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chicago-geniza · 3 years ago

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well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to

treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot

exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a

single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if

you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.

anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in

his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs

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retrievablememories · 4 years ago

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a strange love | yuta (m)

title: a strange love pairing: alien!yuta x black!reader genre: sci-fi/fantasy, fluff, angst, smut request: “I read a good chunk of your NCT work and really liked them. Would I be able to request a fic where a black female reader meets an alien (can be Yuta or Jungwoo) and they're both coming to terms that they're attracted to each other and have to come to terms with being attracted to someone of a different species? Can be smutty and don't be afraid to give the alien a less human biology if you don't mind.” word count: 13.1k warnings: alcohol use, cursing, near drowning experience, lots of mentions of water so this one might not mesh well with people w/ aquaphobia, non-human biology/body horror, extraterrestrial sex, lots of cum, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle dick, unprotected sex, creampie, please heed the warnings because this is an alien smutfic lmao a/n: giving the shape of water teas. i’ve actually never seen that movie 😕 but i will at some point. forgive me in advance for the nerdy references in here.

It’s funny how things happen when you least expect it. You never would’ve thought you’d be sound asleep when your entire world changed.

The night the UFO crashes in your city, you’re awoken by the tremors of its landing. The vibrations feel akin to an earthquake, and they make picture frames and other trinkets fall off your shelves and hit the floor in a clatter of noise. You jump up from your pillow at the racket, your heart pounding. You glance at the things lying on your floor and quickly register that the room—your entire home—is trembling.

There’s not much you can do at this point but ride it out, so you huddle down in your covers and hope the roof doesn’t cave in on your head. To your knowledge, your particular area isn’t known for earthquakes, which makes all of this even stranger. What could be causing one now? Is the world finally ending?

Eventually, the tremors stop. By now, your shelves have been emptied of nearly all their contents, but you’re still alive, which you’re grateful for. You wait a few more minutes to see if the shakes will begin again, but they don’t, so you climb out from the warmth of your covers to clean up your floor.

Police and ambulance sirens start blaring through the city not long after you get out of bed. That’s nothing unusual; there are usually injuries and casualties with natural disasters like these, and you expect many poor souls will be needing rescue tonight. You sigh and look at your closed blinds, watching them be sporadically illuminated by the lights of the emergency vehicles rushing past.

Once you’ve cleaned up your room and gotten back in bed, you think about checking social media for what people have been saying about the quake. There’s no doubt that the city’s residents have taken to Twitter and Instagram to document it. However, your eyelids are already starting to droop, and you’d probably fall asleep in the middle of scrolling, so you decide to tuck in and wait until morning.

Waking up the next day almost seems like a normal Sunday until you look at your blinds again and are suddenly reminded of last night’s flashing lights. Right. The earthquake. Throwing the covers back, you stumble out of bed to turn on your TV. You flip through the channels until you find a news station for your local area. You go to open the blinds, keeping your ears open for reports on the earthquake.

“Last night, we experienced unprecedented seismic activity throughout the majority of the city, caused by what appears to be an unidentified flying object, otherwise known as a UFO—”

Huh?

You turn to the TV, thinking this must be some kind of ridiculous hoax. You get ready to reach for the remote, thinking you must have turned it to one of those parody news channels by accident, but you freeze at what you see. Video footage of the city center—or what used to be the city center—plays on the screen. In place of the large historical monument that used to stand there, there’s a huge...silver and black spaceship. Or at least you think it’s a ship. It apparently sustained major damage in the landing, and now it looks more like a hunk of melted metal. The area around it has been blasted clear in every direction. Instead of green grass and pavement, there’s nothing but dirt.

The area is blocked off with yellow tape, though hundreds of people have gathered at the location to check out the object and take pictures and videos of it.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to yourself.

“We’re currently unsure where this UFO originated from, though we can confirm that it is not affiliated with any aircraft fleets owned by the U.S. military. Researchers and scientists from top universities across the country are being called in to assist in identifying this craft…”

“There’s no just way,” you mutter, grabbing your shower cap and pulling clothes out of your closet for your morning shower. “A UFO...guess that alien invasion is coming sooner than we thought.” You would like to believe it’s all just someone playing a terrible prank, but pulling off this level of theatrics is impossible.

After you get out of the shower and start making breakfast for yourself, you get a text from one of your coworkers, Alex.

10:30 A.M. Alex🍸 You seeing this shit on the news right now?

10:31 A.M. Obviously! It’s fucking wild. Do you really think it’s true? OR some elaborate government hoax? Anything’s possible. I’m betting “true,” but...

10:33 A.M. Alex🍸 I honestly don’t know. that’s why me and some of the others from work are about to head over there now. Wanna come?

10:34 A.M. The hell! I’ll pass. There could be all types of radiation n shit, I’m not tryna turn into the Green Lantern or the Hulk or somebody.

10:35 A.M. Alex🍸 lmFAO. Suit ypurself. If I gain superpowers don’t be surprised if I fly over to your house today.

10:35 A.M. You’re a mess. 💀

You spend breakfast watching more news reports and scrolling through Twitter feeds for firsthand information. People who visited the site, including your coworkers, have uploaded pictures of the UFO from various angles, inciting a frenzy of conspiracy theories and warnings that the world is about to end.

You don’t know what to make of the situation, but it stays on your mind throughout the day as you leave the house and go about completing your usual errands. The city center has been blocked off to all vehicles other than those belonging to people who’ve been called in to help, which means that traffic is sky-high everywhere else—even for a Sunday.

Sitting in a mishmash of cars, you roll down your window and sigh, looking out at the red traffic lights, and beyond that to the horizon. Things are about to get very weird for the next few weeks. Maybe months. You can only hope you’re prepared for it.

You don’t know why, but the air seems strange tonight.

It’s been 2 days since the UFO crashed. There haven’t been many more answers apart from what everyone already knows due to the ship’s destroyed state. The city has professionals out for that sort of thing, but they’re taking their sweet time analyzing the ship—though you can’t really blame them. Jumping straight into unknown alien tech seems like a death wish.

Your life has been pretty much the same as usual, though you know a few people at work who have been more directly affected by the events. One girl, Sooyoung, who lives in the neighborhood near the crash site claims the officials are thinking about having that entire area evacuate, though you don’t know why they’re beating around the bush about it if it’s true. Whatever radiation or chemicals they’re worried about has probably already leached into all the surrounding homes, and now you’re just waiting for someone to walk into your workplace with antlers or purple skin.

Admittedly, you’re morbidly curious about the case and what all of this could mean for Earth’s future, but you keep your fascination lowkey. You don’t need any of your coworkers thinking you’re the next alien-obsessed Mulder from X-Files. But then again, you’re not curious enough to visit the actual scene, so maybe you’re not the crazy one here.

You feel fine when you get home from work that day, but as you get washed up and settle into your usual evening routine, you can’t shake the eeriness gripping your subconscious. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, either, just...foreign. Like an emotion you’ve never felt before, though you didn’t know there were even still new emotions to discover. Shaking your head, you figure maybe you should lay off the alien stuff for the rest of the week.

Before you head to bed that night, you go around the house making sure all the doors and windows are locked as you normally do. You pause at the backdoor for a reason you can’t explain, and the strange feeling grows stronger. At this point, you’re a bit frightened about what this is all about, but you can’t go to sleep without knowing. Curiosity takes over as you open the blinds and stare into the darkness of your backyard.

You don’t see anything right away. There are trees, bushes, your potted plants, and lawn chairs...everything looks normal. It’s only when you lean closer to the glass to squint that you see a figure lying in the grass. You jump once you catch sight of it, terrified that some monster or murderer has found their way onto your property. There was nothing there earlier when you closed the blinds, so whoever or whatever it is must’ve recently showed up.

You’re about ready to dial 911 when you realize the figure is curled in the fetal position and unmoving...almost like they’re unconscious. Or dead.

This is ridiculous. You feel like one of those people who always dies first in the horror movies because they went into the room the killer was obviously hiding in, but you’re overcome with the strong impulse to step outside. You grip the doorknob tightly, debating whether you should unlock it or not.

“...Fuck. Don’t let me regret this.”

You open the door with your phone in hand, the device serving as your flashlight. There’s still the screen door to get through, which you pause at for a moment. The figure remains unmoving even with the sound of the door opening.

“Hello?!” You call out to the individual, but there’s no response. Your phone’s light can’t reach them from there, which forces you to open the screen door and step out onto the porch. They’re still feet away, but from this closer distance, it seems like they’re wearing a sort of armor or full-body suit...maybe like a cosplay?

“Hope this isn’t some weirdo weeb passed out on my lawn…” you mutter, cautiously stepping onto the grass. As you approach, you can see now that the figure is likely male, though their back is to you so you can’t be totally sure. “Um, hello there? Can you hear me?” No response.

By now, you are only a few feet away from them. The person looks to be an Asian guy, with long blonde hair haloing his face. His features are angular and smooth, and he is indeed wearing some kind of body armor, its color unlike anything you’ve seen. Instead of being all one hue or even a few, it reflects the light from your phone and glows with a rainbow-like phosphorescence. The material itself looks translucent, but you can’t see through it; it creates a mind-bending optical illusion.

Your stomach suddenly drops to your feet. Is this who was in that UFO in the city center? It seems too out-there to be true, but your intuition is telling you otherwise. This can’t be fucking real.

You kneel on the wet grass next to the man and try to look for signs of life. You can hear his breathing, so he’s thankfully not dead. But he doesn’t look to be in good shape, either. He definitely won’t be able to get up on his own; he probably used the last of his energy to drag himself into your yard.

“Damn.” You turn the flashlight off and slip your phone into your sweatpants pocket. It seems like there’s no other options right now. You could call the police, but they’d probably accuse you of being in cahoots with this weird dude and drag you off to jail. Or they could cart him off for government experimentation, which sounds equally terrible. So with those things in mind, you gently maneuver his upper body until you’re able to hook your arms under his armpits and drag him towards your house.

You just really hope none of your nosy neighbors are seeing this right now.

He’s surprisingly light, and you get him inside the house fairly quickly. Once you’ve locked the door again, you pull him over to the living room so he’s propped against your couch. He still isn’t fully conscious, but his head and lips move as if he’s dreaming about something.

“What was that…?” You lean closer, trying to read his lips for some sort of clue. Surprisingly, you can make out the word water, which he mouths over and over again. “Water…” You run into the kitchen to pour a glass and bring it back to him, making sure not to spill any on the way over.

You press it to his lips, unsure if he’ll be able to drink, but to your amazement his muscles respond and he drinks quickly as you tip the glass. Soon, the water is all gone. You set the glass to the side with your palms sweating and watch as his face flutters even more.

“Can you...hear me?”

His eyes open only slightly. This movement seems to cause him some pain, though you aren’t sure why. Maybe he has a headache since he was dehydrated? You scramble to turn the overhead light off, not wanting to make matters worse. He still doesn’t try to open his eyes any wider, though.

“Who are you? Were you...did you crash here?” You feel a little bad about asking so many questions, but you’re dying for answers as to what the hell is going on.

The man licks his lips, and his mouth parts like he’s going to answer. But his throat is still dry, and it hurts to talk.

“...Shit.” You get him another glass of water and let him drink until it’s gone again. He seems a little better after that.

“Th-this...” He clears his throat a couple times and tries again. “This is E-Earth, right?”

Now you’re the one lost for words. Although you already figured he couldn’t be from here, hearing it out loud makes your blood rush and your heart race. “Um, yes...this is Earth. Was...the UFO yours?”

He sighs, and his head falls back against the couch arm. “Yes.”

“It’s destroyed,” you say, and then feel silly about it. “But you already know that.”

He doesn’t answer that. He just slowly glances around your living room instead, looking as if he’s never seen a stranger setup. The quietness is awkward, and you almost feel like he must be judging your taste for interior design. “Do you have a name?”

More silence. You decide he probably won’t answer until he finally says, “You can call me Yuta.”

“Yuta.” You tell him your name too, and he just nods, almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t say much without prompting, which makes it hard for you to know how to approach the situation. You don’t want to overwhelm him with questions, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to speak unless you do. “How did you end up here? I mean, in my—uh, my yard?”

Yuta shakes his head and then winces. “I crashed, and then...I just ran. The ship was melting. I just ran. I hid...I went from place to place, hiding. Don’t know how I got here.”

You wonder how he made it all the way from the city center to your home without being spotted, especially with that armor. You can only conclude that he must be stealth at hiding. Or maybe someone did spot him and the feds are about to bust down your door any minute. You take a shaky breath and try to push that anxious thought to the back of your mind.

Suddenly Yuta fixes you with a suspicious glare. “Will you reveal that I’m here?”

You try not to get offended, because you’d honestly be thinking the same if you were a newly-landed alien in a foreign land. “No. I don’t have any reason to do that. I just want to help. I’m not looking to be on anyone’s 6 o’clock news or cheap tabloid. You probably don’t believe me, but you can have my word for it...if that means anything to you.”

He’s quiet again, though you can tell he’s still skeptical.

“Um, do you need anything? More water?”

He sits up straighter at the mention of that. “Water.” You reach for the glass again, but he frowns. “Not that. I need…something more than that.” He looks around again, but when he doesn't see what he’s searching for, he attempts to stand only to slump down again.

“Slow down there, I don’t think you’re gonna make it like that. Can I help?”

You end up slinging his arm across your shoulder and letting him lean his body against you while you lead him to the bathroom. That’s the biggest source of water in the house, and you assume he must be wanting a bath or shower or something. Even aliens have their hygiene needs, you guess.

You turn the bathroom light on and have Yuta sit on the toilet lid as you turn the bathtub faucet. “Is...this what you meant?” He nods, and you put the plug in and let the tub fill up.

“Just water. Nothing else. I need to recharge,” he says, and before you can ask what he means by that, he starts undressing in front of you.

At first, your reaction is delayed; you’re struck with surprise when you realize the armor isn’t actually a whole bodysuit, but more like...connected panels of material that can be taken off. You don’t understand the material at all, it doesn’t resemble anything on Earth you can think of—but of course, it’s alien tech. It conforms to his body as he’s wearing it but takes on a more rigid form once it’s peeled off, like actual armor.

Then, he gets ready to take the bottoms off and something finally clicks in your brain that oh my God he’s about to get naked in front of me.

“Whoa!” You spin around and cover your eyes for good measure, glad that your brown skin hides the way your face is burning right now. You step towards the open door. “Uh, I’ll just leave, sorry—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, what?”

“Doesn’t really matter to me,” Yuta says, pulling the last of his suit off. He steps into the tub and sits down in it, putting his hands underneath the stream of water rushing out of the faucet. The skin on his hands seems to ripple, like it’s readjusting itself, and the hairs stand up on the back of your neck at that. You forget to be embarrassed at his unclothed state as you watch it happen.

“What’s going on with that? And why did you need the water?”

Yuta splashes his face before answering, and he turns to look at you, the droplets of water sliding off the ends of his hair. “I’m part of a Water Race. Water is my home. Our bodies have adapted to be built for living in water, and it’s dangerous to be without it for too long.”

“Adaptation? But you look like a regular human.”

“It’s just a skin.”

“A skin?” You echo in horror, a sudden flashback to Silence of the Lambs popping into your mind. “Someone else’s skin?”

Yuta gives you a look that seems to say he can’t believe you’re asking such a stupid question. “No, it’s my skin. It’s just not my natural form.” To prove his point, he holds his hand out, and right before your eyes his human skin pulls back and morphs into something much more scaly and green. His fingers are actually more like talons, with long black nails on the ends, and there’s translucent webbing between each one.

You gasp and step back, trying to catch your breath at the sight of something so very not human. The skin reforms around his hand—you assume he has to be willing it with his mind somehow, because he doesn’t even move—and his digits look just as human as ever.

“How the hell do you hide your nails under there? Isn’t it just like...wearing a bodysuit?”

Yuta shakes his head. “No. Once the skin is on, it becomes...part of me. My hand becomes a human hand. I’m not hiding anything, it just is. It’s hard to explain.”

“Have you been to Earth before? Is that why you have a human skin, because...adaptation or some shit? This is all so wild.”

“I can shift into different skins if I want, if I gather enough genetic information on certain species’ inhabitants...but there are limitations.” That doesn’t exactly answer your question, but you figure maybe it’s best if you didn’t know. You can at least assume he’s been in contact with humans before.

“I see…” You fidget for a few seconds before speaking what’s on your mind. “Okay, one last thing...you said there are limitations. Does that mean you can’t transform into, like...a dung beetle or something?”

Yuta gives you another are you serious look and you put your hands up. “Just wondering. It was worth a try.”

You feel awkward just standing there, and you feel like maybe you should give him some privacy even if he doesn’t care much, so you leave the bathroom to find something for him to wear.

You’re not sure if you’ll find anything that fits him, so you end up settling on a light pink bathrobe and decide he’ll have to work with that for now. You slip back into the bathroom to leave it on the sink, averting your eyes from his nude form in your bathtub. “Um, here’s something to wear...not sure if anything else will fit, this is all I have for now. Sorry.” You don’t wait for him to respond— he probably won’t anyway—before slipping back out.

It’s nearing 1 A.M. at this point, which is late considering you still have work tomorrow. You sigh and curl yourself up on the couch, hoping you won’t have to stay up for very much longer.

You’re not sure when you drifted off or how long you were out, but you wake up to the sound of footsteps and see Yuta coming out of the bathroom wearing the robe you’ve given him. You have to laugh a little at the sight of him in the light pink material, though you think it suits him in a way.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need some clothes.”

Yuta raises his eyebrow. “I still have my suit.”

“Yeah, but...don’t you want something else to wear? Your ship is pretty much gone, so you’ll probably be on Earth for a while...and if you don’t want anyone realizing you’re not from here, you’ll have to wear regular clothes.”

Yuta visibly upsets at the idea of his ship’s destroyed state, even though he knows there’s not much he can do about it. “I guess. I shared which planet I was heading to before I left, but...Earth is a very big place. And my trackers were destroyed with my ship, so…”

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know how much comfort that can be. “We can look for some clothes tomorrow. It’s probably better for you not to leave the house right now, but...that’s what online shopping is for.”

