#I still have those eyeballs and kidneys

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Do not tempt me. Maybe this would be a nice evening activity to stave off the boredom.

[jaypentaghast]

from my very very hazy recollection the blood tears is because they have no bodily fluids except for the blood? like they’re dead and their bodies fully go through this process that is very close to dying (and I would say IS dying which is why is such a violent process for the receiver) which means they no longer have or experience regular bodily functions. so like in the books (again my recollection is hazy so maybe someone will correct) vampires can’t have sex like they could as humans because the blood isn’t “running through” their veins, there’s no beating heart, etc (at some point in the series this maybe changes?? I can’t remember if I’m remembering a fic or canon lmfao) and lestat gets into explaining this and part of his explanation is like “but i can definitely eat pussy while the persons on their period eheheheh 👹🥵” (again I could totally be misremembering who does this and some specifics)

hiii hi hello!! i was wondering if the tear effects were practical or cgi in my tags (I never found the answer!) but this is way more important to me

Right! When then transform they have to let those fluids GO. Book Lestat tells Louis to go into the forest to get that done.

They don't need to use the loo. There's no real use for their kidneys if they don't pee, either. I think Lestat says they do need to breathe but I'm unsure if this is true or simply something he believes. What I don't recall is whether they sweat or not (I think they are seen sweating in the show, but I can't say whether that's intentional or because the actors are, you know, human beings lol Same goes for the snot, mucus and tears that keep their eyeballs nice and moist, which by their colour we can tell are different from the blood tears when they cry. Again, human actors. maybe try casting some real vampires next time /s)

I'm not an expert in the human body but that leaves very little in terms of excretion. Which I keep thinking about because they have to keep replenishing to survive but do their cells use everything in the blood they consume for energy? How does that work? There's not a creature alive that doesn't get rid of waste in some way.

I mean we can ask all this questions from a scientific pov but ultimately there's a supernatural element to their physiology that likely ties a lot of their functions to the spiritual/mystical.

Blood seems to be a biological need, we know it because without drinking it they die. However, it also appears there's a supernatural element to their feeding as well. For instance, they can die if they drink the blood of the dead, but as far as I'm aware nothing changes in our blood composition immediately after we die. Therefore it's not only about the blood, it's about life essence or something like that. <- this is mentioned in the books, right?

Moreover, with Fareed's experiments Lestat can produce semen. That means with help they can still produce the fluids that a living human can, at least in the books. (Could be in the TV show as well I suppose, maybe the blood never travels down there either and the sex is just for intimacy reasons idk. We never see them get off but I think we're meant to understand that they can.)

I have to take into account that God is an actual character that exist in this universe, though, so trying to explain everything through a scientific lense is going to be impossible. BUT I'M GOING TO TRY. I just need to do more research.

“but i can definitely eat pussy while the persons on their period eheheheh 👹🥵” Oliver Quick you are nothing to Lestat de Lioncourt, he did it FIRST and he didn't even get off on it. /j It's not a kink for me but I definitely want to get to that part to see what the hell that's about! Also I read a devil's minion fic with that premise and it was cool, so never say never ig

[ghostly-wisteria-tea]

One of my target ambience is the Surreal Urban fantasy slice-of-life of New York.

The blend of natural and supernatural than made everyone just, used to it. The line between worlds is so blurred that people stopped giving a f*ck because it's not going to pay their bills.

Like sure, there's a flying alien eyeball with tentacles outside your house, but you have 2 kids to feed stop being terrified.

Now your a vampire, congrats. Good news, you don't have to pay for regular groceries, you just have a new set of food you have to buy now, so start scouting for food souces.

And with the already existing vampire community, why wasn't there a Vampire convenient store? Or a vending machine across New York that the Vampires can just buy blood pouches without killing anyone. It can make you rich, though there's also the ethical things they need to look over, but that's just schematics. Then there can be some poor people who are willing to sell their blood to make a quick buck.

I mean, there are already people selling their kidneys for money. At least you can recover from some blood loss.

And Vampire's make great night shift employees.

So, Capitalism at its finest.

Get a werewolf to be a bouncer, or a night guard. Maybe even an IP who can track anyone.

And just for the pun alone, The Wolf of Wallstreet, but an actual Werewolf who made it to the top of the food chain. And in a completely (still questionable) legal way. No one can sue him since The Werewolf of Wallstreet will just out-sue them back with his army of perfectly legal lawyers and network that also included politicians and other business owners.

Underground drug trade with fairies, have an ice cream shop run by a sentient snowman who needs to pay his high electricity bill.

Delivery done by a talking reanimated Zombie Velociraptor.

616 New York is already filled to the brim with weirdo's and meta-humans. It's historically a cultural hodge pot of immigrants and people across the world and the state.

All of those folk beliefs are bound to end up mixing to be something that is a bit, unrecognizable

Imagine if it included other supernatural creatures, folk magic and aliens. A Chinese water dragon meeting a Norse Dragon and explaining their different ideals, powerset and purpose. One is a bit of a hoarder and sometimes antagonized as a monster, now in a city where he can just blend in with the other hoarders, the other is more seen in a more positive/respective view as a protector but in a city who doesn't respect/ be kind to him, or anyone really.

How will they end up interacting? Both are practically foreigners in a foreign land just trying to survive and stay relevant.

There's character exploration I like to try and expand.

Then there are the next generation trying to find their place in a city that have so many cultures, cliche, folk magic, ideologies and world-views mixed in.

It reached a point that New York ends up developing a sort of synchronized supernatural sub-culture separate from the other cultures of their home and the rest of the country.

It has everything from classism, to racism, drug-trade, identity crisis, arms dealing, gangs, the mafia, a generation of angsty super-powered teenagers, vigilantes and a really desperate Police department who is also dealing with their own internal problems (corruption) and trying to catch up to the ever-evolving city that is New York.

[skullamity]

Glad y'all love Ham! I blazed this post because people blazing pics of their pets is also MY favourite thing about blazed posts. To answer two people:

We bought a bag of the food the rescue has their kittens on. It'll last a while, and when it gets down to a 3rd of the bag, we are going to slowly mix in the brand we use for our other two cats until we have switched it out entirely. I think most of the stink is from the wet food, which is sort of unavoidable no matter what brand you try. Either way, that's the plan, and he should be fine!

My oldest cat had an issue with sucking on the tip of her tail for comfort when she was an anxious babey, and we actually had the vet prescribe us some bitter apple stuff because she was concerned that if we didn't get her to kick the habit, she'd damage her tail enough to require partial amputation (yikes!). The spray did not help in that she seemed to develop a taste for it, so even if it solves the "Ham chewing on cables" issue, it might create a "Noire chewing on cables" issue. Also I'm an idiot who likes those fabric wrapped cables and if I spray anything on them, they will be sticky forever.

Right now the plan is just to redirect him to things he can chew, and try and keep cables out of his reach.

Thank you for the suggestions, though! Here are cat tax photos of our other two cats:

Noire is 15 and her personality is ANXIETY. She loves us, but only on her terms. She has always been like that, and the only reason she isn't on anxiety meds is because she's chill if we meet her on her terms (and also medicating her is so, so stressful for her). She is very sweet and her meow is like a very husky cat doing an impression of a very old and crusty dog.

Dusty is 4 and also sliiightly evil. She's extremely cuddly, but also likes to murder my house plants for daring to take up two of the seven windows with proper cat-sized sitting areas in front of them. Her favourite game is screaming at us every morning until we wet our hands under the sink and then chase her around, flicking water at her while she jumps into her 3 favourite spots and rolls around, still screaming. If you forget, she WILL let you know.

And last but not least, at the beginning of the pandemic, my ancient cat Blanca's quality of life took a nosedive. She'd been having kidney issues for years, and with how impossible it was to get emergency vet appointments with all the pandemic closures, we decided that it was time to say goodbye. Noire is my husband's cat, and Dusty is my daughter's. I missed having a cat of my own immediately, but didn't feel like I was ready for a new little buddy in my life until now.

This is one of my fave pics of Blanca! Her personality was GROSS and while I appreciate that she was my constant companion and didn't leave my side while I was recovering from surgery about 5 years back, her concern for me led to the most disgusting thing she ever did to me:

Imagine you are sleeping. Your mouth is open, because sometimes it be like that whether you want it to or not. And then, imagine that your gross elderly cat who was sleeping on your chest sneezes directly into your open mouth! And now you are AWAKE. And what do you do when you are suddenly awake? That's right, you open your eyes! Now, imagine that the second your eyes fly open in your attempt to discern what the fuck is going on, your gross elderly cat sneezes a second time, right into your (now open) eyeballs. I do not need to imagine these things, because they will haunt me until my dying day!

Anyhow, I missed her a whole lot and now I have filled the cat shaped hole in my heart with HAM, who proved today that he is also gross by stepping in poop as he attempted to bury it, and then ran all over me and my quilt while I was sleeping this morning with a gross poop foot.

Don't know how to end this post, except to say that cats are my favourite, thank you for liking pictures of my weird gangly son!

I need to show y'all HAM. We adopted him this week and he is the sweetest, cuddliest cat ever. The first pic I took 5 mins ago when I realized that my effort to bring my portable drawing tablet upstairs to the Ham Containment Zone. I had exactly enough time to set it up before he finished breakfast, scaled my torso, cleaned his feet and then l passed out. Not sure how I'm gonna get work done in this position so instead I'm using my phone to show you this absolute babey.

Ham pros:

absolute babey

never stops purring

barnacle

just a little guy

funny meow, like a door hinge that needs some WD-40

sleeps tucked under my chin

him legs are too long for him body, zero coordination

Ham cons:

kittens are flatulent omg

tanking my productivity with all of the above

wants very badly to get onto my nightstand and knock all my shit on the floor

thinks I am keeping the most delicious of delicacies--phone and laptop charger cables--from him just to make him sad

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[plan-d-to-i]

Today I met a JC stan who was talking about the golden core transfer and said that wwx violated consent so I googled an article about consent and send them but they kept saying wwx bad wwx owes jc wwx is bad brother wwx is bad servent wwx killed my cow-

*sigh* this fandom is a warzone

lolol. NOT THE COW!!!

Ok Setting aside the absurdity of attempting to apply something as particular as medical consent standards of the 21st century on a story set in ancient China, it stems from a poor reading of the novel in the first place and can add nothing of intellectual value to story discourse. mxtx is very clear about what is right and wrong in universe. That scene is framed as an immense sacrifice by WWX, not a lack of consent on jc's part. jc gave 'consent' within the story. jc wanted a core. jc climbed up blindfolded on a mountain to do anything to get a new core w zero requests, reservations or caveats about it. jc got a new core. a great core. a better than his former core! jc was told about the core transfer whilst being at his shittiest verbally, & violently abusive towards WWX, & he had a one night crisis of faith about all the hate and violence he had heaped & continued to heap on WWX for actually no valid reason to begin w. other than his resentment & misplaced blame. He was not upset that he got a core from WWX. jc's main source of anger/mental distress is that he can't hate WWX without a single care :

“He should’ve been able to loathe Wei WuXian without a care. But right now, the golden core revolving within him took away all that confidence.”

Honestly It's not like jiang cheng was lured up on that mountain with the promise of a new core and returned minus a testicle or a kidney. Every time I see this discourse come up from jc stans I'm like what are we arguing about? The only person in that situation who it could be logically debated didn't have any real choice/ability to 'consent' was WWX, who was the same age as jc and whose hands were tied by jc's choice to die without a core, & by the oath he was forced to make to YZY & JFM.

Would anything have changed if jc had known about the core transfer earlier? Well he knew that he got his core because he went on that mountain pretending to be WWX & asking for a once in a lifetime favor that belonged to WWX. So he does owe Wei Wuxian for his new core. How else could he have met the immortal Baoshan Sanren? Also WN and WQ risked their lives to save jc's life AND return the bodies of his parents. Let's look at his efforts to repay his debt to them, & oh look WWX is included in there too:

“Yes, they helped us before, but why in the world don’t you understand that right now any remnant of the Wen Sect is a target of criticism! No matter who they are, with a surname of Wen they have committed a most heinous crime! And those who protect the Wen are at risk of being condemned by everyone! All the people loathe the Wen-dogs so badly that the worse they die the better. Whoever protects them is against the entire world. Nobody would speak for them, and nobody would speak for you either!”

When jiang cheng says 'nobody' would speak for WWX or the Wens he 'forgets' Lan Wangji, Mianmian and Lan Xichen did, but he is definitely including himself in that 'nobody'.

Jiang Cheng :“Do you really need me to say it out loud? If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you.”

jc is Jiang Clan now. When he says 'I' it's not a leap to understand that Jiang Clan will not stand by WWX. WWX gets it. If he wants to protect the Wens it will be separate from Jiang Clan. jiang cheng doesn't give af about debts or honor or his martial brother if it's inconvenient for him. Even without the core transfer in the mix jc still wrongly blamed WWX for the burning of Lotus Pier and the death of his parents and sister. He still would not have helped the Wens. He still would have been angry WWX needed to defect. Revealing the transfer even earlier would have changed nothing.

To conclude people really need to stop projecting on this fictional character, to the point where they are ignoring, the setting, context, facts, intent of the author/ narrative and reaction of the actual♬♪♫ character they voice their indignation for.

But if we're honest this consent discourse just constitutes an effort on the part of jc stans to muddy the waters with some hot key words & make jc a victim to try & white wash his actions. I don't see them descending on XXC for violating Song Lan's eye sockets with his evil eyeballs. (Thank god) So they don't really give af about ' core consent'. This is not intellectual discourse, it's just trying to shit on a good character and a great deed hoping to make jc look like less of a turd lord.

jc stans keep it moving xx ♪♫♬

[psycho-pass-saiko]

A bit change in order of the events in Gekijouban. What would happen if Akane was also kidnapped with Kougami?

…

Inside the abandoned chapel,the air was damp and smelly. It was already past sunset, the base of the enemy was enlighetened with dim lights. At the center of the chapel, six bodies were present.

“No! NO!” A desperation mixed furious voice escaped from Kogami’s sore throat. A man with a quite bulky appearence, started to walk towards Akane. Kogami tried to rise on his feet but the chains around his wrists were pulled instantly to sides once he moved. He grunted through his teeth, tasting the metalic taste of his blood in his mouth. He was bleeding, almost everywhere. His black shirt was shattered, half of it was hanging from his abdomen to the ground. On his bare skin you could see the whip wounds as well as small yet good amount of blade cuts. He was chained through his wrists, his arms were forcefully hanged to his sides by a blonde woman and a midget man. They once again pulled his arms to warn him to behave. Pain was everywhere. He had a high tolarence of pain yet he just wanted to whine, laying on the cold stone floor. But he knew he couldnt. Because-

“Fuck off!” Kougami, once again cursed when he heard Akane’s distressed voice. His blurry vision focused once again on her. The bulky short haired blonde man was now next to her, grabbing her arms over her head, he sat on her waist.

“Looking at him, maybe we should have called him “Target Romeo” instead of Delta, hmm?” said the black man with a whip in his hands. For a second Kogami didnt hear him as he was too busy worrying about Akane at that moment. He hissed, rose on his knees. He grabbed the chains with his palms, pulling them forward. The men who was handling his chains were caught off of guard so they tripped one or two steps, allowing him to have a step forward. It was enough for him to face the bastard. Their leader, with a bionic arm and leg was nowhere to be seen. Instead of him another man of his, with a basic black shirt and trousers but striking red hair , was carrying out their torture session. He startled when beaten up Kougami got closer. With a calm yet bloodthirsty whisper, Kougami looked directly into their torturer’s eyes.

“If you touch her one more time,” he narrowed his eyes, continued with his stone cold voice. “ I will tear you apart limb by limb with my own teeth.”

Everyone in the room halt for a second.

Red haired man was the first to break away from the hostile threat of his. He gulped down, smirked eagerly.

“Not before i tear you apart, you rice-rat.” Just as he finished his sentence, his whip found Kougami’s face. With a sudden pain he kneeled down once again, gasping for air.

“Kougami! Get the fuck off me right now!” Akane saw the moment whip hitting his face. She was also tortured, kicked, punched, even stripped halfway from her clothes. She had only her cargo pants and bra on, her torso fully naked. But nothing hurted as much as seeing him suffering in front of her, more than her. She felt the furious tears coming to her eyes but instead she growled behind her throat, facing the man who was on her stomach. Short haired blonde man was gazing upon her,as if she was a meal he was about to enjoy. She frowned with rage. “Get of me!” hissed. Who was sitting on her was a very muscular man with bionic limbs over his chest and shoulders, twice--no, triple size of her. She realized taking a breath got harder every second. But she didnt care about it, her only thoughts were about how to kick this prick’s ass as soon as possible. She heard some chain clatters but couldnt turn her head as the guy grabbed her chin with a force. “You are one wild cat, arent you?” His disgusting giggling almost made Akane throw up, but she had nothing in her stomach to do so. So she spitted on his face instead.

“Free me and i will show you what kind of cat i am, you idiot!” she threated him but only got another laugh as a response. Fingers around her chin squeezed her skin more.

“I now see why he is favoring you, kitty. Its much more fun when your partner is wild and reluctant as you are.” The bulky guy, suddenly grabbed her left breast with his free hand. Akane, flinched with the sudden touch but didnt make any sounds, only frowning more. He leaned forward, more of his weight crushing her. His face was so close that she could smell the alcohol from his stinky breath. Akane heard a sudden gasping from her left and looked towards it. Only to catch Kogami’s gaze with hers. She felt shivers on every part of her body. Not because the touch on her skin, but the look in his eyes. His usual bright blue shines were nowhere to be seen. A fresh red wound was over his right forehead to end of his right cheek, covering his agonized expression. His gaze was now pitch black, reminding her a black hole. The monster inside him was already ready to take the control. She almost saw the image of a hellhound. Kogami, didnt- couldnt hold himself anymore, with a exhale, he released the creature inside of him.

A loud thud and one painful scream.

These were the only things Akane could hear when her face once again forcefully pulled back as the guy was kissing, nimping her bare neck now.

Everything happened in seconds.

Kougami, now more different than his usual self, more brutal, grabbed the chain in his right palm and pulled with a sudden inhumanly power, breaking the steel. The woman who was holding the chain fell on the floor but no one cared about her at that moment, since Kougami was already attacking the man in front of him. His right hand, chain still hanging on his wrist, grabbed the neck of the red haired man who was smirking. With a hoarse growl under his breath, he cracked his neck bone as he closed his grasp over him. Man’s body went limp, the smirk still on his lips. Well, he didnt find time to change his expression. Kougami opened his fingers to drop the corpse in his hand. He remembered the second guy who was holding the chain on his left arm when his arm pulled backwards. But Kougami didnt move an inch, only aimed for the guy who was still on Akane. Swinging his right arm back, he threw the broken chain in his right hand to forward. Chain, as his plan, found its aim, tangled around the bulky guy’s neck like a snake as Kougami grabbed the steel and pulled him back. The blonde guy, with shock and confusion, reached to his choked throat with both of his hands, releasing Akane. Making the biggest mistake. Akane without spending a second rose up halfly with her torso and punched the adam apple’s of the guy’s, just over the chains.

She felt the crack before hearing it.

First his eyes shutted down then his body went unconscious over her. But this time Akane pulled herself to left, saving herself from getting crushed by his massive shape. The chain over the laying man was fiercely pulled back again, only then she hurried and pulled her legs from the weight of him. She quickly stood up, turning to Kougami’s side. He was being dragged on the floor as the woman who fell before also started to pull the chain attached to his left arm. Akane panickly turned back to the body of the bulky man, she grabbed the dagger which was placed on the belt of his right leg, then dashed towards the enemy.

Kougami was on his knees and right hand, but another strong pull made him fell on his left side. His bare chest scraped over the rough stone floor. He felt his skin peeled. With a sour whine he blinked. Just before of his blinking, Kougami saw a glance of a brunette hair although his blood was blocking his sight. Akane, reached to the attackers. Woman dropped her grip of the chains and reached over Akane. But she squated down, attacking from low ground, she stabbed her side, near to her kidney. Blonde woman grunted with immerse pain and doubled over, yet Akane saw the odd smile on her face. With a shiver on her spine Akane elbowed her face before turning over the other guy, leaving the dagger on the woman’s body . As she lifted her head to right she was startled when she found a chilly feeling of the metal, now a gun was on her forehead.

“Stop right now! Kneel!” shouted the short, ponytailed man. She could see his hesitation, even in his prosthetic yellow eyeball.

Akane sighed, gave him a bold look.

“You are not even holding the handgrip right.”

The guy, one hand on Kogami’s chain other holding a gun to her, frowned with confusion. And this moment was the moment she was yearning for.

She quickly hit the inside of his gun holding wrist and with a twist she took the gun from his hand, now aiming his head with a stable aim.

“Loose the chain. Now.” She hissed with a wrathful expression on her. Her finger tensed on the trigger.

Short man instantly dropped the chain that he was holding and without even looking his back started to run with gasps.

Not until he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor in front of them Akane relieved. But she immediately tensed up again, turned to her behind. Kougami was laying on the ground, facedown, seemed to be unconsicous.

She panicked and reached to his body in a couple of steps. She glided on her knees next to him on the ground, carefully turning him to his back. His left arm was reaching backwards on the ground, as she carefully grabbed his arm bringing to his side.

