doing?"

Lin Yan gritted his teeth: "I'm going to find Xiao Yu." After staring at a security guard's flashlight and raincoat, he couldn't help but want to go out. Yin Zhou was so frightened that he grabbed him and said, "You'll have to wait until dawn. Besides, why do you want to find him? Didn't you always want to send him away? He finally agreed to leave, are you addicted to this ghost?"

Lin Yan cursed him to get lost. His anxiety kept rising. The rain curtain was pitch black. The holly and pine trees in the courtyard were blown to the side by the strong wind. The rain was pouring from the eaves onto the marble steps. Lin Yan forced off Yin Zhou's hand with all his strength. He said anxiously, "You don't understand. He's not from this era. The young master knows nothing, he has nowhere to go..."

Yin Zhou's expression was complicated: "How do you figure that? He's a ghost, where can he not go? Maybe he will be reincarnated as a baby soon." He grasped Lin Yan even tighter, his eyes were unfathomable. "You don't like that gay ghost, do you?"

"Are you also. . ."

"No." Lin Yan turned his face away. "I just pity him."

"Don't be fucking ridiculous. You ran away from home when you were in high school and took a train to Yunnan with two hundred dollars, yet I've never seen you in such a hurry."

Lin Yan was silent. For a long time, he scratched the hair in front of his forehead. He asked the little Daoist priest: "A-Yan, can you summon his soul? I'm worried that something will happen to him. . . You know, your master, he. . ."

A-Yan's eyes suddenly turned cold: "Do y-you think I'm some kind of gadget? He's no longer something I can summon."

Only then did Lin Yan realize that this reaction was because he had hit the little Daoist priest's sore spot. Any concerns about that ghost would undoubtedly be irritating to A-Yan. He embarrassedly apologized. The young Daoist priest shook his head with a heavy heart: "L-Lin Yan, don't look for him. What can you do if you find him? Hanging out with him will drain your yang energy. . . You'll have at most two months, then you'll die. He left for your own good."

"A-As for my master," A-Yan said coldly, "He's not that powerful. Back then, he had to rely on your shadow to kill that ghost. Now it's even more impossible. You can rest assured."

"Will he be reincarnated?"

The corners of A-Yan's mouth twitched. His eyes narrowed to reveal a nervous smile: "It's not that simple. A beast is always a beast. His resentment is so strong but his wish is not fulfilled. He'll probably go back to his lair and continue to harm people. You are not the only one with pure Yin. M-Maybe one day you'll see him already hanging around someone else." After saying this he turned around and walked away. Yin Zhou stared at A-Yan's back in surprise. He said to Lin Yan: "Is he acting strange? That was weird."

Lin Yan shook his head: "No, he's right. I made these mistakes myself."

"This world is nuts. I can't understand it." Yin Zhou rolled his eyes.

-------------

The empty passenger seat in the car, the empty double bed in the house, and the pillows thrown aside were waiting for its master. Lin Yan was lying on the bed tossing and turning. Every time his gaze swept across the empty pillow, he felt suffocated and couldn't help but ignore every other worry and hold it. How long had he even known him? What was he waiting for? He's not coming back.

He doesn't want us anymore. He went to a dark place, waiting for another person who would accept him. Maybe for a year, maybe for ten years, maybe for a hundred years. He can afford to wait, we can't.

It was a waste of time. Lin Yan fetched a cigarette from the bedside table. He hugged his knees and took one puff after another. It was clearly daytime, but outside the window was as dark as ink. The rain poured down, drowning the city until it was a swamp. Bodies swam through the water in different postures. Swelling, rotting, green pus oozing out. With sewers lying on every street corner, the bodies turned into a mass of foul water hundreds of square kilometres wide. Who would have recognized what it looked like?

That night, he had a strange dream. He dreamt of an empty crossroads. Legend has it that the crossroads are where yin and yang meet. A familiar voice came from the depths of the thick fog. Xiao Yu said it's so cold, there's no blanket here.

Lin Yan said wait, I'll burn one for you.

