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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years ago

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August Contest Submission #10: in my chest, a garden made for you

Words: ca. 6,000 Setting: Canon Divergent Lemon: no CW: Brief mention of blood, angst

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Elsa was three years old when her world changed forever.

It was high summer, and the castle had reached a fever pitch of frenetic activity as the entire kingdom awaited the birth of the queen’s second child. Her labor was longer and more fraught than that of her first child, the crown princess; Elsa was an easy baby from the moment she came into the world as Arendelle’s heir.

The princess sat quietly in her room with a nursemaid while they waited for news. When the king came to get her hours later, Elsa took her father’s hand, a strange premonition building with each step closer to her parents’ room.

Her mother was propped up in bed, looking drained but radiant. Instantly, Elsa’s eyes were riveted to the swaddled bundle in the queen’s arms. Her hand fell from her father’s grip, and she padded up to the bed in hushed anticipation. The bundle was titled towards her so she could see, and a scrunched little face with a head of bright, strawberry blonde hair came into view.

“Her name is Anna. She’s your little sister, Elsa.”

Elsa held out a hand, pushing up on her tiptoes to reach one impossibly small fist, gently running a finger over the baby soft knuckles in awe. She gasped; those miniature digits moved, wrapping themselves around Elsa’s finger and holding tight.

Elsa felt her world shift, and something in her young heart knew in that moment she would never be so taken with another.

—————————————————————

Elsa was nineteen when her world changed forever, again.

Golden summer light streamed through the castle kitchens, adding to the humid warmth from recently used ovens. Lunch was being served upstairs, leaving it perfectly deserted for a pair of princesses who were sneaking off for a secret lunch of their own.

Elsa set aside a couple fastelavnsbolle from one of the dessert platters, hesitating for a moment before plucking out another. Anna’s appetite had always surpassed hers; all of that natural exuberance required more fuel. The cardamon flavored buns were cut in half and filled with whipped cream— one of Anna’s favorites.

She jumped when there came a bang, followed by a muffled ‘ouch’ that echoed from the one of the store rooms. The one where Anna was currently searching for the cook��s private stash of chocolate.

Elsa paused. “Are you alright?” She called softly.

Anna’s head appeared from behind the pantry door. “Yup! Totally fine, nothing to worry about over here!” She eyed something inside— probably whatever had fallen. “Pretty sure those dents will come out,” she muttered under her breath.

An eyebrow inched up Elsa’s forehead and her lips twitched fighting a smirk. “Just try not to make it too obvious we’ve been here, please,” she said, her voice leaking exasperated fondness.

“Don’t worry Elsa, it’ll be like I was never even here. A ghost.” She waved a hand in front of her face, fingers wiggling. “Poof.”

Elsa snorted delicately, more of a forceful exhale through her nose, and gave her sister a pointed look.

Sunlight caught Anna’s face as she smiled back innocently, burnishing her hair and illuminating her freckles, flashing more green than blue in her eyes. She glowed as if the sun had sought her out, or perhaps, and more likely, that radiance simply came from Anna, as she gave Elsa a cheeky salute and ducked back into the pantry.

Elsa shook her head, smiling softly to herself.

She had just finished wrapping the smørbrød with smoked salmon when she felt an odd ache in her chest. Elsa frowned and brought a hand up to rub at her sternum. Brushing it off, she continued packing the rest of their picnic. Not a minute later, an itch sprang to life in the back of her throat. That was Elsa’s only warning before she was coughing roughly into her palm, and pulling something from her mouth.

She looked down and froze.

A petal, blush pink, lay in her palm. Alien and accusatory, it looked like an omen in a language she had never seen before. There was no time to begin questioning how and why; a rustling from Anna’s direction had Elsa snapping her fingers closed, the silken flower petal crumpling in her fist. She slipped it into the folds of her skirt, knowing without knowing how she knew that this was not something she could share. With anyone.

Anna reappeared, concern pinching her face. “You okay Elsa?”

Elsa cleared her throat with a quick smile. “Perfectly.” She uncurled her fingers and let the petal fall to the bottom of her pocket, masking the tremor in her hands by fiddling with the tablecloth in the picnic basket. Tying off the corners over their food, she glanced up at Anna, who still hadn’t moved. “Well?”

Her sister blinked. “Well what?”

“I don’t see any chocolate.”

Anna rolled her eyes with a grin and ducked back inside. “Yeah yeah, hold your horses your highness, I’ll get you your chocolate.”

Elsa chuckled, but the mirth slipped from her face as soon as Anna was out of sight.

She shivered and rubbed at her chest again.

It no longer felt warm in the kitchen.

—————————————————————

It was six months before Elsa found another petal on her tongue.

She was troubled by the occasional tickle in her throat, sometimes a lingering congestion, but for a while everything seemed normal and she could almost forget the strange thing that happened on that summer afternoon in the kitchen.

Elsa’s twentieth birthday came and went, and so too did any illusions that the first petal had been a fluke.

One morning, in early spring, she woke from a dream she couldn’t remember with a petal in her mouth. After that, one appeared every few weeks, until she could no longer deny the truth.

Something was growing in her lungs.

—————————————————————

It was becoming obvious to everyone that something was not right.

The unease in Anna’s eyes deepened every time she had to supply a fresh handkerchief, or ran to fetch a glass of water, or rubbed soothing circles over Elsa’s back.

Their parents had finally summoned the royal physician. He would be there first thing in the morning.

Elsa stared up at the canopy of her bed, heart pulsing with dread.

She thought of her last fit— the one in the library. Curled up on the plush loveseat with Anna tucked into her side, Elsa had been reading from an anthology of old fairytales. Anna had looped an arm through Elsa’s, leaning her head on Elsa’s shoulder with a sleepy sigh. She’d only made it through two pages after that before her lungs seized and Elsa had to excuse herself.

Before that had been during a state dinner. To escape boredom, Anna had resurrected an old game: first one to smile lost. Her tried and (mostly) true method was to make increasingly absurd faces at Elsa when no one was looking. Elsa rarely lost, but that night she’d cracked, fingers shielding her lips to avoid offending the present company with an inappropriate smirk. Except it wasn’t a giggle that came out of her mouth next, but a cough. With a few murmured apologies, Elsa was gone, necessity forcing her to duck into an empty room to clear her lungs.

Elsa worried her lip, trying to remember the last time her lungs had bothered her when her sister wasn’t around. She came up blank.

Could …proximity to Anna be making her worse?