“Kougami?” a shaky voice called his name.

She didnt get a response.

All those years as a detective, all those corpses or the murder scenes she saw, nothing made her lose her cool, not completely at least.

But now, she felt her heart stopped. All the blood in her veins, turned into ice.

“Kougami!” She gasped with a dying scream, holding his face between her palms. He was cold. So cold. Or was it her fingers? She couldnt tell the diferrence as the panic spreaded over her body more each second. She slicked his bloody damp hair aside, tried to open his eyes. But they shutted down once she stoped touching his eyelids.

Her hands started to tremble, moving around his limp, wounded body. She felt the bruises, semi healed wounds, open and still bleeding cuts.... there was so much blood, so much... while her fear grew bigger inside her own chest, she remembered her first-aid lessons as she leaned over his teared shirt to listen his heartbeats. Just the second agter she put her left ear on his heart, Kougami coughed harshly, shaking her head. Akane quickly pulled her head back and leaned over his face.

“Kougami?! Kougami, can you hear me? Kouga-“

“Stop screaming for a second, please.” He whispered with his dry chapped lips, voice hoarse. His eyes were still closed but a second later they opened slowly. A grayish blue flames showed themselves under the yellow dim lights. His gaze went over her as far as they can, since he couldnt even move his head.

“Are you okay? Do you have any wounds? Where are they- UGH!” She slammed him down when he desperately tried to rise on his elbow.

“For fucks sake, stay down. Oh my god,” she cursed between her sobs. Wiped her own tears to see him clearer, as she was only looking a distorted vision of him a second ago because of the burning tears in her eyes. Kougami knew it was serious, if she was cursing.

“Are you in pain?” He asked softly. Akane looked at his eyes. She saw the pure worry inside of them.

“You are the one who was laying dead just a second ago, dont you dare ask me if i am in pain. Of course i am,” She sobbed once more trying to block the unstoppable tears. She leaned over his face, her forehead on his.

“Please, dont, dont ever do that again.”

Kougami wanted to tease her with a joke but tiredness was stronger. He only sighed to her lips. “I am okay now. Calm down. See?” His trembling right hand placed on her left hand, grabbing his face. As he moved his arm the chains tied to his wrist jangled.

“To be fair, i would much rather have the chains in the bedroom.” No matter how tired, Kougami was Kougami at the end. Akane snorted a small giggle, growing into a real laugh. When he heard her cracked laugh his lips also carved into a grin.

Akane leaned back to look his face properly, did a damage control. Except the whip wound on his face, everything was intact. His right eye was red with blood but it was also responding to her moves, meaning it was okay. She carressed his cheek slightly. “Thank you.”

Kougami leaned over her small palm, silently.

“You did all the job, i was tied down.” He opened his eyes, frowning, was obviously recalling the time when Akane was under that guy minutes ago. “ I should have skinned them alive-“

Akane, silencing him with her thumb on his lips, leaned and put her head on his chest again. Finding peace with his heartbeats. She closed her teary eyes, feeling his hand gently stroking the crown of her head.

‘’What it is in your small head, hmm?’’ asked Kougami.

With a sudden chilly wind, her short hair slicked back of her face. Akane slowly opened her eyes as she smelled the salty damp air of the ocean.

Her gaze met with the softest orange colored sunset of the beach where they were laying on a lounge chair, together.

As she tried to fathom the abrupt change of the scenery, she blinked once or twice. Her head was still on his chest. She could hear the steady heartbeats under his broad ribcage. She softly turned her head back to other side, placing her left ear on his chest. She encountered with his beauty, lighten with the mild sunset sunshine. His usual sharp features were now gentle than ever. Without realizing she reached over his cheek to caress his face. Kougami, leaned over her almost ghostly palm. He frowned, fixing his ocean gray irises on her caramel ones.

Akane only smiled as a response.

Thats was all a memory huh, she thought to herself.

Over their kidnapping, a year had passed. A year was a short period of time but the changes were severe on their life. He was now back in Japan, working for Foreign affairs. He had to travel a lot, as expected. And one of those travels turned out to be a good chance as a vacation for them. So here they were on a famous beach yet rather quiet one at the moment, cuddling as the sun was leaving the horizon for the moon to lighten the night.

She knew he was important to her. But that day, when he was lying half-dead in front of her, in her palms; she learnt he was essential to her, like every breathe she took.

She didnt want the world to turn without him.

She didnt want the sun to burn without him.

And most importantly, she didnt want to live a life without him.

Akane put her left palm on his chest, taking a slight boost from his strong muscles, she lifted her head. Now eye to eye, she let her smile get bigger. The whip wound on the right side of his face was almost gone.

‘’Uhm, nothing, just some memories.’’ She whispered, eyes falling down to his lips.

Kougami relaxed his eyebrows, completely letting himself vulnerable in her presence. He always knew the possibility that she could also get nightmares like him, or visions. And he knew it was not some bright memories she recollected a while ago, in his embrace, shaking subtly. He slowly turned his face to the left only to give a small kiss on her palm.

‘’I suggest you to stay in the moment, inspector.’’ He chuckled as Akane frowned lightly.

‘’ I am not one anymore,’’ referring the change in her title by the Sibyl system’s decision.

‘’ You are always one for me.’’ Said Kougami, fixing his eyes on her. He grinned when she got the meaning behind his sentence.

Clever girl, as always.

Another ocean breeze rushed through their embraced bodies, urging Kougami to cover his book holding hand over her back, gazing towards the horizon.

I cant judge her though, everything feels like a distant dream, he thought to himself. Her softness against his firm body, fair scent of her shampoo and salty ocean, complete calm and peace..

These were not the words or moments he kept in his mind so often. Yet, he decided to burn this moment to back of his eyelids. Like he had done to all the times he shared with her.

‘’ Didnt know you could be so poetic,’’ her voice pulled his eyes to herself again. One word from her lips could make him burn the world, destroy everything in sight. But instead, that one word happened to have more affect than any other, holding his ice cold heart with the warmest hug. ‘’Shinya.’’

Next thing he knew, he was already leaning forward to catch her lips like she did to his heart.

...

Here goes second attempt of me writing a lovely-dovely Shinkane, i hope you guy can enjoy now imma yeet myself to outer space byEEE

[iwriteveganrecipesnottragedies]

Vegan Bean Burrito

I miss Taco Bell.  I’m a grown adult and I used to love Taco Bell before I became vegan.  There, I admitted it.  It was oh so unhealthy with its unnaturally orange cheese and high sodium content but I craved it.  Mexican food is fantastic and I suppose I liked it even more because it’s closely related to Indian food, the true love of my life.

On this vegan journey I found that I could easily order vegan food at Taco Bell and that was a saving grace for me because I still wanted to enjoy fast food at the time.  As time progressed I not only wanted to be just vegan, but I wanted to be healthier.  I could no longer turn a blind eye to Taco Bell.

Some of you might be thinking, “Why not turn to Chipotle?”  Valid question, since it’s ingredients are fresh but their sodium levels are off the charts and the portion sizes are too huge for me.  So with all this in mind I decided to try my hand at wholesome vegan Mexican food.

Some people like their beans in bean shape.  I prefer mine mashed like a paste.  I guess Taco Bell played a big role in the formative years of my taste buds.  I don’t buy canned beans because it’s easier for me to buy beans in bulk so I soak my kidney beans in water overnight and pressure cook them the next morning.  The key is to get the beans very soft so it’s easy to mash.

I initially used to buy a prepackaged taco seasoning but felt it was unnecessary and quite unhealthy.  They really do put sugar in all sorts of unnecessary things.  I don’t keep a mix of the seasoning ready anymore, I eyeball it as I go, instead.  I typically use cumin powder, coriander powder, black pepper powder, paprika, red chili powder, turmeric, nutritional yeast, onion powder, garlic powder, and salt.  That’s the great thing about cooking Mexican food.  I tend to have most of the spices because it’s pretty similar to my Indian food.

I’ve always got left over rice at home from the night before (we South Indian’s eat rice as a staple food) so I threw some of that in with cilantro and lime to make some cilantro lime rice.  Made some fajita veggies by cutting up different colored bell peppers (I mainly use red, orange, and yellow because they’re sweet) and a red onion and sautéed them with a bit of the same seasonings.  Threw everything together with some diced onions, tomatoes, lettuce, vegan cheese, and taco sauce and I was done!

I have to admit, I have not mastered (or even attempted) to make taco sauce.  Growing up on Taco Bell has made me dependent on Taco Bell’s Fire sauce and, like every Indian I know, I had a drawer full of those little packets.  Thank God they started selling them in bottles because as an adult I don’t know if I could hold my head up high while walking out with 20 extra packets of fire sauce with one burrito.

[sparxwrites]

(the opening lines of this, i shit you not, came to me in a dream. or at least in the space between sleep and waking. mr sims, could you get your podcast out of my subconscious pls. set some time vaguely in The Future as a what-if, i guess.)

cw for vomiting, gore, body horror

[ao3]

“Maybe it’s the flu?” says Martin, anxiously, as Jon vomits into the toilet for the third night in a row.

“Maybe,” says Jon, drawing a shaking hand across his mouth, “the human body wasn’t intended to hold a god for this long.” His lips are bloody, and his voice is raw, like he’s been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. Martin’s only just gotten back, only just found him hunched over the toilet and heaving up the contents of his stomach once again.

Martin’s fingers curl into fists, release. “You’re not a god, Jon.”

“Look me in the eye, and say that again,” says Jon, quietly.

His tone isn’t cruel, but his words hit like knives. Martin hasn’t been able to look him in the eye in weeks – it hurts, too much, too sharp, the back-of-the-neck prickle it used to induce turning to the sensation of his skin being slowly flayed away. There’s too much knowing there. Jon sees enough to hurt those he beholds, now.

Martin grits his teeth, and looks Jon in the eyes. The two on his face, at least, the ones still where human eyes should be. “You’re not a god, Jon. Don’t– don’t be arrogant.”

When he finally, finally lets his gaze slide off to the side, it feels like someone’s set needles through his bones. His hands are shaking. He feels seen, down to his intestines, his marrow, the awful, rotten pits of his soul.

Jon laughs, or makes a sound that’s trying to be laughter. One of the two. He spits into the toilet, and rests his forehead against the cold plastic of the seat. Martin doesn’t need to look into the bowl to know what’s there – bile, and blood, and dinner, and vile, thumb-sized chunks of gore in amidst it all.

Stomach lining, Jon had said, the first night. Martin hadn’t questioned him. Hadn’t asked him how he knew.

“That’s… kind of you,” says Jon, softly – and for a moment, he sounds almost like himself. Almost the way he was, before his god sank the last of its hooks into him. And then, casually– “I have eyeballs on my liver, you know. My kidneys, my bowels. My heart. If you cut me open, Martin, I’d blink at you.”

“And heal pretty much immediately,” blurts Martin, though there’s a cold sinking deep into his guts. He thinks of the stomach lining still sitting in the toilet bowl, and wonders for the first time what it’s being replaced with.

“And heal,” agrees Jon, and there’s that careful, constrained flatness to his voice that means he’s on the edge of hysteria. Martin can’t look him in the eye, but he can see him out the corner of his vision, still curled over the toilet as though it might offer salvation. “…I think.”

“How do you know?” asks Martin. “About the eyes, I mean. Maybe it was just a, a dream, or a nightmare, or something–”

Jon snorts in bleak amusement, and then gags, and then vomits wet and choking into the toilet again. Martin drops to his knees, and strokes Jon’s back, and wishes he could do more than just hold his boyfriend’s fucking hair out the way as he pukes up his own body to make way for more damn eyes.

“I can… can see out of them,” says Jon, eventually. He’s panting, and there’s a string of bloody drool stretching from his lower lip to the porcelain below. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. “The eyes, I can– see. I can see inside myself, Martin.” He barks out a harsh, humourless noise, and spits a mouthful of blood. “Do you know what that’s like? How could you. I hope you never do. But– god. I can see myself. Every swallow, every– every contraction, every heartbeat.”

He reaches out, with unerring aim for someone whose head is still half in a toilet bowl – he’s getting better at using his other eyes, thinks Martin, and the thought fills him with dread for reasons he cannot fully explain. When his hand closes around Martin’s wrist, Martin can feel the eyelashes on Jon’s palm flutter against his skin as the eye there closes against the contact.

When he presses Martin’s hand to his stomach, dangerously flat and heaving with every breath, there are bumps there. That’s expected, eyes hidden beneath ill-fitting knitwear, coiling around his torso and up, up in some awful, organic spiral. But then he presses harder, his hand over Martin’s, and there are bumps below. Eyes upon eyes, lurking beneath like awful, clustered tumours, bulging out from the depths of Jon’s viscera and blinking hungrily beneath flesh and muscle.

“Oh god,” says Martin, faintly – because he can’t think of anything else to say, because what the fuck else can he say. “Jon…”

“Maybe,” says Jon, spitting again, swallowing audibly against another heave. Martin can’t look him in the eye – it’s killing him, but he can’t – but he can still see Jon’s crooked grin in his peripheral vision. It’s a mad sort of expression, made madder still by the blood on his lips. “Maybe you should cut me open, Martin, and look me in the eyes, and tell me I’m not a god then.”

He taps fingers, gently, over his heart. The triplet of small, watery eyes on the back of his left hand flutter with every touch.

Then his body jerks, a roll of nauseated motion that starts at his stomach and rolls its way up to his mouth. His throat works, but nothing comes up, other than a thick sliver of slick-red flesh. He gasps, in the aftermath, like there isn’t enough air in his lungs.

Martin wonders if it’s still just stomach lining in the toilet bowl.

“Stop,” says Martin, and the strength of his voice, the way it shakes, surprised even him. “Just– stop, Jon, don’t… don’t say that. God, don’t say that.”

He reaches out, both hands curled into Jon’s sweater, and drags him into his arms, risk of being puked on be damned. Jon smells of sweat, and vomit, and sour fear, and Martin still buries his face in his hair and holds him. As though holding him will fix this. As though holding him tight enough will squeeze the poison from Jon’s body.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” he says, again, quieter, his nose full of the rank smell of sick, unwashed human. Human. “This is– it’s a lot. I know it’s a lot. And I’m so, so sorry. But… you’re a person. You’re a person, Jon. It’s not right.”

Jon laughs, and then sobs, and then heaves up a trickle of bile-or-blood-or-both against Martin’s front. “Am I, though?” he asks, and his voice is cracked, mad, his fingers curling against Martin’s chest hard enough to bruise. “Is that really what I am?”

“Yes,” says Martin, firmly, though he believes himself less with every passing day. When he rubs Jon’s back, he feels every node of his spine, and every bump of the eyes wound around it. “Yes. That’s what you are. A person, Jon. Not a god. A person.”

They sit there – on the floor of the bathroom, surrounded by the stench of sickness and ascension – until Jon stops throwing up, and until Martin stops crying. By the time they leave, the sun is rising, and Jon is too weak to walk unaided, and Martin cannot stop thinking about the knife in the kitchen and the eyes on Jon’s heart.

[unsettlingshortstories]

The City

Ray Bradbury (1950)

The city waited twenty thousand years.

The planet moved through space and the flowers of the fields grew up and fell away, and still the city waited; and the rivers of the planet rose and waned and turned to dust. Still the city waited. The winds that had been young and wild grew old and serene, and the clouds of the sky that had been ripped and torn were left alone to drift in idle whitenesses. Still the city waited.

The city waited with its windows and its black obsidian walls and its sky towers and its unpennanted turrets, with its untrod streets and its untouched doorknobs, with not a scrap of paper or a fingerprint upon it. The city waited while the planet arced in space, following its orbit about a blue-white sun, and the seasons passed from ice to fire and back to ice and then to green fields and yellow summer meadows.

It was on a summer afternoon in the middle of the twenty thousandth year that the city ceased waiting.

In the sky a rocket appeared.

The rocket soared over, turned, came back, and landed in the shale meadow fifty yards from the obsidian wall.

There were booted footsteps in the thin grass and calling voices from men within the rocket to men without.

"Ready?"

"All right, men. Careful! Into the city. Jensen, you and Hutchinson patrol ahead. Keep a sharp eye."

The city opened secret nostrils in its black walls and a steady suction vent deep in the body of the city drew storms of air back through channels, through thistle filters and dust collectors, to a fine and tremblingly delicate series of coils and webs which glowed with silver light. Again and again the immense suctions occurred; again and again the odors from the meadow were borne upon warm winds into the city.

"Fire odor, the scent of a fallen meteor, hot metal. A ship has come from another world. The brass smell, the fusty fire smell of burned powder, sulphur, and rocket brimstone."

This information, stamped on tapes which sprocketed into slots, slid down through yellow cogs into further machines.

Click-chakk-chakk-chakk.

A calculator made the sound of a metronome. Five, sic, seven, eight, nine. Nine men! An instantaneous typewriter inked this message on tape which slithered and vanished.

Clickety-click-chakk-chakk.

The city awaited the soft tread of their rubberoid boots.

The great city nostrils dilated again.

The smell of butter. In the city air, from the stalking men, faintly, the aura which wafted to the great Nose broke down into memories of milk, cheese, ice cream, butter, the effluvium of a dairy economy.

Click-click.

"Careful, men!"

"Jones, get your gun out. Don't be a fool!"

"The city's dead, why worry?"

"You can't tell."

Now, at the barking talk, the Ears awoke. After centuries of listening to winds that blew small and faint, of hearing leaves strip from trees and grass grow softly in the time of melting snows, now the Ears oiled themselves in a self-lubrication, drew taut, great drums upon which the heartbeat of the invaders might pummel and thud delicately as the tremor of a gnat's wing. The Ears listened and the Nose siphoned up great chambers of odor.

The perspiration of frightened men arose. There were islands of sweat under their arms, and sweat in theirs hands at they held guns.

The Nose sifted and worried this air, like a connoisseur busy with an ancient vintage.

Chikk-chikk-chakk-click.

Information rotated down on parallel check tapes. Perspiration; chlorides such and such per cent; sulphates so-and-so' urea nitrogen, ammonia nitrogen, thus: creatinine, sugar, lactic acid, there!

Bells rang. Small totals jumped up.

The Nose whispered, expelling the tested air. The great Ears listened:

"I think we should go back to the rocket, Captain."

"I give the orders, Mr.Smith!"

"Yes, sir."

"You up there! Patrol! See anything?"

"Nothing, sir. Looks like it's been dead long time!"

"You see, Smith? Nothing to fear."

"I don't like it. I don't know why. You ever feel you've seen a place before? Well, this city's too familiar."

"Nonsense. This planetary system's billions of miles from Earth: we couldn't possibly've been here ever before. Ours is the only light-year rocket in existence."

"That's how I feel, anyway, sir. I think we should get out." The footsteps faltered. There was only the sound of the intruder's breath on the still air.

The Ear heard and quickened. Rotors glided, liquids glittered in small creeks through valves and blowers. A formula and concoction-one followed another. Moments later, responding to the summons of the Ear and Nose, through giant holes in the city walls a fresh vapor blew out over the invaders.

"Smell that, Smith? Ahh. Green grass. Ever smell anything better? By God, I just like to stand here and smell it."

Invisible chlorophyll blew among the standing men.

"Ahh!"

The footsteps continued.

"Nothing wrong with that, eh, Smith? Come on!"

The Ear and Nose relaxed a billionth of a fraction. The countermove had succeeded. The pawns were proceeding forward.

Now the cloudy Eyes of the city moved out of fog and mist.

"Captain, the windows!"

"What?"

"Those house windows, there! I saw them move!"

"I didn't see it."

"They shifted. They changed color. From dark to light."

"Look like ordinary square windows to me."

Blurred objects focused. In the mechanical ravines of the city oiled shafts plunged, balance wheels dipped over into green oil pools. The window frames flexed. The windows gleamed.

Below, in the street, walked two men, a patrol, followed, at a safe interval, by seven more. Their uniforms were white, their faces as pink as if they had been slapped; their eyes were blue. They walked upright, upon hind legs, carrying metal weapons. Their feet were booted. They were males, with eyes, ears, mouths, noses.

The windows trembled. The windows thinned. They dilated imperceptibly, like the irises of numberless eyes.

"I tell you, Captain, it's the windows!"

"Get along."

"I'm going back, sir."

"What?"

"I'm going back to the rocket."

"Mr. Smith!"

"I'm not falling into any trap!"

"Afraid of an empty city?"

The others laughed, uneasily.

"Go on, laugh!"

The street was stone-cobbled, each stone three inches wide, six inches long. With a move unrecognizable as such, the street settled. It weighed the invaders.

In a machine cellar a red wand touched a numeral: 178 pounds . . . 210, 154, 201, 198,- each man weighed, registered and the record spooled down into a correlative darkness.

Now the city was fully awake!

Now the vents sucked and blew air, the tobacco odor from the invaders' mouths, the green soap scent from their hands. Even their eyeballs had a delicate odor. The city detected it, and this information formed totals which scurried down to total other totals. The crystal windows glittered, the Ear tautened and skinned the drum of its hearing tight, tighter- all of the senses of the city swarming like a fall of unseen snow, counting the respiration and the dim hidden heartbeats of the men, listening, watching, tasting.