My clothes are still in your closet.

I'll burn them for you too.

Where is my coffin? Where are my burial clothes? I want a set of things for the wedding. I want to get married. I want to marry the daughter of a neighbouring village clerk who just died. I want the dowry and jewelry for the engagement. I want paper money and red candles. The gentleman has seen our horoscopes. We are made for each other and our future will be filled with many children and grandchildren.

Lin Yan stood at the foggy crossroads, shivering from the cold. He was wearing a red satin burial suit with dark 'happiness' characters, a large black flower on his chest, riding a deathly white paper horse with eyes like two deep black holes. He shouted into the depths of the fog: If you marry, what should I do? I'll be there soon. Wait for me.

It's too late, Xiao Yu said. It's enough for you to burn those things.

I got married. The lady next door is good-natured. We'll be buried under the big locust tree behind the village. Don't forget to burn more money and food, and next year, when you come to add soil to the grave, burn some clothes for the children.

Lin Yan woke up at once. The night was dull and dreary, and the rain outside the window was incessant. His face was also cold. He reached out his hand to feel his cheek was wet. His chest was sore and bitter. Lin Yan bit the corner of his blanket. After the corner of his gaze passed over the lonely pillow next to him, he suddenly felt upset and couldn't fall back to sleep.

The subtext behind every "go" was to stay, behind every "goodbye" was the desire to stay, but he was forced by his pride to only leave those thoughts unfinished. The result was that the building was empty, the tea had gone cold, the key was still in its original place, the seat was still reserved for him, but the man refused to cross the boundary marker and return to his world.

Even if the curtains of the world are open, feelings are still private. Lin Yan quietly got out of bed. He walked barefoot into the dark bathroom, moved a small stool and sat down by the bathtub. He murmured: I'll wash your hair for you, okay?

No answer. A cold and silent house. A cold coffin, a silent grave.

Lin Yan looked at the void and smiled. He thought that he must be stupid.

-------------

Weiwei's health was actually not too badly affected. After the little Daoist priest and Yin Zhou successfully found the lost soul, she recovered quickly. In the morning, Weiwei's father called Lin Yan to say that she would be discharged from the hospital tomorrow. Lin Yan was cooking chicken soup in the kitchen with his phone held up to his ear. In the meantime, he cooked noodles for his former would-be father-in-law. He packed them into a thermos and sat down at the table. He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that he could finally let go of one thing.

The rain poured with no signs of stopping. The news of the torrential rain spread all over the country. Photos of cars submerged in water and pedestrians struggling to keep their heads above water were posted everywhere online. Lin Yan, as a native of the area for more than twenty years, had developed the skills to avoid flooding, freezing, sand, etc. When he arrived at the hospital, his lunch was still intact, but the hospital elevator was underwater and needed maintenance. Lin Yan had to climb the stairs with the thermos and accidentally walked up one extra floor. He turned into the hallway on the sixth floor, and before he realized that the floor number was wrong, he was already being pushed by a middle-aged woman who rushed over and shoved his shoulder, yelling loudly: "It's not easy to come to the hospital when it's raining so hard. I will definitely thank you volunteers on behalf of the community when we get back!"

The older woman's voice was like a bell. She had short hair that looked like a beetle and she wore long-style scrubs with ducklings on them. Two chubby legs were tucked into black pantyhose, but her ankles are too thin. In contrast to wearing boat shoes, the bottom of her shoes were like duck webbed-feet, snapped on the ground. She talked to herself and pushed Lin Yan to go inside, not minding his whispered arguments the entire way.

"Has the team leader given you the rundown? Don't say anything when you get there. The old man isn't in a good condition. The doctor said that it is only a matter of the past few days, so let's let the old man go comfortably." The older woman slapped Lin Yan on the shoulder. "This young man is so good-looking today. I like looking at you."

Lin Yan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He held the chicken soup and the older woman cut him off again. "I'm off to work. Volunteers haven't been able to come in because of the recent heavy rain, and all the wards are short of people. You cover this area, don't make any mistakes."