The idea was impossible, absolutely ridiculous, and yet…

Elsa thought of her sister. Anna. Little Sun- the king called her- Arendelle’s summer princess. Full of relentless enthusiasm and joy, who had a kind word for everyone she met and would go out of her way to help anyone who needed it. Any situation was made better, simply for her being there. Anna was loyal and selfless and fierce and sweet.

She thought of the way their hands fit just right, like when Anna reached for Elsa’s because she had something to show her and couldn’t contain her excitement. How she rambled with passion about whatever caught her interest, or stuttered adorably when she was flustered. The way her freckles accentuated the charming slope of her nose, or the appealing silhouette she made in her dresses. The way her lips…

Elsa convulsed, her body curling into a ball as a bright flare of pain twisted in her chest. When it passed, she was left gasping raggedly, clutching a fist full of petals. A flood of horror turned her stomach.

When had she started feeling that way about her own sister?

How could this have happened?

Fingers twisting in the fabric of her nightgown over her heart, Elsa thought suddenly of Icarus. Was there a moment he’d missed, a sign he had ignored that could have stopped the undoing of his ambitious flight? When the sun seared a warning into his skin as the wax began to soften? Or was there no discernible line between safe and deadly, between one moment and the next before he was plummeting towards earth, crashing to the swallowing sea in a blaze of feather and flame?

Plants need the sun to grow.

Like Icarus before her, Elsa had flown too close to her sun.

She turned her face into the pillow, and wept.

—————————————————————

The royal physician pulled the dressing gown closed over Elsa’s chest, a frown tugging at the wrinkles bracketing his mouth. He removed the stethoscope and set it on the bed, where it lay, limp and sinuous as a snake. Rocking back in his seat, he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then turned to address the monarchs who stood on the opposite side of the bed.

“There is an… obstruction in her lungs.”

The king and queen shared a look, distress painting their features.

“An obstruction?” Elsa’s mother wrung her hands fretfully. “What does that mean, what kind of obstruction—”

“—can it be removed?” Her father’s deeper baritone interrupted.

“Is it contagious?”

“Is it consumption?”

The physician held up a hand. “Forgive me, your majesties, I wish I had more answers to give but…” he glanced at Elsa. She stared at the patterns in her comforter, spine rigid, hands folded primly in her lap. “At the moment I don’t know more than that. All we can do for now is continue to monitor her, make sure her diet is healthy, and see that she gets fresh air and sunlight.”

Elsa flinched.

“It may go away on its own,” he added.

The look on his face said he doubted that very much.

—————————————————————

Their parents were reluctant at first, but eventually Elsa convinced them that isolation was the safest option for everyone, including Anna. At least, she reasoned, until they could be sure she wasn’t contagious.

For a little while, things seemed to improve. Less coughing, fewer petals. If the staff caught Anna lingering outside her door they were instructed to shoo her along; Elsa tried not to hear the desperate cajoling and entreating as their voices faded down the hallway, leaving behind a cavernous silence and an even larger ache. Breathing marginally easier afterwards was the smallest of comforts.

Most days, it really wasn’t a comfort at all.

It became a concerted effort to keep Anna occupied and away from Elsa, but that didn’t mean there weren’t nights when Anna camped outside her door anyway. In hushed tones she’d tell Elsa about her day, what she thought about her studies, the latest gossip she’d overheard— anything she could think of to draw Elsa into conversation. When those nightly monologues were interrupted by more frequent bouts of coughing, Anna reluctantly conceded her sister wasn’t fit enough for visits.

Letters and notes started appearing under Elsa’s door instead.

Elsa tried to keep herself busy with her own studies, tried to keep thoughts of her sister as far from her conscious mind as possible— when she wasn’t inundated with endearing slips of parchment containing every thought Anna wanted to share.

Dreams however, were out of her control.

The petals she occasionally found on her pillow in the morning made that abundantly clear.

A year went by and still, Elsa tried.

—————————————————————

It’s been such a perfect summer and we’ve had so little rain, I can’t help spending every possible moment outside. But then I remember that you’re in there, sick and miserable, and I feel awful that I’m enjoying things you can’t. Remember when we used to sneak out and have picnics by the fjord? Gosh it really sent Kai and Gerda into fits didn’t it? Don’t think I never noticed how you always packed more dessert for me, or claimed you couldn’t finish so I could have yours.

I’m sure you know mother and father are leaving next week for that coronation down south on the continent. I bet the summers in Corona are even warmer. Maybe when you’re better we can go, just the two of us! You’re twenty one now, plenty old enough for us to travel alone. Apparently the princess is around our age, though I guess she’ll be the queen soon.

I wish I could see you Elsa, I don’t even care that I might get sick. I just miss you.

—————————————————————

Their parents went to sea and never came back.

Anna attended the funeral alone.

Elsa lay in bed, sheets strewn with handkerchiefs and the corollas of a flower she still had no name for. Her tears had been exhausted and she stared listlessly out the window at grey skies heavy with unspent rain. Emptiness carved a cavernous hole inside her, hollowing out all other feeling.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true. Guilt slithered inside her, making its presence felt lest she forget her sickness was adding to Anna’s pain.The one thing that might give them both a measure of comfort— finding solace in one another — Elsa’s curse prevented. The one thing she wanted so badly to do was the one thing she couldn’t, because she wanted it so badly. She couldn’t hold Anna, or dry her tears, or squeeze her hand as they stood at their parents’ empty graves and the last rights were spoken.

She was bound to her bed with a corrupted heart and damaged lungs, useless.

Anna came to her room late that night. She sat with her back to the door, not speaking a word. Frozen between fear and longing, Elsa waited. Eventually, her sister slumped over and fell asleep, right there in the hallway. Elsa stumbled out of bed and sank to the floor, the unforgiving hardwood digging into one hip as she lay facing the gap between them. It was only about an inch, but she could see a swatch of black fabric and the red of Anna’s hair, muted in the darkness. She was still in her mourning dress from the funeral.

Elsa splayed one hand flat on the floor as close to the crack under the door as she dared. Close enough to touch, almost. She watched the rhythm of her sister’s breathing until sleep pulled her under.

When she woke there was an entire flower beside her lips, and Anna was gone.

—————————————————————

For a while, there were no notes or letters.

And so, for the first time in more than a year, Elsa wrote Anna back. It no longer mattered that it cost her more petals and sometimes an entire flower, she just needed Anna know she’d been listening, that she was still there. Regardless of her… illness, Anna deserved more than silence.

It only took a few days for Anna to respond. Soon they were writing nearly every day.