For the streets were like tongues, and where the men passed, the taste of their heels ebbed down through stone pores to be calculated on litmus. This chemical totality, so subtly collected, was appended to the new increasing sums waiting the final calculation among the whirling wheels and whispering spokes.

Footsteps. Running.

"Come back! Smith!"

"No, blast you!"

"Get him, men!"

Footsteps rushing.

A final test. The city, having listened, watched, tasted, felt, weighed, and balanced, must perform a final task.

A trap flung wide in the street. The captain, unseen to the others, running, vanished.

Hung by his feet, a razor drawn across his throat, another down his chest, his carcass instantly emptied of its entrails, exposed upon a table under the street, in a hidden cell, the captain died. Great crystal microscopes stared at the red twines of muscle; bodiless fingers probed the still pulsing heart. The flaps of his sliced skin were pinned to the table while hands shifted parts of his body like a quick and curious player of chess, using the rad pawns and the red pieces.

Above on the street the men ran. Smith ran, men shouted. Smith shouted, and below in this curious room blood flowed into capsules, was shaken, spun, shoved on smear slides under further microscopes, counts made, temperatures taken, heart cut in seventeen sections, liver and kidneys expertly halved. Brain was drilled and scooped from bone socket, nerves pulled forth like the dead wires of a switchboard, muscles plucked for elasticity, while in the electric subterrene of the city the Mind at last totaled out its grandest total and all of the machinery ground to a monstrous and momentary halt.

The total.

These are men. These are men from a far world, a certain planet, and they have certain eyes, certain ears, and they walk upon legs in a specified way and carry weapons and think and fight, and they have particular hearts and all such organs as are recorded from long ago.

Above, men ran down the street toward the rocket.

Smith ran.

The total.

These are our enemies. These are the ones we have waited for twenty thousand years to see again. These are the men upon whom we waited to visit revenge. Everything totals. These are the men of a planet called Earth, who declared war upon Taollan twenty thousand years ago, who kept us in slavery and ruined us and destroyed us with a great disease. Then they went off to live in another galaxy to escape and that disease which they visited upon us after ransacking our world. They have forgotten that war and that time, and they have forgotten us. But we have not forgotten them. These are our enemies. This is certain. Our waiting is done.

"Smith, come back!"

Quickly. Upon the red table, with the spread-eagled captain's body empty, new hands began a fight of motion. Into the wet interior were placed organs of copper, brass, silver, aluminum, rubber and silk; spiders spun gold web which was stung into the skin; a heart was attached, and into the skull case was a fitted platinum brain which hummed and fluttered small sparkles of blue fire, and the wires led down through the body to the arms and legs. In a moment the body was sewn tight, the incisions waxed, healed at neck and throat and about the skull-perfect, fresh, new.

The captain sat up and flexed his arms.

"Stop!"

On the street the captain reappeared, raised his gun and fired. Smith fell, a bullet in his heart.

The other men turned.

The captain ran to them.

"That fool! Afraid of a city!"

They looked at the body of Smith at their feet.

They looked at their captain, and their eyes widened and narrowed.

"Listen to me," said the captain. "I have something important to tell you."

Now the city, which had weighed and tasted and smelled them, which had used all its powers save one, prepared to use its final ability, the power of speech. It did not speak with the rage and hostility of its massed walls or towers, nor with bulk of its cobbled avenues and fortresses of machinery. It spoke with the quiet voice of one man.

"I am no longer you captain," he said. "Nor am I a man."

The men moved back.

"I am the city," he said and smiled.

"I've waited two hundred centuries," he said. "I've waited for the sons of the Sons of the sons to return."

"Captain, sir!"

"Let me continue. Who built me? The city. The men who died built me. The old race who once lived here. The people whom the Earthmen left to die of a terrible disease, a form of leprosy with no cure. And the men of that old race, dreaming of the day when the Earthmen might return, built this city, and the name of this city was and is Revenge, upon the planet of Darkness, near the shore of the Sea of Centuries, by the Mountains of the Dead; all very poetic. This city was to be a balancing machine, a litmus, an antenna to test all future space travelers. In twenty thousand years only two other rockets landed here. One from a distant galaxy called Ennt, and the inhabitants of that craft are tasted, weighed, found wanting, and let free, unscathed, from the city. As were the visitors of the second ship. But today! At long last, you've come! The revenge will be carried out to the last detail. Those men have been dead two hundred centuries, but they left a city here to welcome you."

"Captain, sir, you're not feeling well. Perhaps you'd better come back to the ship, sir."

The city trembled.

The pavements opened and the men fell, screaming. Falling, they saw bright razors flash to meet them!

Time passed. Soon came the call:

"Smith?"

"Here!"

"Jensen?"

"Here!"

"Jones, Hutchinson, Springer?"

"Here, here, here!"

They stood by the door of the rocket.

"We return to Earth immediately."

"Yes, sir!"

The incisions on their necks were invisible, as were their hidden brass hearts and silver organs and the fine golden wire of their nerves. There was a faint elector hum for their heads.

"On the double!"

Nine men hurried the golden bombs of disease culture into the rocket.

"These are to be dropped on Earth."

"Right, sir!"

The rocket valve slammed. The rocket jumped into the sky. As the thunder faded, the city lay upon the summer meadow.

Its glass eyes were dulled over. The Ears relaxed, the great Nostril vents topped, the streets no longer weighed or balanced, and the hidden machinery paused in its bath of oil.

In the sky the rocket dwindled.

Slowly, pleasurably, the city enjoyed the luxury of dying.

[mauannacreates]

Thanks for the tag @alinacapellabooks and @the-golden-comet! Here's my OC's responses.

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

Braedon: Anything with salmon.

Valerie: Oh no, here comes your spiel with salmon; your one true love. (she starts to laugh)

Braedon: Shut it Val. I know you don't like it as much, but still. The chef that makes it, he always makes it so tender. The juiciness you get from it is exquisite. And it is always a pleasure to try it with anything, a salmon cake, salmon with pasta. But even having it by itself, smoked makes it all the more pleasurable.

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

Valerie: Simple, salmon. Hahaha, ahh! (Braedon goes and shakes her.)

Braedon: You're just saying that, aren't you!? (Valerie is still laughing)

Jules: Guys, I don't get what's with the both of you and salmon, but really, coffee and chocolate's the worst. (Braedon goes and twists towards Jules)

Braedon: You guys are killing me. Both of you.

Jules: What? Do you want to see us all killed? (Braedon's eyes narrows) We get you have a tolerance for it, but still. Most of us don't. One piece and... (They put their thumb through their neck and bend their neck down.)

Braedon: Right. And that's basically a drug. (small pause) That's fair.

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

Braedon: Savory first. Always. If you have seafood, give it to me. If you have pasta... Give it to Valerie. She loves pasta.

Valerie: Hey...! You like pasta too.

Braedon: Yes, but only if it's mixed with meat or seafood, and vegetables.

Valerie: And I don't just like pasta, I like all of those organs they have. Liver, brains, kidneys...

Braedon: I still don't understand on how you like all of these sorts of stuff. That's just... Ugh.

Jules: Hey. There's nothing better than having seaweed with liver stuffed inside and eyeballs staring back at you.

Braedon: You. Don't encourage her.

cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!?

Jules: Never have the chance to. I always foraged. Or I was taken care of once upon a time.

Valerie: Same, minus the foraging. When you're in a castle, you're always lucky to have someone to cook your meals. I mean, I can't say that I haven't tried learning to cook, but it was more when dad was around. But since he's not around...

Braedon: ...

I'm going to tag... @the-letterbox-archives, @aalinaaaaaa and @arowanaprincess!

✨🥘WIP Food Questionnaire🥘✨

Ooooh a fun new game from @dearunreliablenarrator ? Yes please!!

Rules: Answer the food-related questions provided in this link using the voices of your OCs. The yummier the descriptions, the better!

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

Ali’s baklava. It’s got a flaky, buttery crust that just melts on your tongue, a thin layer of chocolate and hazelnut spread between the sheets of sweet dough, topped with a thin drizzle of hot, chocolate syrup and powdered sugar. Sometimes, he adds a few sliced banana to it and the flavor is, mmmm. ✨-Noah (YWIMC)

what is an experience (good or bad) that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

Oh God, I cringe at the memory….Harley had me go fishing for our meal once, and the squish of fish fry between my fingers is a feeling I will not soon forget. The smell of raw fish, bait, rust from the sea-weathered equipment. Ugh. I’ll stick with potatoes and fruit, thank you very much. I know Peter will try to force me to eat a protein, but I can’t stomach looking at the face of a dead fish. Mmmm…perhaps if it was in a stew…..-Benjamin (Peter Hart)

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

Oh Gosh!! Off of all of EARTH? Mmmm…that’s a tough one…..do drinks count? I’d get rid of all that gross alcohol immediately. It burns my throat and makes me feel dizzy. And…maybe dark roast coffee. It’s waaaaay too bitter….unless you add a lot of cream, sugar, milk, caramel….chocolate….

Itazura:….Tenshi. Focus.

…..Oh! R-right. Just coffee though? Blegh! Add some sweet to it, and it’ll be perfect ✨-Tenshi and Itazura (Tenshito)

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

Oh OH! Can I answer this one too? 🪽✨

Mmmm, there’s this one thing that is SOOOO good! It’s an ice cream with red bean paste—

Itazura: —Mochi? (餅)

But, it has some fruit and it has beautiful designs! It’s reeeeeally good!! ✨

Itazura: Ah, Wagashi (和菓子). Yeah that’s pretty good.

cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!?

Well, I would….but SOMEONE decided to ABDUCT me 😡 -Tyr (ITROG)

I will very gently tag the following (if you’ve been double tagged, whoops. I’m a silly goose 🪿✨): @tragedycoded , @sableglass , @cowboybrunch , @gioiaalbanoart , @wyked-ao3 , @alinacapellabooks , @yourpenpaldee , @ominous-feychild , @lychhiker-writes , @rotting-moon-writes , @saturnine-saturneight , @marlowethelibrarian , @jev-urisk , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @badscientist , @eccaiia , @smellyrottentrees , @lavender-gloom , @paeliae-occasionally , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @theink-stainedfolk , @willtheweaver , @aintgonnatakethis , @musicismymoirail , @nczaversnick , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @autism-purgatory , @finickyfelix , @writercoracain , @moltenwrites , @rivenantiqnerd , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @noxxytocin , @thecomfywriter , @theaistired , @mauannacreates , @tildeathiwillwrite , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives , @houseplantblank , @mundanemoongirl , @minamaybe , @fantasy-things-and-such , @ragin-cajun-fangirl , +open tag! ✨

[motleymoose]

Homecoming: Astray, Ch. 2

Chapter 2

Laserfights in the Dust

Fandom: The Mandalorian Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender-neutral Reader, Unidentified Stormtroopers Words: 1.6k+ Warnings: Laser fights!, Angst???

Summary:

The bounty hunter may have caught me.

That's it. I'm caught and screwed and nothing could make this worse.

...Unless Stormtroopers are thrown into the mix.

Notes:

Heyo! Just an update:

I've several chapters in the works of being tweaked and edited. On that note, I just want to warn you that I'll be editing the first chapter of this part because holy moley I did NOT do the editing I thought I did before I posted it.

Hope you enjoy this installment of Homecoming. Check back this weekend for the last chapter of part 1!

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read my words. I really really appreciate it!!!

Homecoming Masterlist

The Mandalorian’s ship was of an older gunner class, bulbous and clunky in all the wrong places. I immediately took a shine to it.

“Mother of Moons,” I breathed, drinking in the sight of the Razor Crest. The ship was ancient compared to its neighbors moored in the docking field, her dark gray hull splattered with pocks and burns from laser fire, and carbon residue dulled the once-bright metal. Amazed that she could still fly, I considered the costs and labor associated with keeping something like her up in the air. The bounty hunter must’ve employed a fragging good blackthumb, or at the very least had a mech droid to keep up with all the repairs the ship constantly would need. My fingers itched to caress the control panels and explore the access hubs. Engineering alone would’ve been something to behold.

I was a mechanic through-and-through.

My captor’s gait changed the closer we got to his ship. Weaving in and out of the stacks of crates and barrels awaiting transport into the village, I noted the speeders parked in the path we were taking, not too far away from the Crest. Before I could have a closer look, gloved fingers dug into the tender meat at my shoulder.

“Yours?” he snapped, blaster humming to life and jammed into my kidney.

I shook my head. “I don’t have anyone willing to risk their neck to rescue me. Whoever that is,” I discreetly waggled my eyebrows in the direction of the speedbikes, “probably wants me dead more than you do.”

The pistol’s barrel eased from my back, and I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. He accepted the answer I’d given, which was a first in my dealings with bounty hunters. I doubted greatly that he trusted me, but maybe a mutual respect was building in the hour we’d known each other.

With his hand between my shoulder blades, the bounty hunter urged me forward out of the relative safety of the unloaded cargo. I assumed we’d wait out whoever was waiting for us, but apparently the Mandalorian liked to act before he thought.

Shoving hard, the bounty hunter knocked me to my stomach, bound hands barely breaking my fall. Wheezing, I rolled onto my hip to snarl at him just as he raised his blaster and fired over my fragging head.

“Frag!” I screamed unheroically. I automatically flattened in the dust, cuffed hands over my head. Laser beams sliced through the air above me, some coming low enough to singe my hair. Letting instincts take over, I crawled on elbows and knees until I made it under the belly of the Crest. White armored legs dashed by my hiding spot, and I shrunk farther under the ship’s hefty bulk. Even with the Empire collapsed, there were still loyal factions spanning the known galaxy. I wasn’t too surprised at their arrival, only that the Imps still had enough credits to outfit their armies.

I tore my eyes away from the gunfight to look for an escape. Near the landing gear, a square hatch barely large enough to warrant much thought caught my racing mind. Pulling myself into a crouch, I shuffled over to it, using my little dagger to persuade it to open. A few frantic, scrabbling moments later, and I pulled myself up into the crawl space and snapped the panel shut behind me.

Inside the crawl space - no, access shaft, I shimmied on my belly towards the only source of light.

“Please be an access panel, please be an access panel…”

It was not an access panel.

The light was streaming weakly through a rectangular vent in the floor of what must have been the hold, the streaky dark and bright causing my eyes to swim. Turning onto my back, I took a moment to blink, forcing my eyes to adjust to the dim light. When I looked back through the vent grate, I saw a face peering back down at me.

“Oh frag!” I shrieked, dodging clumsily out of the light.

No sound or shouts of alarm followed, and I sucked in my breath and scootched back to the vent.

“Oh. You’re not what I expected.”

Above me lay a slab of carbonite. Inside the carbonite was a face twisted in pain and horror, hands bound in much the same way as mine. Every detail of the being frozen in time was on display, if I wanted to hang around and eyeball her some more. Was the Mandalorian going to do that to me?

Gulping nervously, I turned back to my belly and continued my slow crawl through the carbon dust and wires that lined the access tunnel in equal parts. I strained my eyes as best as I could, feeling them water and sting from the dust my movements stirred up. I couldn’t make out much of anything in the unlit space, but I didn’t want to light a flame in the off-chance the bounty hunter was carrying more than just frozen carbonite. I was going to have to use my other senses to find the crawl hatch into the hold. From there, freedom.

A rustle near my boots startled me out of the vague plan I was beginning to form about escaping. Looking over my shoulder, I could see nothing beyond the little square of light falling from the vent.

“Bugs. Probably just bugs,” I murmured to myself, not at all reassured by the waver in my tone. Exhaling softly, I continued forward.

I didn’t know how much time had passed since I’d entered the ship, but from the sounds happening, or worse yet, not happening outside, it was safe to assume the fight was over and to the victors went the spoils.

But who the victors were was still up for debate.

Urgently, I pushed through a particularly nasty tangle of wiring. Thick and winding and of all colors and sizes, some of the wires looked brand new while others were completely fried. A faint wisp of electrical smoke drifted lazily from a deep, melted gash severing a bundle that looked to be -

“The energy cycler wiring. Shit.” Quickly, I assessed the damage. The cut didn’t seem to go too deep, only about a quarter of the way through the wiring. I didn’t have the tools needed to make a decent repair job, but if I did nothing, the Razor Crest would strand anyone aboard her once the energy cycler ran dry. Which could be anytime as the damage looked like an older wound and I had no way of telling how much power was left in the containment systems.

Rolling onto my side, I awkwardly began to dig out what I had in my jumpsuit pockets that might help. Most of a roll of electotape; collapsible screwdriver base and tip case; handful of assorted plastic ties; hose clamps in various states of rust; thin, carefully folded sheets of aluminum foil; and my prized possession: customized multitool.

Feeling surprisingly lighter after emptying my pockets, I ordered my tools into a neat pile and got to work on the smoking wiring. I made sure to match every split wire with its original end. Using the foil, I connected the loose wires before taping over them with the stretchy black eletotape. Whenever the plastic coating proved to be in the way, I used the sharp cutter edge of my multitool to scrape it away and expose the damaged wiring, thus making it easier to reconnect. The plastic ties and hose clamps, the latter of the hardware being tightened with my collapsible screwdriver, were used to sort and organize the larger bundle into smaller, neater groups.

As I worked, sounds of rustling and rifling interspersed with tiny squeaks and sneezes floated through the air not that far from the soles of my boots. I forced myself to ignore it, hoping that whatever it was would stay well away from me until I was done repairing the wiring harness. I didn’t want to waste time fighting pests when my services could be better used fixing mechanical things.

Another sneeze, a delighted trill, and then the patter of small feet scurrying away alerted me that I was now, hopefully, alone. Tightening one last plastic strap with my teeth, I swiped my forehead with the back of a sooty hand and gazed proudly at my handiwork. Dang, I was good at cobbling together repairs.

A whirring clank shook the metal underneath me, and I jolted straight up, clunking my head painfully against the subflooring. Rubbing at the throbbing lump forming on the top of my head, I cursed myself silently and held my breath, listening.

Heavy boots thudded hollowly above me. Another clanking whir covered up most of the stream of Mando’a being growled above me, and I knew that the bounty hunter had won.

Frag.

Quietly as I could, I untangled myself from the wiring and inched away from the sounds of mumbling and stomping. I’d stowed away before, a long time ago, on a colonizing ship stopping on my backwater planet for refuelling and supplies.

But those had been farmers seeking a better life for themselves, not a warrior from a people more legend than truth, hunting me down for a bounty. I was in deeper kung than I wanted to admit.

The sounds of cursing and stomping disappeared, possibly to another deck, and I let out a heavy, relieved sigh. I didn’t have much time to plan before he ultimately found me, so I needed to come up with something that wasn’t going to get me killed, or worse - frozen in carbonite.

[otterbeesfanficblog]

When neutron stars collide

(Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

EDIT: I HATE MYSELF 2020 

Part 2: When A Star Chooses To Shine

Part 1: Steps Before The Starting Line Part 3: Compare And Contrast Part 4: From Where We Stand Part 5: You Would Be Angry Too...

[One week later]

"No, Riji, you can't have my eyeballs." You deadpan to the man next to you.

"Maybe next time." He sighed with a smile.

Oddly enough, that wasn't one of the weirdest things you've had to say to someone, especially Riji. He was an older man, late 40's early 50's, and he was homeless just like you. 

He would oftentimes find things for you and give them to use, hoping to trade with you for something. That something could range from a simple smile to wanting your molars and your left kidney, but he never did let you give him anything.

He liked to pretend he was out of his mind like he was gonna sell you on the black market or something, but he was actually really sweet and giving. You weren't the only one he gave things to, there were plenty of people living on the streets, some were worse off than you.

He was your number one supporter from you signing up for UA, he helped you forge a lot of documents to get in and gave you his clothes so you could look at least a little bit decent.

Today you were walking with him to the for sale house to look in the mailbox, hopefully, the UA letter was there. You had been checking on and off the whole week, among other things. Riji wanted to come with you today since you both were also scouting for food, which happened to be coming your way.

Along the sidewalk you were on was a man selling takoyaki, which was surprising to you. There weren't many people willing to sell off the streets were you lived since ya know... homeless people. But you allowed yourself to watch him with a watering mouth and a growling stomach. 

The man appeared to be selling in front of his store, so he was walking in and out with things for his cart. You and Riji watched him disappear into his store then you both made your move, taking handfuls of takoyaki when no one was looking, then quickly walking away as if nothing happened.

You both waited till you were fair enough away to begin eating, but you sighed in joy upon eating your first one.

"Ah, I can't remember the last time I had something good that was hot."

Riji chuckled, stuffing two in his mouth with a hum.

"You said it, kid. Hey, you think the letter finally came today?"

You sigh, slowly eating more as you turn the corner down the street that you walked on with Kiri a week ago.

"Probably, right? It's been a week already..."

You both continued down the street, quietly eating your ... well, breakfast/lunch. You thought back to all the things you had imagined would happen when applying for UA.

You thought they would immediately know you were homeless and have never been to an actual school before, you thought they would have sent you away immediately. You had no records at all, not even a birth certificate. At least... not one with you.

You imagined by now they had already looked through the many systems they had and found you... 

You were 5 when you ran away from the foster home, from there you grew up alone on the streets. It was hard, so very hard. Everyone pitied you, looked down on you, some even tried taking advantage of you. As that young kid, you meet All Might, and you thought everything was going to be okay.