“Online shopping…?” Yuta seems puzzled by the concept, but he doesn’t ask any further. Then he looks around the room again. “Is there somewhere I can rest?”

“Oh, yeah, follow me.” You get up from the couch to head upstairs where the guest bedroom is. The house isn’t huge—it was your grandmother’s before she passed it on to you—but it’s more than enough for you alone, and it should fit one more just fine. You open the door and turn on the light, illuminating the small room. “It hasn’t been used in a while, so excuse any dust. I can fix that tomorrow, but it’s getting late...” you stifle a yawn, “...so we should probably go to sleep now.”

Yuta looks at you and nods.

“Um, well...goodnight.” You wave at him from the doorway before closing it.

As you make your way down the stairs, a sudden weariness and apprehension comes over you. An alien in your home? Escaped from a recently crashed UFO? Wearing one of your bathrobes? You’re almost positive you haven’t thought this through deeply enough, but you’re in it now. Might as well see where the rabbit hole leads to.

The next morning, you prepare yourself to go to work like you usually do. For a while, the house is so quiet that you almost forget Yuta is there until you see him standing in the kitchen entryway, still wearing his pink robe, and you almost jump through the ceiling.

“Jesus, you came out of nowhere,” you gasp, holding your heart.

“Where are you going?” Yuta asks. He steps into the kitchen and tentatively sits down in one of the dining table chairs.

“To work,” you say, and then pause. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to leave a freshly-landed alien at home alone. “Will you be okay here by yourself? I could come over on my lunch break…”

“What am I supposed to do here the whole time?” Yuta asks, sounding displeased at the thought of being abandoned for hours.

“Well...you could watch TV? There’s the on-demand channel...the fridge is available for you too, just try not to clean out my—wait, do you even eat human food?”

Yuta shrugs, crossing his arms. “Not really. It’s not a big source of nutrients for us.”

You nod awkwardly. “Huh. Well, that’s...interesting.” The stress of the situation is already making your head pound and you haven’t even left for work yet. “Uh, yeah—I think I’ll just come over later and check in...come on, I’ll at least show you how to work the remote before I leave.”

You bid Yuta goodbye once you’re about to go, though you feel more than a little hesitant about leaving him there. There isn’t much other choice, though; you can’t afford to take a day off on such short notice.

The extraterrestrial sighs, sprawling across the couch and looking at the ceiling. The TV is already playing the channel you left it on, and Yuta turns to the screen and watches as a group of humans make weird food dishes he’s never seen before.

“This is stupid.”

The rest of the week with Yuta manages to be an adventure even though he never steps foot outside the house.

Yuta doesn’t take a liking to human food, which means he opts for spending most of his time in the guest bathtub instead, claiming that the water gives him more nourishment than meals can. You don’t know how true that is, but you’re not going to fight him on it. Less food you have to prepare, you reason...although you often end up making extra anyway and getting him to try a few bites. It feels odd to not see him eat.

Living with someone from outer space is not really as weird as you expected it might be, which surprises you. Yuta stays in his human skin whenever he’s around you, and you steer clear of the guest bathroom when it’s occupied lest you walk in on something crazy.

You’ve taught Yuta about new concepts he didn’t know before or wasn’t overly familiar with. He’s particularly intrigued with online shopping, and you ended up buying him a bunch of outfits that you both thought he’d look nice in. He doesn’t seem to be big on technology, which surprises you considering how advanced his UFO looked even its ruined state, but maybe human tech is more primitive than what he’s used to. He’s quite fascinated with the microwave, though, and how it can heat anything up in minutes.

With you uncovering new bits of information each day, you continually wonder how different his homeworld must be from the Earth. You can’t pull much out of him about it, for whatever reasons he has for keeping the information close, but you try to let him talk about it at his pace without pressuring him.

You could probably get used to living like this.

Maybe not your wallet, though. You’re definitely not loving how your water bill is going to look once it comes in the mail.

None of your coworkers or neighbors know—not that it’s any of their business anyway. You don’t know how long Yuta is going to stay, or what the hell you’re going to do when his people finally catch wind of his whereabouts and land a UFO in your backyard, but you figure you’ll get to that part when it comes.

On one Saturday morning, you wake up to the sound of tapping on your door. You try to ignore it, thinking it’s just some woodpecker setting up shop outside your window, but you’re proven wrong when the door swings open.

You pull the covers away from your face for a moment to see Yuta standing there looking at you. You stare at him for a few seconds before sighing.

“Why are you up so early? It’s the weekend,” you groan, pulling the covers back over your head.

“Why do you sleep so late?” Yuta retorts, still standing in your doorway. You don’t know whether he expects you to get up and do a trick, but it’s not happening. You peel the blanket away so it’s just below your eyes and look at him.

“What?”

“It’s not fun being here alone all day, you know,” he says, crossing his arms.

“So...what? Do you want me to play with you or something?” You can’t stop your sudden laugh, but you feel bad about once it’s out. He has just lost his ride home and has no foreseeable way back until someone notices his absence. Plus, needing to stay hidden and cooped up like a criminal can’t be enjoyable.

Yuta rolls his eyes at your response and starts down the hallway again, but you jump out of the bed and follow him. “Wait, Yuta, I’m sorry. That was stupid. I know it can’t be easy living like this. I’m not sure if I can make it better, but I’m willing to try.”

Yuta pauses in the hall and turns back to look at you. “I’m tired of being in here all the time....no offense. But there’s only so much I can take. I know I’m supposed to be in hiding, but it’s not like anyone can tell the difference. Even you couldn’t. Can’t we go out for one day?”

You think about it for a moment and figure he’s right. You both were trying to be overly cautious at first, but there’s no real way anyone would notice anything unless he shifted. “I guess we could...as long as we don’t go anywhere with a lot of water.”

“I have more self-control than that,” Yuta scoffs, though his words trail off as he’s already heading back to his room to get dressed.

You and Yuta walk around downtown for a little while, although you can’t shake the lingering nervousness you feel. You both decided not to head back to the city center any time soon; there’s not much left of the broken ship anyway, with scientists carting off pieces of it for research. Just as you thought. It’s too big to transport all at once, but you’re sure the remaining parts will be gone within the next couple weeks.

Yuta is continually surprised by how many new and unfamiliar things he spots along the way—things he actually gets to see up close and in detail. Kinda hard to focus when you’re running and hiding for your life.

Eventually, Yuta slows down as you walk past a small and colorful restaurant. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing up at the sign. You stop to turn around and see what he’s gesturing to.

“That’s just a hamburger joint...you won’t wanna go in there,” you say, raising your eyebrows. Because you don’t eat food. Despite that, Yuta still seems curious about the restaurant and he hesitates to walk away. Realizing that you aren’t going to get anywhere, you go to stand next to him and peer inside. There are a few people already inside, sitting at scattered tables and eating their food. “Do you want to go in, or…? ‘Cause you have to eat something if we do. This is your idea.”

“I’ll eat, let’s just go,” Yuta says, grasping your hand and pulling you into the restaurant.

You wave at the person behind the counter who greets you as you walk in, while Yuta is busy scanning every inch of the place. You let him look over the menu for a little while, but with so many options available he isn’t sure what to get—especially when he’s not sure if he’ll like any of them—so you end up picking for the both of you.

When you finally get your food, you take it to one of the tables. You watch attentively as Yuta takes the first bite of his hamburger, and you try to stifle your giggles as you watch his face go from nonchalance to bewilderment to shock.

“This is actually...good.”

“Wait, this is really the first meal you’ve liked? Are you saying my cooking is bad? Damn.” You chuckle, shaking your head.

“I’m not answering that.” Yuta laughs along with you, which is probably the first genuinely happy expression he’s shown since he’s been here.

Yuta has a very pretty smile, you realize. You’re a little taken aback by it. You haven’t seen much of it since you met him, but it’s here now and striking in its genuine quality. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside...which you mainly attribute to the satisfaction of doing something nice for someone else. Of course. Who wouldn’t enjoy a nice meal they didn’t have to pay for?

Things go smoothly for a while as you both eat and pretend to make boring small talk since you can’t talk about him being an alien in public. However, you feel sweat on the back of your neck when you see your coworker Alex walk through the door with his boyfriend. This city is too small for its own good sometimes.

You try not to call attention to yourself and Yuta, keeping your gaze on your food, but he spots you anyway and waves enthusiastically. Alex gestures for his partner to go ahead and order while he comes over to your table.

“Hey, Y/N! It’s great to see you! Too bad we missed you at the UFO wreck today, though; we went out again one last time before they take the whole thing away,” he rushes out in one breath. Yuta’s eye twitches at the mention of his ship, and you’re suddenly on edge, hoping the situation doesn’t turn sour.

“Oh, uh, wow, that’s...cool!” you choke out, pinching your straw between your fingers. Before you can think of a way to divert the subject, Alex turns to Yuta.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Alex! Who’s this? Your boyfriend?” The last few words are directed at you. Alex gives you a playful grin, and you toss him an embarrassed smile back.

“Uh, no, he’s my friend! Yuta.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yuta says, though you can recognize his tone is a bit dry.

“Pleasure’s all mine!” Alex’s boyfriend calls him from the other side of the restaurant, and he turns to respond before taking his leave. “Ah well, looks like we’ll have to cut it short, but it was so great to see you guys. Enjoy your lunch!”

You let out the breath you were subconsciously holding once he leaves.

“Boyfriend…” Yuta murmurs.

“What?”

“That would be really weird. Wouldn’t it? We’re not even the same species,” he says, lowering his voice. It’s not like you don’t agree, but you admittedly don’t appreciate the way Yuta screws his face up at the thought. You prickle with embarrassment.

You scoff, taking a sip of your drink. “Well I’m not exactly eager to date an overgrown fish, so…” You almost expect Yuta to fall into another one of his moods at your words, but he actually chuckles a bit, which surprises you.

“Then it’s mutual!” Yuta sticks his tongue out and you roll your eyes.

The warm and fuzzy feeling, you soon find out, is not a one-time thing.

You don’t quite know what to make of that. You wouldn’t like for Yuta to go back to his initial broody state, of course, but you’re starting to believe this feeling can’t just be attributed to your charitable actions. You can’t stop thinking about the more playful side of Yuta you saw at the burger place that day, and the way he’s been gradually more open with you since then.

Yuta usually spends his nights splashing around in the guest bathtub, but one night he wanders into the living room and sees you putting your afro in plaits. He becomes weirdly fascinated with the process, watching you carefully and asking occasional questions. Amused by his interest, you answer all his questions and even offer to let him do one section.

“It’s probably not the same, but I used to braid my friend’s hair often…” he says wistfully as he settles in behind you. “We did a lot of things together.”

Your ears perk up. “Oh? You sound like you were very close,” you say, resting your chin on your knees.

“Really close,” he affirms. His hands are gentle in your hair, as testament to his words. You close your eyes and relax into the sensation, and before you know it, that warmth is spreading through your chest again. You even allow yourself to wonder what it’d be like for him to do this all the time, tending to your hair and telling you about his homeworld, before you open your eyes again and quickly pull yourself out of that reverie. You probably shouldn’t get too used to this, you reason with yourself. “I think she’s what you’d call a mermaid...except the look is a bit...different.”

“Different?” you echo, wondering if you’ll get an explanation.

“They don’t have human arms or anything like that...it’s more like tentacles.”

“Ah,” you try to imagine that, though it’s hard. “That’s certainly unique.”

“Maybe you’d like it...my planet, I mean.”

“You think I would? Why?”

“I dunno, just a feeling…”

“If only I could breathe underwater,” you laugh. “You’d take me back, though? Hypothetically, of course. I’m not too human for you?”

“Will you ever let that one go? It’s probably the least I could do after setting up residence here. Maybe we’ll get you an alien costume, though, so you’ll fit in.”

“How nice of you to think of me in all my humanness. God, the universe is something else…”

You start when Yuta’s hands leave your hair. “I think I’m done?” he says, sitting back on his feet. You grab the mirror from the coffee table and look at the braid you let him do.

“Oh wow, it looks good.” You purse your lips to hide the grin about to break across your face. “Do you wanna do the rest?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“Go ahead then, my hands needed a break anyway.”

You sit back and let Yuta finish the rest of your hair, listening quietly as he tells you more about his friend from his homeworld. Her name is unpronounceable to you, but it sounds pretty all the same. They grew up together, he says, and have been on lots of adventures over the years, though he still keeps that same vagueness he always has when describing his life. He ends up getting you to tell him more about your life, which you do; you figure he probably doesn’t know a whole lot about you, either.

Yuta hands you the mirror when he’s done, and his head pops up next to yours in the reflection. “Good?”

“It’s great!” you say, and you really mean it.

You discover that, strangely enough, Yuta has an affinity for sci-fi movies. Go figure. He especially seems to like the campiness of alien films; then again, everything is campy to him because of how different it is from how extraterrestrials actually live.

You are in the middle of watching The Fly when it comes to one of sex scenes, and you try not to sweat. It’s always a little awkward to watch sex scenes with other people, but doing it with an alien gives the whole thing an extra layer of weirdness.

“Human sex is so funny,” Yuta says out of nowhere. You just barely avoid choking on your drink.

“Uh, o-okay. Do I want to know what that means?”

Yuta only shrugs and leans farther back onto the couch, looking completely unbothered about what he’s just said. “It just is.”

“...I’m sure your people must procreate some kinda way?”

“Yeah, but it’s not quite this. But when I’m in this form, I can do it as humans do.”

That makes you pause, and you’re not sure what to do with that information. Actually, your mind has already decided for itself and is trying to go to a place you don’t want it to, and you’re mildly horrified by that revelation. There’s no real reason why you should be curious about it. And yet...

“Hummm...have you done it before? In this form?” You keep your eyes glued to the screen, which is now showing a shirtless Jeff Goldblum doing acrobatics—but that’s still less awkward than looking over at Yuta right now.

“There was one time.”

There is a twinge of something in your chest. Fascination? Sure. Revulsion? Maybe not that. Dare you call it anything close to jealousy? You immediately throw that one out the door, sink further into your seat, and try not to think about what your life has come to.

“Okay, since you still won’t tell me directly if you’ve been here before, at least tell me this; did it happen here on Earth? With a human?”

Yuta shakes his head. “Some other aliens have weird fetishes. I only did it because she asked and was really adamant about it.”

“Ooookay, you know what…” You get up from the couch and walk to the kitchen, laughing awkwardly all the way. You don’t have any particular reason to go in there, but you have to do something with the nervous energy that’s about to make you jump out of your skin. You pretend to shuffle around in the fridge for a minute so you don’t look too silly getting up for no reason.

After taking a moment to calm down, you turn back to Yuta. “Okay. Hypothetically, if you wanted, could you actually…? With a human? In your natural form? Or would the parts be incompatible, or...”

“Maybe...I’m not sure. It’s not like I’ve ever tried. Why?” Yuta gives you a look that’s partway between curiosity and incredulity, and you wave your hand in dismissal.

“It’s just a question.”

Yuta leans forward on the couch, barely concealing his own amusement at whatever he’s cooking up in his mind. “Are you saying you want to try it with me?”

“You’re not funny,” you sigh, trying to ignore the way your skin is burning at that suggestion. “Remind me not to ask you anything like that again.”

When you get home from work one weeknight, you roll your eyes at the mass text sitting in your inbox, forwarded to you from Alex. Another after-work party, which means another event where someone will run through the sprinklers naked and everyone will pretend like they don’t remember it the next workday.

You don’t know how you’re going to get out of this one, especially with Yuta, who will likely want to go if he finds out, so you decide to just come out and say it and see what happens.

“Hey Yuta…” You slide up behind him where he’s sitting on the couch. “I just wanted to let you know I won’t be at home for a few hours on Saturday. I’m going to a party this weekend. It’s a friend’s party, someone from work.”

Yuta looks at you forlornly. “The same person we met at the restaurant?”

“No, but he’s gonna be there too. Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I really don’t know if it’s safe for you to go…”

“That’s not fair, the last time at the restaurant went well,” Yuta argues.

“Yes, but this guy has a pool and he’s a dickhead who likes to push people in and what if you get caught off guard and change unexpectedly?”

Yuta’s response is as straightforward as you expected it to be. “Then I’ll punch him in the face.”

You laugh at that and shake your head, coming to sit beside him on the couch. “Ugh. As satisfying as that sounds, I don’t need the extra stress of dealing with the aftermath. I don’t know, Yuta...do you think you’ll be okay? God, I feel like an overprotective mom or some shit.”

“Y/N, it’ll be fine, stop worrying. I can take care of myself,” Yuta insists, putting his hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. He’s a little closer than you anticipated, which makes your heart rate increase a little. You chalk that reaction up to his invasion of your personal space and shift away, groaning.

“Fine, I’ll bring you. But if shit goes down, I can’t promise an easy way out. Let’s just keep things lowkey, alright?”

“Of course I can do that! I’ve been doing it so far haven’t I?” he says, but somehow you’re not entirely convinced.

The party is filled with people you know from work and a slew of unfamiliar faces, probably your coworkers’ friends. It’s mostly a backyard party, like you already knew, although there are some people mingling within the house.

There are already a few people lounging in the pool. In any other scenario, it might be inviting to you, but now you just look at all that water with a looming sense of anxiety. Yuta sticks close to your side, saying nothing but studying everyone around him.

“Y/N!” your coworker David shouts from the backdoor of his house. He holds up his beer in salutation and you wave back at him, mildly annoyed that he’s brought everyone’s attention to you both. He hustles over to you and claps you on the back strong enough to make your bones rattle, and you wince. “Hey dude!” He reaches across you to pull Yuta into a handshake, and Yuta also winces when he grips his hand a little too tight. “Make yourselves at home, I’ve got everything you could ever need—including the booze and babes!” You both nod awkwardly before David goes off to greet someone else who’s just pulled up. You roll your eyes once he’s gone.

Yuta’s eyebrows draw together. “That was…”

“Annoying,” you finish for him.

“You don’t seem to like him. Why did you decide to come?”

“Workplace politics, if you’re the only one who doesn’t come it’s awkward, ugh. It’s just bullshit. Let’s not get into it.” You walk towards the house and Yuta follows, and you nod at a few people you know along the way.