With her letters, Elsa began including flowers. Kai or Gerda were gracious enough to fetch them from the garden, which had been cultivated rather extensively under their mother’s direction. One of the books she’d kept since those first frantic searches in the library was a piece of literature called The Language of Flowers. Elsa had read it so often that she knew the illustrations and their corresponding meanings by heart.

So, when she could, Elsa added an extra sentiment to her letters, a veiled meaning that Anna would never guess at.

That summer she sent honeysuckle often. Devotion and affection.

In the autumn, the pansy. You occupy my thoughts.

For winter, cyclamen. Sincerity and love.

Nearly every morning Elsa tossed handfuls of her own petals and the occasional full bloom into the fire, burning the evidence of her heart’s indiscretion to fragrant ash. If Kai or Gerda noticed a lingering floral scent amongst the metallic tang and wondered at it, they said nothing.

As time passed, Elsa found herself slipping in flowers that were more revealing of her true feelings, things she could not, should not ever say, even if her heart desperately wanted to. Not that Anna would ever know. They were hidden in a language she would never think to learn, and probably wasn’t aware existed.

That next spring her letters were perfumed with orange blossoms. Eternal love.

For summer it was lilac, for first love. In some of her weaker moments, the cornflower. Hope in love.

In fall, the intoxicating scent of jasmine. Romance and sensuality.

Primrose for winter. I can’t live without you. Sometimes, when she was feeling melancholy, a daffodil. Unrequited love.

Now that she was expelling entire flowers, Elsa finally understood what was growing in her lungs.

Camellias.

They meant deep longing.

—————————————————————

I never realized how much you enjoyed flowers. Did we ever spend much time in the gardens? I don’t think we did, at least not together, though I know it was one of mother’s favorite places.

Either way, I love them. Each one is so different and beautiful. But that’s not surprising. I think beautiful people have an eye for beautiful things. Or actually, maybe that’s just you. Being beautiful I mean, not that you only have an eye for— never mind, you know what I mean. It really is just the two of us now, isn’t it? Though, there are some days it feels like it’s just me.

I miss hearing your laugh. I miss seeing that intense face you make when you’re concentrating, or hearing your voice when you read aloud. I miss the way I could talk about anything and you’d listen, even if I went on forever about something silly or stupid. I miss how safe I felt when you were with me, like no matter what happened things would be okay, and you’d catch me. I miss watching your eyes light up when you try to hide a smile.

I miss you.

—————————————————————

Elsa tugged her thick dressing gown more securely around herself. It was only the cusp of winter, but already a permanent chill had seeped into her bones, agitating her lungs. Her strength leeched out of her a little more each day; time that wasn’t devoted to official paperwork or Anna’s letters, was lost to sleep.

Elsa fidgeted with the handkerchief on her desk, folding it into a crisp square. The creases in this one were so deep they had become permanent guides, a map she followed to sooth anxiety and pain. Hand stitched in one corner, the words: To Elsa, love Anna.

I do.

Like a lightning bolt, her lungs rebelled; Elsa’s forehead nearly touched the desk as she bent over, expelling her floral inhabitants into her hand. She scrambled for another handkerchief, fingers reaching blindly across the desk until they encountered cloth, bringing it quickly to her mouth.

Only after she’d caught her breath did she realize, too late, that she’d used Anna’s. She unfolded it, picking out a handful of petals and one full bloom, setting them to the side in a small pile. Elsa stared at the painstakingly stitched cloth, full of slightly crooked flowers and missed stitches. Anna hated embroidery. It required a patience and precision her energetic spirit did not often allow.

This had been pushed under her door in the early hours of her twenty first birthday, wrapped in blue tissue and silver string, along with a letter and a handful of crocuses.

I know you’re going to be queen soon (well, I guess technically you already are) and I thought these were appropriate. Or maybe giving you our national flower was dumb? I don’t know, but Gerda said they mean cheerfulness and hope, and that’s something I think you need right now. Happy birthday Elsa.

The letter was still in Elsa’s bedside drawer, next to every other letter Anna had ever given her. The flowers had been pressed between the pages of her favorite book, and the handkerchief she kept with her always. Though never used— for this very reason; now it was stained in blood that would never come out, not completely. An indelible corruption on something otherwise pure.

Slowly, Elsa folded it back up again, allowing the clean sections of linen to obscure the lurid evidence of her deviant heart, until she could almost pretend it wasn’t there at all.

She picked up a pressed flower from the desk, one for her next letter to Anna, twirling it between thumb and forefinger as she watched the snow drift down.

Purple hyacinth. Forgive me.

—————————————————————

Elsa was losing time.

Dizzy and weak, she’d find herself suddenly in bed, or slumped in a chair. A handful of times she woke with her cheek pressed to the cold floor, body aching all over.

Sometimes she thought she heard Anna’s voice, but the line between reality and dreaming were blurring, and it was impossible to know if her sister was truly there, or figment of the visions that clung to her like cobwebs after waking.

Elsa didn’t write many letters anymore, but the flowers said what she couldn’t.

Pressed gladiolus. You pierce my heart.

Dahlia. One true love.

The red tulip, pressed and preserved. I declare my love for you.

—————————————————————

A knock on the door.

Kai let himself in, calling softly, “Your majesty? You wanted me to deliver Anna’s gift?”

Elsa stirred, rousing from a half sleep. Anna’s gift? Her mind fumbled, trying to understand what he was talking about as a tide of lethargy fought for her consciousness.

It was still December… wasn’t it? It must be Christmas.

“On the desk Kai,” she wheezed. Was that her voice?

“The stack on the corner ma’am?”

“Yes…thank you.” Sleep was dragging her under. “… Merry Christmas Kai.”

She did not hear him leave.

—————————————————————

Elsa was having a rare good day.

They were few and far between, but when she was able to rise in the morning, lucid and aware, that was a special thing. Elsa reclined in bed while nursing a cup of tea, a book of poetry propped against her knees. She couldn’t find her copy of The Language of Flowers, which she’d been in the mood to peruse. It was nearly always on her desk, but it came as no surprise that she seemed to have misplaced it.

Knock knock kn-knock knock

The blooms, the heart in her chest strained towards the sun.

“Elsa?”

Anna’s voice, sweet and painful; ache and salve both. Grey winter light flickered through the gap underneath the door, Anna’s footsteps throwing off distorted shapes. Elsa stared at Anna’s shadow, heart shuddering at her closeness.

After a moment there came a big sigh, and her sister sat down against the door with a thump.

“I hope you’re doing okay in there.”