He said he would come back for you, said you needed to have faith in him and to stay where you were.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

As the years went by, you gave up on waiting. You grew bitter and angry, at All Might, at heroes in general, at the world. You did some foolish things when you were in that stage of anger, somethings you wished someone would have slapped you back to reality.

As soon as the anger dulled, you were left numb and wondering why you were even trying anyways. 

Your birth mother didn't want you, your birth father didn't want you, the foster home didn't care about you... the number one hero didn't even care about you. You just wanted it all to end.

Then, something hit you. Whether it was pride or anger or both, you screamed at the world to come at you with everything you had. You weren't going to give in, not when you went so far on your own.

UA, a school where they thought students to be heroes. 

You would become a hero, to prove to the world you were worth the air your breathe. You were gonna prove to Japan that they won't forget who you are, you'll have everyone know your name.

With or without approval. 

You came upon the house and you ventured to the mailbox, reaching inside, your fingers touched paper. You pulled it out with a shaky hand and looked at it, it was a letter and the letter was addressed to you... from UA high.

If you got it, you would have a good path to start.

If you didn't get in, you would make the world know your name somehow.

"Come on, kid, you got me fallin' off my chair in suspense."

Riji snapped you out of your thoughts, giving you a confident and eager smile. You nod to him and let out a sigh, you glare at the letter before starting it open.

You pull out the letter, it reads:

Dear Miss Uchukyuzo Y/n,

We are excited to announce that you have successfully passed the written and physical exams and have been welcomed to UA High! We would also like to congratulate you on earning the spot of second place in the examination results, with 42 villain points and 35 rescue points. With that said, we look forward to seeing you in April!

"I..." You stare at the paper in your hands, Riji looking impatiently at you.

"Well?! What's it say!?"

"I... got in."

You were suddenly off the ground and sent high into the air by a cheering Riji, you couldn't stop the smile that graced your face as you laugh and let Riji toss you in the air.

 "THAT'S MY LITTLE Y/N! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU KID!"

He let you fall into his arms one more time before setting you down and pulling you into a tight hug, which you return with heated cheeks.

"Ah, look at you! Going to high school! Hardly the little girl I meet 3 years ago, so grown now."

You looked up at him, feeling your chest tighten as he looked at you with a smile and glossy eyes. You shake your head and frown.

"Riji, are you-?"

"I know you don't like asking for help, Y/n." He stated, letting his fingerless gloved hands fall on both your shoulders, looking intently at you. 

"But don't let that pride stop you from gettin' off these streets, ya hear?"

You sigh and drop your eyes to the ground.

"Riji-"

"I mean it, Y/n." He squeezes your shoulders. "You're too good to be living on the streets scrounging for scraps like a common rat."

You knew he was right, deep down you wanted nothing more than to have a real home with real food and real clothes. But you also couldn't drown the self-hate either, at least not yet. 

Looking back down at the letter you realized you didn't finish reading.

It has also could to our attention that you have no prior school records or any emergency contacts, with this in mind we would like to meet with you and/or a guardian upon you receiving this letter. 

When you get the letter, as long as it is within working hours, we would like to meet immediately to discuss this. 

You then wished you hadn't eaten anything at all as your stomach flipped and churned in horror and fear.

You knew they wouldn't gloss over that, they couldn't. What kind of school would expect an unknown kid with no history?

"Kid?"

"They want to meet with me." Bringing a hand up, you rub your eyes and frustration. Riji looks at you with concern and a tiny bit of protectiveness.

"Why?"

"They're wondering why a kid who ranked second in their hero exam doesn't have any prior school records." You glare at the letter, crushing it in your hands and shoving it in your pockets. 

It was near early afternoon so you had plenty of time to get there, but you couldn't stop the groan that left your mouth.

"Damn it..."

"Want me to come with?"

You knew Riji would lie his ass of plus ten-fold and then some for you, as he had many times for you, but you shook your head.

"No, it's best not to lie and dig a deeper hole. I'll try and avoid lying but... if I need to..."

"Be careful, kid." Riji ruffled your hair, giving you a tight smile and thumbs up. "I'll be waitin' for ya."

"Thanks, Riji."

"Can't let that perfect spleen go to waste, that thing could make me rich."

"Aaannndd I'm leaving."

------

It was more daunting than the first time you came.

You weren't someone who was afraid to admit things like fear, anger, and sadness, but you weren't someone that would let that stop you anymore either. So, with a deep breath, you made your way into the school.

It was empty, not a single person could be seen walking around. You were sure people were here, otherwise, you would have been stoped at the gate.

"Can I help you?"

You jumped a little at the suddenness of the voice, but turning around you felt heat begin to rise to your face.

After your traumatizing experience with All Might, you had difficult opinions on heroes. But there were a few heroes you still believed in and even admired, and you were embarrassed to admit it but as a child, you may have crushed on them as well.

The man standing tall in front of you just happened to be one of those heroes.

Eraserhead.

His long raven hair ran down his back and some over his shoulders with a tuft in the middle of his face, his familiar scarf wrapped around his neck, and he was clothed in mostly black clothing.

You couldn't help but fangirl in your head as your heart raced.

Eraserhead, standing in front of you. He was so much taller than on the TVs in the shop windows. And, when you were lucky, you would see him sometimes scouting on night patrols.

"Look, kid, if you're just here to look around, you're gonna have to leave."

You let out... some kind of noise and wave your hand.

"N-no, uh, I'm here because well... I was asked to meet here?"

His eyes didn't change there uncaring stare but he did raise one of his brows. Reaching into your pocket you pull out the cramped paper, quickly uncrumpling it and showing it to him. 

You felt so dumb right at that moment, you were in clothes that were too big for you, given to you by Riji, slightly still dirty and handing him your acceptance letter that you crumped in a fit of anger.

He didn't take the paper, but he did lean forward to get a better look. He read fast, letting out a sigh and turning down the hall.

"Follow me and don't touch anything."

You quickly and quietly followed behind, having to walk a bit faster because of the leg difference you two had. He took you to an elevator and you both started to take it up the building, the elevator seemed to be a staff only elevator because he took out his phone and placed it on a sensor.

As you rode the elevator in silence, you let your eyes drift over to him once or twice... or three or four-

"If you have something to say, say it, otherwise stop looking at me like that."

You jumped at being caught and you bowed towards him.

"I'm sorry, it's just... you've always been one of my favorite heroes... I didn't know you worked here."

He glanced over at you, looking you up and down, then turned forward again, staring at the inclining numbers of the floors.

"Not many fans of me out there..."

"I honestly prefer heroes who are stealthy or work to protect rather than the offensive, front line showy heroes..."

You felt those words start to grow bitter with every word you said, thinking only about your anger towards the flashiest hero in japan who just happened to be named number one as well.

"Hmm..." 

That was his only response as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, then you began walking again. Then you had finally made it to a room, and looking at the label above the door you gulped.

"Principles Office"

"Principle Nezu is in there, you'll be having your meeting with him."

He then began walking away, and you quickly bow and thank him.

Turning back to the door, it was almost as if it was simultaneously getting close to you while also getting far away. With a shaky hand, you raised your fist and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

You shut your eyes tightly and opened the door slow, letting your head peak in first before fully walking in.

There, sitting at the desk was... someone. He looked like a mix of a mouse and... maybe a dog? ... Bear? 

"Come in, Miss Uchukyuzo. I've been awaiting your arrival."

You gently closed the door behind you and benched forward, slowly sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

He smiled at you and rested his hands together on his desk, while you sat with your hands clutched together in your lap.

"It's so wonderful to meet you in person, miss Uchukyuzo. Before we started, I'd like to congratulate you on your wonderful work in the practical exam. Second place is no small feat."

"Th... thank you, sir."

"Now, to get to the reason I made this meeting." He pulled out a folder that had your name on it, which made you wince. 

Inside were only a few sheets of paper, but the one that caught your attention the most was one that had your name and birthday.

"Normally, we wouldn't make personal meetings like this with our students. However, you have no prior school record. Nor do you have any record at all, other than what is stated on your birth certificate and the files that state your ran away from your foster home at 5 years of age."

It felt like he was reading the book to your life, soon he was going to say how you have a love for dogs.

"Tell me, Miss Uchukyozo. Why should I let you into UA?"

This question was like a bullet through your chest, like putting salt in a wound. At first, you felt ashamed, it was the natural reaction to being called out for being homeless. For being someone people looked at as either a criminal or a rat.

Then you felt angry. Why should you feel this way? As if you had willingly chosen this life, as if you didn't have a reason to run in the first place.

"If you won't take me... I'll become the number one hero some other way." Your eye grew hard as you looked at him.

If this was his way of openly denying you entry into the school after telling you you were in, you were not amused.

"Everyone has a reason for wanting to be a hero. Money, power, glory. I've been pushed down, shoved aside, forgotten so many times... Well, not anymore. I'm going to be a hero that everyone knows, that everyone trusts. I'm gonna be the hero that is there for the people that the other heroes are 'too busy' for."

You glared at your clenched hands in your lap.

"I won't sit by in the shadows as a memory anymore," You looked up at him with determined eyes, your eyes glowing a bit from your quirk. 

"I will become a hero, whether you take me in or not."

He stares at you for a moment, his face unreadable. The silence was deafening and you were about to get up since it seemed like he was telling you that you were no longer at the school.

"Well, then I suppose it's a good thing we will be accepting you!" He exclaimed, a large smile on his face as he opened his arms wide.

You felt like you were just smacked over the head, you felt yourself sweat as you hunched over and your brow twitched as you stared at him. This was one hell of an emotional roller coaster...

"What makes a hero a hero is the drive you just showed me now, and the drive you showed during your practical exam. You not only faced danger head-on, but you also worked together with a person you just meet, and you saved many in the process."

You're eyes go wide as you think back to that day, how you didn't run away from the bot even as Kirishima told you it was pointless, even as people ran. You stayed.

"Heroes can come from anywhere, no matter their past. Since, however, this is your first time in a school, we will be providing you with a few things to help you along the way."

You watched him hop out of his desk chair, walking over to a cardboard box labeled with your name, then he set it on one of the couches behind you. You stood and watched him pull out a few things, just to show you.

First, he pulled out a small card that looked to have your name on it.

"This will be your temporary library card. Once you are in school, you will have your permanent one. Not only does this card work for the school's library, but it also works for any other libraries you decide to visit outside school."

Putting it back, he pulled out a paper and handed it to you. Looking at it, it seemed to be a list of what was inside the box for you to take.

"Now, let me explain everything in this box, starting with the books."

-------

You'd never felt so tired just listening to someone for so long, he let you go after explaining... everything, including what school was going to be like. You would never complain, you liked learning new things, but... You could have just read the paper seeing as now it was pointless.

You carried the contents of the box in a UA themed school bag which he had given to you, it was mostly grey with green stripes and gold zippers. You felt off-put by something that looked so... expensive and new. 

Granted, you don't really know how much a school bag costs, but you assumed this one wasn't cheap. 

You were currently staring at the thing you were amazed by most, it was the library card. For normal people, you assumed it wasn't at all hard to get one. But for you...

Either way, you were excited to put it to use. You had learned a lot from books over the years of taking care of yourself, you had stolen many books in your time. You put them back of course, but that didn't stop you from getting in trouble at one point.

Now you had an actual card, which to you was like holding pure gold in your hands. You wanted to tell Riji all about what had happened, but you also wanted to grab as many books from the library as you could.

As you made your way to the local library Principle Nezu told you about, you had two different voices fighting in your head as you walked the sidewalk.

One was excited for the good luck you had gotten, praising Principle Nezu for his kindness and thanking whatever god was out there that gave you the chance. You could finally move forward in your life, you could finally show yourself to the world instead of hiding in dark alleys.

The other voice was pissed. Why were you suddenly given this chance? What did that 'Nezu' guy think you were, a charity case? It was sick of you taking the things handed to you by people who looked down on you. He didn't know anything about you until you went to that school, so why should you allow him to treat you any different than all the other students?

It was this tiring back and forth of being excited and angry, It was the joy of something new but the paranoia of what it will bring. You weren't new to being tricked into things, it happened more than a few times when you were a kid, but it certainly makes you wary of 'good' things.

You were then pushed to the side by a sudden force hitting your shoulder, you stumble and just barely catching yourself before falling into the street. You growl and glare at the person who knocked into you.

"Oi! Watch it asshole!"

The person quickly waved their arms around and apologized.

"Ah! I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking! I wasn't paying attention and you weren't either-!! AH! No! I don't me to say you were at fault! Just that, but of us were distracted! Though, I was less so!! IamreallysorryIwasjustonmywaytothestoreand--"

He started rambling, and you looked more closely and actually recognized him.

"Hey," You stop him mid-rant, catching him off guard. "Aren't you the green-haired freckle boy that got called out during exam orientations?"

If you looked closely, you could see his soul leave his body. His whole face went red and he covered it, poorly, with his hands.

"Y-yeah... that... was me."

You rubbed your shoulder and chuckled, thinking back to really how embarrassing that was.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bring that scaring memory back up. I get how embarrassing that was, I felt it from where I was too."

He nods while you could practically see sweat pour out of him in bucket amounts, he was still red in the face and you held back on calling him a tomato. Really, if it was anyone else, you would have walked off already. But he was someone that had done the exam, and you hadn't talked to Kiri since you left a week ago.

"I just got back from UA actual. This may be too personal since we just met, but did you make it in?"

He quickly stopped blushing and stood straight, looking you in the eyes, then looked down and spoke in a sad tone.

"I... don't know, I haven't gotten my letter yet."

You hum, nodding. You could understand his disappointment, it's a pretty big thing for you as well.

"Well, if someone like me got in, there's no doubt in my mind you made it in."

You give his shoulder a pat, and he looked at you with a blank but also calculating excretion. 

"Someone like you?"

You decide not to answer, giving him one last smile before turning away, then you stopped. Turning back you saw him looking at you expectantly, the back of your mind asking you why the few guys you've met already act like cute dogs.

"By the way, what's your name, or should I just keep calling you green-haired boy with freckles?"

His cheeks flushed as he looked at you with wide eyes.

"Eh! My names Midoriya Izuku!"

You smile, testing out the name on your tongue.

"Midoriya Izuku... Cute. Names Uchukyozo Y/n, but you can just call me Y/n."

You give him one last smile before turning down the street again, making your way as you mumbled to yourself, not at all aware of the teenage boy you just flustered to no end behind you.

"Now... where was that library again?"

------

"Well, well, well. Now, who's this fancy lookin' lady?"

You roll your eyes as you make your away into the alley, it was late evening already and your new UA school bag was not only filled with stuff Principle Nezu gave you, but stuffed in were a couple of small books while you carried the bigger books in your arms that you had (legally) narrowed from the library.

Riji looked you up and down like you were someone he's never seen before, so naturally, you play along.

You pretend to do hair flip since you were holding books, and you walked with your head held high and chest puffed.

"Why, it is I, queen who-gives-a-fuck the third. I've come from the land of stick-up-your-ass to announce I'm better than everyone, with my piles of money that I stole from lower class people to make me feel better about never being loved."

Riji put a hand to his chest as he gave a hearty laugh, patting you on the shoulder as he walked you over to the entrance of your 'home'.

"Well, kid, I'm assuming it went well. Seeing as you came back with more than you left with unless you stole all that. In which case, I'm proud of you."

You laugh and shake your head, looking down at and readjusting the books in your arms. 

"They let me in, they were just a little confused as to why I've never been to school before... they didn't ask, just... prepared me for what it was going to be like."

Riji smiled and nodded, closing his eyes and putting a hand to his chin in thought. 

"Ah, school. I remember when I went to school."

You gently set your books down on the ground that wasn't too dirty, then looked back up at him.

"You went to school?"

"Ha! I know, right? I don't look the part, but I went to school pretty regularly. That, of course, was before my old man married a troll who kicked me out as soon as I turned 18."

You leaned against the wall on your shoulder, looking at him sadly. You knew he didn't have the best life, no one on the streets did, but you also heard how close he and his father were. That he grew up just fine before his father remarried and he got kicked out, after that he couldn't really start out from anywhere since he had nowhere to live. 

It's hard to find a job when you had no home, as employers just assumed you were on the streets for a bad reason and don't want to hire 'thugs'. You knew from personal experience.

"Were you good? In school, I mean."

He rubbed and sighed, looking off to the side.

"Not really, I was average at best. But, my old man didn't care as long as I was actively trying."

"What was it like?" You began to feel intrigued. "I got about a 2-hour lecture from a mouse/bear/dog Principle today about what it's like, but... I trust you more."

"A what?" He raises his eyebrows at you, but you shook your head.

"I'll tell you later, what was it like?"

"Well, it's hard to say what it will be like for you, school's different for everyone. For me, it was just... routine. I never joined clubs or did anything in school outside of what I was told so, it was always really plain for me."

Hearing this made you deflate a little, you had hoped to hear something better than that. As if he heard your thoughts, he shook his head.

"But, I knew some people who said school was the best thing ever and then never wanted to leave. They joined clubs, did activities, made friends, made plans with those friends, some even became good friends with their teachers."

Riji looked down at the pile of books you had, leaning over and picking up the one on top. The title read, "Astronomical theories: Black and white wholes to time travel.". He gently smiles at this, weighing the book in his hand which had to be over 2000+ pages. 

He looked you in the eyes, and you looked back confused. You weren't really sure what he was seeing, he put the book down and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"School is what you make it. If all you do is the bare minimum, like me, all you'll do is drift threw. If all you do is complain about the learning or the studying or the people, you'll live to hate school. Or... You could find things you like, do things you like, make friends."

"Friends..." You thought back to Kiri, the sweet golden retriever like boy who basically saved your life during the practical exam. You also thought about the green-haired boy, Midoriya, who seemed to be a sweet boy as well if a bit nervous. You smiled at this thought. "Yeah, friends."

"Now, you'd better rest. You have till April for school to start, right?"

You nod with a hum and gathering up your books, you slide the wood board over and slide your way in. Turning back you saw Riji pulling the wood board back to its place, giving you one last smile.

"Congrats, kid."

----

The books were piled around you, 20 had been your limit which you were okay with. 

You let out a yawn, ripping a small piece off a small food box you had and putting it in as a bookmark. You crawled out and pulled the hood of the dumpster down, ready to sleep off the long day.

Completely unbeknownst to you, a pro hero crouched on the building above your small hidden makeshift home. His goggles laid around his neck hidden in his scarf so he could watch you clearly, making sure you were alright.

He sighed at the sight of you hiding away to sleep inside a tipped over dumpster, angry that he couldn't do anything. Pulling his phone out of his pockets, he pressed a few buttons before putting it to his ear.

"... She safe... for now. .. Yes sir... Teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, especially not when school hasn't started... I'll watch her, sir. But something tells me... her star has only just begun to burn..."

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #5- Delphi Has a Two-Star Rating On Yelp

Issue #4 left off with some pretty raw dialogue from Fortress Maximus.

Now, that’s a lot of hot talk from a guy who looks like he’s wearing fairy wings. Hope you got some walk to back it up, Fort Max.

FUCK YEAH YOU DO HOLY SHIT THAT’S AWESOME.

And would you look at that! Got some familiar posing going on here.

Considering Fort Max just woke up from a years-long coma, and before that had spent three years under Overlord’s sadistic thumb, this sort of parallel might be cause for concern, but I’m sure it’s fine.

It’s fine!

After Fort Max comes down from his adrenaline high and stops cutting folks’ heads off with his titty flaps, Ratchet can finally address the downturn in Drift’s health, as he lays on the floor rusting to death. Turns out the two of them have a bit of a past, but we won’t be getting anything of substance out of that little detail, because Pharma’s decided to pull a gun on Ambulon.

He claims that Ambulon is the one who released the Decepticons from their cells, and that he’s most likely also the cause of the virus. Why? Because Ambulon used to be a Decepticon himself! Gasp!

Ambulon cops to having defected 10 years prior, which is that a long time for Transformers or not? It’s vague. Their sense of time dilation as a species is never actually addressed in canon.

Then First Aid pulls a gun on Pharma, saying that Pharma’s full of shit, because while Ambulon was busy being threatened, he rooted around in the Decepticons’ corpses and found something that shouldn’t have been there: their transformation cogs.

Then Ratchet reaches for his gun, demanding that Pharma switch to his alt-mode. When he refuses, that seals the deal on Ratchet’s theory- the virus doesn’t become active until after the infected changes their shape. That’s why Pipes and Drift are currently not-bleeding out on the floor after having been at Delphi for twenty minutes at most, but First Aid and Ambulon are perfectly fine.

I mean, fine outside of what’s probably equivalent to a major kidney infection being left untreated and turning into a leg.

C’mon, Ratchet, that’s the thing he’s sensitive about!

And then Rung comes out of nowhere and pulls out HIS gun-

No, that doesn’t happen.

What does happen is that Pharma shoots the life support machines and bolts, leaving the other doctors with twenty machine-dependent patients who will die without intervention.

Ambulon, on what fucking planet is First Aid not taking initiative? This guy’s done more in the last two days than you’ve probably done in the last year. Look at Ratchet back there, he knows how to properly appreciate a go-getter.