You find Alex in the kitchen, where he offers to make drinks for you and Yuta. You cast a glance at Yuta, wondering if he’ll take up the offer; you have no idea how he’ll react to alcohol, or if they drink any equivalent of it on his homeworld.

“Um, I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh okay, straight-edge guy! That’s cool too,” Alex grins, making just the one drink for you. As you and Alex talk, the girl from your department whose neighborhood was about to be evacuated sidles up to your little group.

“I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Oh...it’s Yuta.”

“Yuta? How cool, I’m Sooyoung.”

Little did you know that that one introduction would expand into them having a half-hour long conversation right there in the kitchen. You really don’t know how Yuta is pulling this off without spilling the beans, but then again, you do; he’s good enough at manipulating the conversation to make it seem like he’s sharing personal info when he’s really not. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he throws in things you taught him every so often.

Alex notices your changing demeanor and follows you as you walk into the living room, finally exhausted with playing third wheel. “Hm, someone seems a little spicy.”

You cough. “I’m fine, it’s just cramped in there, David should really invest in a bigger house..this place could use a remodel.” You throw a glance around the living room, not wanting to see the mischievous look in Alex’s eyes.

“Well, remodel aside, it’s not really my business, but you certainly seem to have a little green monster brewing here.”

You give Alex a long look. “Don’t. He’s my friend. He’s not even—” You have to stop yourself before you expose anything, and you shift nervously on your feet.

“Not even what? Your type? I don’t know, he’s handsome enough to me. You can’t go wrong with a pretty boy. Don’t tell Xavier I said that, though.”

“Lord, let me get the hell out of here…” You leave Alex to cackle to himself while you go out into the backyard again, holding your drink and mulling around the edges of the activity. Too busy wrestling with your own emotions, you don’t realize how close you’ve drifted towards the pool.

“Hey, Y/N?” David says from behind you.

“Yeah?” You go to turn towards him, but before you can, you feel a huge shove from behind and the next thing you know your feet are off the ground and you’re in the pool. It all happens so fast that you can barely catch your bearings, and for a terrifying moment you’re convinced you’re about to drown.

The seconds feel like minutes, and you can’t even open your eyes to tell up from down. The next thing you register is an arm around your waist, and somehow you’re being pulled up even though you’re too panicked to even control your limbs. Your head pops above the water and you cough and sputter loudly, trying to take in air. You try to blink the water out of your eyes, though it drips off your hair and makes it even harder to see.

You’re still not sure what the hell is going on until you’re hauled out of the water and sitting on the ground. Someone hands you a towel, and you hear a female voice saying you’re such an asshole, David.

You wipe the water off of your face and then you’re finally able to see; Yuta is crouching in front of you, just as soaked as you are and staring at you with a worried expression. You look back at him, disoriented and a little dumbfounded at his still-human state.

“You didn’t…”

Even though you’re still trembling with the fear of almost drowning, you’re unable to look anywhere but at Yuta for that moment—at the pure concern on his face.

“Nice going, David,” someone else says sarcastically.

“It was just a bit of a prank! No hard feelings guys, come on. Y/N?” You realize David is standing on your left, and he tries to come closer, his hands open in an apologetic gesture. You jerk away from him, holding the towel to your shaking form.

“Get the fuck away from me. You’re a fucking idiot!” you shout. “All you do is ‘play pranks’ and then you wonder why no one likes you!” That draws a few barely concealed laughs out of the people standing nearby, though you don’t think any of it is funny. David steps back, unsure how to respond and looking truly embarrassed for once in his life.

Filled with anger, you try to get to your feet but you’re still unsteady. Yuta puts his arm around you again, lifting you up and encouraging you to lean your weight on him.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You don’t have much to say on the way back home. You insist on leaving right away even though Yuta suggests you sit and wait until the tremors subside. He obviously can’t drive you back home, so it’s all he can offer, though it doesn’t make you feel much better.

The silence itself isn’t particularly awkward to Yuta, but he is uncomfortable anyway because he knows it stems from your own discomfort. At a red light, he turns to you.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, and then he speaks again. “I know you’re mad about the pool, but...it seems like there’s more than that. Did...you not like me spending so much time with Sooyoung?”

You scoff. “You can’t be serious. I don’t care what you and that girl do.”

“You’re not a very good liar.” You’re too worn out to argue, so you merely give him a sidelong glance. Yuta sits back in his seat and watches a few cars zip past, their tail lights looking like clashing stars against the night. He’s not used to so much...manmade stuff. There was his ship and his trackers, of course, but he still has a hard time adjusting to be surrounded by so much iron and steel. His own planet is ruled by nature, by the vast oceans in all their unpolluted original essence, but Earth—or at least this portion of it—is much, much different.

He means to glance back at you, but his eyes linger for a while longer than intended. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because your outfit is a pretty color, or because the coils of your hair look shiny reflecting the light. He’s never put much thought into human beings before, and his limited experiences with them were mostly better left unremembered. Taking a human form was no huge deal for him; just a move that was necessary at the time.

But now, he’s seeing humanity—and most specifically, you—in a different light, and he’s uncertain what to do with this realization. People have feelings, thoughts, and dreams, like his own species, or like any other. He’s beginning to care what you think of him, how you react to him, even though he doesn’t know why this matters.

“You look pretty,” Yuta says. The compliment is the last thing you expected from him. It seems especially random after what happened at the party; here you are, soaking wet and incredibly uncomfortable. You’re a little late to put your foot on the gas pedal once the light turns green, and someone behind you honks.

“Pretty? I thought humans were weird to you.” Your mind goes back to The Fly and the subsequent conversation you had, and your hands tighten minutely around the steering wheel.

“You are. That hasn’t changed.”

“Good to know.” You don’t want to laugh, but this does make you crack a smile. “But...thanks. And...thanks for that, at the pool, you know. I should...probably trust you more.”

The rest of the ride is a little more talkative after that, and Yuta is happy that he could lighten your mood if even a little bit. Although he wouldn’t tell you, he’s becoming accustomed to your smile, and he’s more displeased than he thought he could be when it’s absent.

The thunder booms so loudly that it makes your window frames shake. It almost reminds you of the day Yuta’s ship fell out of the sky. You pull the covers tighter around yourself as if they alone could protect you from the storm’s fierceness. Storm clouds have been brewing all day, but the skies didn’t open until you and Yuta went to bed. Now, the rain and lightning is in full force. The rain pounds against your window, sounding more like hail or even bullets.

You’re startled for a second time when there’s a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in?”

The door opens slightly and Yuta appears in the small sliver of space. “Sorry, but...can I sleep here? The storm...” He gestures to the window, where a crack of lightning strikes right after. He’s wearing a sleep shirt and loose pants, and his blonde hair is disheveled.

“Uh, sure.” You shuffle over to make room for him. “I guess this isn’t your type of water, is it?” He huddles underneath the covers with you, facing you with his arm tucked under the unoccupied pillow.

“Not when it’s so intense like this.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “It’s scary. Does rainy weather make you think of your homeworld often?”

“Often,” he repeats. “But...I think I’d be worse off if I weren’t here.”

“Here...on Earth?”

“I mean, here with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. It’s a surprisingly personal confession, though you are grateful you’ve become someone so important in his life already, even if it’s only because you’ve given him shelter. That familiar warmth spreads through you again.

Warm and fuzzies = gratefulness to a friend, the feeling you get when you pet a cute puppy. Right. It’s not the sensation you get when you think you might have feelings for your extraterrestrial friend, you try to convince yourself. “I’m...glad you’re here. Maybe not under these circumstances, but still.”

Yuta nods without speaking, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from you. You think he must be waiting on you to say something else.

“What?” you ask quietly when he keeps staring at you. “Take a picture, it will last longer.” Your joke does little to clear the air, and the tension keeps rising. You should probably be the first one to look away, to end whatever weird game this is and go to sleep, but you can’t. It’s unexplainable.

Yuta props himself up on his elbow, and you’re about to ask him where he’s going when he slips his hand onto your bare shoulder. You’re already covered by the blankets, but you suddenly feel even hotter with his hand on you, sliding up from your shoulder to the side of your face. “Y-Yuta…?”

You don’t know what to say or do, but you don’t object when he leans closer. Your faces are only inches apart now, like he’s hesitating and wondering if he should cross the line. The thunderstorm is intense, but this moment feels much more suspenseful than that could ever be. And then, it’s suddenly satisfying when his lips are on yours.

The kiss starts gentle. He’s careful as if he’s afraid to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s soft and sweet. Things get more heated when his tongue prods against your lower lip and enters your mouth. You don’t know when his hand made it from your face to your side, but he pulls you close with his fingers pressing into the flesh just below your breasts, and you tremble at the proximity.

When you pull away, both of you are breathing harder and unable to look each other in the eye.

“Should we be doing this?” you whisper.

Yuta shakes his head. “I don’t know. But it feels good.”

At those words, you pause for a moment before moving to kiss him again. His lips respond deftly to yours, his body crowding you in and making you feel hot and enraptured with desire from where you still lie under the covers.

His hair is very soft when you slide your hands through it, though you can’t push away the thought that suddenly manifests in the back of your mind. This isn’t really his hair, or his lips, is it? It’s all a mask to cover whatever is underneath, which is something you still don’t entirely know, yet are increasingly curious about.

Yuta’s hand drifts up just high enough to caress the underside of your breast—all still over the cover of your clothes. Abruptly, that thought forces its way to the front of your mind, making itself unavoidable, and you have no idea how to reconcile it. This is all so...very unfamiliar. And undeniably scary.

You pull away from him, your face creased with conflict, and his hand stills on your body. “S-sorry, I…um...this is...”

Subsequently, he pulls his hand away from you, though some part of you doesn’t really want that to happen. “I-it’s fine.”

You both settle back into the sheets, the tense aura from before replaced with one that’s thick with unease. The storm continues on outside, unknowing and uncaring of anything else but its own nature.

Though you would like to pretend it isn’t so, things become strained after the night of the storm.

You and Yuta don’t talk about the kiss. You expected him to say something about it that morning after, but he didn’t acknowledge it, and so you figured you just forget about it, too. What are you thinking, anyway? You’re literally from two different worlds. You don’t have the first clue about what a connection would look like between you, whether it be just sex or a relationship.

Why couldn’t you just fall for a coworker and have a bit of office drama like everyone else? Even that would be simpler.

Why did you have to let your thoughts get the best of you? You don’t have any answer for that, except for maybe your own need to come to terms with your attraction. People have never been very skilled at accepting others different from themselves, you know that much. But that usually counts for people of different ethnicities or cultural backgrounds, not two entirely different species.

You spend the whole week afterwards tearing your mind up with this monologue and trying to figure out what you should do next, because you’re quickly growing weary of coming home to a tense atmosphere. Alex can only give so much advice—not that you’d really tell him the entire situation—without knowing just how complicated everything is.

Where he used to hang out with you and help you with your hair, Yuta spends more time up in the guest bathroom again. You wonder if he thinks you’re disgusted by him. You’d probably think the same if he reacted the way you did.

Unbeknownst to you, Yuta is facing the situation with a similar amount of inner turmoil as you, wondering if he’s gone too far. He’s done many silly things in his life, but he doesn’t know how to undo this mistake. The mistake of kissing you? The mistake of seeing you as more than just another human? The mistake of knowingly flying in a faulty ship? Maybe all of it.

He feels guilty about freezing you out and pretending as if nothing happened, especially with all you’ve done to make him safe and comfortable in your home. But, at the same time, he is equally frightened to face you and discover the real reasoning for why you pulled away that night. Because you’ll never see him as someone you could like? Or maybe even love?

If that’s your truth, he’d rather leave it unsaid.

There aren’t many choices left but to face it. Whether this idea is smart or not is yet to be seen, but you suppose you don’t have many solutions left. And you are sick of being cooped up in the house.

“You sure this is safe?” Yuta asks as he stares at the scenery whizzing past. “You were all freaked out about me being near water before...now you want to go to a lake?”

You glance over at him. “Yes, it’s my parents’ lake property. It’s private, Yuta. No one will be there but us. I think we could both use a mini vacation this weekend, yeah?”

“I guess, sure.” Yuta shrugs. His demeanor is more closed off than it was before that dreaded kiss, but you can still tell that he’s interested in the idea of getting access to a bigger body of water, even if he doesn’t outwardly express it.

The lake house is two hours out of your city. It hasn’t been used much in the past few years with both you and your parents being busy with work and life, but if there was ever a good time to use it, it’s probably now. You just hope there aren’t any squatters of the furry variety; the last thing you need is to be fighting raccoons or squirrels after stepping through the door.

Luckily, there’s really no one but you two once you reach your destination. The lake is big and pretty like you last remembered it, sparkling under the sun and throwing the rays back in your eyes. Yuta is automatically captivated by it.

“Here it is!” you say, walking along the sand and spreading your arms out towards the body of water. “It might not be much compared to your homeworld, but I hope it’s enough.” You carry your bag up the stairs to the house and turn back to Yuta, who’s still standing by the shore gazing across the water. “You can go in, you know? Get comfortable!”

That seems to snap him out of his trance, and he turns back to you, following you up the steps. “Not right now...I’ll go later.” You’re a little disappointed at that, but you simply nod and open the door to go in.

You spend the day getting increasingly more restless as you and Yuta hang out together. You go on the pier, walk around the entirety of the lake, and even take your dad’s boat out on the water, but he still doesn’t get in.

You eat dinner together later that night, although you’re the one doing most of the eating, and there isn’t much conversation to be had. You’ve both run out of things to say that don’t center around the kiss or why he refuses to get in the water.

Yuta spends a few more moments watching you push your food around your plate before leaning forward. “Why did you bring me here?” he asks.

You sigh heavily. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I do, but…” he hesitates. “Can you answer my question first?

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, well. I brought you here because...I don’t know. I figure you deserve to have somewhere bigger to swim around in than my guest bathtub.” You laugh nervously.

He seems unconvinced. “Is that it?”

“I’d say so! Why won’t you even take one swim, is the better question? I want you to relax and be yourself.”

He furrows his eyebrows as if he doesn’t know how to reply. “You...aren’t you...repulsed by it? I just figured you wouldn’t want to see me in my natural form. Especially since…” He trails off at the end, and your palms sweat a little.

“No! I know I was weirded out at first, but...I-I guess that was the point of this whole trip, to show you that…” You grapple with your words for a moment, unsure if now is the time to fully confess what you’re feeling. “Look, I want to try, alright? I want to see it at least once. I want to accept you as a whole being, and that means, you know...all of you.”

Yuta smiles gradually at that, and you feel swept up with a sudden wave of affection you weren’t expecting. You are still a bit scared, but you don’t want to turn back now. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you reply, clasping your shaking hands together.

Yuta nods and stands up from the dining table, gesturing for you to follow him. It’s late now, with the moon shining brightly and the last vestiges of dark blue sky giving way to black. The air outside is cool, but not uncomfortably so. You follow Yuta to the pier and watch timidly, your stomach flip-flopping, as he sheds his clothes, leaving them on the wooden deck. Then he slips into the water, disappearing underneath its still surface.

You crouch down, looking intently at the rippling water and anticipating whoever is going to resurface. The sounds of croaking frogs and crickets press in from every side, ringing in your ears so loudly that it’s hard to think straight.

You gasp when Yuta lifts from the water, his human skin gone and completely transformed into something that’s more...amphibian, if that’s any accurate way to describe his appearance. His skin is still scaly and green like you saw that first day, but in the moonlight it seems to glitter and reflect a spectrum of colors like his armor did. There are two fins on the either side of his face, translucent and shining a pale green. They slowly move back and forth as he treads on the water, as if they’re conveying an emotion to match whatever he’s thinking, and you watch them in fascination.

Yuta floats on his back in the water, the long gills on either of his sides catching the moonlight. You watch in fascination as they move with his breaths. Using the pier post to keep yourself stable, you reach out to touch them. They’re slick under your fingers, but not in a slimy or gross way. Your hand drifts to the rest of his skin, across his torso and along his sides, and every portion has a strikingly smooth texture. His alien eyes stare at you silently as you do, glittering big in the moonlight.

“What do you think?” his voice is quieter than you expected, as if he’s afraid of your reaction. He doesn’t break his gaze, though, studying your face carefully.

“You’re...amazing,” you say breathlessly. “Incredible.”

His lips, which are green like the rest of him, form a small smile, and then he dives underneath the water. He does a few laps as if he means to impress you, his lithe marine form sparkling just below the surface of the water. You keep your hand suspended over the pier as you watch him, your fingers sliding against his body every time he passes by. You smile at his display, a laugh coming out of you at his impromptu performance.

When he’s finished, Yuta climbs up onto the pier with you and kneels in front of you, much like he did that day he saved you from David’s swimming pool. His feet are webbed like his hands. Droplets of water slide off of them onto the wooden boardwalk while others linger on the clear webbing like tiny jewels. Your hand is magnetized to his face, drawing across the scaly skin and tracing over his lips, which are just as smooth as the rest of him.

Before you can think twice about it, you lean forward and capture his lips with yours. Did you expect it to be fishy? Maybe. But it’s not that at all. He still manages to taste distinctly like Yuta, even though you’re not sure what that taste is. It’s a flavor that makes you feel...held. Yuta is surprised for a moment, but he responds to your kiss, one of his webbed hands inching close to your face. He doesn’t touch you at first, a little reluctant and yet wanting to let you lead the pace so he doesn’t scare you off.

You welcome his touch, carefully brushing your fingertips across his hand and bringing it to make contact with your skin. His own skin is still a bit cold from the water’s temperature, but it doesn’t bother you much.

The kiss soon grows more intense, and a mounting desire makes itself known in you. You won’t pretend like you’re 100% confident about all of this, but you don’t want to shun it anymore, either.

Yuta’s hand drifts to your neck, his long nails pressing into your skin ever so slightly. You dare to explore his body more, sliding your hands across his chest and over his side gills, feeling the way they contract under your hands, and farther down still. You haven’t looked down there yet, and you’re nervous over what you’ll find. But you keep going until your fingers meet something slick and hot and throbbing, seeming vaguely like a regular penis, though you quickly realize it’s more of a tentacle.

Yuta shudders and draws away from the kiss, and you feel alarmed, wondering if you’ve gone too far without thinking.