Elsa slipped out of bed and padded silently over to the door, sitting down against the wall. She tucked her legs under her, arranging the velvet dressing gown over her bare feet.

“I’m here.” Elsa winced. It sounded like she’d swallowed gravel.

There was a sharp intake of breath. Clothes rustling, Anna scooted closer, and her voice sounded from mere inches away. “Hey.”

Elsa could hear the soft smile in her sister’s voice, could picture the charming curl of her mouth. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, savoring the warmth that flooded her chest like a gentle fire, even as it clenched in warning. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Hi.” Elsa chuckled, feeling shy and a little giddy. It had been so long since they’d done this, actually talked face to… well, door.

“So…,” Anna said after a beat of silence. “Christmas was nice. We sent out an invitation for an open brunch cause I thought, might as well right? No one’s using the space and we have food to spare. It was nice to see the place so full, but…well, you know. It’s not the same.”

Without you, she didn’t have to say.

Elsa toyed with a lock of her hair, winding it between her fingers. It hung in loose platinum waves to her waist; she hadn’t braided it in days. At least she’d brushed it.

“I’m sorry.” For all of it, she wanted to say. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.

“You don’t have to apologize Elsa, it’s not like you can help being sick.”

Couldn’t she though? If Elsa had just tried harder? When had she stopped trying to fall out of love with Anna?

There was a huff of a laugh behind her. “Do you remember that one Christmas when we snuck buckets of snow into the ballroom? We had just enough to make that one lumpy snowman, what was his name again?” Anna snapped her fingers. “That’s right, it was—”

“Olaf!” They said together, dissolving into giggles.

Elsa wiped at her eyes. “They were so furious with us. I’d never heard them run down that staircase so quickly.” She winced as her lungs pinched briefly.

“Honestly I think father was secretly impressed we managed it. Just a shame our little guy melted so fast.”

Elsa hummed in agreement. “It was worth it though.”

“Sure was.”

“You always had a talent for finding fun that involved trouble of some kind.”

Anna laughed. “You loved it. Besides, you were always there to get me out of it.”

“Of course.”

Pain, sharp as a thunderclap burst inside her breast. Elsa’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, her hand flying to her sternum. Her lungs roiled.

Not now. Please not now.

“…Elsa? Are you okay?”

Elsa staggered to her feet with a whimper, camellias already occluding her throat. She suppressed the first few hacking spasms, but this was so much worse than usual. A few steps into the room her knees buckled, as the flowers came and came and came. Her legs gave out and Elsa crumpled to the floor at the foot of her bed, unable to stem the floral tide from her lips. Faintly she registered Anna pounding on the door, calling out, but then it was lost to the darkness.

—————————————————————

Elsa

Elsa!

A voice, calling her from above a dark ocean as she sank. It was so hard to breathe, her limbs weighted with lead and useless while the sea seeped into her mouth. In her darker moments she’d imagined what it would feel like to drown, what it must have felt like when their parents were dying. The pressure, the ache, the burning breathlessness—

But no. It wasn’t water in her lungs.

A living thing clamored in her chest, growing where no living thing should grow. Roots… she was rooted to the earth, not adrift in the ocean. She was being swallowed up in dark soil, a garden ready and waiting to burst from her ribs as soon as her body was finished struggling. Then she would finally be free.

And Anna would be alone.

Anna.

—————————————————————

“No…no, no, no—”

She was being lifted, jostled into someone’s arms. Hands, fluttering and frantic, ghosted over her, soft as butterfly wings, unable to settle. Words filtered in and out. The voice sounded incredibly upset.

“Elsa… oh please, Elsa…”

Confusion snagged thoughts adrift in a heavy fog. That couldn’t be right… Anna wasn’t supposed to be in her room. She was on the wrong side of the door. There was something she wasn’t supposed to know, that Elsa had to make sure she didn’t know.

It drifted away.

—————————————————————

She was in bed.

Elsa felt the familiar weight of her comforter and the pillows at her back. How had she gotten there? How much time had passed, and what had she been…?

Anna.

Her eyes fluttered open with difficulty.

She froze.

Anna was perched on the side of the bed. On her bed. In her room.

“Hey.” Anna’s smile was soft and hesitant, and a little sad.

Elsa pushed herself upright on shaky arms. Reflexively she touched her mouth, but found it free of blood. Anna must have lifted her into bed and cleaned her up. “Hi.” Her voice was a painful croak.

Anna quickly reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, pressing it into Elsa’s hands. Elsa gave her a grateful smile, studying her as she drank.

Anna’s thick russet locks hung free over her shoulders, the hair near her temples braided in a circlet around her head. The dress she wore was deep green with plum embellishments, a matching sash cinched at her waist. A sharply tailored black jacket with their autumn wheat motif embroidered on the shoulders finished the ensemble. She looked older. Beautiful.

Elsa set the glass back on the nightstand. There was too much to say and Elsa had no idea where to begin. She looked at her sister and found herself blurting, “How did you get in?”

Anna gave her an exasperated look. “I learned how to pick locks.”

“Oh.”

“Elsa…what is all this?” She looked confused and unsettled as she gestured to the flowers scattered on Elsa’s floor. In her hand was a camellia, spotted with blood.

Elsa’s throat tightened. She felt suddenly, unbearably naked.

“It’s…” Elsa waved a hand over her chest, feeling small and ashamed. “They’re in my lungs,” she finished in a whisper, shrugging helplessly. It was not even close to the whole truth, but how could she explain the nature of her affliction? How was she supposed to tell Anna that her sickness had manifested as a reflection of her perverse heart?

If she did one thing right in her life, it would be to take this truth with her to the grave. Anna had enough burdens to carry.

Anna gaped at her, then down at the flower nestled in her palm, her brow pulling into a deep frown. “Wait… what? How is that poss— I…I don’t understand.”

The absurdity of it all struck her then, startling a faint laugh out of Elsa that ended in something closer to a sob. She quickly pressed a hand her lips. “Neither do I.”

One of Anna’s hands gripped the comforter, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned white. She struggled for a moment, and Elsa’s heart squeezed painfully when Anna’s eyes turned glassy. “I… I can’t lose you Elsa, not when I—”

Elsa reached for her, but something behind Anna caught her eye and she stopped.

At the foot of her bed was a bouquet of flowers. Not just any flowers.

“Are those…” They couldn’t be. Elsa was fluent in the language of flowers, but Anna wasn’t. Her sister had no idea what those meant. No idea what they said. If she had, she wouldn’t be giving them to Elsa.

It was a bouquet of Camellias.

Pink and red camellias.

Pink, like hers, for longing and red for—

Desire. Passion.