Fort Max runs after Pharma as Ratchet finally peels Drift off the floor and gets him into a bed. Drift, who’s pretty convinced that he’s going to die today one way or another, goes full sad cat and begs Ratchet to mercy-kill him, seeing as this is the planet the DJD base a majority of their operations out of, and the likelihood of Pharma being involved with them is looking real good right about now. The sprinklers have gone off, people are flat-lining, Ratchet disregards his own health and safety for that of a patient, transforming to give him a reboot, Fort Max comes back empty-handed because he’s too got-danged big to fit down the trapdoor Pharma went through, and the whole situation is really just the hugest mess.

Let’s check in on the Lost Light, shall we?

The boots are still real, y’all. Those goddamn fucking hooves come off, I’m telling you.

So, Tailgate’s come to a decision. Again. He wants to be an Autobot this go around, though, which sits a whole lot better with Ultra Magnus.

But why bother joining a faction now? The war’s over. Turns out, Tailgate’s feeling a little lonely, because no matter how successful you are, it just won’t fill the hole in your heart quite like being a part of a found family narrative does.

Magnus, moved by Tailgate’s openness and equally impressed by his positively ridiculous resume, agrees to help him prepare for the rite of Autobrand.

Of course, Magnus being Magnus, isn’t going to do this in any sort of half-measure; he’s going to go through the entire 10,000 pages of the Autobot Code, line by line, word by word, punctuation mark by punctuation mark, breaking it all down through multiple schools of thought to garner the deepest possible understanding of what it means to be an Autobot. Tailgate, though horrified by the prospect of so much studying, agrees, and a glorious two-man act is established.

Meanwhile, over in Rung’s office, the good doctor is ruminating on his history with one of his most prolific patients, Red Alert.

Red Alert’s been under Rung’s care since before the war even started, which seems to contradict issue #1’s claim that Rung was his psychiatrist for six centuries, but perhaps the case file got bounced around as Red Alert’s stationings changed.

Which doesn’t bode terribly well, considering Rung is, again, pretty much the only mental health specialist for the entirety of Cybertron.

Red Alert’s been diagnosed with Paranoid Personality Disorder, and it seems like it’s a pretty intense case, or at least it was before Rung got ahold of him. Red Alert had been doing better, and his military career had flourished as a result.

And then the war friggin’ ended, and it looks like the lack of routine- violence-based or otherwise- might be causing a bit of a backslide.

Red Alert’s been hearing noises, ones only he seems to be able to perceive.

Then again, he seems to have some pretty banging ears, so maybe he’s on to something.

The only problem is that where he’s hearing these noises doesn’t make any sense, because he’s hearing them under the basement, where there should be nothing other than the cold silence of space, according to the schematics of the Lost Light. It’s crazy. Purely crazy.

Good thing Red Alert recorded what he heard. Dude probably has a ton of experience not being believed, and knows the value of having evidence to back up your claims. He plays Rung the audio file, and after a bit of playback speed manipulation, they figure out just what that noise is.

Great, even the basement’s got major depression.

Back with Tailgate, it looks like Ultra Magnus has gotten a head-start on the study session, having knocked the little guy clean out with a precision strike verbal barrage of pure boredom. Tailgate nodded off during Magnus’ covering of section 19 of the Tyrest Accord, subsection 80, paragraph 5. This reminds Tailgate of when he met Skids and that giant yellow robot got all exploded.

Jesus, would you look at that shading. Ultra Magnus takes his literary references very, very seriously.

Back with the plague plot, Ratchet’s finally caught up with Pharma, who proceeds to tell him all about how he pulled off his big bad plan, in true villain fashion. Ratchet just sort of stands there and takes it as his eyeballs start melting out of his head.

Pharma is pretty much the only reason that Delphi hasn’t been wiped off the map by the Decepticon Justice Division, because he and the leader of that gang of murderous assholes have a deal- the DJD leave the outpost alone, in exchange for all the transformation cogs their greedy little hearts desire. The problem with this sort of deal is that in order to keep up his end of the bargain, Pharma had to start offing patients.

Of course, that sort of thing isn’t sustainable in the long-term, so Pharma had to orchestrate a way out, while still keeping himself out of prison for some of the most intense malpractice this side of Cybertron, so he called in a little help from some Decepticon nobodies and waved a little cash in their faces. He made a bomb, gave it to them, and they did what they were paid to do, spreading a illness that laid dormant in the liquidy stuff surrounding the t-cog until properly stirred by transformation. As Pharma tells his story, his face does the anime thing.

That’s how you know he’s SNAPPED!

Ratchet really just isn’t a fan of this new character arc Pharma’s got going on, but there isn’t a whole hell of a lot he can do about it now other than stand there and rust as his line art breaks down.

Though that actually works out in his favor, as the corrosion juices puddled under him during that whole spiel, enough so that they reached Pharma’s feet. Once Ratchet points that little detail out, Pharma panics, trying to jump out of the juice and getting clocked in the face.

Pharma said, whilst holding said vaccine in clear view of the man threatening him with a gun.

Ratchet doesn’t fire, because his hands are acting up- talk about poor timing- but Pharma doesn’t have that problem, onlining his built-in guns and shooting Ratchet, seemingly killing him.

Or not. It’s the return of the smiler, Ratchet’s vaguely creepy solid light avatar, best known for telling teenagers to get inside him and making mechanics uncomfortable.

The sight of this creepy little man throws Pharma off enough to allow Ratchet to tackle him, the vaccine flying out of his hands and rolling towards the edge of the incredibly tall portion of the outpost they’re currently on top of.

As the vaccine glowstick falls over the edge, Pharma, understandably, becomes furious, attacking Ratchet, though it doesn’t really work out for him too well. Guess that’s just what happens when your shut-in ass tries to tangle with a dude who’s been on the front lines for years now.

Ratchet, please make a fucking appointment with Rung, I’m begging you. This isn’t a healthy attitude to have towards yourself.

Because he got his arm stomped on real good earlier, Pharma’s on a timer for how much longer he’ll be able to hang onto the edge of the building, before he has to decide whether or not to risk transforming to save himself from impact with the ground, or just chancing being a neigh-indestructible space robot. Ratchet gives him a raw-ass one-liner, turning his back on the dude who has gun turrets built into his shoulder blades.

Luckily Drift hasn’t completely melted yet and managed to get up the ladder to the roof access just in time.

And thus the power of violence saves the day!

Ratchet’s avatar caught the vaccine as it was falling, because he’s just that good at multitasking, so it wasn’t lost at all, and they were able to save everyone from rusting to death. Even Pipes is okay, and you know how much Roberts likes killing that guy. Things are looking up!

Because Delphi’s been revealed to be pretty much the worst place ever, everyone is evacuated to the Lost Light, where First Aid will finally get the credit he’s due.

Suck it, Ambulon!

Ratchet figured out that First Aid sent the datalog that alerted him to the situation on Delphi, because he too is a giant nerd, and like recognizes like. The two lament the loss of the person Pharma had been, wishing they could have saved him.

Yeah, Ratchet, that sentiment goes a hell of a lot further when you don’t steal the man’s hands.

Like, I know he wasn’t using them anymore, but Jesus.

And thus the “Ratchet can’t do shit because his hands suck” arc draws to a close.

[proxylynn]

Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #7

Chapter 7: Lead not into temptation but obsession

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I NOW OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, WHICH USED TO BELONG TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). I ALSO OWN MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND A LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR AN ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT. SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

David and Lynsie stay in the fog for a long while. Telling dumb jokes and ridiculous stories. Wanting to build a better connection, David goes into detail on how his life changed before he found himself in this nightmare. She had to admit to herself, when he opens up, he is more enthralling than any movie.

King scrunches his broken fist. Cheers and hollers from a drunk crowd echo through the alleyway. He stares at his fallen opponent. Bleeding face. Busted nose. Chipped teeth. He kicks him in the mouth to put the finishing touches on his handiwork. He never lost a fight. Not now, not ever. Always bet on King. He glances over the crowd. Spots Donnie. An old friend with a gambling problem. Not much of a problem if he continues to bet on me. King looks at his watch. He's late for a family meeting.

King's father gives his mother hell for talking back for something he didn't quite understand. It's always the same crap. King grinds his teeth. Blood and warmth rush up his face. Every scrap. Every single one he won, because he saw his father's face on his opponent. He wants to lash out. To say something. Anything. But to say something is to be cut off. But this time he's not thinking straight. Or maybe he is. His father raises a hand to strike his mother. It happens faster than the thought to perceive it. One moment he snatches his father's arm. The next he's beating him black and blue for years of accumulated shit. He walks away while his mother tries to help his father up. You're out! Never show your face here again! Ungrateful bastard! Get out!

He never really had friends. Not real ones, anyway. He had an entourage. A group of sods enjoying the high life with his credit card. Now he has no one. Not a single bloody friend to help him out. He had friends once upon a time in school. But that was long ago. He needs money. But money doesn't grow on trees and no one wants to challenge him. Not after what he did to his last opponent. He needs a job. His accounts are near empty and his old careless spending habits are hard to break.

He meets with Tommy. Tommy has no room for him in his apartment. Wishes he did, but he doesn't. Mick wants to help but his old lady won't let him. Same with Bill and Harry. His ex has moved on and she doesn't want to see his face. Something about being a shithead. He can't live in a hotel room forever, it drains the account. He remembers a face he recently spotted in a crowd at his last scrap. They were friends since they were toddlers. He was a genuine friend even if they went separate ways. King looks him up. Castledrive. He hails a taxi.

King hasn't felt real in a long time. He sits in Donnie's apartment drinking old ale, realizing how much he misses genuine heart-to-hearts. Donnie was his friend before he realized he came from money. The rich aren't really rich. He's not sure why he thinks this or what it means. It's just a random thought. The ale talking as it were. Donnie says he can stay until he figures things out. He's not sure when that will be. It doesn't matter. A sudden rap at the door startles him. Donnie stands. Opens the door to reveal a few men in black leather jackets. Muscle. King doesn't hear much. What he does hear he doesn't like. Donnie owes money and can expect a bundle of lead in the face if he doesn't pay. He laughs when he returns to the kitchen table. It's your fault, King. I don't know who to bet on anymore.

King lost his last three jobs and is going back to what he does best. A challenger steps into the circle in the dimly lit alley. Double his size. Massive. King doesn't care. A head's a head. He'll go down like the others. Crowd calls him the Ghetto Masher. The Ghetto Masher glares at him. The ref spits out rules he's heard a thousand times. King stares at him...and sees...not his father but his opponent.

A bell sounds. With a bestial snarl, the Ghetto Masher lunges. King evades a wild blow that would have ripped his head off. He feels strange. Unresponsive. Confused. Donnie screams at him. He glances at him as he receives a massive fist to the skull. Black swirls across his eyes. He doesn't remember the thud against his skull. He doesn't remember his legs buckling. He doesn't even remember collapsing in a pile of festering, garbage. He only remembers waking up on the couch in Donnie's apartment. He's lost his edge. His anger. His rage. His hate. Was that all he was? Donnie's asking if he's okay and he's not sure. Am I okay? Will I be better? I don't know. Was it just a fluke? A lucky shot? Happens to the best. I feel wrecked. I am wrecked. Donnie bet the last of his cash on him.

King's getting the hang of working behind a bar. Donnie sips a beer and tells him he needs to find another reason to fight. King tells Donnie he needs to get home before the beer he's drinking turns to piss. Before he gets in trouble. Too late. King spots two men. They approach Donnie. Grab him. Usher him into the basement. Not a good sign. King rushes to help but his manager yells at him to stay behind the bar. Screw it.

He leaps over the bar and rushes to the basement where he finds Donnie being beaten by Ghetto Masher with Uncle Brass watching in his chair. King doesn't hesitate. He tackles him. They exchange deadly blows. Ghetto Masher can hardly keep up. Uncle Brass sends others after King. Doesn't matter. King's a whirlwind of destruction. He cracks Ghetto's knees and thrusts his thumbs into his eye sockets. An eyeball pops out still attached to a series of nerves. Cries of terror. Ghetto Masher cups his eyeball screaming for medical help. Staggers and slams against the wall as more ruffians attack. Stop! Uncle Brass stands and approaches. It's well within my power to rip your fuckin' head off for what you did to my boys. King staggers to his feet. Not a bloody joke, am I? His debt is paid if you work for me. He straightens up and brushes his jacket. Smiles. Always bet on King.

Such a tale would normally be taken with a heaping amount of salt. But he knew she believed him. No one makes that kind of crap up. Plus the scars on his knuckles that he was surprised she noticed were very telling. He found it cute that she'd absentmindedly traced her fingers across the old wounds. Yet it also proved just how comfortable she was with him to drop all guard and trust him without a word. Oh, how it tempted him. To stop being the support she needed after the unknown hell that happened with the Monsters and try again to make his move. Never did he think he'd be in a situation where he'd be mentally fighting his sex drive. It didn't help that she would press closer to him in an attempt to get cozy.

On her end, this was a much-needed peace. He made her feel safe. As if there were no Monsters. No Entity. No reason to be fearful of herself. No pricks to look at her like she's a freak. It's just her and him. The toughest softy she ever met and he didn't put up some fake act when around her. She loved that. Loved it when someone was themselves and didn't give a shit to fit some 'normal' mold that was expected. As dumb as it was, the lyrics to Avril Lavigne's Complicated were more than just words in a song to her. And David King was the guy she could tell that she'd never find faking. Such peace of mind had her wanting to stay like this forever. Yeah. To stay with him and forget everything else would be a dream come true.

Eventually, the calm placated the storm of her frayed nerves and she manages to convince him into returning to the campfire. Whispers spread from those that think naughty thoughts. While others knew better and ignored stupid rumors. More important matters were needed to be focused on. Hard and troubling times are coming. Resources will be needed. Trials need to be won. The flowers are coming.

[SOMEWHERE IN THE ENTITY...THE ARCHIVES OF THE OBSERVER]

(Arcus 337)

At first glance, the endless bloodshed seems to be an act to satisfy some destructive instinct within The Entity. This seems to me a reductionist distortion of something more sophisticated, something more intricate, something even sacred. Beyond the horror, the shedding of blood and the very real appearance of death puts us in touch with life and can be an intoxicating and highly addictive experience on the deepest and most archaic levels. When our blood, or our life-force is offered to The Entity, it can be seen as a gift that is soon returned to us so that the horror may continue again and again. The world constantly churns with life and death, and death and life — the circulation of blood through an Old One from heart to body to kidney back to the heart again to be purified and begin anew.

(Arcus 984)

More luminous energy sent to me by an unknown ally. With this energy, I was able to open a small window that allowed me to look into a lost realm where I saw to my great surprise a city with survivors living as though nothing was out of the ordinary. The window eventually closed, and I spent the entire evening imagining how such a thing could be possible or if it was merely an illusion. The same night another surge of energy permitted me to open a doorway into a realm I didn't much recognize or dare explore. I stared at the scintillating doorway until it faded out of existence. It's as though the one manifesting these sacred glyphs is trying to help me delve deeper into the mysteries of this dimension or, perhaps, he is suggesting that the answers to my salvation are hidden amongst the countless realms discarded by this Old One since time immemorial.

(Arcus 985)

Instead of reading aloud in my usual way, I clambered to the roof of my tower and conjured a fire and a radio to listen to some ghost stories from a half-remembered radio serial from Terra Dark. Without a doubt, listening to these stories has proven to be the best way to pass the time, especially when you've got endless voices clattering in your head, bringing you down with their endless agonies and anxieties. Later I used the Auris to manifest The Storyteller to read his stories like he had done for his weekly podcast. He was composed of ever-moving, black fog, and I suspect that one day I'll actually be able to recreate a more realistic person to listen to or perhaps even engage with in something that resembles a conversation.

Listening to The Storyteller and hearing familiar expressions, I am wondering: how do I keep myself out of my own creations? The memories I attempt to record as fast as I experience them prove one thing to me. They show me objectivity is impossible, or elusive at best, and I'm never quite sure if my logs are a true and accurate depiction of the subject's memory or a whiskey laden interpretation of a nightmare. To add to my frustrations, I have recently noticed other voices have made their way into my notes. Other interpretations. Other thought-patterns from people whose memories I've likely spent too much time reliving. They are becoming a part of me and that wasn't supposed to happen.

(Arcus 986)

The Storyteller kept me entertained throughout the night with his gory tales of Nosferatu, so that I almost forgot my own personal living nightmare. His stories entertain and make for a perfect distraction when smashing golf balls into the abyss just won't suffice. There have been countless tales of vampires, and to be certain I've read most of them, but to my mind...his are the most chilling. More than once now I've woken in a cold sweat with the sense that my tower has been overrun by these horrible creatures with fangs for teeth.

(Arcus 987)

Another incident woke me in the middle of the night. An incredible surge of energy coming to me from an undetermined source. At first, I thought my mind had given way to illusions and wild imaginings until I realized the energy surging through my tower was widening yet another doorway into a lost realm composed of memories from an unremembered civilization lost to time. I approached and stared into the remnants of a war-torn, abandoned city with the eerie cry of a baby echoing in the distance. Just as I made to enter the lost realm the scintillating doorway shrunk and sizzled out of existence. I soon realized it may very well be possible to explore this Old One from my tower with the help of this unique energy and the Auris.

(Arcus 1007)

A new doorway has opened. For how long? I'm not sure nor have I ever been right even with my best guesses. Through the door of my study and into a lost and forgotten realm. Moss-grown, stone homes with doorways barricaded with wagons, planks of wood, and decaying corpses tangled in barbed wire. I walk by the homes gazing at the residual memories of soldiers killing villagers with swords for no other reason than the thrill of it. I can't make out which era or Terra world this realm is from. I search the realm for hints of how one may open an actual doorway back home. Somewhere in these memories and forgotten realms is the answer to my salvation. But...which ones...which ones indeed...

(Arcus 1275)

I have often wondered if those trapped here have ever paused to reflect upon the inexplicable significance of this world that defies not only time and space but death. A world made of memories that is neither consistent nor constant. Something akin to a collective dream made of the collective memories and beliefs of its inhabitants. Sometimes I wonder if not all worlds were like this in some respect and that reality is what we in fact dream it to be or believe it to be.

(Arcus 2217)

I have uncovered to my amazement and bewilderment memories of Claudette that are unlike any of those I've previously experienced. One might even say they should not belong to her...and yet...they are hers. I surmise these memories may belong to another Claudette from another Terra world, suggesting that this Old One may have clear preferences at the cosmic buffet for certain souls. It will take more samples of these memories to know if they are in fact from another Claudette or if, and it is possible, I am having troubles deciphering between her actual memories and her creative musings.

(Arcus 5736)

I have seen into the heart of this Old One and have seen things no mortal eyes should see...things that simultaneously perplex my mind and burden my conscience. With mysterious help I have ripped open reality, searched deep within countless rifts, and seen everything tumble helplessly towards chaos and entropy...towards death and madness...and for the briefest moment I had the ridiculous thought that the mysterious ally helping me could very well be The Entity playing its game with me, toying with me as a cat does with a mouse before the claw rips the tiny jugular out. Staring out into the endless abyss of black fog I thought that this prison could very well be another form of trial disguised and designed to feast on all the psychic energies derived from alienation, boredom, and all those bouts of unremembered insanity. I can't help but feel millions of invisible hooks in my heart and millions of unseen eyes all around me...watching me...waiting for me to tumble toward chaos and madness like everything else...waiting for my mind to turn against itself. This bastard of an Old One wants me to kill myself. I am sure of it. Or maybe...Maybe I already have, and maybe I will again...and again...and again.

(Arcus 5738)

An odd impulse caused me to climb to the roof and light a single candle in the pitch blackness of it all. When the candle extinguished, I thrust myself off the roof and plunged to my certain death but somehow ended up back in my bed as though I was waking up from a nightmare. I don't know what I was thinking but what this has shown me is...death is not an escape.

(Arcus 5798)

Incidents don't make sense anymore. Nothing does. Everything is a chaotic blur of unreal apparitions and jumbled memories. I can barely recognize my own thoughts or distinguish my memories from those I've been studying. Last night I relived the most horrific murders in my collection with a strange kind of...pleasure...When I had had enough, I looked in the mirror and did not see myself but dozens of faces morphing in and out of each other. Every possible face except my own. I thrust my fist into the mirror and my hand split and blood was everywhere. What cruel fate has befallen me that I should lose myself in the darkness while trying to escape its deadly grasp? The Auris will either be my salvation or my downfall.

(Arcus 7525)

It's hard to say what came over me and I can hardly recollect the last few hours perhaps even days. I awoke with several empty whiskey bottles and dead bodies sprawled across the roof. Not too far from the scene was my gory nine iron and a phonograph playing a solemn, French song about life in a city I will never truly know. I turned the bodies over one by one and they vaguely resembled those who had forsaken me to this infernal prison. I must have conjured them and destroyed them in the same evening. But...with a nine iron? I imagined far worse fates for them. I even have a journal devoted to dark and creative ideas on how I might actually one day make them pay for their corruption and impertinence.