“If we’re going to do this, I should...probably shift back—”

“Don’t,” you blurt out. Yuta looks at you questioningly. “I...you should if it makes you comfortable. But...I don’t mind.” He’s quiet for a few seconds—seconds that feel much longer than they really are. You’re apprehensive of what he’ll say, but you keep your eyes on his face.

“Okay,” he agrees. “If you’ll accept me like this...okay.”

Neither of you bother with moving to somewhere more comfortable like the lake house or even the sandy shore. Instead, Yuta peels your clothes away right there on the pier, covering every new bit of flesh with his strange and lovely mouth, his head fins ghosting across your collarbones and breasts like moths’ wings.

You tremble and grow wetter under his soft caresses, which are much gentler than you’d initially expect with his sharp black nails. His hands leave streaks of water across your body, which cools your burning hot skin.

Yuta carefully maneuvers your lower body at the same time as he bends his graceful head, bringing your sex close to his mouth and licking deeply into you. Your back presses hard against the pier, the wood scratching your skin as you cry out into the night air.

“Oh God, Yuta!” You soon realize that his tongue is much longer than any human one, and it reaches to a spot deep inside of you that makes you twist around in his grasp, your fingernails scrambling for purchase on the surface below you. He uses his tongue to pleasure that spot continuously, drawing moans and ever more wetness out of you as if he were controlling the waves in the ocean.

You find yourself coming apart on his extraordinarily long tongue, your legs shaking and then going limp with the pleasure flooding through your body. Your breaths come fast and hard. Yuta lifts his head from between your legs and pulls you carefully into his lap so his slick tentacle is pressing against you. It’s not hard like a dick would be, though it is clearly responsive to your body, and you momentarily wonder if it can even go inside you.

“Is this gonna work?” you ask, a tremor in your voice.

“It will work,” Yuta replies, and you’re not sure how, but you decide to trust him on it.

It does, to your surprise. With your legs crossed tightly over his lower back, Yuta presses into you, wet and warm and very unexpectedly soft. It doesn’t feel like anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s not a bad sensation, though—far from it. His tentacle is similar to his tongue in how it flexes and throbs inside you, pressing tight against that spot again and making you shiver in his arms.

You both quickly find a rhythm that works, your bodies moving together in an otherworldly combination of two beings, two species, two souls.

Yuta’s long nails scrape gently against your skin as he holds your back, guiding you on his sex and pushing his hips up into you. You sigh into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, feeling the cool scales underneath your lips. You seek a firm grip on his slick skin, bringing your body as close to his as possible.

“Yuta…” You moan his name. His hand slides to the back of your neck so he can bring your face to his again, kissing you deeply. There’s a wet squelching sound as your bodies connect, Yuta’s tentacle slipping in and out of you and pleasurably stroking your walls.

“Y/N…” Yuta whispers into your soft hair, pushing into your spot repeatedly, his thighs tensing under you as his pace increases. You grip his arms as you feel your orgasm swelling up in your abdomen. You tip your head back and Yuta’s mouth goes to your neck and farther down, his heavy breaths warming your skin and making you overheat from the inside out.

You tighten and cum around him, your voice stuttering out of you in broken gasps as he keeps thrusting into you, drawing your climax out. He pulses inside of you, which sends little shockwaves up your spine; you know he’s probably close, too.

When Yuta comes, there’s a lot more of it than you expected. His cum overflows and drips out of you with a consistency like syrup and a transparent color like precum. It makes the inside of your thighs sticky and shiny.

Yuta pulls out, and more of his cum spills out of you, leaking onto his lap and staining the pier underneath you.

“That’s not gonna get me pregnant, is it?” you say quietly, half-jokingly.

“Probably not,” Yuta chuckles.

“Probably!?”

Yuta carefully gathers you in his arms and stands to his feet, walking you off the pier and back towards the lake house. Your clothes are still on the pier, but you’re quickly getting sleepy and aren’t very worried about it; you’ll get them in the morning.

“What happens now?” Yuta murmurs as he walks up the front steps. You already know he’s referring not just to your relationship in this present moment, but to every event that will make up your future. Does he need to continue hiding, or is it really safe? How long will this last?

You close your eyes, resting your head against his chest. “We stay together.”

Yuta’s arms tighten around you as a silent affirmation of your words.

267 notes · View notes

tradgicworks · 3 years ago

Text

Heartfelt:P-1 A World of Sorrow

When a student of a private school disappears during stormy night, three strangers come together to look for her and end up discovering the dark secrets of the world around them. WORD COUNT - 3134

The light of the setting sun peered into the old diner. Black clouds dotted the sky. Sophie took a long sip from her milkshake and stared wistfully at the horizon. Her golden bangle bracelet slid down her arm as she did.

“What’s wrong?” Gwyneth asked as she noticed her gaze.

Gwyneth brushed her bangs aside. Her dark brown colored eyes were filled with concern. She had voluminous long black hair that covered her shoulders like a fluffy mane. She wore a uniform which consisted of a long skirt, a simple tucked in blouse, and a blazer- all in different shades of purple.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just thinking about some stuff,” Sophie said with a meek smile.

"What kinda stuff?" Gwyneth asked.

"Midterms, winter vacation, piano practice. The usual," Sophie replied.

“Wow, not even trying to hide the fact that you weren’t paying attention to my story, huh?" Gwyneth gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm sorry," Sophie awkwardly smiled.

“It's okay, I forgive you. Anyways, remember that girl that went missing a couple months ago, she was a freshman, um, vice president of the chess club or something. Well some of the older students have been talking about how this isn’t the first time that it has happened,” Gwyneth ate one of her few remaining fries. “Near the end of last year’s spring semester a different freshman suddenly moved away. This normally wouldn't have been seen as strange except for the fact that it was right in the middle of finals. Supposedly, one of her friends decided to call her parents to ask about what happened only to be told that the phone number had been out of service for weeks.”

“Spooky,” Sophie commented simply.

“Mhm. So, the older girls started talking and it turned out that a lot of students went missing over the years. They say that it's been about fifteen students in total that have suddenly disappeared. For every single one of them there was a convenient excuse for why, but all of it just seems too coincidental,” Gwyneth leaned in for dramatic effect. “Me thinks there’s a conspiracy afoot.”

“Really? I suppose it is strange, but it could just be that the seniors get overactive imaginations with how much free time they have during finals,” Sophie sighed.

“Aw come on, humor me at least," Gwyneth leaned back. “Don’t you think it’s weird that the academy has a dedicated security team that answers directly to Capital City’s police department? We even have a creepy name for them- Wardens- that’s not normal!”

“Well, given the kind of students that attend it’s not that strange,” Sophie said.

“You really are playing devil's advocate today, huh?” Gwyneth gave a friendly smile.

“Sorry,” Sophie lowered her gaze.

Gwyneth’s smile turned to a face of concern.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay-'' Gwyneth started before she was interrupted by the chimes of their phones.

“Curfew,” Sophie swiped at her smartphone. “It’s time to head back.”

“Right...” Gwyneth gazed at her for a few seconds as she packed up her things and got ready to leave before following suit.

The two left a tip for the waiter and headed out into the cold air of the coming winter. The sleepy sky matched the energy of the few students that remained outside, all of them in a quiet hurry to get back to the main campus of Dorothy Elaine Atham's Private Academy for Young Women, or “the academy” as the students plainly referred to it. It was originally constructed in the early 1940s, yet it managed to remain one of the most prestigious high schools in Capital City. This was mostly due to the academy having the support of the Capital City Police Department. They would employ off-duty officers to act as the academy’s security team, or ‘Wardens’ as they were officially referred to. As a result the academy set itself apart as one of the safest private high schools in the entirety of the United States. Strict curfews, no relationships, mandatory dorms, quarterly inspections by the Wardens, uniforms and an arduous curriculum were some of the measures taken to keep the students safe. Wealthy families from all over the country enrolled their children with peace of mind that they would be safe, allowing the school to afford top of the line facilities, staff, and to further its reputation even more. It was said that the academy was so stern with its policies that even the lightest violation could lead to expulsion. Of course that was just a rumor.

Sophie and Gwyneth eventually found themselves back at the main entrance of the academy. Tall walls made of brick and black fencing led to two large half open gates. A flower bed filled with wilting violet roses that matched the student’s outfits sat underneath them. A tall Warden stood at the side of the entrance. Her bright green eyes filled with overwhelming sternness locked with Sophie’s. Sophie averted her gaze and made her way in alongside Gwyneth.

“W-Well, see you tomorrow,” Sophie said to Gwyneth as she took out a pair of wireless earbuds.

“Wait,” Gwyneth gently grabbed her arm before she left. “How about we walk back to your dorm together? I got some more spooky stories I want to tell you about.”

“You won’t make it back to your dorm in time if we do that, you’re on the other side of campus.” Sophie replied.

“I could just stay at your place, y’know like a sleepover,” Gwyneth doubled down as she let go of her arm.

“We both know you can’t do that,” Sophie let out a long breath and held Gwyneth’s shoulders. “I’m fine, really. I know you’re worried about me but I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyneth asked.

“I’m sure,” Sophie looked her in the eyes. “I promise that I’m okay.

“Breakfast?” Gwyneth asked dejectedly.

“Of course, breakfast sounds great,” Sophie gave a convincing enough smile. “Now let’s hurry, before the dorm doors lock.” She said as she let go of her.

“Yeah, goodnight,” Gwyneth smiled slightly.

“Goodnight,” Sophie replied before putting in her earbuds and selecting a classical music playlist.

The sun was halfway nestled into the horizon by the time they split. Night was rapidly approaching. The pitch black clouds moved as a mound, thunder rumbled in the distance. The academy resembled a small college more than a high school. Four buildings took up the majority of the campus, each housing their respective grade. A well decorated plaza rested in the middle of the four buildings, where the freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors could interact with each other during lunch or after classes. The dorms sat a few hundred feet from their respective buildings. Wilting but mostly green grass took the majority of the empty space in the campus. Trees and flower beds stood beside the lamp posts that lit up the sprawling walkways. The campus barely had enough room for everything that was built on it, but it was efficient nonetheless.

Sophie’s brows furrowed as the freshmen dorm came into view. It was tucked away in the farthest corner of the campus. While the other dorms enjoyed a nice view of the academy, the freshmen dorms were greeted with the old auditorium. It was by far the oldest building on campus and in a desperate need for renovation. Unfortunately, the construction was inexplicably postponed until the end of the semester- leaving the freshmen with the sight of an ugly, half finished, and decaying building.

Sophie glanced at the front doors. A girl leaned against the doors as she chewed gum. Sophie overlapped the ends of her blazer together and averted her eyes. The girl stopped chewing as Sophie walked to the entrance. Sophie quickly took out her ID card and pressed it against the door’s scanner. The girl swatted her ID to the ground as it finished scanning.

“Whoops,” The girl, Eva, leered in a pretentious tone as she put her arm around her shoulder. “Didn’t see you there princess.”

Eva blew a bubble with her gum and popped it with a sharp snap. Her dyed ash blonde hair was tied into a messy bun. Her hazel colored eyes were flecked with dull orange blemishes. She wore a thick black hoodie and a short skirt which barely fell within the academy’s dress code. A faint but irritatingly smug smirk stretched across her face.

“What do you want, Eva?” Sophie said meekly.

“Nothing much, nothing much at all. I just wanted to talk to my dear friend for uh,” Eva glanced at her wrist watch. “Five minutes.”

“We’re not friends,” Sophie kept her gaze glued to the floor.

“It hurts me to hear you say that,” Eva squeezed her shoulder until she winced from the pain. “Listen, I need a little favor. As you know, winter break is in a week and I’m running low on funds, so I was wondering if you can help me. It’ll run you about five thousand dollars, but of course that’s nothing compared to all the allowance money your mommy and daddy are giving you, right?”

“No,” Sophie muttered.

“Excuse me?,” Eva tilted her head until she met her gaze. “You need to speak up, I can’t hear you through your teeth.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” Sophie pushed her off of herself. “Leave me alone or I’ll report you to the Wardens!”

“Oh, really now?” Eva chuckled dryly. “I think you and I both know you can’t follow up on such a threat, not without putting that friend of yours in a whole lot of trouble…Well you do have a point, I can’t take what’s not in my hands after all…” She glanced at her watch and gave a sadistic smirk.

“But neither can you,” Eva said before sweeping Sophie’s legs and causing her to trip backwards.

Sophie yelped in pain as she just managed to catch herself. By the time she got up Eva was already inside of the dorm with her ID in hand. She rushed to the doors only to find that they were already locked. The sound of a grandfather clock chimed through the PA system signaling the start of the curfew.

“It’s a good thing you managed to scan the door before you dropped your ID, huh? That way it's on record that you got in here before curfew. Your perfect attendance is not in danger, though it was a real shame you lost your ID. Don’t worry though I’ll turn it in to the lost and found in the morning. Have a nice night, princess! I hear it's going to be a dark and stormy one,” Eva laughed while waving Sophie’s ID in the air.

“Wait!” Sophie pleaded as she desperately tried to open the door, but no matter how much she pushed against them, the doors refused to budge.

She froze as she felt a cold drop of rain fall down her neck. She looked up at the rumbling dark sky. It began to pour. Sophie clung to what little shelter could find at the side of the building. She took out her phone and tried to call Gwyneth, only to find that her screen had shattered completely from when she tripped. She looked around for a Warden but found none. She yanked out her earbuds and angrily threw them into her bag in frustration. Pathetically faint music leaked out of them. She leaned against the wall and sunk until she was sitting with her knees to her chest.

Despite its claims to security, the reality is that the school can’t keep everyone safe. With the majority of students coming from wealthy backgrounds, treating one too harshly could lead to the parents withdrawing their donations. Without those funds, the school would cease to function- something the academy avoided at all costs. As such, there was an unwritten rule that the wealthier the family, the more lenient the punishment. Though many students did not take advantage of this reality, after all attending the academy was a privilege. All except for Eva. Nobody really knows why, but the school would turn a blind eye to her many misdeeds. Some speculated that it was due to her role as one of the academy’s star athletes, others thought that she was secretly related to the headmaster. Regardless of the rumors, the reality was that she was cruel, spiteful, and above all, manipulative. She made a habit of harassing students that had unfortunately drawn her attention. Whether it be through blackmail, harassment, or slander, she would abuse her victim until they were forced to do whatever she wanted. No matter how much students tried to retaliate she always seemed to have the upper hand and the academy would turn the other way. As a result she had gained an infamous reputation amongst the freshmen and sophomores as someone to be avoided at all costs. Unfortunately for Sophie, Eva seemed to be obsessed with making her time at the academy as miserable as possible. Eva’s persistence was so overwhelming that Sophie ended up being isolated from the rest of her class out of fear of Eva alone. The only person brave enough to still talk to her was her closest friend Gwyneth. She did her best to make sure that Sophie was rarely alone and felt safe. However, even that backfired. Eva had somehow managed to take a photo of Gwyneth that would lead to her expulsion if revealed to the public. Ever since then, Eva has hung that threat over Sophie’s head and she couldn’t let anything happen to her best friend. As such, Sophie felt so alone. She felt as if she was left to fend for herself against the clutches of a monster.

Sophie pressed her face against her knees, frustration weighing at her heart, and began to cry. Harsh winds began to pick up and slam waves of rain against her. Sophie took a shaky deep breath and slowly rose to her feet. She looked at her surroundings to try to find better shelter. Her gaze eventually lingered on the auditorium. She choked down a cough before grabbing her bag and heading towards the unfinished building.

. . .

The outside of the auditorium was a mix of moldy wood and peeling paint. Its towering size gave it the imposing essence of a Victorian mansion. Overgrown vines and unkept leaves dressed the entirety it’s walls. Sophie steeled herself as she approached the entrance. She stopped under a small awning that hung over the front doors where no rain seemed to fall. Lightning followed by thunder struck as she gripped her rain soaked skirt and wrung out the excess water. She shivered from the cold as she dried herself the best she could. When she finished, she leaned against the door.

“The dorms open up at 6 am, I’ll be able to get my ID back then,” She thought to herself as she stared at the hole riddled awning. “Maybe father will buy me a new phone, it was pretty old anyways.”

She grabbed her wrist and felt for her bracelet, her only reminder of warmth. A wave of sadness surged through her.

“Mom, Dad, I want to go back home,” She whispered to herself.

Chills spread out through her entire body as the door she braced herself against suddenly flung open with a sharp clang. She regained her balance and turned around. The door’s handle laid on the floor completely broken. The darkness of the auditorium greeted her with a gust of musty, but warm, air. She took a step back only to have the freezing rain fall on the back of her neck. Sophie looked at the entrance with an uneasy face. After a few moments she hesitantly walked in.

The building was much larger than it appeared. A few work-lights left turned on lit the auditorium with sheets of inconsistent light. Door frames to rooms that were used for the construction’s storage lined the walkways. The long hallways on either side of Sophie curved out of view. In front of her sat two large doors. She pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside. She found herself in the academy’s theater. Rows of weathered red fabric seats stepped down into the center stage. The stage’s walnut flooring was scuffed from years of use and subsequent neglect. Two large maroon curtains blocked the view to the backstage. A small podium sat at the front of it, its paint flaking off to the bare wood. She climbed onto the stage, its visage faintly lit by the work-lights that peered through the half opened doors.

Sophie stared at the seats in a silent awe. She imagined what the theater would look like if it were full of people and wondered why the academy refused to finish renovations. As she pondered, her gaze lowered to the podium. Her eyes narrowed. Faint scratches lined the bottom of it. She wiped a layer of dust off with her hand and revealed a string of faintly recognizable letters.

“Save me?” Sophie slowly read out loud.

“Heard.” A breathy and raspy voice that stretched out every syllable echoed through the theater. “You.”

The doors slammed shut, snuffing out the work-lights and leaving her in complete darkness.

“W-Who’s there?” Sophie stammered.

A bittersweet melody of hums snaked through the dark and into Sophie’s ears in reply.

“Show y-yourself,” Fear gripped at her heart, she clutched her school bag ready to swing it whatever was lurking in the darkness.

“Heard,” The voice repeated, this time more strained. “You.”

“T-This isn’t f-funny, please stop!” She said with a slight whimper.

“Save. You. You. Want. Me. To. Save...” The voice called from behind her causing her to jump in fear.