Romantic love.

A mistake. It was a mistake, there was no other explanation.

“Are those for me?” Elsa rasped, weak with disbelief and a shameful pang of longing that slithered out before she could stop it.

“Yeah Elsa, they are.”

She shook her head in denial, staring at those impossible flowers. “But—”

Fingertips settled against her lips, and Elsa’s heart stopped.

Soft and warm, it was the first skin to skin contact she’d had in longer than she could remember, and it sent shockwaves through Elsa’s body. Suddenly every sense that had been dulled over the years, though intention or neglect, came alive. She had the irresistible urge to press a kiss to those fingers, had only to apply the slightest bit of pressure to do so, but that beautiful teal gaze had turned her to stone.

“Yes Elsa,” Anna said quietly. Unshed tears lingered in her eyes, her expression solemn yet underscored by a quiet resolve that blazed just beneath the surface. So unlike the girl Elsa remembered; a queen in her own right. Seeing it now broke her heart as much as it made her proud. She was meant to protect Anna from that burden. She had failed in so many ways.

Anna’s thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, and Elsa’s breath hitched. “I know what they mean.”

How could you? Elsa’s gaze drifted to her desk and the designated corner where The Language of Flowers always sat, now empty. The last time she’d seen it… was three days ago, when Kai had retrieved Anna’s present. Which had been sitting on top of the book. Elsa’s heart stuttered. Had he…?

Anna reached down and clasped Elsa’s hands. “Every flower you gave me… I finally understand what you’ve been telling me all this time.”

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t my intention, I— ” Elsa stammered. She could hardly breathe, her heart was beating so fast. “You weren’t supposed to know. Ever,” she whispered thickly, too laid bare to even deny it.

Anna’s smile was rueful. “I kinda figured as much when I got my Christmas present and your Language of Flowers was there too, with all your notes and bookmarks.”

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear streaking down her cheek. Shame raged inside her, hot and hungry. She felt lightheaded.

“Hey.” A hand brushed her face, encouraging her to open her eyes. “It’s okay Elsa, I promise.”

Anna reached back, liberating a red camellia from the bouquet. She held it up between them. “It’s okay because… I love you too.” Anna took her hand and closed Elsa’s fingers around the stem. “And when I say ‘love’,” she continued gently, “I mean in love.”

“How… why?” This can’t be what you want. You aren’t broken, like me.

A fond smile curved Anna’s lips. “Because you’re you, Elsa. Beautiful and kind and smart and thoughtful and loving, and so many other things. You’re perfect.”

Elsa most certainly was not, but it was difficult to argue when Anna was looking at her like that. And then she was leaning in, dark pupils fixed on Elsa’s mouth.

“You could get sick,” Elsa hedged weakly.

“I don’t care,” Anna murmured.

She was so close now and Elsa couldn’t think; words deserted her as those flushed pink lips drew her into their orbit.

Anna’s lips brushed hers in a whisper, her kiss ghosting over Elsa’s mouth in a touch so sweet, so unerringly devastating, it shattered the last crumbling walls Elsa had erected around herself. Her foundations fell away beneath her, until the only anchor was that forbidden touch, more perfect than anything she’d experienced. Frisson rippled along every nerve, shivering over her bare skin.

Elsa reached out a hand and found Anna’s neck, the delicate pulse beneath soft skin thrumming in time with her heart, accelerating under Elsa’s touch as she allowed herself to claim Anna’s lips like it was the last thing she’d ever do.

Maybe it was.

A noise, soft and high, caught in Anna’s throat, and her mouth parted to allow Elsa in. Elsa took what she offered, losing herself in the lush warmth of her, caressing Anna with a purpose she never dreamed she’d have the chance, let alone the right to do.

Anna broke away first, her gasps falling heavy against Elsa’s lips, amplified in the quiet room. Elsa cupped her cheek, stroking it with her thumb as she gazed back into eyes heavy lidded and bright.

Anna closed the distance again, her nose brushing along Elsa’s as she brought their foreheads together.

“I love you, Elsa,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t, not now.”

Elsa opened her mouth to respond and stopped. Something had changed. She’d almost missed it in the overwhelming euphoria of kissing Anna, but now a stunning absence was made plain. The revelation echoed through her like silent thunder.

“You won’t,” she said, her voice possessed by certainty, and filled with awe. Elsa lifted their hands, placing Anna’s flat against her chest. The heartbeat under Anna’s palm was no longer weak and thready, but strong and sure.

Elsa stared at Anna in wonder and inhaled deeply, from lungs that were completely empty for the first time in six years.

#elsanna #submission #august 2021 contest #prompt: flowers #cw: blood #cw: angst

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thatmultifandomhoe · 4 years ago

Text

The Size of a Heart

Pairing: Lee Hoseok (Wonho) and Reader

Word Count: 9,919

Genre: Established Relationship AU - Slice of Life AU - Smut - Angst - Fluff

Overview: Between work and obtaining an MFA, it had been too long since you and Hoseok had gotten to spend more than a few hours together, let alone be intimate with each other. When he whisks you away for a well-deserved weekend getaway, just the two of you and no one else, you eagerly jumped on board, and him. But when you wake up alone left with your thoughts, unable to escape the insecurities you once put behind you, this weekend changes your relationship in a way you hadn’t even hoped for.

Warning: Tattooed Wonho, Pierced Wonho, messy kisses, Wonho is a hoe for the reader’s boobs, size kink - body insecurity, body dysmorphia, talk about dieting, talk about starving, talk about binge eating, fasting, self-hatred, self-conscious, use of the term fat in a negative view – explanation of the butterfly project.

A/N: This drabble was perhaps one of the hardest fics I’ve written, and that’s because this story deals with something that I’ve struggled with for many, many years now. With that being said, one of the many things this story deals with is body dysmorphia.

For those who are unaware, body dysmorphia or - Body dysmorphic disorder - is a mental health disorder in which you can't stop thinking about one or more perceived defects or flaws in your appearance — a flaw that appears minor or can't be seen by others. I am stating this right now, I have never been diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder, but I have done many of the things that are mentioned later on in this fic.

This was not an easy story to write because I put in my own experiences with being self-conscious, with hating what I see in the mirror, with seeing an image of myself that isn’t what others see. To be honest, I’ve also left out a lot of the things that I’ve done because of that. There were many moments were I had to stop and walk away from this fic because it was so hard to read the things the MC is going through, and knowing that I did them, that I still do. It’s not easy.