(Arcus 8545)

I was woken mid-slumber by a delirium of shrieks and destruction so that I rushed to the closest window to see only the endless Black Fog swirling outside. Things in the Fog were coming to life and dying simultaneously as though The Entity were sick or in some kind of shock. Creatures roared and fought and tore each other apart somewhere in the raging abyss and it was both entertaining and unsettling. I grabbed a nine iron and held it at the ready, waiting for some apparition to attack me. But within moments it was all over, and I couldn't sleep, and so I took the edge off with a little whiskey and golf on the roof, the whole while cursing this blasted Old One and hoping what I had just experienced was nothing more than cosmic indigestion.

(Arcus 8557)

I tremble as I scribble this down. Squid-like creatures difficult to describe attempt to penetrate my tower, trying to destroy my study and tools to explore and manifest. I held them off for as long as I could, then, taking the Auris and other valuables, I rushed through a doorway and hid in a lost realm. When I returned, the tower was upside-down, my study completely ransacked, the creatures lay dead on the floor with black, putrid blood leaking out of them, and the smell of decaying fish was everywhere. What are these creatures and who is sending them if not this brutish monster of an Old One? I spent hours cursing and throwing these fetid carcasses out of my window and back into the abyss.

(Arcus 8789)

There are dead bodies in my study and I have no recollection of the last few days. The bodies have been flayed from head to toe and the faces have been beaten to an unrecognizable pulp. I dragged them to the window and thrust them out into the abyss wondering who they were and why they were in my tower. Did I manifest them? Did I create them for company? Or did they come from somewhere else? Had I been the one who butchered them? Had I lost myself so deeply in a memory that I became someone else for a short time? Perhaps they are not my creations but apparitions from the Fog sent by The Entity like the creatures I hear lurking about in the Fog now and then.

(Arcus ??????)

I...I have tried to distract myself from the negative thoughts that have been plaguing me as of late. Delving into the memories of the Survivors for more wholesome or at the very least comical moments. The rumbles of King, the failings of Dwight, the never say die spirit of Bill, the laughable oddities of Ash...It helped...For a time. My curiously brought me to look into the new girl. This mysterious Lynsie King has become taken with. Surely she might have something in her past that would be worth a chuckle or two. And there were a few I managed to find. The time she ran to listen to a song she liked and fell on her side after sliding in a sudden skid. The time she was jumping from large rock to rock with her younger cousin and slipped, ripping her skirt-shorts off and she had to hold it on till she was back home. The countless amount of comedy specials she'd watch on television. I wish I had more control as I should've stopped there. A blurred memory cleared up and I fell down a dark pit of sadness.

It's dark, the trailer called home is silent in slumber. A teenage Lynsie stands in the bathroom and stares into the mirror, tears streams down her cheeks as dark whispers fill her ears. Her gaze turns to the medicine cabinet. Shaky hands open it and reach for a bottle...Iodine. She scans the label before bad ideas play in her mind. She considers drinking it. But the smell has her question the taste. She heads to the kitchen, perhaps burying the taste in something else will work. She experiments with ravioli. It turns black in the iodine. Her mind fights itself, listen to the death call of depression, or listen to the instinct to stay alive. After a long twenty minutes of standing in the glow of a small nightlight, the tainted meal is trashed and the healing poison returned to its cabinet. She adjourns to her bed where sleep fails to come. No one in the home will ever know of this moment...or of the others.

[UNKNOWN TIME PASSES]

A few harsh trials have happened since that incident with Chops and the Doctor. I've had the good fortune of encountering the Hag. Hag wasn't so bad. That trial went so well I felt bad that the others were bashing pallets on her and taking advantage of her simpleness to play mind games that had her so confused that I managed to pop three of the generators on my own. It was so very strange and not at all what I've been used to so far.

Other than that, the others are taking trials more seriously and focusing on getting currency to barter with the Entity. Why this is I know not. Some look as though they want supplies or offerings. Others maybe want objects or cosmetics. David tells me something called The Hallowed Blight is coming but not to worry about it. Monsters get more aggressive and ugly, so no big deal. He has my back if shit gets rough. Tells me to get something nice with my earnings to feel better. While as nice as that is, it brings up questions I both want to ask and yet don't. I trust David. He's not going to steer me wrong. But he's also a tough guy that will downplay threats because HE can kick ass and not give a fuck about getting names. I'm not strong like him. So when he says no big deal, I'm inclined to be more on guard.

The call of the crows is heard. The trees sway. The air grows cold and a wave of fog rolling in makes four of us stand. A new trial is commencing. The black smoke consumes the soon to be victims and takes them away. The taken...Laurie, Ace, Quentin, and me.

[INTO THE FOG AND OUT ELSEWHERE]

The darkness fades and I find myself on a rug...in a house. My brain temporarily forgets this is made by the Entity, as memories try to crawl awake and build up hope that I've been freed by mistake. But this is not my home. Never will be. This is Lampkin Lane of Haddonfield and the one that calls it home is the monster called the Shape.

Haddonfield is a calm little town in the state of Illinois, without much going on. Or at least it was. If you were to ask anyone in the town, at the school or in a bar, if there's something off with Haddonfield, they'd decline. To accept that this was the birthplace of one of the purest forms of evil is hard. People living here have always felt safe and protected. There were no boogeymen or other shady characters in the night. No lurking, no skulking. People slept perfectly fine for decades knowing this for a fact. So when Halloween came about, the town’s folks were reluctant to accept that Haddonfield is now forever known as an evil place. Gossip and made-up stories flooded the town.

Nobody really knows what happened, or if it's safe nowadays. Some moved away. Others visited as morbid tourists. During the day, a common visitor wouldn't suspect a thing. But as the sun sets and night comes, an eerie quietness devours the town. People are afraid. And as you visit Haddonfield, you too will get afraid. Not only because it sits upon a dark history, but also because something is off. This isn't a real place, but instead a warped version of a reality that is no more. An Entity version if you'd like. A simple street with houses that witnessed the horrors that took place. A jungle gym where children once learned to climb. Sidewalks where fathers taught their daughters to ride a bike. All gone. Instead, it sits in the palm of the Entity, forever held in darkness.

Outside doesn't seem to be a smart bet for safety. Even if the starry night sky is tempting to observe. Inside is probably even worse due to small spaces constricting movement. Yet I take my time heading up to the second floor of this house, greeted by tacky wallpaper and random spooky abstract pictures. Windows and doors don't seem to be a thing on certain things. The house next-door is completely boarded up. The rooms upstairs are mostly empty. There's a locker, dirty mattress, a pallet that splits a double room, a dull totem that I break with ease, and a single generator in a very small closet type space. Not sure how much time I'll have before being found by this trial's monster, I get to work on repairing the gen. It's a slow process since I'm alone, but it can't be helped, there's only space for one to work on it. The confines of the room make the sounds of progress extra loud and the lights of the once dead home flicker with reviving life, a tell that someone is inside. Does this bother me? Yeah. But I've been getting numb to this. I keep my senses open for a single sound. Once that heartbeat plays in my ears I will go full crazy in an effort to avoid this super easy kill spot. Wiring this one seems to be more annoying than I first figured. A lot of repeating wires needing to be set right in dim flicking light.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

"Come on...I don't have time for this bull..."

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

"The fuck is going on out there?"

What killer can be hitting them so quickly? This is not going to be a good trial.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

[Breaking Point: Triggered. Resentment Tier I activated.]

Wait...That one sounded close. I pause working as the sound of fleeing footsteps clatter on the wooden floor...then up the stairs. I back into the generator as the shadows cross the walls moments apart from one another. A small one and a massive one. There's this crunching sound followed by a low scream...and a thud outside. Did...Did they get downed in a window and plummet to the ground. Brutal.

Heavy steps creep back my way and I feel my hair stand on end. This aura is dark. So strong I can feel it through the walls yet there's no heartbeat. The killer stops near the doorway, their shadow leaking into the room as something I vaguely recognize.

"...Big guy?"

Shape leans his head into the room before the rest of his form joins, blocking the exit effectively and showing the fresh blood dripping off his blade.

"H-Hey there..."

I'm not sure what the reason may be, but I'm suddenly more nervous than I'd normally be. He looks at the generator and then me. I feel my spine tingles move throughout my system. He takes a step, my body reacts and I drop to the floor.

"Mercy!"

He pauses.

"Please...You don't have to do this. I can't do much, but I am useful. Just...don't hurt me."

He mulls his thoughts over before continuing forward. I brace for a painful stabbing...only to hear a harsh thud. I glance over my shoulder as the second thud is made, he gave the generator two harsh kicks that had fire spurting from his boots with each hit. The engine sparks and smokes, progress has been regressed with damage. He turns away from the gen and I'm not entirely sure if he'll ignore me or not. Self-preservation mode is in effect.

"The guy you followed up here...Young looking, right?"

He takes a moment before nodding.

"That's Quentin. I think he brought a toolbox. There's another, older man, that's Ace. I think he has a key. I'm uncertain of the rarity. And the last one is carrying a flashlight, Laurie."

That name has his flame burn brighter. He grabs me from the floor and holds me to the wall, his blade to my throat.

"... .... ...."

For a man so soft-spoken he can be very harsh.

"Calm down, please. Does she mean something to you?"

".........."

"Oh! You have Obsession Rights on her."

He nods and I put my hands up.

"Then by all means...Go for it. I won't stand in your way."

He tilts his head so I continue to try to seem on his side.

"What? I haven't been having the best times with other humans. Why would I get in your way? How does that help me? You and them know what you're doing out here. I'm still figuring things out."

He eyes me before removing his weapon from my tender nape. Good. He's reasonable. Wish they were all half this easy.

*SHHHHHHUNK*

It's funny. I registered the knife hitting the wall before realizing it went through my gut to do so. Not a sound is made, thanks to my Skulker's Instinct perk. Shape stares at me, taking in the lack of screams even though my wide eyes are filling with tears. A harsh yank dislodges the blade. My legs resist the urge to buckle when he lets me go. Seemingly satisfied that he did something, he goes to leave and I aim to heal this bloody hole I now have.

"..."

He gets my attention.

"... ...."

"No do gens?"

He nods.

"Okay...*wince* Can I still do bones and loot chests?"

He shrugs.

*CLANK*

With that first generator being popped he leaves the room and I heal myself. If only that gen popped before the stab, then my tier one would've reversed. Once healed, I head down the stairs and decide to creep on all fours. I don't want to be spotted by the others right now. Now knowing the monster is Shape, it makes more sense why I couldn't hear the heartbeat. Shape's power makes him undetectable until he's built up enough murder-lust from stalking victims. I pray I won't come to know what happens when he's at max power. Then again, I know not what he plans to do with me once he is done with the others.

I leave the home and feel so out of place in this strange suburb street. There are mailboxes, childish fences, trash waiting for pickup, vehicles, a playground, and a road that on one end ends at an exit gate. Everything looks so normal. Like at any second, I'll see this neighborhood come alive with people going about their lives. But seeing the border past the houses breaks such ideas apart. This place is dead. A lie. A moment in time captured with all life removed from it. Well...all life removed but us.

I find a bone totem hidden behind some trash bins and tend to breaking it. Why I have to pick it apart and can't just kick the damn thing is beyond me. The totem dismantles with a loud crack, allowing me to move on down the sidewalk and ignore all other stuff going on.

*HIGH-PITCH SHIRK*

Sounds like Shape found Laurie. I wonder where everybody is and what they're doing? How are they all able to hide in this place? Is Shape on the others so much they can't work on generators very well or does he have a perk that's keeping their progression low? My thoughts are broken by this open sitting space. Trees and unkempt grass, a circle of benches lit up by three separate lamp posts. That's not what catches my eye. Behind the benches, even the lonely bench away from the others, are these large almost boulder-like rocks that are bigger than me. Fun memories come flooding back of playing on similar stones when visiting my Abuela. The urge to relive that feeling pulls me. I choose a rock pressed on a tree. A good sprint and jump are all I need. I dash towards to rock...but my legs refuse to leap as I want them to. Finding this odd, I grip the rock to pull up for better footing...and again my legs don't move.

"The hell...?"

[Having some trouble, little worm?]

God dang it.

"What did you do to me this time?"

[Not a single thing.]

"My legs won't move. I don't call that nothing."

[Your legs are fine. You are simply on par with the other worms now. Worms stay on the ground where they belong.]

I recall something the Doctor said while I was in his so-called "care".

"❄☟✋💧 🕈✌💧 ✌☼⚐🕆☠👎 ❄☟☜ 💧✌💣☜ ❄✋💣☜ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡ ☼☜💣⚐✞☜👎 ❄☟☜ ☟🕆💣✌☠🕯💧 ✌👌✋☹✋❄✡ ❄⚐ 👍☹✋💣👌📬" (THIS WAS AROUND THE SAME TIME THE ENTITY REMOVED THE HUMAN'S ABILITY TO CLIMB.)

The pieces fall into place.

"But I was able to climb before. My first trial..."

Its voice mockingly chuckles in my head.

[Just how special do you think you are? The Entity allows all prey to be free their first time. It lets the Entity know what they are capable of.]

That makes sense. No better way to measure the worth of what you have than by letting it be free...For a moment at least.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

Sounds like Ace.

[Will you be letting Shape have all the fun? The Entity enjoyed watching your hunt of the other worms last time.]

I won't let it goad me into snapping. I just need to remain calm.

*LOW-PITCH SCREAM*

..REMAIN CALM!

I need to distract myself. If I let the failings of the others get to me I'll end up hitting tier two, and once in tier two, it is much easier to go tier three. Maybe I can hide in a locker and bash my head in till I blackout.

[If it was that easy, little worm, the lot of you would die much sooner. You are welcomed.]

"Stay out of my head, you fucking...!"

Sharp pain claws me from within. I'm brought to the ground and curling in on myself like a wadded up ball of tissue that's silently screaming.

[Do not forget your place, worm! The Entity controls all. If the Entity wills it, you will suffer horrors the likes of which would rend your mind to shreds. Your soul and very essence would cease to be. Do you comprehend this or shall the Entity prove it further?]

I fear further damage to my tainted soul. I yield. Meekly kissing the ground as penance.

[Yes. Embrace the dirt, lowly worm. The weak are bound to it. Only the strong...The beasts...Only they can rise above and know power. So, Lynsie...What are you? A worm? Or a beast?]

I can feel my soul tighten as if the tips of dozens of nails threaten to penetrate the fragile thing with each passing second. My mouth begins frothing with the start of foam from how much I'm straining and hyperventilating to just meekly resist this.

[Struggle all you wish, little worm, for it is in vain. You can either become a beast and hunt for the Entity, or you can allow your soul to become nothing and to nothing you will become. No matter your choice, the Entity will have what the Entity wants. The only difference being the amount of pain you wish to give or receive.]

It hurts. Everything hurts. Why? Why does this have to be the way of things?

"Lynsie? Is that you?"

From behind some of the bushes, Quentin crouch walks by to see my feeble form. I want to speak but can't.

"Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

Garbled gibberish is the best I can answer him with. His concern grows and my bloody shirt doesn't help.

"Are you changing? Please tell me you're not."

I shakily etch in the dirt "NO". This makes him feel better but the Entity hates it and proceeds to tighten its grip on my soul. The pain blinds me temporarily.

"Let me see if I can heal you. Maybe it'll help."

Quentin is kind. Optimistic like most teens. Even when it's very painfully clear that the odds aren't realistic. He puts his hands on me and attempts to heal. But since I'm not physically wounded...

"It's...It's not working. Why isn't it working?"

With my sight locked past Quentin, him trying his best to heal that which is beyond his understanding, I gaze into nothingness and see shadows come alive. Images of multi-segmented claws twitch and twist in unnatural motions that unnerve me to my core. Suddenly...I see a light. A faint glimmer that disrupts these chaotic tendrils of doom and restores a tiny bit of hope. Perhaps it's Laurie with her flashlight or Ace with his shiny key. Wait, was Ace downed or hung? I can't recall. The light gets clearer as it draws near. It's not from a flashlight. It's Shape. His glowing silhouette and glistening blade become easy to see as he draws near. He aims for an easy strike. I'm down and Quentin is distracted. Two birds to be killed with a sharp stone.

I...I have to warn Quentin. He needs to run while he still has the chance.

[Are you sure about that?]

I attempt to speak, to do something good, and increase Quentin's ability to live. But all that comes out is guttural hissing. Quentin is understandably confused and most likely thinks I'm responding to healing efforts. Shape gets closer, readying his weapon for a harsh backstab.

[Choose now, Lynsie. Be a worm...Or a beast.]

Panic floods my system. Even though I know death is meaningless here and I'll basically re-spawn, the amount of buildup plus the pain to my soul has logic being thrown out into the void. My body responds without thought.

[Breaking Point: Triggered. Resentment Tier II activated.]

"Wa-wait, what are you doing?"

I quickly grab at one of his ankles and gab my thumbnails as hard as I can into the thin debilitating tendon that meant the end for the great Achilles. Quentin howls in pain and thrashes away from my sudden assault.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

A low rumble reverberates from my throat and I crawl away like a nervous cat.

"I am not a worm."

My words go over his head, his attention goes to healing himself and I watch as the embodiment of hellfire stalks right up behind him.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

The knife is plunged so deep into Quentin's back that Shape has to pull it out while pressing on Quentin with his foot. The look on his face as he locks eyes with me is one of hurt betrayal. Like, you can literally see him think "Why?" and hear the song "How Could This Happen To Me" by Simple Plan play. He doesn't get to crawl away. Shape scoops him up and glances at me. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Thankfully, he merely nods and walks away to find a hook. The stranglehold on my soul easing to stable comfort.

[Not bad, little beast. You get points for creativity.]

The Entity is pleased, causing me to shudder and wander off. I lashed out in forced desperation. Makes me feel sick.

*LOW-PITCH SCREAM*

Quentin's been hooked. This whole trial is bullshit. How is it fair that the Entity can just interfere like that?

[If you think this is unfair, wait till you encounter some of the other perks the Entity granted to the monsters. Take the Clown for instance. His "Bamboozle" perk allows his vault speed to be faster as well as calls upon The Entity to block that Vault location for several seconds. Only one Vault location may be blocked this way at any given time. But even this is enough to ruin even the most skilled of the worms.]

Are you fucking serious?

[Plague and Ghost Face have perks that affect generators. "Corrupt Intervention" answers her prayers to invoke a dark power that meddles with the Survivors' chances of survival. 3 Generators located farthest from her are blocked by The Entity for about 120 seconds at the start of the Trial. Survivors cannot repair the Generators for the duration Corrupt Intervention is active. And "Thrilling Tremors" pulls from his dark designs and shrewd composure to rouse The Entity. After picking up a Survivor, all Generators not being repaired by Survivors are blocked by The Entity and cannot be repaired for the next 16 seconds.]

Are you shitting me right now?!

[Nightmare has a perk called "Blood Warden". As soon as the Exit Gate is opened, Blood Warden is activated. The Auras of any Survivors located within Exit Gate areas are revealed to him. Once per Trial, hooking a Survivor while Blood Warden is active calls upon The Entity to block both Exits for all Survivors for up to 60 seconds.]

...Words can not fathom the levels of absolute hate I am feeling right now.

[Good. Use it. That girl, Laurie, has yet to be hooked. It would be wise to do so. At this rate, you will not earn much by the end of this trial.]

Leave me alone! I don't care about bloodpoints. Besides, that's Shape's target. I can't kill her.

[Do you really think she will allow herself to die to you? Who are you to believe the worms would actually fear death from you? Worms only fear beasts.]

I am not a worm!

[So you say. Yet you act as though you are a worm. You have fear in your soul. A beast has no such weakness.]

I know what you're doing! I won't fall for this!

[And what pray tell is the Entity doing?]

You want me to crack. To give in a be just another cog in your feeding machine.

[You are that regardless of being a worm or beast. The Entity does not care which you are.]

Then remove the scaring on my soul!

[No. You will not lose your punishment so easily.]

You're so full of shit it isn't even funny.

[All beasts have blight on their souls. You are no different. The only difference is the amount. Once you embrace what the Entity has given the scars shall minimalize. Till then, they will only grow and fester the more you resist.]

I growl to myself while stumbling upon another bone totem and begin working on it. I'll say it again, this entire trial is bullshit.

*CLANK*

Case in point, the second generator is finally activated. And not that far away either. I don't think Laurie has been downed this entire time, she's pulling her weight and more. Good for her. At this rate, she'll most likely make it out alive.

[Do you think that's fair? That Laurie will live but you will not?]

I continue to work on the totem and ignore the whispering, I don't need it listening to any more of my thoughts.

[Have you not been through enough? Everything that has tried to break you, you overcame in spite. You have had very few moments of peace. Even now, everyone and thing seeks to tear you apart for some reason or another. Do you not find it wrong for them to not aid you as they do the others? That the worms and even beasts think they can use you as they please.]

I'm finding it hard to focus when it is using truth.

[Should you let them get away with that? Letting their actions go without consequence? Where is that relentless drive to live? That spirit to prove others wrong? Where is the woman that made her inner demons submit? You do not need to put up with mistreatment. You are so much stronger than they realize. Show them their hubris. Make them regret their misdeeds. Let them know of the mistakes they made by hurting you. Give them a taste of true fear. Grant them this gift...The gift of true suffering.]

I have stopped my task at this point. It has made a very convincing plea. I am so tired of being looked down on. Being used. Being shunned. I just want to be shown respect or they very least be left alone. Why should the others treat me with such disregard? What did I do to them to call for such treatment? And the monsters...Even they have scum among them. They can't get away with this.