She swung her schoolbag wildly but it collided against nothing.

“Go. Somewhere. Safe. You. Want. To. Go. Somewhere. Safe. Somewhere. Home...” The voice grew louder.

“Stay away…” She said silently.

Her breaths grew frantic. An overwhelming dread welled in her gut. Panic coursed through her entire body.

“I. Can. Help.” The voice whispered.

A raspy strand of flesh wrapped around her feet before she could react. Her horrified scream was cut short as another strand that gagged her mouth shut. More and more threads wrapped around her body until she was stuck in an airtight cage. She shrieked in muffled terror as she was yanked behind the curtains. Lightning flashed illuminating the theater in a pang of white before decaying back into darkness. Silence followed. The night continued as normal as a stormy night could. Though a few freshmen swore that they heard strange noises coming from the old auditorium that night. Screams of struggles, pleads for help, and a blood curdling shriek to name a few. Of course nobody took it too seriously. It was just a rumor after all.

#oc #ow #writing #mystery #thriller #horror #anime inspired #female protagonist #heartfelt #cw bullying #First time using tumblr and writing online please be patient C:

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cobieeliseforsh · 4 years ago

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I'm getting pretty annoyed with the amount of bullshit in the media right now. I just read an article about the "antisemitic" conspiracy theory Qanon. Calling Qanon antisemitic is like calling the KKK a group opposed to the career of Will Smith - technically true, but clearly a small subsection of a greater whole.

So, to remedy this...

COBIE'S FRUSTRATED GUIDE TO QANON FROM SOMEONE WHO LOVES CONSPIRACY THEORIES AND WISHES THIS ONE WOULD FUCK OFF BECAUSE IT IS BORING AS SHIT BUT NOT FIZZING WITH ENERGY, EVEN ON A MOLECULAR LEVEL, BECAUSE IT IS A DUMB AND LAZY REHASH FROM THE 80S OR EARLIER!

PART 1: DA FUCQ IS QANON?

Qanon is a grooming organisation for the Christian Far Right Death Cult that has held the Republican party in its sweaty hands since the ascent of Reagan in the 1980s. They believe in some bullshit I won't reprint here because I have no intention of spreading their ideology, but if you've heard of the Satanic panic, this is Satanic Panic 2: Now With Pizza!

Qanon is, by definition of their own supporters attacks on Muslim terrorism, a terrorist organisation. And, though it seems impossible, they're stupidier than ISIS ever were, because at least there was some twisted logic behind ISIS: poor young men fighting revolutionary wars against what they see as corrupt and immoral authorities and ideologies is nothing new. Qanon is literally the powerful declaring war on those without power out of fear that those without power (Satanists) live only to physically abuse their ugly, fat, prejudiced, stupid children. Despite the statistically most likely people to abuse them being them themselves, and there being plenty of evidence that many of these hypocrites have done that in the past (numerically many - one thing I believe Qanon followers on is that the majority are gullible Maud Flanders types, so statistically it won't be that many).

Donald Trump supports them over the "violent" Antifa (Antifa haven't killed anyone since 1993 (and that was a suicide), aren't actually an organisation, and are against facism, which Trump also claims to be against), despite Qanon followers carrying and firing weapons regularly, having shot up a pizza place in a terrorist act, refusing to wear masks, and other acts of violence designed to terrorise people.

PART 2 WHO DO THEY HATE?

Um... like, 98% of people.

Qanon is primarily an Apocalyptic Christian Far Right Death Cult. They believe in what they call SRA (Satanic Ritual Abuse) which happens at such a low frequency as to make it as serious a problem as being invaded by pookas. You might find anecdotal evidence here and there, but the majority of cases are hearsay spread by people who weren't there who were a part of or raised by people who were a part of the Satanic Panic. If you hear about it, it's likely bullshit. Just look at the West Memphis 3: accused of Satanic Ritual Abuse, they were sent to prison for wearing black clothes and being teenagers without any evidence. Now, whoever killed those boys is still loose, because Qanon, like all right-wing groups, is about being obeyed, not about justice.

So, with Satanic Ritual Abuse being fucking vapour, they can accuse ANYONE. And if there is no evidence, they cry COVER UP. There is no way, at all, to prove this mindset is wrong as it always self corrects, because being religious in origin, it is driven by BELIEF, not evidence.

So, whoever they believe is evil, is, as far as their reality tunnel goes.

Muslims? Evil child abusers. "But there is no evidence of that. In fact, the Muslim community is actually very protective of their children and other children. They're amongst the kindest people you can meet, even if their political leaders in their own countries are jerks." Well, says Qanon, that's because their community covers up the abuse. There wouldn't be any evidence. But my cousin went to school with a girl who was groomed by a Muslim. It's clear it is something all Muslims do. "But that's stupid. That's like saying that because Ted Bundy, a heterosexual white Republican, murdered loads of women, all heterosexual white Republicans want to murder women!" Now, says Qanon, you are just being silly. Besides, I believe Muslims are bad and Republicans aren't. You can't question my beliefs.

But we can, and we should.

Qanon followers use this vague structure to create complex webs that link up various conspiracy theories, but they aren't a complex web. They're just a list of petty grievances they have from living in their own personal echo chamber.

They hate women, they hate girls, they hate boys who don't conform to their expectations, they hate men who vote left-wing, they hate gay people, bi people, really anyone who isn't heterosexual, they definitely hate trans people (see: trans people want to use bathrooms to abuse children as merely an extension of the Satanic Ritual Abuse claims), they hate people with coloured hair, bright clothes, they hate Jewish people, they hate Muslims, they hate anyone from a fringe religion that doesn't look right, they hate foreigners, black and brown people... anyone they define as different. And to back this up, they claim to be "the majority" being dictated to be a "minority" - they aren't. They're a minority of gobby cunts, a Karen of Nazis (Karen being the best collective noun to describe these childish crybabies who were so desperate to remain in a state of childlike innocence they embraced both religion and then keep insisting their imaginary friend, Jesus, is following them everywhere, like a psychotic stalker ghost).

PART 3 WHERE DOES THEIR BULLSHIT COME FROM?

This is probably the most important part. Not what they believe, but where these ideas come from, and why they aren't new.

Qanon is a mixture of young-and-edgy YouTube/8chan influencer, white supremacist religious manipulation, pro-Capitalist Protestant religious "life is shit, embrace misery" ideology, pedophile hysteria, and "we hate the idea people have rights because we're power mad, but we're going to frame this as a backlash, normal people making their voices heard, a culture war, or whatever else we can rebrand PREJUDICE because even we don't want to admit we are bigots".

So, first of all, the angry white online teenagers: have always existed, will always exist. Their parents don't give a shit about them unless they cause trouble. So, they learn quickly that the best way to get attention is to cause trouble, which leads to kinship with other troubkemakers, forming an echo chamber of escalating troublemaking. But they're also angry, and often poor (in their eyes, or in actuality), so they're drawn to outrage, and like causing it. They're attracted to movements like this because they believe it's a chance to get some attention, someone to notice them.

And who notices them? White supremacists are always on the lookout for recruits. They feed their need for outrage and attention by misrepresenting everything. They take puff-piece news articles and shoddy journalism and further twist them into movements around positions that have no basis in reality. Vaccines? Designed to hurt you. "Uhhh, no," you say. "That's literally the opposite of what a vaccine does." I don't believe that, they say, and you can't question my beliefs. BLM? Terrorism. "No, they just want to not be shot." No they don't, they want to take over and put the Jews in power, and you can't question my beliefs! "You have no evidence!" COVER UP! they scream.

So it goes, so it goes.

Meanwhile, the Protestan work ethic of, "If you didn't suffer, you don't deserve it," goes on and on. They believe that shit things just happen, you can't stop them. Capitalism is founded on this very, very relugious principle: work should be pain for it to have value. This justifies promoting assholes, and making things difficult. But it also promotes the idea that you can't do anything to combat inequality, as that is natural, and you can't do anything to stop bad things happening, they always will, so why try? This lends Qanon a specific pattern: complain, do nothing, complain nothing is being done, still do nothing, repeat. It's wrong to intervene, you see. This allows them to say racism is bad, but God wants us to suffer so we deserve phony-heaven, a paradise they think is built on bricks of human misery... does that sound glorious to you? And if you have something, clearly you did suffer to get it, and so you are worthy, which is why Trump is a hero to them and they believe his every utterance of verbal diarrhea about him being persecuted (to be fair, he is, but he deserves it because he's lazy and incompetent).

Pedophile hysteria is also generally religiously motivated. Children should be protected, but they are not innocent angels. I've worked with children. Some are nice, some are sneaky, some are violent bullies, and so on. The one thing that unites all children is that they are ignorant. That's why we send them to school. And there are people who want to prey on children. The world we usually use to describe those who most often hurt, abuse and damage children is, "family". Promoting the idea of gangs of rampaging pedophiles snatching children into vans and harming them in shadowy rooms, or murdering them in some Satanic ritual, is laughable compared to the epidemic of children being harmed by those parents terrified the pedophiles are out there. Such fear motivates them to do untold harm to children, restricting their freedoms and their growth, teaching them that all sex is bad so they never enjoy it, forcing them to be things they aren't, and turning a blind eye to obvious abuse because those doing it are not the model of abuse being put out by the press and Internet communities. In that last way, Qanon is a driver of child abuse: it actively encourages Apocalyptic Christian Far Right Death Cult members to nit even ask the obvious question: if Epstein was abusing kids, and Epstein was hanging out with Trump, was Trump maybe involved in some way?

And then there is just the prejudiced crowd, most notably the American-exceptionalism delusional whack jobs. Let me be clear, all forms of exceptionalism are prejudiced, as they suggest that those who are exceptional are better and mire deserving than others, and the real world does not contain such hierarchies, just stuff that happens until it stops happening. A monkey may be the alpha, but one day they won't be. It's not a hierarchy, it's just a thing that happens that we project a power structure onto. Who knows what monkey culture is like? Maybe to them deference is more honourable and respected than being in charge. No-one has asked monkeys for their views of ideology or power structures.

This often manifests itself in ideas of, "We shouldn't be ashamed!" and that movements they don't like are, "Against us!" Well, if you're setting out to hurt people because you believe you are better than them, you should be ashamed. That queer Pakistani girl you keep out of college could have been the one to cure cancer! She might have had the unique perspective to make that breakthrough. And, yes, some of us are against Qanon, because Qanon is hurting people. That is the point of the movement: to harm its enemies, by denial if freedom all the way up to outright murder. It isn't a Pride parade or BLM demanding equality and an end to deaths, its a hate movement driven by a desire to punch down, and ultimately perpetuate the very system that isn't even working for those who follow its own ideology.

It's based on fear of the new, even if that new place is better than the old one, change can be scary. They think equality will hurt them, the way collective bargaining would hurt them. But we don't live in a system where resources are so finite you have to do without, we live in a system where resources are finite but we throw away an excess because capitalism couldn't make rich people richer by giving it to those who need it, so they dispose of it and introduce scarcity to drive up the cost. Working together would force them to stop doing that, which is why movements like this exist: to perpetuate a form of exceptionalism more like a cult, where only the leaders reap the rewards.

PART 4 WHAT IS THE END GOAL OF QANON?

It doesn't have one.

Qanon is a right-wing movement. Right-wing movements are about winning arguments now, and then feeling smug, even when the damage is undone later. It's about a sense of self-satisfaction, and not anything else.

Plus, Qanon has so many stake-holders who hate each other that the movement will eventually descend into cannibalism as all these things do.

Finally, being primarily religious in its design, it won't take long for many religious types to realise Q is kind if a God-like figure, a false idol, and when that happens, plenty if their leaders will become worried that their followers are so focused on Q they might "stray from the path" of donating all their money to their church.

Unless it turns out that Q is Q from Star Trek, in which case their end goal is to test Jean-Luc Picard.

PART 5 SHOULD WE FEAR QANON?

Nah. It's a group of fringe lunatics whose time in the spotlight will be fleeting. As I've already said, even their ideas aren't original - this is the Apocalyptic Christian Far Right Death Cult version of Fortnite stealing dances: everyone goes crazy about it for a bit, but it's so insubstantial in its original form, nevermind the cover band version, that almost all people with a lick of common sense will dismiss it. Plus, it doesn't serve any agenda: Trump could easily find himself on the receiving end of it, that one Qanon politician just elected will likely be marginalised the moment Trump vanishes, and having a single person won't sway any votes in such divisive times, which means they'll be proclaimed ineffectual soon enough, and with Epstein it is already showing that it isn't something which helps the powerful, meaning a lot of people who do have secrets will want it gone sooner rather than later lest it bite their own hands. Plus, they are actually harming people - and say what you like about the Republicans, they don't tend to respond well to the PR disaster of groups they side with directly attacking or killing people unless they are their own ACAB stormtroopers.

Plus, it's a bunch of saddos on the Internet. Chances are if you see someone screaming about Qanon and waving around a gun, they'd have done the same and screamed about lizards had it never got started.

PART 6 WHAT SHOULD I DO?

Stop giving them attention. This is one of the most BORING conspiracy theories ever created. Seriously, since 9/11, conspiracy theories have really gone downhill. They used to be about aliens and subterranean kingdoms, and now they're just attempts to misdirect pedophile hunters from the right-wing types who have covered up child abuse, and tie it to phony "think of the children" and "Satan is out to get us" religious hysteria.

With covid-19, the press is having a very slow news cycle, so they're desperately grabbing at anything that can drive search engine algorithm clicks to their sites, so they're covering Qanon because they've seen it trending. I doubt most people involved with it really believe in it, but it is so directionless that it wouldn't matter if they did. Qanon Con would descend into bloodshed fairly quickly because everyone would be angry and arguing that the tater tots are secret SRA code for cannibalising children or that it reveals that Hilary Clinton buries children beneath fields of potatoes. It's stupid, the people involved with it are stupid, and the bigger question is what they believe that led them to this:

Disenfranchisement. Having to respect the beliefs of others. Prejudice. Anger.

Well, boo-fucking-hoo. If these shitbags actually want to stop harm to children, maybe stop supporting gun rights so kids aren't being gunned down in schools, and black kids don't keep getting gunned down everywhere. Until you do that, Qanon, you're the child abusers.

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torispencerkeene-blog · 4 years ago

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Masks: Myths and Facts

Personal Rights/Politics/Fake News/Conspiracy

Myth: Covid-19 is a government/left-wing conspiracy. Covid-19 was designed by China to destroy America. It is China’s fault we are dealing with Covid-19. Fact: There is absolutely no evidence that Covid-19 is any of those things.

Myth: Covid-19 has been stopped. We are doing fine and there is no need to continue wearing masks. Fact: Covid-19 is still raging in the United States and several other countries. We as citizens must do what we can to help. Just as we vote to elect officials to protect us, we also need to do our part in protecting each other.

Myth: Doctor Fauci and the CDC have said I don’t have to wear a mask. That means I don’t need one. Fact: Yes, that was the original statement. It has since been explained that those statements were made at a time when medical professionals didn’t have enough personal protective equipment (PPE) and the government was hoping to avoid creating a panic and to avoid people buying all the remaining products that doctors, nurses, and first responders needed. Also, since the time those statements were made, months of research has shown us that masks do reduce transmission (by as much as 85%).

Myth: Masks are a symbol of tyranny. Masks are stepping on my personal rights under the constitution. Fact: No one is asking you to wear a mask because they want you unheard, because they are trampling your rights, or because of socialism. The reason people are encouraged to wear a mask is to protect those around you. Your family, friends, neighbors, store clerks, etc.

Myth: Wearing a mask makes me look weak (my husband said to put this one in). Fact: While I have no science to back this up, I can tell you, wearing a mask doesn’t make you look weak. It makes you look smart. Kind. Considerate. Raffish maybe. Dangerous. It certainly doesn’t make you look weak.

Are there Dangers to Wearing a Mask?

Myth: My breath gets caught in the mask, trapping carbon monoxide and making me sick. Fact: Only particles are stopped by the face masks. Your breath cannot be stopped because it flows through the tiny spaces in the material. No fabric you would use to make a mask is air-tight. Masks don’t stop your breath, only bacteria and particles and the moisture that is carried on your breath.

Myth: Masks trap harmful bacteria against your face and can make you sick. Fact: On the inside of the mask, only your own bacteria is caught. Since it is yours, and you’ve already been exposed to it, there is little chance it will cause you to become ill.

Myth: I don’t need to wash my masks. Fact: You should wash your masks after each use (and only use them once). While your own bacteria is caught on the inside of a mask, the bacteria other people carry might end up on the outside. That is why you should always remove masks by the loops that circle around the ears and wash them with soap and hot water (a washing machine is fine).

How to Wear a Mask

Myth: Homemade cloth face coverings are ineffective, and shouldn’t be worn in public. I should be using an n-19 respirator. Fact: Wearing a homemade facemask might not stop a healthy person from getting Covid-19, but it does reduce the risk. Also, wearing homemade masks can help prevent those who are Covid-19-positive from spreading it to others because the fabric can trap some, or all, of the particles that spread the virus. While respirators would work better, they should be reserved for medical workers and first responders.

Myth: I only need to cover my mouth. A loose-fitting mask is fine. Fact: You should always cover both your mouth and nose with your mask. Make sure the mask fits snug against your face so nothing can get in or out around the sides.

Where to Wear a Mask

Myth: If I don’t feel sick, I don’t need to wear a mask. Fact: Many Covid-19-positive people have no symptoms, or have delayed symptoms. Wearing a mask protects others in case you have Covid-19 with no symptoms.

Myth: You don’t have to wear a mask at home. Fact: If you are Covid-a9-positive (or are waiting for results and feel ill) you should isolate yourself in a single room. Any time you leave that room, you should be wearing a mask and practicing proper social distancing and safety precautions.

Myth: If you’ve already had Covid-19, you don’t need a mask. Fact: The antibodies for Covid-19 have been shown to reduce greatly over time. More information is needed to discover how long they last, or how likely it is that someone will be infected a second time.

Myth: I don’t need to wear a mask outside. Fact: Sometimes it is necessary. While it is true that the risk of spread is lower outdoors, there is still a possibility of transmission. In any crowded space, or whenever you are within six feet of other people, you should wear a mask.