This is just a heads for those who may not be comfortable reading such things. And that’s perfectly understandable. For those of you do decide to read this fic, well, I hope you enjoy. I really do. There are moments that made me laugh, so I promise it’s not all angst lol. I really do.

Master List:

Music Playlist:

Part of the Intimacy Anthology Project

©thatmultifandomhoe 2020. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The sky was burning as the sun set for the night, cloaking the city in its familiar darkness. Leaning against the side door, you watched the world blur by from the passenger seat of Hoseok’s car.

Only half an hour earlier did you get a text from him telling you to pack a bag. Somehow, he managed to clear his own schedule, and knowing that you were free as well, he decided that the two of you needed a getaway from reality for a few days, even if it was only to his place. The best of it all, was the promise of spending all day in his bed.

You and Hoseok had only been dating for six months at this point, and while sex with him wasn’t a new thing, this was the first time that you were going to be spending a weekend with him. With all the hours that he put into his tattoo shop, and you working on obtaining your MFA while still working full time as an assistant to a family run law firm, more often than not your schedules didn’t line up. Work and school dictated both your lives, making it near impossible to spend more than a few hours together.

Despite living in the same city, the two of you relied on video chats and messaging apps to stay connected as if it was a long-distance relationship.

Which is why once you had received his text about his plans, you had rushed around the apartment, ignoring the strange looks your roommates gave you as you ran to your room, throwing in clothes from the closet without a second thought and those lacey bra and panties that had been waiting for their moment to shine.

Three nights. Two days. Alone with Hoseok sleeping next to you, was all that you needed and wanted to do. There were no plans whatsoever that involved leaving his bed.

Shifting in the seat, the corners of your mouth lifted when seeing Hoseok glance at you, his eyes lingering on your bare legs as you straightened them out more. He was driving one-handed, the other resting on the console, fingers intertwined with yours as he rhythmically rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Won’t be much longer,” Hoseok said, lifting your tangled hands to kiss the back of yours.

You hummed in agreement, watching the corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiled and chuckled, glancing up at you before focusing back on the road. He had asked for you to be ready to go by seven, that way there wouldn’t be much traffic to deal with.

“You sure you won’t have to work this weekend?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hoseok nodded, kissing your knuckles once more and keeping them against his lips for a few extra moments. “I promise, love. I made sure not to book any sessions.”

Adjusting in his seat, he shifted his knee against the steering wheel, the clicking of the blinkers going off as he pulled into his driveway. Your smile widened as you let go of his hand to gather your purse and backpack, prepared to open the door when the lock sharply echoed in the car. There was no time for you to react because the next thing you knew, fingers were gripping your chin and turning you to face Hoseok. For a split second, his sneaky grin took up the majority of his face before his mouth descended onto yours.

His plush lips were soft against yours, and while he had given you a quick kiss when you had left the apartment, you had been too excited about being with him to be able to properly enjoy it. Now…the bags slipped from your fingers, a dull thud barely registering in your mind as you cradled the back of his head. Briefly you felt him smile, but when you leaned further into him, his hands sliding their way down and around your frame as the kiss deepened.

It had been so long since either of you kissed like this. Usually you settled for soft and sweet, occasionally indulging in his games when he would try to pull you back for a chaste kiss, then another, and then one last one, I promise, until you had to rush to get back to the office or class.

Hoseok tugged on the bottom of your shirt until it was freed from your jeans, eagerly sliding his palms over your back, trailing each bump of your spine and leaving your body shivering with his sudden touch. Threading your fingers through his black hair, you lightly tugged on the locks, his sudden groan shooting you straight in the heart.

“Been too long,” you murmured, shifting in the seat so that you were sitting on your knees in the seat, and for the first time ever, hovering over Hoseok as you leaned back down, hungrily kissing him.

When was the last time the two of you were able to lose yourselves in each other? Without worrying about work and projects getting in the way every single time?

There was no warning from Hoseok except for a squeeze of your hips when you felt yourself becoming airborne for a few brief seconds, finding your new position to be straddling his hips. His hands felt like they were everywhere, lost in the taste of the mint gum he must have chewed earlier to do anything more than moan when his hands slipped into your back pockets to squeeze your ass.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he slipped his tongue in, grip tightening on your ass as he felt your hips rock against him.

Even with the AC on, the cold air did nothing to cool your body temperature, making the already warm summer day hotter inside the car. Although you knew who to blame for that sudden change.

Your heart was racing as the kissing continued breaching into desperate lust. Your chest was aching from the lack of oxygen, but you refused to give in to such a simple thing like air. In your opinion, this, kissing your boyfriend, was far more important despite how much your lungs were disproving this decision.

It didn’t help that despite being on his lap, space between you and the steering wheel were tight. Needing something to hold on to, you slid your hands up Hoseok’s chest, gripping the sides of his leather. The sudden pull on his jacket had him moving forward, and with your minds preoccupied, neither of you realized the consequence of that action until it was too late.

The horn blared in your ears, jolting the two of you apart at the unwanted noise that only stopped when Hoseok tugged you off the steering wheel and against his chest. For the short moments afterwards, the outside world fell silent, your chest heaving as short gasps escaped from trying to catch your breath. Palms placed firmly on Hoseok’s chest, they moved with him as he tried to regulate his own breathing, and it was there that they shook with his shoulders, his giggles starting out soft and adorable before growing loud.

His laughter was infectious. So much so that you found yourself resting your forehead on his shoulder, cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so harshly. The longer that you sat on his lap, a dull ache settled in your knees, but there was nothing in this world that was going to make you leave his arms, the very ones that were wrapped around you with one of his hands cradling the back of your head. He held you just tight enough to reassure you that he was in fact here and holding you, that this wasn’t just another hopeful dream.

“Are you okay?” He said, his voice light with his giggles.

Nodding, you leaned backwards to look at him, eyes smiling as bright as his smile. “I’m fine,” you reassured, stealing a glance behind you to make sure that you didn’t hit the steering wheel as you shifted on his lap.

His soft pink lips were darker and his hair was disheveled from your fingers. Reaching you, you gently fixed the messed up looks, missing the way that his laughter turned to only the occasional giggle, his face softening as he gazed at you. Before you could remove your hand, Hoseok was taking it in his, fingers automatically lacing together with yours as he bumped his forehead against yours.

You closed your eyes at the connection, catching the faintest scent of crisp apples attached to his clothing. It was fresh, yet reminded you of his shop at the same time. He must have come straight to your apartment from working on a client.