No! I can't give in to these thoughts. I'm better than this. Than them. I won't stoop to their level. I don't...

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

I don't need to...

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

I DON'T FUCKING NEED TO...

*LOW-PITCH SCREAM*

[Breaking Point: Triggered. Resentment Tier III activated.]

I NEED TO FUCKING END THEM!

[Special Ability: Anomaly State...Activated.]

...

Shape watches the young boy struggle against the Entity on the hook. A pointless waste of energy. No one would try to rescue him as long as he was there. At least, no one in their right mind would.

*HARSH ROAR*

This new sound pulls the monster of flame's attention.

[Grillby...]

"..."

[The little beast is free. Do not interfere with her rage. The Entity wants her to accept her place. Do you understand?]

"...Yes, Master."

A sudden flash blinds Shape, forcing him to recoil back with an irritated steamy hiss.

"Quickly, we need to regroup with Ace. Lynsie's snapped."

The sound of the hook being messed with is heard.

"Right."

By the time Shape's vision returns, he witnesses Laurie and the one called Quentin, now unhooked, flee into the street. The Entity told him not to bother with the odd one, but it didn't say stop attacking. It's time to stop playing on easy. While still able to see them, Shape stares hard at the humans, building up his intensity for the kill. The darkness inside feeds his determination to take the life of his prey.

[Evil Within II: Triggered. The Red Stain is now visible. Aura-reading Abilities now work. Terror Radius is active at a range of 16 meters. Regular Movement speed increased by 115%. Regular Lunge range open time: 0.5s. Slightly increased Vaulting speed by 1.48 seconds.]

Now that Evil Within II is active, he has no means to return to Evil Within I. Things will only get worse for the humans from this point on. Where his left hand was relaxed and swung freely mid-chase, the knife pointed slightly outwards and he had stiff restrained deliberate movement...Now left hand is clenched into a fist and held rigidly at his side, less-restrained freer movement. All the better to stab them with.

The pair race into a home. Shape follows. The Scratch Marks they leave behind in their sprint are like neon bread crumbs he can trace back to the main loaf that's itching for his knife to cut into. The scratches split, one leading upstairs and the other down into the cellar. Knowing Laurie, she's the one upstairs. He heads downward for the easy target. After all, the boy is still injured and bleeding. Save the best for last...heh.

There isn't much down here. The room loops full circle with two ways of entrance/exit. A single generator looms at one end of the room, it has not been touched. Though it's the space of multiple lockers that he knows the poor fool has sought safety in. A bad idea. The blood tells him where the boy is, but where is the fun in getting to the point? He moves to the locker next to it, his eyes not looking away from the real prize, and opens the empty box with force before slamming it shut just as hard. He moves to the other one beside it and repeats the same violent search.

*hurt gasp*

Perfect. The prey is terrorized. Nothing quite like scaring the literal crap out of someone. Shape reaches slowly for the handle and...

SLAM

The doors fling open, stunning Shape as the boy springs out for escape. Big mistake. Quickly spinning on his heel, Shape manages to catch the wounded boy with a mighty slash.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

The boy falls and is at his complete lack of mercy. He probably had that "Head On" perk and thought it would be his trump card. Too bad for him it also causes the Exhausted status effect. Now it was time to end it. Kicking the boy over, Shape makes sure he sees what he brought this trial...an Ebony Memento Mori. Quentin's eyes bug out of his head.

"*gaps* Oh fuck..."

[Yes...Do it...Claim the kill...Do it, Grillby!]

The token glows and Shape's flame burns bright in delight. He snatches Quentin in a flash by the neck and thrusts his knife deep into the thrashing boy's chest. Bloody spills from his mouth and chest, he's choking on it. It deafens his screams. As if the human was made of butter, Shape forces it in deeper till the blade breaches out the spine. Shape watches the light fade in the boy's eyes before tossing the cold husk to the ground. More. More needs to be ended.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

A heartbeat? Ah...Legion's "toy" is near.

*SCREECH*

"Shit! Fuck!"

The floorboards above clatter with panic running.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

What sounds like ravenous animal chases after the male.

Knife is raised above his head, pointing downwards.

*WILD SNARL*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Hmmm...Maybe she's more interesting than first thought. At least she was smart enough to be after the male and not his Laurie. Speaking of which, if she's dealing with him then where is...

*CLANK*

...Sneaky bitch. At least that made her location noticeable. Steam escapes the mouth of Shape's mask, the thrill of killing THAT girl, his obsession...It had his heat being shown in visible air warping waves. Something about Laurie...Something in his soul burned for her death. She pissed him off. Her lack of fear towards him demanded him to break that. To go all out and teach her that was to be feared. He is what goes bump in the night. He is a devil that will burn all in fire. And she will learn this no matter how many times it takes. Time means nothing here and death has no end.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

*SHARP HISS*

"Nice save."

"Run, moron!"

*ROAR*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

The playground. The humans were looping the "little beast" around the objects and pallets before blinding her with that infernal flashlight. Shape supposed the Entity calling her a little beast is fitting. Her appearance...Long untamed hair flared in her anger. Blacked out eyes with glowing white irises that seeped darkness itself down her pale flesh. Her limbs looked extended slightly, claws tipping her hands and exposed toes from which she stands upon. A crazed posture and matching sadistic grin indicate she is lost, lost in the madness of kill. But for as lost as she was, the two humans were more so as they soon noticed that there was a monster to their left and right.

"Shit."

"What do we, Laurie?"

"I don't get it. Why didn't she turn back after the gen pop and flashlight?"

Was that really your great plan, Laurie? Did you fail to notice something's wrong? Someone's missing?

"Where's Quentin?"

The question is asked and it makes the air get colder.

"Hey..."

Little beast gets Shape's attention, taking advantage of the humans' lack of understanding the tongue of monsters.

"That key he has...It's a Skeleton Key."

Shape's grip on his knife tightens. A key of that level can open the hatch if spawned and found. The Hatch will become visible whenever the number of fully repaired Generators exceeds the number of living Survivors by one. 4 Survivors remaining: 5 repaired Generators/Exit Gates are powered. 3 Survivors remaining: 4 repaired Generators/1 Generator left. 2 Survivors remaining: 3 repaired Generators/2 Generators left. 1 Survivor remaining: Spawns and opens regardless of how many Generators remain to be repaired. If she now counts as a monster, then the rule of 2 survivors 3 generators is active. That means a hatch has spawned and that key is a problem, only dull and skeleton keys open the hatch.

Feeling the growing tension, Ace fidgets as if moving to break away from this awful situation but it only sets off the little beast. She lunges at the older male and in a move of self-preservation, shoves Laurie in the way as a human shield.

*HIGH-PITCH SHIRK*

Four deep gashes slice Laurie's side, putting her in the injured state. This move, however, has two effects. One, it's hurt a human that normally is tough for any monster to deal with. And two...It's pissed Shape off. He builds up his need for murder.

[Evil Within III: Triggered. Regular Terror Radius of 32 meters. Regular Movement speed increased by 115%. Slightly increased Lunge range open time: 0.6s. Moderately increased Vaulting speed of 1.275 seconds. When triggered, all Survivors suffer from the Exposed Status Effect. Evil Within III lasts for 60 seconds, after which it regresses to Evil Within II.]

With his knife raised above his head, pointing downwards, Shape wastes no time charging in and cutting down the key holder...

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

Then backhanding the would-be-monster in the face, much the shock of her and the human.

"*growl* What's wrong with you?!"

Shape rumbles like a furnace ready to blow.

"...Mine!"

He points his blade at the human that is too puzzled to flee even though she could. While understanding him, it doesn't really make the little beast any more accepting of the hit and she barks back at him.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

In her eyes...He sees that same spark in her eyes as he does in Laurie's. The lack of fear. His fire flares in intimidation, it fails on her. She takes a bracing stance before pouncing on him, the towering monster of flame throws her to the ground. She recovers quickly and attacks with all the precision of a charging rhino. It surprisingly takes some strength to hold her back and a greater surprise when she starts giving off a pure monster aura.

"I won't be treated like shit! Not by you! Not by them! Not by anyone! Do you understand?! No one!!"

He can feel it. She's pushing him back. The Entity is fueling her with strength to prolong her transformation. If this keeps up she might actually become a threat.

*whimper*

They both pause at the sudden sound. A slight look to the side shows the two remaining humans have gone to heal in some shrubbery. The realization hits Shape before her and he uses the confusion to stop this now...by punching her in the gut and stabbing her in the head. Little beast staggers drunkenly then falls over hard, not dead but incapacitated. More important matters are in order.

...

[Most interesting, little beast. The Entity never thought you would be so brazen. You have earned all that comes to you this trial.]

My eyes stiffly open. My head is pounding like it was hit by a truck. Every part of me feels like it hasn't moved in hours. With a shake of my head and a long yawn my senses return, I remember everything. I'm still in the trial.

*HIGH-PITCH SCREAM*

Laurie? Oh...Oh fuck, I cut Laurie bad. What the fuck Ace? What dick throws a teenager at a monster? I need to do something good for once.

Wearily, I get on my feet and head towards the yellow aura in the distance. I'm much slower than I remember being. Probably feeling exhausted. I hope to sleep after this. Feels like I might for a whole day. Heh...If only.

I make my way behind the houses and into a backyard. There, a hooked Laurie struggles against the Entity's claws by a grave. I ignore this weirdness and reach for her, the least I can do is free her.

"How are you alive"

I look at her funny as she grunts coming off the hook.

"What do you mean?"

"You took a knife to the brain!"

"What?"

I feel my head and my hair is sticky wet. Huh? Go figure. My focus is wavering and she snaps her fingers.

"Stay with me. We need to find Ace's key."

"Wait...You're not mad at me?"

I sound like a child afraid of being grounded.

"Mad? No."

"R-Really?"

She takes my hand and drags me along.

"Come on. We have to go before he comes back."

She seems to know where she's going. That's good. Why didn't Shape hook me? Did he expect me to bleed out? Makes sense to me.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

"He's near."

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

She squeezes my hand.

"Laurie?"

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Peering around some cover, we find Shape standing under an empty hook, most likely on top of the key.

"We need that key. He won't let us pop two gens and open the gate."

I don't think we're on good terms after my freak out. So asking him nicely is gonna be a no go.

She looks off in thought.

"I'll be bait..."

This takes me back.

"He'll chase me. I know he will. And when he's far enough away, you rush in and get the key."

I shake my head, both to get the dizziness to stop and to disagree.

"No. You can't risk it. If hooked again it's an automatic sacrifice."

"We have no choice. You're in no condition to evade him. It's the only option we have."

I'd like to say what I do next is selfless...But I know damn well it's not.

"New plan...I lure him out and you get the key."

"How? You can't possibly move as fast right now."

I rub my hands richly through my hair and coat my hands in what blood there is. I'm in the injured state so I know I'm still wounded and bleeding.

"Who said I have to be?"

It takes her a moment to put two and two together.

"Tell me what I need to do."

I smirk and give her the details.

...

It's quiet. Too quiet. No sound other than the crows. Shape stares out from his post over the key. He knows the women aren't dead. He saw the alert when Laurie was unhooked. If they're smart, they attempt to work on generators together. No sense trying for anything else. Of course, there's a shot another key will be in a chest somewhere. But the odds aren't favorable. And even if they do try repairing generators, his spot has the perfect range of both gates. This is territory after all, he knows it better than anyone else inside and out. There's nothing they can do to...

*HIGH-PITCH SHIRK*

...Surprise him?

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

No...She couldn't have. No human can attack another.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

"Yo, big guy..."

She casually strolls onto the road and licks her hands. The crimson is incredibly noticeable on her skin.

"I see why you like her. She's fun to cut into."

Her cheeky smile makes him flare.

"Well, I'm off. Gonna go see if I can Mori her head off."

Human or monster, this little bitch needs to learn her place. You don't touch his Obsession!

"...No!"

She pauses and he bolts for her, the girl nearly leaps out of her skin before scampering on all fours. Something isn't right. There's an awkwardness in her gallop and she isn't dropping pallets. She turns around a large van but he retreats, heading back to ensure the key remains where he left it.

"Hey!"

He ignores her. It's not like he can't kill her at any point.

"Don't ignore me!"

Sudden weight hits his back. She's dared to leap on him like a crazy monkey. She's become a very annoying pest. Rather than grabbing her off, to teach her a lesson, he instead takes off running before leaping at a car and aiming for her to be slammed under his weight.

*ROAR*

The move works. She's off of him and indented firmly in the hood of a police car. She isn't going anywhere. Now to get back to the key before Laurie.

"I found it!"

Her voice echos. They baited him. Clever girls. Well, it's not like the weird one can get to her in time.

*grunt*

The sound of metal creaking as weight comes off it alerts him of his wrong thoughts. They lock eyes.

"In case you're wondering...That didn't count as a true attack."

A fiery roar bellows from Shape's core and another chase ensues. Now it's serious. She's slamming pallets and vaulting for shortcuts. Does she know he's not in tier 3 anymore and not at max speed? No, it doesn't matter. The longer the chase, the more he catches up to her and Laurie.

"Open it!"

His sight leaves the beast woman to see the blonde in the circle of benches with the key in hand. Laurie unlocks the hatch, the key staying in the latch and slowly dissolving away like a timer. Laurie leaps into the hatch and escapes in the darkness.

She gone...Laurie got away...And it's all this one's fault!

*HIGH-PITCH ROAR*

The stab catches her mid-stride, sending her tumbling and careening into a bench. This woman...This pain in the ass let his prey escape. She's just like Legion...trash.

[Such a shame. She was doing so well too. Oh well. Better luck next time then. Finish this, Grillby.]

Shape goes over to the pathetic wench and grabs her leg, dragging her over the still open hatch before pinning her partly to the ground with his blade. Panic has her clawing the ground yet she can't move without slicing into herself. The key fizzles out. The hatch violently snaps down on her and her roar is deafening out the sound of bones being crushed.

"... ... ... ..."

"*wincing* G-Go fuck yourself!"

Yep. Just like Legion.

The hatch opens, as she is the only remaining human in the trial. Yet he further denies her this freedom. He pulls her out, knife and all, then kicks the hatch closed. End Game Collapse has begun. She's doomed now. No key to re-open the hatch, no means of healing out of the dying state, no way of repairing generators, and no team to open the gate. She's all out of tricks and no amount of begging will work either.

"*coughing blood* Come on...Do it! Kill me!"

No. This one is not worth the use of his Mori or the glory of the hook. She will die right there. On the ground like the garbage she is. He walks off to destroy fallen pallets.

"*dying rage* D-Don't...Don't fucking ignore me! Kill me you flaming bastard!"

But her calls fall on deaf ears. Shape does not respond. The world rumble and the crows take the sky. She eventually becomes quiet. The sound of wood breaking is all he hears.

*SCREAMING ROAR*

That was a chilling sound if ever he heard one. The Entity has claimed her. It would be a kinder death if she had bled out, but he had no such pity for her. With her death, the trial is over and the world crumbles into a reset. He slowly removes his mask, letting his fire burn freely and stares off at the moon. Next time Laurie...Next time you won't escape.

"...Mine. Only mine."

[AT THE SURVIVOR'S CAMPSITE]

I wake up in a panic and thrash at the ground. Clawing at the dirt and biting obscenities due to the pain in my chest. It takes the combined efforts of David and Jeff to keep me still long enough to settle down. For once there is no fighting upon my return. Despite my actions, the others didn't point blame at me or tell me I'm a freak. Some wish to hear more of my aggressive turn on Shape while Laurie even goes as far as to offer to teach me one of her perks in thanks for escape. I decline for now, too shaken and sore to keep my thoughts straight. I need some time to myself. David, being my unofficial but probably gonna happen because it's obvious man, keeps an eye on me from his perch on the sitting log while I'm near the camp's border with my back to the others. The pain in my chest pleads for my attention. I don't wish for them to see this. I carefully recall the instructions Doctor gave me and summon my soul. The soft glow emanating from the multi-colored heart is warm. What ruins it are the scars. They've filled in again. Though...They don't look as bad. Shivers run through me as I slowly use my nails to scrape the blight out, wincing and whimpering when I can't hold back the pain. But I have to do this. If it buys me some time then it's worth it. It feels so weird. It's thick and oozy like blood yet solid like a clot. Gross.

[Elsewhere: Killer Shack]

*CLANG-CLANG*

"Tra la la. The meeting will now come to order."

Wraith materializes and gets the other killers' attention.

"It has come to our attention that something...odd...has taken place. Tra la la. Shape?"

Shape, leaning on a wall in the back, merely shrugs and looks at his knife as he recounts his trail.

"... ... ... .... ... ..."

The room is shocked.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE ATTACKED YOU?"

Trapper questions.

"... ..."

"DON'T BE A SMARTASS! I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID PERFECTLY FINE!"

"❄☟☜☠ 👎⚐☠🕯❄ 🕈✌💧❄☜ ❄✋💣☜ ✌💧😐✋☠☝ 💧❄🕆🏱✋👎 ✈🕆☜💧❄✋⚐☠💧. 💧☟✌🏱☜ 🕈✌💧 ✈🕆✋❄☜ 👍☹☜✌☼." (THEN DON'T WASTE TIME ASKING STUPID QUESTIONS. SHAPE WAS QUITE CLEAR.)

Doctor talks down to Trapper, earning him a nasty glare.

"Ah, it makes sense now. The girl is as rebellious as Legion. No wonder he chose her for Obsession."

Plague comments with a coy smile. Legion mumbles curses to himself under his breath.

"🏱☹☜✌💧☜...🕈☟✌❄ 🕈☜ 💧☟⚐🕆☹👎 👌☜ ☞⚐👍🕆💧✋☠☝ ⚐☠ ✋💧 ❄☟✌❄ ❄☟☜ ⚐👎👎✋❄✡ ✋💧 👍✌🏱✌👌☹☜ ⚐☞ ☠⚐❄ ⚐☠☹✡ ☝⚐✋☠☝ ✌☞❄☜☼ ⚐❄☟☜☼ ☟🕆💣✌☠💧📪 👌🕆❄ 🕆💧 ✌💧 🕈☜☹☹. 🏱☼⚐✞✋👎☜👎 💧☟☜🕯💧 👌☼⚐🕆☝☟❄ ❄⚐ ✋☼☜ ✌💧 ⚐🕆☼ ☞☜✋☼✡ ☞☜☹☹⚐🕈 ☟✌👎." (PLEASE...WHAT WE SHOULD BE FOCUSING ON IS THAT THE ODDITY IS CAPABLE OF NOT ONLY GOING AFTER OTHER HUMANS, BUT US AS WELL. PROVIDED SHE'S BROUGHT TO IRE AS OUR FEIRY FELLOW HAD.)

Doctor steps up to be front and center.

"✋ 🏱☼⚐🏱⚐💧☜ 🕈☜ 👍✌🏱❄🕆☼☜ ⚐🕆☼ 🕈✌✡🕈✌☼👎 💣☜💣👌☜☼ ✌☠👎 🏱🕆❄ ☟☜☼ ❄☟☼⚐🕆☝☟ ✌ 💧☜☼✋☜💧 ⚐☞ ❄☜💧❄💧..." (I PROPOSE WE CAPTURE OUR WAYWARD MEMBER AND PUT HER THROUGH A SERIES OF TESTS...)

"oh hell no!"

Legion barks.

"after that stunt you pulled, you aren't going near my human outside of trials."

The others look at Doctor suspiciously but all he does is look off to the side dismissively.

"🕈☟✌❄ 👎✋👎 ✡⚐🕆 ☜✠🏱☜👍❄✍ ✡⚐🕆 👌☼⚐🕆☝☟❄ ☟☜☼ ❄⚐ 💣☜. ✌ 💧⚐🕆☹ ☹✋😐☜ ❄☟✌❄📪 💧🕆👍☟ ✋💣🏱⚐💧✋👌☹☜ ☼✌☼✋❄✡📪 ✌💧 ✌ 💣✌☠ ⚐☞ 💧👍✋☜☠👍☜ ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ ❄✌😐☜ ✌☠✡ ✌☠👎 ☜✞☜☼✡ ⚐🏱🏱⚐☼❄🕆☠✋❄✡ ❄⚐ 💧❄🕆👎✡ ☟☜☼. ☜✞☜☠ ✋☞ ✋❄ 💣☜✌☠💧 💧❄☜✌☹✋☠☝ ☟☜☼ ☞☼⚐💣 ✌ ☞⚐⚐☹ ☹✋😐☜ ✡⚐🕆." (WHAT DID YOU EXPECT? YOU BROUGHT HER TO ME. A SOUL LIKE THAT, SUCH IMPOSIBLE RARITY, AS A MAN OF SCIENCE I WILL TAKE ANY AND EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO STUDY HER. EVEN IF IT MEANS STEALING HER FROM A FOOL LIKE YOU.)

His blunt condescendence only makes Legion snarl.

"Anyway...Tra la la...Aside from that, this account marks another time the Master has gotten involved in trials the lamb was in. Tra la la. Any thoughts as to this development?"

"Ain't clear? It wants the punk to be more like us."

Huntress adds.