Myth: If I wear a mask I don’t need to stay home (or social distance). Fact: Limiting exposure reduces risk. While masks and proper protective measures are extremely important, they are not foolproof. In any enclosed space, your risk of transmission is greater, even with a mask. Maintain social distancing whenever possible, stay home (or alone) as much as possible. Your are only helping yourself and the ones you love.

Myth: You have to wear a mask when you swim. Fact: It’s probably better not to get your mask wet, especially with sea-water. If you are going to go swimming, keep the mask on when you are on the beach or at the pool-side, and any time you are around people. You can take it off to go into the water, but remain away from people who do not live with you. This should reduce the risk. Remember, six feet is considered the minimum safe distance.

How to Wear a Mask:

Wash your hands before putting on your mask. If you can’t wash them, at the very least, use some sort of hand sanitizer and avoid touching your mouth, nose, and eyes until you can.

Start at the top. Cover your nose to your chin, then loop it around the ears.

Make sure the mask fits close to your face to avoid contaminated air from leaking around the edges. It doesn’t need to dig into your skin, but fit snug against it.

Whatever mask you use, make sure you can breathe easily through the material. (I have found spandex material fits better around the nose and covers it easily without fogging up your glasses, but it should be reinforced over the mouth so no particles can get through.

If at all possible, keep the face covering (mask) on the entire time you are out. If for any reason you can’t do this, keep a clean spare in your bag, purse, briefcase, or even in a zip lock bag in your pocket. (I take mine off every now and then to smoke a cigarette, but I make sure I am far from other people when I do so.

When removing the mask, only touch the ear loops. This helps you avoid getting anything on your hands (but to be safe, you should wash them or use hand sanitizer). Put it directly into the laundry, your place for dirty masks, or into a zip lock bag so that no germs will spread to the rest of your things.

Wash your masks before reusing them. Moisture allows bacteria to grow and they can smell if you don’t clean them quickly (have enough spares that you can wash some while having others for use).

For more information (Sources) Note: The CDC has directions for making your own face covering.

www.CDC.gov www.WHO.int University of Maryland Medical System - Wearing a Mask: Myths and Facts Pacific Northwest University - Fact vs. Fiction: Face Masks TriCare - Face Masks, Stress: Covid-19 Myths vs Facts AARP - 7 Myths about Face Masks

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diaryofanangryasianguy · 4 years ago

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since we’re halfway thru the year already, I just had the thought that there’s probably going to be some racist ass Halloween costumes centered around covid 19 this year.... you just know it...

Damn ain’t gonna lie though, I haven’t even thought of that far yet with everything going on lmao. I’m just thinking about the next day let alone 4 months down the line lol

But I get you though. I’m 100% sure as well that there’s gonna be a lot of racist costumes on it. And depending on whether places will open up in 4 months or not, it’ll probably be better for Asian folks and kids to go out in full costumes that cover up their faces. It ain’t just gonna be racist costumes, there’s gonna be racist candy passers too.

Of course, this is only IF covid-19 clears up or lessens within 4 months which I highly doubt, especially not without a vaccination AND without the population getting vaccinated. Even if there was a safe and proven vaccination, you know there’s gonna be tons of conspiracy theorists and people that won’t get it. But I could care less if these trumpers and anti-vaxxers wipe themselves out.

Tbh US folks just ain’t making good choices right now on the situation. Like we got states all across the country trying to open up even with rising cases and deaths. The reason why East Asia is doing better than we are even though they were the original epicenter is because they think about the greater good for the long run and make sacrifices for it. Whereas USAmericans don’t think about the greater good, they only think about what’s good for themselves and are willing to sacrifice others for a day of pleasure.

Angry Asian Guy

#anon #ask #long reads #tw sensitive material

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fink-le-freak · 4 years ago

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@mikey-putrid and I have this weird little desert town we created called Halflight and I want to share some of the character blurbs we wrote for the citizens

Notable Locations Within Halflight

-Halflight General Hospital

-Halflight Public Library

-Halflight Grammar School

-Halflight Town Hall

-The Flock and Feather

-Dragon's Keep Games and Comics

-Feline Good

-Pins N' Needles

-Ink Addicts

-Rose's Antiques

-Theodore's Oddities and Enchantments

-Kelly's Judo Club

-New to You

-Sunny Valley Nursing Home

Dr. Elsie O'Dalaigh, 54: The town's most beloved doctor. Her dry wit and eccentricities may put you off at first, but she's a very warm and wise woman and should you fall ill or find yourself hurt, you will be in good hands. She's originally from Dublin and has a fair number of stories to tell from her wild youth in Ireland. She has an affinity for all things macabre but especially spiders. You might find her dozing off on her porch swing or enjoying a cup of tea with a friend. You're always welcome to join her and her spouse for dinner.

Dr. Ivan Vasilevsky, 39: A sickly doctor who recently came to town from New York City because the air quality was better for his lungs. He's very brilliant but hardly friendly and very private. Because he's fairly well known, patients come from across the country seeking his care. The only person he seems friendly with is his nurse, Cameron.

Dr. Andre Jimenez, 34: An anthropomorphic parrot surgeon at Halflight General Hospital. He's a total social butterfly and loves to talk, talk, talk. He has trouble keeping secrets and falls into gossip frequently. He's well liked by all his colleagues, all but Dr. Vasilevsky that is.

Johnathan "Johnny" Ross, 20: A cowardly and sensitive young man with a passion for piercing. Though only an apprentice, he's very knowledgeable about body modification and keeps his own piercings immaculate. His motorcycle is also kept in pristine condition. He's also quite shy and is hardly ever seen without his girlfriend, Loretta.

Venus Estelle, 31: A laid back frilled lizard woman that claims to see the future through the smoke from her pipe. She's very transparent and sees no reason to keep secrets about herself. She has nothing to hide. She has a passion for music and plays drums in a local punk band, The Heart Electric.

Kaisei "Kai" Kelly, 56: A very stoic and serious judo instructor. His father was a boxer in Ireland and ever since childhood, Kai has been enthralled by martial arts. He fancies himself a train enthusiast and has a large collection of model trains in his home. His serious nature and brute strength can make him rather intimidating but his husband Rodney finds him cute. He visits his family in Kyoto every spring.

Rodney Kelly, 59: The gym teacher at Halflight Grammar School. Originally from Edinburgh and standing a diminutive 5'2", Rodney more than makes up for his height with personality. He's encouraging, kind, hyperactive and loud. Very, very loud. Fitness has always been an important part of his life, even at nearly 60. He does his best to make gym class a fun place for all instead of a source of bullying and stress for those who don't like team sports.

Jeremy Fox, 19: A brilliant college student neck deep in conspiracy theories. He's very paranoid and distrusting, often to his detriment. He wants to prove to his professors that aliens exist though none of them will give him the time of day. When he isn't studying or trying to prove his theories, he can be found practicing his bass guitar or stargazing. He and his older sister like to unwind by smoking pot and watching sci-fi movies. He's one of Johnny's closest friends.

Jodie Fox, 23: Jeremy's cheerful, supportive yet ditzy older sister and roomate. She let him move in with her after their parents kicked him out for being gay. She doesn't understand a lot of what he talks about but she's happy he's passionate about something. Her bedroom is filled with Care Bears merchandise and colorful collectibles. She's rarely seen without her sticker covered roller skates. The two siblings live in the apartment right above Johnny and Loretta.

Sunny McIntyre, 30: An anthro horse gym rat and fitness trainer. Her cheerfulness is contagious and her motherly nature makes her easy to talk to. Her thick southern drawl might make it hard to understand her though. She always looks on the bright side and doesn't have a pessimistic bone in her body. In addition to being a die hard Bon Jovi fan, she enjoys fishing, hiking and hunting. She also hosts a transgender support group at her house.

Junichiro Oguma, 46: An overworked and underpaid pharmacy technician. Though very good at what he does, he isn't really a people person. He's rather grumpy and has little patience for foolishness. He's infamously difficult to work with due to his perfectionism. He holds himself to ridiculously high standards and gets upset easily when he fails to meet his own expectations. His wit is drier than the desert itself.

Edward Dowler, 68: A retired illustrator living comfortably at the Sunny Valley Nursing Home. He takes his sketchbook everywhere and may sheepishly ask you if you would mind posing for a portrait. He's a gentle soul and a firm believer in the power of pacifism. He's very close to his adopted daughter and three grandsons.

Joanne Lawrence, 47: The owner of Joanne's Diner. She bought the place almost 20 years ago and turned it into a comfortable, 1950's style diner popular among bikers and travelers. She's very blunt and hates wasting time but if you treat her well, she'll treat you well. Threaten her livelihood however and you will pay dearly. Regulars might call her Mama because she takes such good care of them.

Dennis "Moose" Bowen, 52: The cook at Joanne's. He's a people pleaser and will do whatever a customer asks to make sure they enjoy their meal. Hearing someone say they didn't like his food is like a knife through the heart. He prefers to stay in the background and not call too much attention to himself. Joanne calls him Moose because of his large size.

Hilda "Mouse" Calhoun, 21: A demon waitress at Joanne's. Contrary to what you might believe, she's very down to earth and sweet. She's not here for souls or bringing you to damnation, she just wants to serve pancakes and save money for beauty school. Her petite build makes her the Mouse to Dennis's Moose.

Wally Mack, unknown but born before 1956, mentally and physically around 21-24: A living humanoid shadow that can usually be found on a wall at Joanne's. He's chatty and perky and loves to dance. He's able to interact with others through their shadows. If Wally was to touch your shadow's shoulder, you would feel it. He likes to play harmless pranks on Dennis.

Tiffany "Tiff" Cain, 25: An anthropomorphic eagle bartender at her father's restaurant, The Flock and Feather. She also volunteers to work with children with special needs on weekends. She's very patient and a daredevil at heart. Her straightforward, casual attitude makes guests comfortable and keeps them coming back. She may be seen skateboarding around town.

Hisao Nakajima-Stewart, 33: The recently appointed head librarian at Halflight Public Library. He's rather sarcastic and moody but becoming a father has softened him up. He's very passionate about high fantasy and hosts Dungeons and Dragons sessions at his house every week. He spoils his chihuahua, Kotori, rotten with all kinds of pretty dresses and toys. He loves his husband, daughter and newborn son dearly.

Delwyn Morgane, 29: An employee at Dragon's Keep Games and Comics. When his shift ends, he dons a full suit of armor and obsessively hunts down dragons, or at least tries to. He's yet to actually kill a dragon. He's quite handsome but has a few screws loose. He plays Dungeons and Dragons with Hisao and friends every Thursday night.

Klaus Brunsvold, 70: A quiet and hardworking man originally from Norway. English is not his first language but he's slowly improving thanks to his coworkers. Though he might look imposing, his warm smile puts people at ease right away. He works at the cat cafe, Feline Good, as a barista and gleefully serves customers fattigman and slices of ostekake. Goria says he has "big grandpa energy".

Jonas Ostergard, 61: A blunt, reclusive man that's easily recognized by his towering height and voracious appetite. Standing 8'2" in comparison to his wife's tiny 5', he's one of many oddities in this town. He's absolutely enthralled by zombies and robots and fills notebooks with detailed diagrams regarding them. He's often seen at the Flock and Feather, chatting up a storm with his friend Tiff. He has autism, ADHD and intellectual disabilities.

Jamie De Luna, 18: A scrawny young man enamored with anime and martial arts. He's a bit hotheaded and immature but nonetheless determined to become an MMA fighter. His younger sister Tala is his biggest fan and supports her nerdy big brother all the way. He loves cheesy kung fu movies and takes them very seriously. He thinks very highly of his judo teacher Kai and seems to think of him as a father figure.

Goria Stout, 15: A high school student and part of Hisao's Dungeons and Dragons group. She's partially an ogre, 25% to be exact, and admires her ogre grandfather greatly. However, at the same time, part of her has been made to feel ashamed of her pointed ears and blue skin. She's rather lazy and self centered, but occasionally shows a more warm side. She wants to study magic and become a feared sorceress but just doesn't have the natural ability to do so. She frequents the comic shop and is the only one that believes in Delwyn's quest to slay a dragon.

Wesley Eldridge, 19: The bratty and materialistic son of billionaires left to play in mommy and daddy's mansion. His parents are constantly traveling the world, so he spends his days lazing about and relishing his family's wealth. He's notoriously snobbish and will have no part in anything, or anyone, he deems beneath him. He's had a fondness for unicorns since he was a child and even owns a purebred Irish unicorn named Divinity Diamond. He's very protective of her and has no qualms about sending his guards after you if you dare harm her.

Renwick Ozul, 25: E-boy and aspiring model with a sour disposition. He's distrusting of others and keeps people at a distance, except for his close friend Missy. Despite his cold and calculating online persona, he's quite insecure and struggles with his body image. He can be rather rude and nasty but has his moments of vulnerability and kindness.

Chelsea Montgomery, 23: A quiet young woman who keeps to herself. Some people say she fades into the background. She's very creative and resourceful, cleverly finding solutions to most problems she faces. Her interests include anime, cosplay, drawing and video games. She's great with kids and would like to be an art teacher one day.

Dallas Silvers, 27: A monster hunter and unofficial sheriff of Halflight. She's bold and quick witted, outsmarting any beast that threatens the town and quickly subduing it or killing it. Her talent with a rifle is nigh unmatched in town. She's the second oldest of 11 children and adores her older brother, the bounty hunter Smokey Silvers. She finds it difficult to be open about her feelings but loves her family dearly.

(Characters below belong to my friend @mikey-putrid, follow him he's cool)

Brody Erickson-O'Dalaigh, 47: The town's resident maternal figure and unofficial monster hunter (or befriender, really). Their spunky, adventurous attitude often gets them into shenanigans, but they always manage to pull themself out. They are kind and loving towards everyone. No matter who or what you are, you are always invited to Brody's for a nice meal.

Landon Borowick, 26: Brody's, often unwilling, sidekick and a security guard at the local mall. He's a cowardly young man who would rather stay home and get stoned, but thinks of Brody as his hero and therefore ends up getting dragged along on their adventures. Despite his fearful nature, Landon is a physically intimidating person who will do anything to help a friend.

Darcy Cooper, 16: A rough and tumble student at Halflight Grammar School. Darcy moved to Halflight with her mother to open up a bakery, which doubles as their home, and she often makes deliveries on her bike. Her warm and friendly personality helps her to make friends easily. Usually covered in bandages, Darcy loves practicing stunts on her skateboard, as well as watching anime and playing video games.

Loretta Sims, 20: Johnny's girlfriend, aspiring cryptozoologist and collecter of cool antiques. Loretta is shy and timid, preferring to blend into the background and not draw attention to herself. She loves spending time in the forest and working on her ever growing scrapbook. She's never far from her beloved boyfriend.

Cameron Payette, 28: A nurse at Halflight General Hospital and Dr. Vasilevsky's live in assistant. Having grown up with 15 disabled and ill siblings, Cameron has developed a love of helping people, keeping them healthy and cheering them up with a silly song on their trusty ukelele. During their off time, they enjoy video games and sci-fi movies.

#oc #original character #long fucking post

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litheammunition · 5 years ago

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Brexit: An Unwinnable War

How do you stage a coup? You start a war. You fan its flames, until it grows out of control. You make it so that it’s impossible for the moderates to win, showing them as out of their depth, needing a stronger, unconventional hand to sort the mess out. Then you step in, and find that you can get away with breaking all the rules...

Act 1 - Project Fear

The spark was the slow part. There had always been rumblings of discontent around the UK’s place in Europe, dating right back to our accession to the European Community in 1972, and intensifying since the project formally became a political European Union in 1993.

There had been a referendum in 1975, won by a 67.2% vote to remain, but the question was raised again after the 1993 Maastricht Treaty. No referendum was needed for the government to sign up, but neighbours Ireland and France held one to confirm the decision, and many in the UK thought they deserved the same. That year saw the birth of a number of protest parties, the most successful of which, UKIP, continues to pressure for ‘Brexit’ today.

After years of pressure from UKIP and the sizable Eurosceptic wing of his own Conservative party, Prime Minister David Cameron finally gave into their demands. In 2016, a referendum was held, with one simple question: Should the United Kingdom remain a member of the European Union or leave the European Union? No details were provided as to what the latter option would look like. That was down to the campaigns to provide.

It turned out that it was actually many options hidden within one. Every leaver had their own idea of what shape Brexit would come in. Many talked about the Norway model, a country with full access to single market, but which is obliged to make a financial contribution, accept most EU laws, and which has free movement with the rest of the EU. Others suggested a Swiss model, part of the EFTA but not the EEA, making a smaller financial contribution to access specific areas of trade, and again with free movement.

Still others spoke about Turkey, with no membership of the EEA/EFTA but its own customs union with the EU, to avoid the need to impose tariffs on exports. They were a dozen combinations available. What was certain was that there would be some sort of deal, and it would be quick and painless to negotiate. What was clear was that “absolutely nobody is talking about threatening our place in the Single Market” as Daniel Hannan, known as the Godfather of Brexit and a major push behind it, had said the year before. I have saved a full raft of quotes from other Leave leaders for Act 2, below.

On 26 June, senior Leave campaigner and PM hopeful Boris Johnson wrote an article confirming that the UK would remain part of the single market. In government and parliament, discussing how to implement Brexit, the main debate was between full access to the single market or only a customs union. There was no mention of crashing out with no deal. There was certaintly no mention that, in August 2019, over three years after the debate, we would be no closer to a resolution.

The Leave campaign seemed happier telling voters what the former option on the ballot would look like. The electorate might have thought they already knew what staying in the EU would look like, seeing as it was just the continuation of a fairly agreeable status quo, but they were corrected with a spate of glossy leaflets from the multiple Leave campaigns, and the same talking points brought up in every interview.

One colourful infographic, common across the material, tried to spread fear that the entirety of Turkey’s 76 million population was about to move in next door. The truth is that Turkey is nowhere near joining the EU, and that the UK has a veto (i.e. even if they tried to join, we alone could stop them). Turkey cannot join the EU unless the UK wants it to. But if you say “Turkey is joining the EU”, or treat it as a done deal, and slap FACT on it, people will get shocked. If you highlight it in orange and red with a big red arrow of Turkish people swarming into the UK, people will be worried. That’s what you want. It doesn’t matter if it’s true.