Inside your chest, your heart didn’t race, instead it slowed down, comfortably beating as his nose softly brushed against yours. As much as you had missed the passion and his kisses, out of everything, it was the simplest of innocent touches, his familiar presence that you craved and missed so dearly. He had a way about himself that was able to turn the mood up to a hundred, and carefully bring it back to normal.

“How about we leave this car,” Hoseok murmured, his palms resting on the small of your back. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather spend our little vacation inside the house.”

As perfect as this moment was, he was right. The ache in your knees had grown along with a minor fear that if the two of you kept this going in the driver’s seat, that you would once again be getting a rude greeting from the car horn.

Lifting your forehead off his, you raised an eyebrow at him. “Anywhere in particular inside?”

The corner of his lips twitched again, bringing back his smile at full force. “Wherever you want to be.”

A scoff left you too easily. Pushing off of him, you undid the lock and with his hands steadying you, got out of the car and headed in the direction of his front door. A summer breeze kissed at your heated body, the leaves from the trees shaking from up above as small lights blinked in and out around the yard like miniature falling stars. It had been awhile since you last saw fireflies. They were childhood memories and nostalgia that had you diverting from the original plan of going inside, content with staying out for a little while longer.

When a pair of arms wrapped around your frame and hands settled on your hips, Hoseok’s head leaning against yours, it was easy to picture this moment happening over and over again every summer. While it was a little shocking how easy it was to imagine, nothing felt more right than this. Maybe not always right in this spot, but by his side was where it felt perfect. Where it felt natural.

Lips nibbling at your neck had your eyes closing, easily leaning against his body as you were brought back to reality.

“Didn’t know you were into public stuff,” Hoseok teased, sucking at a particular spot on your neck that had you gasping. “I’m not sure how my neighbors will feel about that though.”

You swatted at his thigh, feeling his lips curve upwards before he pressed himself completely against your backside, allowing you to feel every inch and curve of his body. Shifting in his embrace, your eyes widened upon feeling something else pressing against your ass. One that brought back more mildly more recent memories and weren’t childhood friendly, saliva building up and forcing you to swallow.

“Maybe…maybe we should go inside.” you suggested, voice barely above a whisper as you tried to remain calm, taking a shaky breath despite wanting nothing else but to continue.

Hoseok hummed against your neck, leaving one last kiss. Straightening up, he winked and tapped your ass, leaving a hand on your lower back to guide you to the house, all as if he wasn’t walking around with an erection or that he had riled you up. Like this was normal for him.

It only took seconds.

Fifteen seconds to get inside his house. Ten seconds to kick your shoes onto the shoe rack he had, and only five seconds for Hoseok to spin you around and bring you close enough for him to kiss. Like in the car, the lust was quickly ignited once more as you tried to keep up with him, wanting to taste and feel more of him. You wanted him, in every which way possible, to the point where it was an overflowing pot, and yet, even then it wouldn’t be enough.

You would never be able to get enough of the man that was Lee Hoseok.

With an ease that still surprised you, Hoseok gripped your waist and picked you up as if you weighed nothing, making you wrap your legs around his hips to bring you closer. Once he had you like he wanted, he secured his arms around you and carried you away all while keeping the kiss going.

He walked with a clear destination and kissed like he was the devil coming to collect his debt, personally bringing you to Hell’s gates where you knew that only his touch would run hotter than its fires.

A chill erupted along your spine as blankets and pillows gently encompassed your body, only then did the kiss break, chest heaving as you tried to look around the room, but when he nibbled on your shoulder it was game over. You moaned, taking a moment to indulge in the feeling before reaching up to push his leather jacket off. He barely removed himself from you to take off his favorite clothing piece, but he tugged it off and only ended up lightly biting your skin, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Sorry love,” Hoseok murmured, kissing that spot oh so gently that it questioned whether or not his lips had actually touched the skin.

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, tilting your head to kiss him once again.

When Hoseok kissed you for the first time it was after your sixth date. At first you had thought it was strange that he would wait so long for a kiss that most people gave out after a second or third date, but he had never been one to rush things, and by taking his time, it had made that first time all that more special. They had been addicting back then, and as he took you to Paris in the comfort of his room, you found yourself never wanting to stop.

Shirts were quickly discarded and you managed to get Hoseok on his back, taking the advantage of straddling his waist to leave your own love bites around his neck, kissing your way down his sternum, feeling each and every shaking breath that he took before hearing his groans.

A black and grey scale of a lion took up the majority of his chest, strands of its mane peaking up onto his shoulders and the base of his neck that always teased you when he wore a shirt. Due to how large the piece was, the mane covered his pecs, practically hiding the silver bars of his nipple piercings. A dare he had gotten back in his younger years. When he told you that story it was always with a smile. Free piercings and jewelry, I just had to prove I had the balls to go through with it.

A deep moan sounded from above when you kissed his nipple, the metallic taste of the piercing lingering on your tongue, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to grind himself into you. It only succeeded in sending the fire that was boiling straight to your heart, your nails raking down his sides and causing him to flinch at the sensation.

“We can tease the fuck out of each other later,” Hoseok groaned, undoing the button of your shorts with quick movements. “I’ve missed you too much to wait any longer.”

As much as you enjoyed worshiping every curve and groove from his muscles, he was right. Releasing his piercing, you leaned back up to steal a kiss that he readily accepted. His palms trailed up your body, almost wrapping around you as he rolled you on your back and slipping between your lower half.

Breaking the kiss, Hoseok messily kissed down the valley of your breasts, his fingers making quick work of removing the offending shorts off your legs and tossing them to the floor without a care to where they landed. The bra didn’t last much longer. Once your breasts were free, he descended on the left one, sucking and licking the nipple as he fondled the other, forcing a gasp from you as you felt your underwear grow damp.

The blankets were bunched up and shifting towards the edge of the bed, and when he suddenly let go of your breast, the air in the room suddenly too cold as it made contact with the wet mess he left, you let go of the blankets and chose to hold on to his shoulders when he latched on the right nipple. As if not wanting to let it feel left out, he ran his thumb over the saliva he left, spreading it over your boob.

“Hoseok,” you whined, back arching off the pillow.

He hummed around your breast, lips curling up until he released you with a satisfied grin as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Sorry love,” he murmured, messily kissing you again. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Take off your pants if you’re so sorry,” you said, raising a leg to push at the jeans that clung to his body.

“Gladly.”

Pushing himself up, his black bangs fell in his face as he worked on removing his pants, the belt clattering against itself as it fell to the floor.