Seeing that she was about to leave, Lin Yan finally couldn't help but exclaim, imitating the older woman's breathing technique*: "I-I went to the wrong floor!"

*(T/N: He's being sarcastic because she went on for so long without taking a breath)

"What?" The older woman's thin eyebrows instantly shot up.

"I. . . I mean, I'm going downstairs to see my friend. The elevator was broken, and I went up an extra floor. . ." Lin Yan muttered and held the thermos in front of him. "See, I'm delivering lunch."

The older woman was stunned for a second and then grinned: "Ah, why didn't you say it earlier? You've kept me held up!" She had completely forgotten the fact that Lin Yan had been trying to explain the situation this whole time and raised her hand to look at her watch. Because she was chubby, the dial was pressed into her white skin. "What can I do? My shift is almost up and there's no one left. The old man might finally wake up, ah. . ."

The most sensible move at this time was to quickly flee the scene with the thermos in hand, but Lin Yan should never have spoken up. It was this next sentence that made his life like a radish just pulled out of the mud, not yet washed clean under the faucet before being flopped back down with a crisp thud.

Life itself was seemingly predetermined, seemingly one coincidence after another without any rules. In fact, every corner and fork in the road has already been predetermined, where to stop, where to turn around. No matter how much you struggle, you must eventually follow the predetermined path. And it's our heart that controls all this. It has nothing to do with the event itself.

The only difference was the time you arrived at that fork in the road.

"I'll be free after I deliver the food. If you're really in a hurry, I'll be able to help you later." Lin Yan mumbled.

With a bang, the door to the parallel world opened, and from here, life was divided into two paths. One was full of flowers and sunshine. He happily went home and watched TV and ate oranges. He went home happily to watch TV and eat oranges, slowly forgetting everything related to Xiao Yu, and was finally swept away by a handsome, respectable boy he met by chance; while the other was wet and dark, walking alone with a flashlight in the misty and supernatural world. At this time, Lin Yan, who was standing at the fork in the road, unknowingly started down the second path.

[robert-the-greyhound]

In the Beginning...

After Robert met Molly, we became more and more involved with the Greyhound Activism Movement. We attended a number of 'Awareness Events' in the city, both for the socialisation aspect for Robert and for my newly sparked passion for helping the hounds. I learned about the history of the industry, the dark underbelly, the insane public funding, and the death tolls. I learned about the hounds who never make it to the track, found washed up beaches or in mass graveyards in old quarries. I learned about the drugging of dogs, from 'simple' substances like painkillers to make an injured hound run to more extreme class A cocaine. I learned about the exportation of hounds, including many of Roberts half siblings, to countries with little to no animal welfare laws. The more I learned, the more horrific the reality became.

I remember attending my first ever Track Protest. They differed from Awareness Events in that they took place outside Greyhound Racing Stadia, and consisted of a group of protestors standing peacefully, and silently, outside the track boundaries for all attending to see. They are very well organised, in that there is a clear line made with rope on where to stand so that you are off the road, there are a number of extra placards for those who didn't bring their own, and there's water available for any dogs who attend. Many attendees bring non-greyhounds, simply announcing that as animal lovers and dog owners that they don't support the Industry.

Whilst we may call them protests, the events are more reminiscent of a vigil, as the Anti side stand solemnly, bearing witness as the Pros drive by, muzzled Greyhound noses pressed against the metal bars of the trailer or peering out the back windows as their owners often yell insults, make obscene gestures, jeer or blare horns as they pass into the track.

It was at this first protest I made a number of observations. The first was the distinct difference in sex between the sides. The ANTI-Racing movement was predominantly Female. And not just one type of Woman either. There were young women such as myself in my very early twenties all the way up to women well into retirement. There were women from all walks of life, from counties across Ireland and countries across the globe. There was bohemian artists in flowy, floral coats standing beside well dressed business women just out from work. There were mother's with children, women with packs of dogs, and women on their own. There were Cis Women, Trans Women, Feminine presenting people's, from all ethnicities and religions, all gathered together in support of one cause- the welfare of Greyhounds. There were some lads there, but they almost felt like a token minority.