"While I agree, the timing is something needed to be taken into account."

Pig interjects.

"She's right. *cough* The Hallowed Blight will soon be here. The signs are starting to appear in my realm. *hack*"

Clown states.

"the hell is the hallowed blight?"

Ghost Face snickers to himself.

"what's so funny, robo-douche?"

"Heh...Oh, nothing. Just ignore me."

Legion rolls his sockets.

"can we skip all this filler bull and get to the point? tell me the challenge so i can leave you assholes to fuck all."

Is it any wonder why Legion isn't respected?

Wraith nods to Nurse and she approaches Legion.

"Very well. Take this and prepare. I would wish you luck but I rather see you swallow your pride in failure."

She hands over a scrap of folded paper and Legion takes it with malice.

"yeah? i'd tell you to break a leg but it looks like you're an overachiever there."

She hisses.

"Small moronic child."

"senile old goat."

A stare down happens for a few moments before Legion takes his leave.

"...anyone else hoping that fucker gets taken this time?"

Nightmare asks, to which many of them nod in agreement.

[IN THE SURVIVOR'S FOREST]

It had been enough time in their minds. Surely she had settled down since that dumb shit went down in Léry's. And even if she hadn't, it doesn't matter, she owes them a favor she can't refuse. She belongs to them...To Legion. Plus they needed to go over the challenge so it's not like this was a social call.

{do you really think now's a good time? what if she's all worked up and the other humans spot us?}

Boo points out.

{don't be such a little bitch. we went out yesterday. we ain't goin' today.}

Chops berates.

{sounds like someone is uncertain. do not have doubts, boo. we are legion. we are only as strong as we are united.}

Dead-Eye spouts whimsically.

{*scoff* what went up your ass and made ya say such pussy shit?}

{your mom after i fucked her to death.}

{oh, ya one-eyed freak! ya wanna go?! 'cause that's what's gonna happen if ya say shit like that!}

{you do not have the guts, little man.}

"shut the fuck up, both of you! we need to focus."

Bones reprimands.

"all we have to do is stay hidden, get her attention, and lead her out here for a chat. easier than stealing chili from cannibal."

{big talk comin' from the guy that wanted to switch out to boo like a wuss forgetting we can only swap in our realm.}

Bones ignores the obvious rage-inducing jab. His sights set on more important things. Light catches his eyes. The campfire is near. And it isn't too long before he's reached the treeline.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

She's close. That's helpful. Even more helpful was a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. She stands near the edge of the camp, her hands full of glowing goop.

"Yo, David..."

She looks over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the haunting faint blue of Bones' eyes in the shadows. The sight has her forget momentarily what she was doing.

"Need somethin', Luv?"

A male built like a house sitting on a log speaks. Upon closer inspection, the guy is recognized as a notorious jackass among monsters. Great. She's close to that schmuck. Figures.

"I...I need to get rid of this gunk. I'll be right back."

The gruff man nods.

"Stay close. I don't like ya bein' out of my sight for too long."

Well, that didn't sound like a creepy dick thing to say.

"Will do."

She makes her way into the woods and he slowly follows. A fair out of earshot distance is reached before she digs into the ground with her shoe's heel.

"So...How long have you been watching?"

He leans on a tree near her. Better to keep some space if she is feeling crazy.

"not long. just got here. um...is that...?"

"Yep."

With a deep enough hole made, she kneels and drops the goop in.

"After the trial I had, I needed to clean out my scars."

She covers the blight and turns to him.

"they any worse since last time?"

"Not really."

"good."

"Bones, I get the feeling you're not here to ask about how my soul is."

He nods, retrieving the paper from his pocket and unfolding it.

"we got our first challenge."

A serious expression comes to her.

"Go on."

He reads.

"hit all 4 humans within a single use of feral frenzy with the last hit being on the obsession."

"How hard is that on the difficulty scale?"

"our power is feral frenzy. while feral frenzy is active, we move faster and gains access to the additional abilities of pallet vault and feral slash. hitting a human with a feral slash puts them into the injured state and inflicts the deep wound status effect. additionally, this refills our power and all humans within our terror radius not already afflicted with the deep wound have their location revealed to us. if the hit human was already afflicted with deep wound or we miss the attack, feral frenzy ends immediately. hitting a human with a basic attack while feral frenzy is not active will deplete the power by half of its maximum."

"In simple terms?"

"*huff* feral frenzy lasts for ten seconds, not counting add-ons or hitting boosts. so unless the four of you are within forty meters of us, it's going to be pretty damn hard."

She folds her arms.

"So we're fucked then?"

"i didn't say that..."

He pushes off the tree to stand near her.

"we've done this before. it's hard, but not impossible. the tricky part will be hitting you last. might take a few tries to nail."

She closes her eyes in thought.

"True. I'm the only one cooperating. The most I can do is try to keep the group together and push others to be in your path so I'm the last one. Other than that I can't see much else I can do."

"that's more than what we'd get without you."

Her eyes open, holding a slight sadness to them.

"what? what's with that look?"

"Huh? Nothing. Just overthinking."

He doesn't really care.

"about what?"

Yet he still asked. A weak smile graces her.

"Was...Was Shape mad at me?"

The fuck?

"what?"

"I know. You don't have to say it. I'm aware of how stupid that sounds. But...*sigh* I don't know. He didn't seem like such a bad guy. And then I went all beast mode on him. Ugh...Human, Monster...No matter what, I end up ruining anything good that potentially comes my way."

Such a pity party made him sick.

"who cares..."

He puts his hands behind his head.

"it doesn't matter what the others think. nothing in life comes easy. you just got to live for yourself and flip the rest of the world off. otherwise, you'll lose yourself trying to be something your not."

She stares at him funny.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me so far."

"*scoff* don't get used to it."

"And here I thought Boo was the nice guy."

Her tease has his cheekbones lightly gaining some color. It pisses him off.

"don't make me stab you. you know i will."

"Fine, be that way. I was only trying to compliment you. I don't know what it is, but the moment we seem to get along, you default to 'gonna stab you'. Makes it really hard to want to try in this partnership."

She moves to pass him and head back to camp...but he grabs her arm.

"we didn't say you could go yet."

She eyes him funny.

"What else is there to say?"

He smirks.

"i'll owe you for it. nothing will be off the table. i promise. those were your words, remember?"

He feels her stiffen in his grasp.

"I said that to Chops. Not you."

He chuckles.

"how easily forget....we are legion. the four of us are one. what you say to one is said to us all."

She cuts an f-bomb off by biting her tongue.

"Fine. A deal's a deal, loophole or not. I don't break my promises."

His grin widens and she sneers.

"now don't be that way. i've already told you we're not like that."

She shoots him a look.

"Oh? And I suppose the knife blowjob was just a cute gesture of friendship!"

If Bones could mentally kick Chops and Dead-Eye's asses he would curb-stomp their tibias to dust.

"that...that was...uh...*groan* that's what happens when dumbasses think they can get away with stupid shit because they feel like badasses. i had nothing to do with that."

Much to her uncertainty, he lets her go and some of her guard is put down.

"ask yourself this...have i done anything like that to you?"

She sighs through her nose.

"No. You haven't. You've had the opportunity to, but didn't. So...what is it that you want then?"

He circles her a bit before stopping behind her and leaning near her ear.

"before our trial together, come to mount ormond resort. and wear something a bit more...comfortable."

Taking his words the wrong way, she spins around to slap him...but her hand is caught with ease.

"heh, too easy."

"You two-faced pervert!"

He glares.

"you were freezing your ass off last time. maybe get a jacket or something. dumbass."

Her expression softens.

"I...I'm sorry."

"damn right you're sorry."

He pushes her away.

"i like fucking with you. don't confuse that for anything else."

She pouts. This is far from the same woman that tussled with Shape.

"you can go now. we've said all we had to."

Now it's his turn to leave.

"Wait, Bones..."

Maybe it was the slight urgency in her voice or the quick footsteps that made an effort to go after him, but despite better judgment Bones comes to a stop. He wearily looks back at her from over his shoulder.

"I...I know that you all have names. Real names. Not just the ones given by the Entity or humans."

Where is she going with this?

"When I heard Doctor call himself W.D. Gaster...I've been questioning if the names you guys gave me are real or not. It's a big line I'm crossing by asking...yet...What is your true name?"

It's weird when she thinks. Such random things alter her personality. Things like this made her soft. And soft is not as appealing as one might think. Looks weak. Bones doesn't like weak.

"what if they aren't our real names? what does it matter to you?"

Her eyes dart from his, to his back, the ground, and then the emptiness behind her lids. She shakes her head and turns her back on him, slowly walking off. Why? Why did this bug him? No snarky retort or fake dismissal to cover up still intact curiosity? Just...Nothing? That...bitch!

"lynsie..."

She pauses though doesn't look at him. It pisses him off more. He runs up and punches her in the back of the head.

"Ow! The fuck's your issue?!"

"my issue? knock this shit off. it's pathetic."

"Man, fuck you."

"fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"fuck you, infinity!"

They glare harshly at one another. Teeth bared and growling. Tension building like a shaken soda can. This was better. There was determination in her eyes. He tosses her a bone.

"*huff* get your crap together and maybe i'll tell you later."

She becomes confused. Like that's something new.

"Tell me what later?"

He shakes his head with a small laugh.

"you're hopeless. you know that? think about it."

He takes his leave once more.

"later, meat."

He's already hidden among the darkness and trees when he hears her voice a final time.

"Thank you!"

Humble chuckles escape him.

{what's so funny, bones?}

Boo questions innocently.

"just thinking that we have an odd taste in women."

The other voices in his head fall silent, making him laugh. Things are going to get interesting next time.

[AT THE SURVIVOR'S CAMPSITE]

I arrive back at camp with no trouble. A few questionable looks are shot for how long I was gone and the shouting heard. But fuck'em. Bones is right. Screw what they think. I need to return to how I used to be before I got here. I need to focus on myself.

"Everythin' alright, Luv?"

...With maybe a random exception here or there.

"Yeah..."

I sit beside David.

"I'm feeling a lot better now."

He smirks and puts his arm around me. Nothing in life comes easy. But this? This right here? This is worth fighting for. I lay my head on his shoulder and enjoy the peace for however long it may last.

[IN THE SURVIVOR'S FOREST]

The black dirt shifts ever so slightly. A tiny withered husk barely breaches the surface with renewed life having soaked in the tainted goo that was buried atop it. This undead seed cracks. The top of its shell giving way to a small seedling. A sprout paradoxically enlivened by its death. The first Pustula has emerged. The season of Blight is nigh. And with it, hell itself is to be unleashed.

[chaostheoryy]

Flashes of You (A Reddie One-shot)

Summary: Richie’s childhood comes to him in flashes. It isn’t until he travels back to Derry, Maine and sees Eddie Kaspbrak that any of them start to make sense.

Word count: 2,185

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Language

A/N: This is my first time writing for Reddie and I’ve been in the It fandom for approximately 96 hours so forgive me if my characterizations are off.

For two decades, Richie’s childhood came to him in white hot flashes. He couldn’t fully recall a single event or a single friend’s name but he would see details and hear sounds so clear that he couldn’t understand why everything else surrounding these points on the road map of his mind was fuzzy.

The flashes would come at random. Sometimes he’d be going through the mundane moments of life like showering or eating. Other times the flashes would come to him in the middle of a gig. One moment he was setting up the punchline and the next he was staring at a massive statue of Paul Bunyan.

None of the flashes made sense and yet he knew they were somehow all connected: a crimson “V” scribbled over a sloppy “S”, an underground hammock, a pink polo, a fanny pack full of medicine bottles, the letter “E” carved into a wooden plank.

And oh God, the laugh. Every so often his ears would ring with the sound of a boy’s laughter — a sound so pure and contagious that he couldn’t help but smile every time he heard it. He didn’t know who it was that laugh belonged to, but he never wanted it to stop. He didn’t tell jokes for the fame or the money. He became a trash mouth comedian for that laugh.

***

When Richie got the call from Mike, his stomach flipped. Flashes bombarded him like lighting bolts striking the ocean. Blood, lifeless bodies, a red balloon, a condemned home surrounded by weeds. It wasn’t clear as to what these flashes meant, but Richie couldn’t deny that he was afraid. There was a reason he couldn’t remember his childhood. Something terrible happened in Derry, Maine and, frankly, he didn’t want to know what it was.

After throwing up and downing a couple of drinks to burn away the taste of his own bile, he made it out on stage for his comedy special. He was a mess, stumbling over his bits and forgetting the punchline to his opening joke. A man shouted “you suck” from the audience but Richie just smiled. That soft laughter of the boy was ringing in his ears again.

He wasn’t going to Derry tomorrow to follow through on some cryptic oath he couldn’t even remember making. He was going to Derry for that laugh.

***

The moment Richie stepped through the doors of the Chinese restaurant with Beverly and Ben, he locked eyes with a stranger across the foyer. His hair was slicked back, his brow creased with incessant worry. A small smile tugged ever so slightly at the corner of the stranger’s mouth and suddenly Richie felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Eddie.

The flashes started again, only this time with a wider scope: the crimson “V” scribbled over the “S” on Eddie’s arm cast, the underground hammock where Eddie draped himself over Richie and knocked his glasses off with his toes, the pink polo that Eddie loved to wear whenever he needed to convince his mom to let him hang out with the Losers, the fanny pack hooked around Eddie’s waist that held every stupid pill his dipshit doctor had prescribed to him, and the letter “E” carved beside Richie’s own initial on the kissing bridge.

Richie’s stomach flipped and a lump formed in his throat. Eddie Kaspbrak was the first person he had ever loved and it took him two decades to even remember that.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath before following Beverly and Ben to the table. How he was going to get through this, he honestly couldn’t say.

***

Dinner somehow went even worse than Richie expected from a bunch of friends-turned-strangers getting together for the first time in twenty plus years. The food was great and the conversations were surprisingly lively up until the point Mike brought up the murderous clown from their childhood. All of a sudden the table started rattling and the bowl of fortune cookies turned into a smorgasbord of nightmares. Richie’s own cookie mutated into an eyeball with tentacles and attempted to crawl across the table toward him like a zombie. He couldn’t recall a time in his entire life where he had been more disgusted.

Amidst all the chaos, he kept his eyes on Eddie. The man was terrified, trembling in the corner as a cookie with the wing of a bat fluttered around and shrieked at him. The attack brought back more memories of his childhood, moments where he had done everything he could to protect and comfort Eddie — drawing Eddie’s eyes from the horrors of Pennywise’s illusions, pushing Eddie behind him to keep him out of harm’s way, firmly grasping Eddie’s shoulder whenever he was afraid to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

When the illusion stopped and the dust settled, Richie bolted from the restaurant as fast as he could. He couldn’t stay and face the facts. If he stayed, he was going to die. And, on top of that, he would be forced to come to terms with the ugly ass truth that was his feelings for Eddie. Being closeted for his entire life was one thing. Finding out that the man he had unknowingly been in love with for nearly thirty years was married to somebody else was a whole other level of suffering.

Standing in the parking lot, Richie was surprised to find Eddie at his side. Eddie wanted out just as badly as him and, frankly, Richie was relieved. If Eddie ran away just like him, they would both survive. The idea of going back to the life where he no longer knew who Eddie was sucked. But a life of oblivious wandering and shitty stand-up was better than a life where Eddie was murdered by a psychotic, shapeshifting clown.

Mike tried with every ounce of his being to convince them to stay and defeat Pennywise together but their will to live was stronger. Richie hopped in his Mustang and headed back to the inn with Eddie hot on his trail.

***

Neither Richie nor Eddie said anything to one another when they got back to the Derry Town House. They simply bolted up the stairs to their respective rooms and started packing. Having brought nothing more than a small carry-on sized duffle bag, Richie finished gathering his belongings before Eddie had even managed to lay his clothes out on the bed.

“What’re you moving in?” Richie teased when he peeked his head into Eddie’s room and saw the two open suitcases on the floor. “Look at all this shit.”

Eddie frowned. “Fuck off. I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing coming to Derry so how was I supposed to know what to bring?”

“I only own like two shirts. Guess I’m not in any position to judge.”

Richie eyed the pile of clothes and was drawn to a vaguely familiar shade of pink. A soft smile yanked at the corner of his mouth.

“Your style hasn’t changed much has it, Eds?”

Eddie followed his gaze to the pink polo laying by the foot of the bed. “Myra hates any outfit that’s not a suit and tie,” Eddie said as he continued folding his collection of dress pants.

“Well, somebody needs to pull the stick out of her ass ‘cause that shirt is bitchin’, man.”

Richie’s heart nearly soared when Eddie laughed. That was it, the whole reason Richie came back.

A long silence blanketed the room as Richie watched Eddie work. Twenty-seven years later and Eddie was still as precise as can be, making sure every article of clothing was folded into the same dimensions before he put them in the suitcase. Things had to be as perfect and clean as possible. At least, that’s what Eddie’s mom had taught him.

“Jesus Christ, would you pick up the pace? I’m gonna pass a fucking kidney stone before you finish packing,” Richie quipped to break the silence.

Eddie threw him a look. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, dickwad?”

“Not until Tuesday night when your mom and I meet up for our weekly date night at Olive Garden.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie snapped despite the amused gleam in his eye.

“I’m serious, Spaghetti. You better not cock-block me on my date or I swear to God I’m shoving those unlimited breadsticks up your ass.”

Eddie stopped all of a sudden, the shirt in his grasp hanging limply in wait to be folded. The expression on his face was almost impossible to read. Richie felt his chest tighten.

“Eds? You alright?” Richie asked hesitantly. “Look, if the mom jokes are too much, I can ease off-“

“No it’s fine. It’s just that no one’s ever...” Eddie’s thought trailed off. “How much do you remember? About our childhood?”

Richie adjusted the shoulder strap of his bag and shrugged. “Not much. Bits and pieces used to come back in flashes but I couldn’t even figure out what the hell they all meant until I got here. It’s like some fucked up jigsaw puzzle that my brain’s still trying to put together.”

Eddie laid the shirt in his hands down on the bed and leaned against the wooden post. “It doesn’t make any sense, man. How can we be best friends for years and then suddenly forget everything about each other once we separate? You don’t just-“ Eddie swallowed. The worry lines on his brow were even deeper than before. “I saw you on TV — one of your comedy specials. I looked right at you and, even though I had never heard your name before I just got this feeling like...Like I knew you.”

Richie felt like his throat was going to collapse in on itself. If Eddie had gone through the same things he had, what kind of flashes had come to him over the years? What pieces of Richie Tozier had stuck in his brain?

“Did you finish the special?”

“God no. It was terrible. I don’t know who the dipshit is that writes your jokes but he fucking sucks.”

Richie grinned from ear to ear. “I’m firing him the second I get back to New York.”

Eddie returned his smile with one of his own. “Good. You’re ten times funnier than any of the shit he writes anyway.”

Richie’s breath hitched. “Holy shit, Eds.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever complimented me,” Richie joked, stepping toward Eddie with his arms outstretched, “Come here you little Smurf. I always knew you secretly cared about me.”

“Fuck that. I take it back!” Eddie tried to slink out of the way but Richie scooped him into his arms and crushed his entire body in a bear hug.

Eddie groaned as Richie squeezed him. “You’re gonna give me an asthma attack.”

“You don’t even have asthma, fuckhead.”

Eddie went still in his grasp, his squirming ceasing without warning. He was quiet for a long moment. Richie swallowed and eased his hold, worried he had squeezed too hard and hurt Eddie. But instead of slipping out of the hug when the vice of Richie’s arms loosened, Eddie reached up and clutched at Richie’s jacket, hugging him back. Richie’s heart skipped a beat.

“I missed you,” Eddie mumbled lowly, “Even though I didn’t know it, I fucking missed you.”

Richie felt breathless. His eyes burned, threatening to form tears he never planned on shedding. He tightened his arms around Eddie again.

“You’re such a sap,” he murmured, “It’s a miracle you got a woman to marry your wussy ass.”

Eddie slammed the toe of his shoe into Richie’s shin just hard enough to really make him feel it. “Fuck you.”

Richie smiled despite the pain ringing in his leg. “Fuck you too, Eds.”

They hugged each other tightly for a good thirty seconds before Richie pried himself away. “Would you finish packing your shit so we can get the hell out of here?”

Eddie stumbled backward. “Fuck. Yeah. Gimme like ten minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll head down there now and make sure our psycho friends don’t summon the devil and get themselves murdered.”

“Good idea.”

Richie headed for the door only to pause in the doorframe when Eddie called his name. “What’s up?”

Eddie smirked, a familiar mischievous gleam in his eye that Richie had grown all too familiar with as a kid. “I probably should’ve told you this years ago but I fucked your mom.”

Richie rolled his eyes and flipped Eddie off. “Hurry up, asshole,” he grumbled before stepping out into the hall and leaving Eddie to finish packing.

As he made his way toward the staircase, Richie felt his chest swell with joy. Eddie had missed him just as much as he missed Eddie and, now that they were back together, they were joking with the same ease as they did when they were younger.

His entire adult life, Richie had wondered why he’d never fallen in love with anyone and now he understood why: Eddie Kaspbrak held his heart. Always had and always would.

***

Tagging: @justauthoring, @beepbeepstiney, @atownofeggs