I use the term ‘swarming’ advisably, because although it’s a despicable way to describe to human beings, dehumanising them to insects, vermin, it’s the term that David Cameron used in July 2015, shortly after plans for the referendum were confirmed. As shown in other Leave material, such as the UKIP poster above that has been frequently compared to the Nazi propaganda below it, this debate was consistently coded with xenophobia and racism, an attempt to win by appealing to voter’s fears of mass immigration, the need to secure our borders, even though this was a picture of refugees moving approximately one thousand miles away and several countries away from the UK.

If there was any doubt over the racial intention, the original photograph for this poster is below. It has a prominent white face at the front. Now note the way the original has been cropped and where the single opaque box of text has been placed, with everything else transparent. Note which one individual has been covered up, with all of the others put on show.

Even if they weren’t abhorrent, the claims around immigration are also not true. The UK already has control of its own borders. Whilst some other EU countries like France and Germany have chosen (of their own will), to have open borders with each other, in a region called the Schengen Area, the UK had the free choice not to be a part of this. This means that the UK has full border checks on every individual entering the country. The UK’s agreement with the other EU countries is that nationals of those countries (not refugees from the Middle East passing through) can stay here on a three month visa, but after that it’s our choice.

In addition, that agreement has always been subject to ‘grounds of public policy, public security or public health’, which effectively means that the UK can choose not to let in any individual they don’t want to. The UK has specific power to expel any EU citizen who they believe poses ‘a genuine, present and sufficiently serious threat affecting one of the fundamental interests of society’, and the country they came from has to accept them back.

In short, the UK only needs to accept productive members of society. Indeed, all research (including by the government’s own Office of Budget Responsibility) has shown that immigrants make a net contribution to the country’s economy, and many industries are dependent on migrant workers. The campaign to ‘end uncontrolled immigration from the EU’ or ‘protect our security - open borders gives criminals and terrorists an easy route into the UK’ is therefore another straight-up lie designed to leverage people’s base xenophobic fears.

The frequently repeated idea that the NHS and UK benefits system are being exploited by migrants is also fake. Not only do migrants pay £78,000 more into the UK government over their lifetime than they take out over their lifetimes, but the NHS specifically depends on immigration: 37% of doctors qualified overseas. The problem with long NHS waiting times is not because the system is overcrowded, but because it is understaffed, and immigrants are the solution rather than the problem. But this is a government policy problem, and for too long they have found it easier to blame the people coming here to help.

Before the referendum, David Cameron had also secured the UK further powers in restricting benefits paid to migrants, a massive compromise from EU principles of fairness which would have given the UK privileged status amongst member states. There would be a 4 year break before benefits had to be paid to EU citizens working in the UK, with tax credits phased in over the same period. EU migrants without a job would be restricted to claiming jobseeker’s allowance for 3 months, and then deported after 6 in they were still unemployed. Benefit payments would be fixed to the amounts available in their home countries, removing any incentive to come to the UK to claim them.

This is all without even considering a fourth angle, that the freedom works both ways. Hundreds of thousands of British citizens exercise their right to visit and live in and work in the EU, just as happens the other way around. Finally, it’s worth noting that immigration from the EU makes up a minority of total migration to the UK, even with these supposed ‘open borders’, and specifically when net migration is considered. Most of the people coming for the long term do so from elsewhere in the world, where we have never had ‘open borders’ but still freely choose to let them in, suggesting that immigration numbers have always been up to the UK government and migration from EU countries will similarly continue at a similar rate no matter what the border situation is.

There were many other obvious lies at the time, such as the suggestion that the EU were in the process of building an army, a completely transparent attempt to spark fear, but they were told so often that they started to be believed. On the other side, all concerns about the risks of leaving were dismissed as Project Fear, a classic example of projecting: as the Leave campaign were in the business of fearmongering, it helped distract from that by accusing their opponents of the same at every opportunity.

Project Fear became a term used to silence all dissent as part of some elitist conspiracy. Some experts said that Brexit will cost the economy? Project Fear. Since the referendum the value of the pound has dropped off the charts, the UK has experienced negative growth at a time of economic success for its neighbours, and Sony, Dyson, Flybmi, Nissan, Honda, Ford, Moneygram, Philips, P&O, Airbus, Barclays, Hitachi, JPMorgan, Citibank and other firms have announced they are closing their UK operations and moving to Ireland or the Netherlands or other countries who still have trade links with the EU. Brexit hasn’t even hit its hardest yet, and it had already cost the economy £66 billion by April this year, about £1,000 per person. It turns out that the experts were exactly right.

Project Fear said that leaving threatened a break up of the UK. “If we vote to leave then I think the union will be stronger”, Michael Gove countered in May 2016, but the referendum vote has predictably intensified movements for Scottish (and Northern Irish) independence, as well as creating an endless dispute over the Irish-UK border, reopening scars that were just started to heal. Again, it seems that the people who knew what they were talking about... actually knew what they were talking about. The Leave campaign told people to ignore these false warnings as part of elite conspiracy, writing off the expertise of academics and industry leaders as ‘this country has had enough of experts’, an unexcusable anti-intellectualism that excused all lies and criticised anyone who dared to point out the truth.

They still put their fingers in their ears now, when reminded that those warnings have virtually all come true. This weak, the government’s reports on Operation Yellowhammer were leaked, their own forecasts suggesting a massive negative hit from leaving without a deal. When Kwasi Kwarteng, Minister of State for Business and Energy, was asked about them on TV, he described his government’s own projections as scaremongering and Project Fear, confused as to which lie he was supposed to be telling. Lead Brexiteer Michael Gove came out to dismiss them as the ‘worst case scenario’, even as a Whitehall source clarified ‘this is the most realistic assessment of what the public face with no deal. These are likely, basic, reasonable scenarios – not the worst case’.

It isn’t the first time. Theresa May withheld projections and legal advice from voters and MPs, and her government was the first ever to be held in contempt of parliament for deliberately hiding the facts to push through her votes: in contempt of democracy, in contempt of the truth, adding constitutional offences to the free-flowing lies that have been a feature throughout. Amongst all of them, perhaps the biggest lie was that Brexit was about the sovereignty of the UK parliament, taking back control from the undemocratic elites: from Theresa May and Boris Johnson we have seen two unelected Prime Ministers who have tried everything they can to circumvent British democracy, as detailed below.

#Brexit #UK #politics #Boris Johnson #EU

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mythicallore · 5 years ago

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Bizarre Stories of Teleportation Pt. 4

A very well known and controversial account of human teleportation supposedly occurred in 1968, when a Dr. Geraldo Vidal and his wife, Raffo de Vidal, apparently teleported a great distance along with their whole car. In May of 1968, the couple was reportedly driving their Peugeot 403 along a remote, rural road in Chascomus, Prov. of Buenos Aires, Argentina, when they claimed that they were suddenly enveloped by a thick fog that thoroughly ensconced them. The Vidals would allegedly not make it to their destination on time, where concerned family members were waiting for them. A search of the road the Vidals had taken turned up no trace of them, baffling family and authorities at the time. 48 hours later, Geraldo Vidal phoned family to tell them that they were safe but inexplicably in Mexico City, a full 6,400 km away.

Vidal would later claim that they had no memory of what had happened in the 48 hours that they had been gone, and only knew that they had encountered a strange heavy fog, after which everything had gone black. When they had regained consciousness they had found themselves parked along a road they had never seen before. They both complained that at the time they had a pain in their necks and felt as if they had been sleeping too long. When they had stepped out of the car, their vehicle appeared to have been burned, as if badly damaged by “a blowtorch.” Despite this damage, the car still worked, and the confused couple had then driven off down the road, and after asking several passerby where they were quickly ascertained that they were in Mexico, far from where they had originally been last they remembered.

Ominously, the Argentinean Consulate in Mexico City was apparently extremely adamant that the couple remain quiet about what they think had happened, and there was the sense that the whole case was being quieted and covered up. Additionally, the couple were quickly given a replacement vehicle even as their own battered car was shipped away to apparently be studied. Despite the order to remain silent on the mysterious events that had transpired, it was not long at all before various news agencies were reporting on the bizarre case, including numerous newspapers, TV news, and radio shows. Weeks after this sudden media blitz, a “cloak of silence” was instigated, all news outlets were suddenly and inexplicably forcefully banned from covering the story, and they were denied further access to information or those involved. In the years after the alleged strange events, the Vidals were said to have had a nervous breakdown due to the bizarre events they had undergone, and some sources have even claimed that they both mysteriously died of leukemia. The case eventually became one of the weirdest, most baffling, and most talked about cases within the realm of UFOlogy and Forteana, and was written of in countless articles and publications.

The Vidal case has been intensely debated and picked apart, and is filled with so many conflicting facts and reports that is is hard to ascertain where the truth ends and possible exaggeration and misinformation begins. There have been many theories as to what transpired, such as that this was a case of spontaneous teleportation or a UFO abduction. A more skeptical approach has been taken by Argentinean journalist and researcher Alejandro C. Agostinelli, who thinks that the whole story was a hoax to promote a science fiction movie released only 2 months after the alleged events, entitled Che OVNI. The movie was released to critical derision, failure, and was quickly forgotten, but not only does Agostinelli claim that the film’s director, Anibal Uset, admitted to the sham in a 1996 interview, but the plot of the film also mirrors the Vidal case pretty closely, focusing a great deal on UFO abduction and teleportation. There was also the fact that most of the case was based on hearsay and rumors, with very little concrete evidence to corroborate any of the depicted events of the case having ever actually happened, essentially propelling it into the status of urban legend.

Despite the accusation that the whole Vidal case was a hoax and a fraud to drum up publicity for a movie, things were apparently pretty bizarre throughout, with Uset often coming across people saying that they had known the Vidals and alarming him with the way the case was so widely believed and had achieved such popular iconic status. It got to the point where Uset started to get paranoid with all of the strangeness floating about the story and to doubt his grasp on reality, saying:

So many people approached me to say that they had known the Vidals that I began to have doubts. What is more, the confusion was such that I began to think that our story coincided with something that had really happened.

This strange confession makes the whole thing even more bizarre, and gives it all almost a surreal spin. If Uset really was behind orchestrating the whole Vidal case, which had been hotly discussed and picked apart to no end, then why should he be so surprised and express doubt that it was a hoax that he had in fact created? What was going on here? Agostinelli would later remark on this peculiar detail and the whole phenomenon of such stories in general thus:

At the time, the fact he questioned his own creation startled me. But I think that this helps to understand how UFO stories are built along with many other modern myths. If even a hoaxer can be led to doubt, this means that mysteries are able to overcome any denial. That’s why I think myths are indestructible. Countless teleportation cases have occurred in Argentina and around the world, but the Vidal Case was a lie.

There is no concrete evidence to prove without a doubt that the Vidal case was a hoax for promoting a film, and there are indeed other conspiracy theories floating about as well, but neither is there any to show that it ever existed beyond rumor and spooky lore. There continues to be a good amount of debate and controversy surrounding the Vidal case, and it seems that it still has not been satisfactorily resolved for a great many people.

At times, cases of teleportation involve what seems to be passing through doors, only rather than moving to another room of a house these doorways transport us through space and perhaps even time to move us to another far away location altogether. In 1971, an Al Kiessig claimed that he had uncovered several doorways or vortices of some sort in the U.S. states of Missouri and Arkansas, which allowed for instantaneous teleportation from place to place via travel through other dimensions. According to Kiessig, one could walk through these doorways and instantaneously end up miles away from where they had entered. He explained about these doorways and their varied strangeness:

Each door is different, but it is my belief that if one conId recognize these door openings, one could pick the door in Arkansas that would permit me to step into your front yard in Iowa. I have entered these ‘doorways’ while driving and saved myself hundreds of miles of driving. Unfortunately, the reverse has also happened to me. Some of these doors to other dimensions open like an elevator door with no elevator there to step into. Others open into a land of no life. Some take you back into the past, and some take you into the future on this world. Then there are doors that open into chambers that send the body to a distant star.

What does this all mean? Is there anything to this oddness or is this the ramblings of a seriously disturbed or delusional individual? It is hard to say for sure. Even more recent is the case of a homeless boy in Ivory Coast, Africa, who was discovered by Fortean researcher Ion Alexis Will in August of 1993. As Will was passing through a rural area called Yamoussoukro, he came across a Catholic church called St. Augustin, where the priests there complained of a 9-year-old boy who had an unsettling habit of disappearing from his locked quarters only to reappear in strange places such as within locked cars or other areas where he had absolutely no business being. On another occasion, the boy had vanished into thin air in front of many startled witnesses as he ate breakfast, only to be found in a dazed and confused state some distance outside of the church. An investigation into the strange boy’s background found that he had been originally found in a town about 155 miles away in a trance-like state. Further investigation would turn up even more bizarreness.

The boy, who’s actual name was N’Doua Kouname Serge, had vanished under strange circumstances when he was just 5 years old, vanishing from a hospital in Tiassalé, in Ivory Coast, only to suddenly and unexplainably end up in San Pedro, a full 200 miles away. The boy’s father had gone to pick him up, only for him to vanish and reappear again 410 miles away in confused state in a town called Odienné. He would go on to make several other spontaneous jumps to various other cities around the country, often spending months or even years in each far flung location, during which time some of his benefactors would come to the conclusion that he was possessed by an evil spirit which could teleport him. When asked by a reporter on how he could suddenly jump from place to place so rapidly, the boy himself reportedly said: “I don’t know. I’m here, and suddenly I find myself in another town.”

Even more recent is a series of strange teleportations that were reported on in a 2009 article on Pravda Report entitled “Lightning Can Open Doors to Parallel Worlds.” In one report, a UFO researcher named Tatyana Faminskaya allegedly teleported two times, during which she claimed that she could not feel anything during the process, but would simply wake up in another place. A woman named Lidia Nikolaeva, from Novy Byt village in Russia, claimed that she had been out picking mushrooms when she felt a stabbing pain in her chest. When she came to her senses, she found herself deposited at an abandoned church around 3.3 miles from where she had been. Just what is going on here? Do these people have access to powers or abilities that remain hidden to the common masses?

What are we to make of cases such as these? Are these merely hallucinations or flights of fancy, or is there something more at work here that is worth pursuing in an effort to understand it? If these individuals have somehow pressed through some barrier to jump from one place to the other, then how have they done it? How can it be possible and how can such a thing fit into the universe as we understand it? Even as science pursues the very real concepts and theories of how teleportation may someday actually be possible, the reality of real teleportation of a human being remains far out on the outer fringes of the scientific horizon, yet for some mysterious individuals it may be closer than we think.

#bizarre #teleportation #supernatural #paranormal

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ladylynse · 6 years ago

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Down the Rabbit Hole [FF | AO3] - a crossover fic featuring Over the Garden Wall, Trollhunters, Gravity Falls, and Danny Phantom

Wirt had heard a lot of stories about college, but somehow, he still wasn’t prepared for one of his roommate’s crazy friends to smuggle a hatchet into their dorm room. Future fic/college AU (technically)

Hi, folks; if this looks familiar, it’s because it originated from a fic title ask--albeit now it’s expanded to a fourth fandom, which will become more important in the second part. Written into a full story for @lumanae. Happy New Year, everyone!

Wirt stared.

It was his first week of college. His first week on campus, really, as he’d only moved in the day before term began. (He still had a couple of boxes on his desk to unpack.) He’d heard plenty of crazy stories, but that was to be expected. He’d already learned not to believe everything that came out of his roommate Toby’s mouth, just as he’d learned that he was to call Toby’s grandmother Nana whenever Toby honoured her request to drag him down for a weekend visit so she could get to know him.

Some classes had given general overviews for their first lecture, and the others had jumped right into it and he felt like he was already scrambling to catch up. Sometimes, he thought it was lucky he’d managed to make it to class on time, especially since he’d already gotten lost in the basement of the chemistry building looking for the place his biology lab would be held next week. Frankly, he was lucky that Toby had taken pity on him and given him the rundown on the best places on campus to get food and caffeine, not to mention showing him a couple of underground shortcuts he hadn’t even realized existed.

It had been a crash course, but he’d learned the ropes.

At least, he’d thought he had.

But that was before Toby’s friend Wendy ‘straight out of the wilds of Oregon’ Corduroy had smuggled an axe into their dorm room.

“That’s…that’s an actual axe,” Wirt said. He knew the door was closed, knew it was locked, knew no one could possibly walk in on them, but he managed to tear his eyes off the axe just long enough to check again anyway.

Wendy snorted. She was perched on Toby’s desk, already reaching into her pocket for a stick of gum. “It’s a hatchet, squirt. Which means it’s smaller and lighter than what you’re thinking of.”

“He’s not technically wrong, though,” Toby said. Wendy stuck her tongue out at him before popping the gum into her mouth.

Maybe he’d accidentally ended up bunking with a psychopath.

Toby picked up the hatchet and examined it. “It seems to be weighted well.”

Maybe he could ask for a room reassignment.

“Of course it’s weighted well. You met my family on moving day, Domzalski. I’d be disowned if I couldn’t pick out the best of the bunch.”

This was insane. That was a weapon. It wasn’t allowed. How had she even—!

“I’ll teach you guys how to throw it this weekend,” Wendy said. “It’ll take you a while to get the hang of it.”

“Eh, I figure I’ll pick it up quick,” Toby said with a smirk. “Wirt’s the one who’ll need to figure out the balance when throwing.”

He had no idea how he’d even gotten to be a part of this. Why had they involved him? This would make him an accomplice! Could he even report this without getting into trouble?

Did he want to risk it when his roommate had a hatchet and figured he already knew how to throw it? When he had a friend who definitely did know how to throw it?

“I…I don’t know if I really need to,” Wirt said slowly. “I mean, I’ve already gotten a bunch of readings and assignments—”

“Hey.” Wendy pointed at him. “Neither of you look like you could survive the apocalypse, okay? I just want to make sure my friends are safe if it happens.”

Toby laughed. “I don’t think zombies are what we need to worry about.”

Wendy shrugged. “I never said anything about zombies. But this stays between us. Meet me at my place Saturday morning. We’ll go out to the country for practice, just the three of us.”

“Um.” Wirt swallowed. “What about your roommate?”