In comparison the Pro-Racing side was almost exclusively white males, with two distinct age groups. They were either the "ould lads" or the next generation. And the next gen were outnumbered by ould lads by at least 3:1. The younger lads were more likely to yell or drive by multiple times throwing insults. The older men were more likely to blare the horn and a throw a middle finger up on the way into the track. Regardless though, there was a stark difference between the quiet, dignified behaviour of feminine anti racing side with the vulgar, aggressive masculine pro racing side.

That's not to say there aren't pro racing women or anti racing men, I know a fair few of each, but as a whole, there's a very distinct sex difference between the sides, as well as an age divide. It makes sense then off the back of that how hard the pro-racing lobby advertises to children, trying to lure more youth into the "sport" via targeted communion, confirmation and GAA related events, exposing children not just to gambling and alcohol but the strong possibility of seeing a dog fall and injure themselves, which for a racing greyhound, can often mean a one way trip to the track freezer.

I also know that there is an extremist branch in the ANTI-Racing movement. People who scream and yell back at trainers and owners, who make a scene at Stadia and Coursing Fields. I think it's important as a movement to acknowledge these behaviours, and also condemn them. Violence and Aggression won't help the Hounds, and only brings a negative light on the movement as a whole. Off the back of that, I am also aware that there are 'Good' trainers out there, those who look after their dogs well and do go through the effort to find them homes, but they are a loud minority whilst their industry cesspool continues to mass overbreed, dope, cull and export dogs with a blind eye turned from those supposed to be regulating it. To ignore that side of their industry and claim all is fresh and rosy is essentially handing the executioner a bolt gun to press into the forehead of an innocent hound, who's only crime was to be born into racing kennels.

Outside of Track Protests, we continued to attend weekly Awareness Events. Most of the time is was just Molly and Robert, though Cooper, the big bubbly hound would make appearances from time to time. Tracing back records revealed that Cooper is actually related to Robert, through a prolific breeding stud named Adiós Alonso, making Robert Cooper's Half Uncle! The Awareness Events were a slow but steady part of the Greyhound Activism Movement. Walking around Cork City, many people would stop and admire the hounds, often asking after their vests and hence starting the conversation. But for every one person who listened to us, engaging and asking questions, there was one who would write us off as extremists, making mountains out of molehills.

Through the Greyhound Activism, I was introduced to a huge, global network of Hound lovers advocating for the rights of Greyhounds and other dogs. The rescue greyhound community in Cork was small, but the extended rescue dog community was strong and always willing to lend a hand to a good cause. I was linked up with awareness groups across the globe, making connections in the few countries where commerical racing is still legal such as Australia, New Zealand, parts of the US, the UK and Spain.

I was introduced to many people, including people in position of relative power, local celebrities, social media influencers and actors, including one Pauline McLynn, most commonly recognised for her role as Ms.Doyle from Father Ted. When you aren't a part of the movement, it's so easy to miss all these large connections.

Despite the worldwide network, the total involvement of those a part of the movement and the ease of access to information, the movement itself had very little footing. In China and the US, there had been massive moves to ban the Commerical Gambling aspect of Greyhound Racing, but in Ireland and the UK, the Greyhound Racing Fraternity had their claws in deep. They were an older demographic, dying off slowly but steadily, but the general public thought nothing wrong with "a night at the dogs", and that's what continued to prop the industry up (alongside MASSIVE public funding via the taxpayer). All of this changed however, when the national broadcaster, RTÉ, ran an undercover documentary that cracked through the shiny PR shell carefully crafted by the industry to reveal the dog-killing core underneath. Greyhounds, Running for their Lives was a pivotal turning point for the Irish Anti-Racing movement.

TW: #Animal Death, #Animal Abuse, #Animal Neglect, #Drugs, #Deaths, #Euthanisation