“Jazz? I’m not worried about her. She might not look it, but that girl can handle herself. She just doesn’t know how to hide her weapons. You two, on the other hand….”

“Oh, come on, don’t lump me in with him,” Toby said, jabbing a thumb in Wirt’s direction. “I’d be way better in a fight.”

Even Jazz had weapons? That weren’t Wendy’s? He’d only met her for a few minutes when Toby had introduced him to Wendy, barely remembered what she looked like beyond the red hair, but she’d seemed nice. Stable. Unlike the people he was currently with.

“I’ll be the judge of that on Saturday.” Wendy hopped off the desk. “In the meantime, find a good hiding spot. Concealed but accessible. Sorry I’ve gotta cut and run, but I’m gonna be late for a library study session with my grade-obsessed roomie. Give it three weeks, and then it’ll get to her.” She unlocked the door and tossed a two-fingered salute at them over her shoulder. “Later.”

Wirt slowly sunk down onto his bed even as Toby crossed the floor to lock the door behind Wendy. “What…what are we going to do with that?”

Toby eyed the hatchet for a moment. “Drive some nails into the wall and hide it behind a poster between our beds?”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s better than behind the dresser. Or under a bed or in one of the desk drawers. When you’re attacked, they don’t really give you time to grab your stuff.”

“Welcome to college, Wirt,” Wirt muttered. Louder, he said, “I don’t even have a hammer.”

Toby grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got us covered.”

XXXXXX

Saturday was a disaster.

Wendy had had her truck packed by the time they got there, and by ten, Wirt had no idea where they were. After the hour drive and half hour hike, Wendy was setting up targets and Toby had the audacity to start humming.

Things got worse once Wendy’s lessons began.

Wirt couldn’t seem to hit a target. Any target. No matter how close he was. Well, fine, if he was really close, sometimes he could hit the target, but he couldn’t get anything to stick. Even if the hatchet miraculously hit blade first, he couldn’t get the angle right.

It took him six hours (not including their picnic lunch, courtesy of Wendy) to chip the corner of Wendy’s wooden target. His arm had been aching since the first hour, even when he’d started switching between his throwing arms and taking copious breaks. None of Wendy’s advice helped.

Toby, on the other hand, stuck a bullseye on his third try.

And then he just got more consistent.

“How are you good at this?” Wirt asked at one point.

Toby smirked. “I have many hidden talents.”

Somehow, that wasn’t comforting.

Wendy wound up giving Toby a passing grade, but on the drive home, she informed Wirt that he was slated for extra lessons. “You’re not dying on me,” she said when he tried to protest.

“Funny, I’d believe that more if you weren’t trying to kill me.”

She laughed. “Trust me, I’m not there yet.”

Yet?

“C’mon, I’ll train you,” Toby piped up, nudging him in the shoulder. The truck was only a three-seater, and Wirt was trapped in the middle. “We’ll get a dartboard or something and at least work on your aim. Totally innocuous stuff.”

“I see why you two get on so well,” Wirt grumbled. He had a feeling they wouldn’t let this drop. If that were a possibility, they wouldn’t have gone so far away to train. Or spent most of the daylight doing it.

He didn’t know why, but whatever this was, it wasn’t just some fad for them. Wendy seemed to genuinely believe she was helping, and Toby was too good to just be in it for kicks. He wouldn’t have minded the training, but it couldn’t just be for survival training. Actual survival training would involve more than how to throw a hatchet into a homemade target. He could handle the sewing part, but scavenging? He was little better than he’d been in the Unknown. He was better at playing a musical instrument than crafting something useful. He didn’t—

Seriously. Why were they both so chill about this whole apocalypse thing? Did they think it was a joke?

Maybe they were hazing him or something. That was a thing in college, wasn’t it? Something people did before you were officially accepted into whatever it was?

Maybe they hadn’t just met, either. Maybe they were actually long-time friends and saw him as a gullible target. And he couldn’t blame them. He’d fallen for a lot over the years.

But…this was kinda elaborate for a prank, wasn’t it?

It had to be a practical joke, though. There weren’t any other options. How could it not be a joke? This was the real world, not…whatever the Unknown had been. The apocalypse wasn’t actually going to happen. Not in his lifetime. Not unless the Powers that Be decided to fight each other, and he was pretty sure everyone valued their own lives too much for that to happen.

It was possible his new friends were conspiracy theorists, but….

No. More likely, he had an overactive imagination.

Way more likely.

An overactive imagination, and two new friends who were jokers.

Whatever. Greg would have an idea to get them back. He was better at that sort of thing. For now, Wirt was better off sitting back and trying to enjoy the ride.

XXXXXXXX

Wirt had no idea how Wendy had gotten a key to their place, but she wasn’t shy about using it.

To be fair, he hadn’t asked Toby if he knew, but he hadn’t wanted to in case he didn’t like the answer. He wasn’t entirely confident that Toby had procured it for her. He’d made the mistake of asking Wendy how she’d gotten it once, and she’d just smirked.

Ignorance seemed safer.

So when she waltzed in when he was trying to wrap his head around his calculus assignment, all he said was, “Toby’s in a bio lab till four and I don’t have time for extra practice.” It wasn’t worth commenting on the fact that he’d locked himself in in an effort to focus.

A futile one, apparently.

Wendy leaned against the edge of his desk. “You’re getting better, Wirt, but you’re not getting that much better. Do you and Toby even use that dartboard he bought?”

“He does,” Wirt mumbled.

Wendy hummed and picked up one of his assignments and started flipping through it. A month of telling her to stop hadn’t quelled her habit of snooping. Wirt figured it wasn’t worth fighting, that she probably would stop if she knew he was anything more than mildly annoyed, but— “Did you ever have to do derivatives?”

“I’m not here to crunch numbers,” Wendy said without looking up. She was frowning. “Wirt, is this an analogy for death?”

“Is what what?”

“This Unknown place you wrote about.”

Wirt froze. His creative writing assignment. He hadn’t realized that’s what she was looking at. He’d had a few assignments in the last few days that required him to hand in hard copies, but that—

“It’s pretty detailed. I didn’t know you could write like this.” The papers were tossed on top of his math book. “So, spill. Death? Limbo? Purgatory? Or just, like, a coming-of-age story dealing with responsibility and struggles and accepting certain things about yourself and whatever?”

There was a note in her voice he hadn’t heard before. Not desperation, nothing like that, but not joking, either. Not like he’d expect. But it was more than just curiosity. Harder. Like a command lay beneath it.

Wirt carefully flipped the papers back over and moved the assignment off to the side. “Honestly, I don’t even know,” he said. “I just wrote. And tried to stick a bunch of themes in there. It’s probably all of that stuff.”

She stared at him. Pursed her lips. Moved her gaze down to his math work. And then tapped the question he was working on in the textbook and said, “You copied that down wrong. It’s f double prime, not f prime. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

She was gone before he had a chance to ask her why she’d come in the first place.

XXXXXXX

Wirt was almost asleep when he heard, “So what’s the Unknown?”

He groaned. “I turned that assignment in two weeks ago. Can’t you guys give it a rest?”

“Maybe if you give me an answer. So sue me. Wendy’s got me curious.”

“I’d rather slug you,” Wirt muttered into his pillow, pulling his spare over his head. “Do we have to do this now?”

“It was pretty detailed. How’d you think of it?”

“I have a good imagination.”

A snort. “Huh, and here I thought you might’ve wandered into another dimension.”

Wirt was too tired to laugh. Too tired to pretend to laugh. “You done yet?”

“Almost. One of my friends is on break next week. They’ve got a reading week. She’s coming to visit. She can’t crash here, obviously, but Wendy and Jazz have a couch they said she could call home, so she’ll be around. A lot.”

“Great.”

“I just figured I should warn you.”

“Why would you need to warn me?” A heads up was fine, expected even, but warning? Toby didn’t use that word lightly.

Toby didn’t answer, just mumbled a goodnight before creaking springs and rustling blankets meant he was rolling over and planning on not talking anymore.

Unfortunately, Wirt was already awake.

XXXXXXXX

When Wirt met Toby’s friend Claire, he understood why Toby got along so well with Wendy.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, very politely shaking his hand. And then, without missing a beat, she turned to Toby. “Why the hatchet behind the movie poster?”

She’d been in their dorm room a grand total of two and a half minutes, tops. Just long enough to finish the introductions. It’s not like the hatchet was that visible; it had taken them forever to hide it beneath the poster so that it couldn’t be seen, and no one else who had stopped by their room had ever commented on it. So how come she’d managed to spot it so quickly?

She wouldn’t be asking Toby about the hatchet if she’d known where it was, not unless he’d been putting her off until she came in person, but what kind of sense did that make?

Toby grinned. “Insurance,” he said. “Y’know. In case of monsters.”

Claire’s eyebrows rose, and her eyes flicked towards Toby’s desk and then to Wirt before finding Toby again. “Monsters,” she repeated. “Right.”

She didn’t sound skeptical, like a normal person. She…she almost sounded resigned.

“Does it at least have good balance? It’s weighted well?”

Really, it made instant sense that Toby was friends with Claire and Wendy.

Maybe Toby had at least told her to look for something hidden in their room, if not that it was a hatchet. Or maybe he hadn’t told her where it was, just that they had a hatchet in the first place. Maybe she hadn’t just walked in and spotted their secret instantly, without even knowing they were hiding one.

Toby made an exaggerated gesture towards the hidden hatchet. “See for yourself, señorita.”

Claire’s exclamation of delight as she handled the weapon—and, more to the point, the ease with which she wielded it—made Wirt think Toby’s warning hadn’t been entirely unfounded.

XXXXXXXX

Toby and Claire didn’t spend much time in the dorm room after all, but Wirt didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that the two kept talking about something and didn’t want to say too much around him. All he understood was that it involved someone else named Jim—likely as not, the third in the high school photo Toby had taped above his desk. Considering the only others up there was one of his nana with her cat and one of him with Wirt and Wendy, it seemed a safe enough bet.

They talked about a few other people, but most of those were by some nickname. More to the point, they were nicknames he didn’t recognize, so even if Toby had told him about these people, he couldn’t piece it together. (Though he had no idea how someone got to be named Blinky, Not-Enrique had to be some inside joke. Maybe he looked like someone named Enrique and kept getting mistaken for him by people who only knew Enrique?) Anyway, it was too hard to keep them straight when he wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping in the first place.

It wasn’t until Claire was actually gone that Wirt finally worked up the courage to ask Toby about the stuff he’d heard. “Is your friend in trouble?”

“Claire?” Toby spun his desk chair around to face Wirt, who was sitting on his bed. “She’s always in trouble. Mostly because she’s helping other people out of it.”

“No, the other one. Jim. I heard you guys talk about him, and you sounded worried.”

Toby blew out a breath. “That’s complicated. Claire’s going to keep me posted. Right now, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Wirt smirked. “So not the start of the apocalypse?”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“Great. Means I can actually focus on my last couple of midterms.” He knew Toby’s were over—at least, his first round was; he had a few classes that had two midterms—which was probably the only reason he’d survived Claire’s visit when most others were studying.

It was funny, though. He’d have figured, if Claire’s college did have a reading week in the fall, that it would be after midterms, but this was the middle of October. It was prime midterm season.

“Hey, uh, where’s Claire study, anyway? I don’t remember.”

“She’s in New Jersey. Small place. You won’t have heard of it. I never had.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely.”

“Try me.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Heartstone. Happy? Anyway, since you apparently don’t acknowledge your text messages, Wendy said to give you a heads up that she’s got a couple friends coming to town for a few days, too. High schoolers scouting out potential colleges, including our stomping ground. She wants to know if we can meet them for supper at some point.”

Toby was right—he hadn’t heard of Heartstone—but the subject change gave Wirt pause. Toby was usually happy to talk about his other friends. Honestly, he was usually happy to talk about anything. Especially when it was an excuse to procrastinate on his homework.

Wirt decided to ignore it for now and gave a shrug. “Any day should work for me. Next week’s pretty open. Mostly just writing papers.”

“Awesome. It should be good. From what she tells me about them, you’ll love them.”

“I’m sure I will.”

XXXXXXXX

The Pines twins didn’t fit Wirt’s idea of normal, either. He was beginning to doubt that anyone his roommate (or his friends) knew ever would. It wasn’t Mabel’s love of homemade sweaters or the way Dipper almost immediately asked him about the Unknown (why had Wendy told him about an old assignment, anyway?) when they met up at the restaurant just off campus. It wasn’t the way they sometimes finished each other’s sentences, either, because judging by their grins, they were hamming it up for his and Toby’s sake. It was more….

Well, it was the fact that when the subject somehow turned to cryptozoology, they knew a lot.

Even Toby looked surprised, though in all fairness, he looked happy about it. And some of his questions were…oddly specific. The twins looked delighted. Wendy was just smirking as if this was going exactly as she’d expected.

Wirt had hoped the conversation would change when Jazz joined them for dessert, but it just made things worse. She wasn’t so much skeptical of their stories as she was analytical. Like she wanted to learn as much as possible even though none of it was real. She kept asking questions. And no matter what she asked, they had answers—Dipper especially.

Wendy had given him a playful nudge when she’d finally interrupted to bring up demons. Dipper’s face darkened, like he wished she’d left well enough alone, but he and Mabel were able to spin yet another tale. Jazz looked delighted. Wirt couldn’t remember if she’d brought up alternate dimensions or if it had been Toby, but that had easily been a half hour tangent. Wirt had no idea how they came up with these things. Sure, the Unknown had been real, or at least as real as it could be, but it’s not like pocket dimensions or doors to other worlds existed all over the place. The twins’ stories were obviously fabrications even if they purposefully didn’t frame them like that, and Toby and Jazz and Wendy loved playing along—to the point that they’d keep asking his opinion on things even when he didn’t try to join the conversation.

But seriously. If gnomes were actually real, they wouldn’t vomit rainbows. That just…. It didn’t make sense. Rainbows were just light broken into the visible spectrum. If that light had no reason to refract and disperse in the first place—

He was thinking too much about this.

Just like he had about things in the Unknown.

At least these things were just stories.

XXXXXX

Wirt found the sheets detailing exorcisms—both ghostly and demonic—mixed in with his schoolwork that night. He didn’t recognize the handwriting—any of the handwriting, since it looked to be done by three different people—but the top piece of paper was addressed to him. Wirt, hope this helps. It was in the same hand as the majority of the notes.

Dipper’s, maybe. He’d talked more details than Mabel. And Wendy could’ve easily slipped the papers into his room since she had a key. He wasn’t sure about the third hand. Mabel had mentioned their grunkles, but he’d gotten the impression they were travelling somewhere. But considering the tiny, careful details that supplemented the first set of notes on the ghost section….

Was this why Jazz had had weapons?

Was it actually possible that Wendy had managed to wind up rooming with someone as crazy as she was in her own way? Someone who believed whatever story Wendy had fed her and didn’t find it weird to be asked to write up what was very likely pseudoscience at best? He’d thought Jazz’s major was something like psychology, but maybe….

Wirt flipped through the pages. One of them was definitely written mostly in Latin. Another was covered in a language he didn’t recognize at all, which is probably why the phonetic pronunciation was written in brackets behind every sentence. Another was English but filled with words he didn’t know.

He wondered what the heck he’d gotten himself into.

Maybe he should transfer somewhere else. Or at least put in for a different roommate for next term. Distance would help, wouldn’t it?

Except, insane as it sounded, insane as the situation was, it seemed like his friends were just trying to help him. Maybe Wendy really had realized the truth of what he’d written up for his English assignment. Maybe that’s why she wouldn’t let him get away with waving it off.

But if she didn’t just believe it was real because she apparently seemed to believe everything like it was real, what was her story? And Toby’s, since he was the same way? Claire’s? Mabel and Dipper’s? Even Jazz’s?

“They have to have just been telling stories,” Wirt said aloud.

But Toby wasn’t around to reassure him, and he couldn’t quite convince himself.

XXXXX

It was past midnight some weeks later when Wirt saw the…creature.

He woke shivering, pulling the blankets around him, and then he realized that the draft from the window above his bed was stronger than usual. It wasn’t whistling like it did when the wind was from the north, and it wasn’t like Toby to accidentally leave it open.

He was about to sit up to double check when something moved, momentarily blocking the light as it squeezed inside.

Wirt was too terrified to breathe. He knew it couldn’t be the Beast; if nothing else, it was far too small to be the Beast if it could fit through the window so easily. It could have torn through the screen, but he hadn’t heard breaking glass. It must be dexterous enough to have pried the window open.

It was too dark to make out details when the thing moved so fast. It was small. Dark and muddied in the dim light—green, maybe, or blue or brown or even grey—but either with distinct markings or wearing something a little bit lighter, too. Whatever it was, it scampered across the wall on all fours, not seeming to see him. At least, if it did, and if it noticed he was awake, it didn’t do anything. It just dropped something on Toby’s bed, on the pillow he hadn’t drooled all over, and then let out something that was either an honest-to-goodness laugh or a freaky, growling call. It dropped the floor between their beds but was gone when Wirt blinked again, before he ever got a better look at it.

The light was blocked off again.

He heard a snap.

Then a creak.

Then the light was back, illuminating what might be…paper? A note? If it hadn’t still been on Toby’s pillow, Wirt would have thought it was a dream.

That morning, Wirt pretended not to see Toby scoop up the crumpled note without a word. Toby didn’t read it, didn’t even acknowledge its existence, and Wirt wondered if this had happened before. If he’d just never noticed until now.

If this wasn’t the first time, what else had he never noticed before?

When Toby headed off to class, Wirt stayed behind. He was supposed to be in English right now, but he couldn’t….

That wasn’t important right now.

One missed class wouldn’t ruin his grade.

Whatever this was, on the other hand….

The screen on the window hadn’t been torn; the frame was a little bent, but it was hardly noticeable. There were no telltale gouges or anything of the sort. The window, as per usual, didn’t quite close, but honestly, Wirt couldn’t remember if it ever had. Now, he was left wondering if this was why.

Wirt pulled down one of the notebooks from the shelf mounted above his desk, pulled out the loose-leaf sheets he’d stuffed inside, took a closer look at the notes on exorcisms he hadn’t thrown out like he should have.

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