Wetting your lips, you watched, unabashedly drinking in the way your boyfriend had built himself up from all the late night and early morning workouts he did at the gym, even occasionally slipping one in during the middle of the day. All his hard work and protein shakes had paid off, even with his odd obsession with eating ramen at random times.

However, as he went to push them down, you quickly leaned forward to trace the black cursive letters that were tattooed near his abs and v-line, right above the band of his jeans. He didn’t have this the last time you two had sex, and there was no memory of him mentioning getting another tattoo.

“Monsta…X?” You read aloud, glancing up at him.

His smile widened but he didn’t speak, settling for only raising a single eyebrow.

Of all the things he could have gotten inked onto his body, this was perhaps the strangest. Usually he only got tattoos that were important to him. The lion on his chest was symbolic to protecting those he loved. His entire upper left arm was a nightlife scene with bright colors of Seoul, South Korea to represent his home country, and underneath that on his forearm was a small bouquet of yellow daffodils that appeared as if the flowers had grown right out of his wrist, they were so realistic.

Everything had a meaning, so what was so important that he had to get those words tattooed? Especially in a spot that made it impossible to not steal a glance at his…

“You named your dick Monsta X?” You gasped; eyes wide as his body shook with his laughter. “Why?”

“Why not?” He giggled, continuing to remove his pants.

Your mouth opened and closed repetitively, but a slow grin overtook your face and you shook your head, just as amused if not even more than Hoseok was. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I mean…” Tossing his pants away, he winked as he reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a foil, setting it on the bed next to you as he sat on his knees, his thigh muscles stealing your attention briefly when they flexed, the bulge in his briefs almost straining against the fabric. “You always call it that anyway.”

The sudden laugh was ripped from your throat and you hurried to cover your mouth with your palm. If it weren’t for the fact that he was grinning – his eyes met yours for a moment and his smile softened, almost daring to dip into shy territory before he cleared his throat - and you knew that he had a sense of humor, you would have been trying to fix what you said. Besides, it wasn’t like he was wrong either, it had just been the last thing you expected him to say.

“Now that we got that out of the way,” Hoseok said, still amused while lifting your legs together in one hand as he removed your damp panties with the other, tossing them like a basketball towards the door despite your halfhearted protests. He quickly discarded his own pair without a second thought and after rolling on the condom, with no warning whatsoever he tugged on your legs to bring you closer to him and in-between you once more.

Leaning down, he captured your lips in another kiss. This one, unlike the others, was slower, more sensual as he took the time. Despite the heated impromptu make out session in the car, it still felt like forever since the two of you had last been together. Not just intimately, but in the simplest, and loving ways.

When the kiss finally broke, there were a few beats where the world seemed to stop turning as you gazed at each other. Even though it had only been six, glorious, months with Hoseok, the thought of it one day coming to an end was nonexistent. With him, it felt like you were right where you belonged.

He stole another kiss, then a second, but could one even call it stealing when you’re just as eager to kiss him? As the kisses continued, fingers trailed down your hip and thigh, feeling it grip your leg and moving it around his hip before repeating it with the other.

The night was long, but as the sheets twisted in your grip, you knew it was going to be everything and then some.

Shifting against the sheets, you pressed your face further into the warm pillow, the blankets tucked around your body, ensuring that at no point would the chilled air reach you. Not wanting to move around too much, you stretched a hand out to the side, hoping that Hoseok would feel you moving around and pull you close. He always ran warmer than you, even going so far and to tease about you using him as your own personal heater.

Instead, your fingers wrapped around cold sheets.

The difference in temperature had you yanking your hand back to the safety of the warm cocoon you were wrapped up in as you tilted your head. Blinking, you saw that the side where Hoseok should have been, was neatly made up, with only a single wrinkle from when you tried to feel around for him.

“Hoseok?” you said, wondering if he was even still in the house.

He had promised that this weekend was for the two of you with no interference from anyone. Including work and school. Holding the blankets to your chest, you took your sweet time sitting up. The sunlight that was streaming in through the blinds and decently sheer curtains blinded you for a few seconds, forcing you to tilt your head away from the window. Although in only a short time were your shoulders relaxing as the sunlight warmed the bare skin.

Now that you were up, you were able to see that the floor had been cleaned up from last night’s reunion, the clothes that neither of you had gave a damn about where now in the hamper by the bedroom door, and your purse and backpack were sitting on the leather desk chair with a red silk robe folded over the back. It was the exact opposite from the night before. The only exception was the missing Hoseok.

Yawning, you ran a hand through your hair, recalling the way that Hoseok had brushed the locks away from your face to kiss you. The corner of your lips curled upwards, and you had started to lay back down on the bed, the warmth of the blankets coaxing and teasing the possibility of a few more hours of sleep, you spotted a piece of paper on his pillow.

It was folded in half with your name written carefully on it with a heart, bringing a smile to your face before you had even read it.

Morning love, I promise I didn’t sneak off to work while you slept. I told you that nothing work related would interfere with our weekend, and I’m keeping it that way. So you’re probably wondering where the hell I am then. Don’t worry, I just went to the gym nearby for my morning workout. I should be back by noon, unless you’re still asleep by the time I return, then this letter will be pointless.

Either way, I’ll see you soon.

Always,

Your Muscle Bunny.

Despite the fact that he was still gone, a grin appeared and you were pressing your face into the pillow, still holding onto the letter as muffled giggles filled the room. He was never going to let you live that down, but even then, it was so true.

Hoseok was without a doubt jacked up and he took the time to research, spending hours understanding the muscles that he wanted to work on and finding the best exercises to achieve that. Making protein shakes in bulk. There had been many conversations where you’d ask and he’d go on and explain it all to you. At times it made you wonder why he never became a doctor.

But then there were those moments – the rare times the two of you managed to find time together – and he’d be the one tugging you closer for cuddles, sometimes laying on top of you with his head resting on your chest while watching a movie and playing with his hair. When it was hard to find time to meet up for dates, instead of going home to your roommates, you found love letters addressed from him, each one handwritten asking how you were and catching you up on his life. They were personal, each one containing a faint whiff of his cologne, sometimes little mementos that he thought you might enjoy, a slip of poetry or even ones he created himself. Every one you received was carefully placed in a box that you kept on your dresser, more often than not rereading them when all-nighters were the only way to get work done.

He was buff and strong, but at the same time he was soft and didn’t care who knew.

A true muscle bunny.

Rolling over on the bed, you set the note on the nightstand, making a mental note to save it for the memory box when you got back home. The clock had revealed that it was only eleven in the morning as you got out of the bed, quickly nabbing and covering yourself with the robe before going anywhere else.

Without having Hoseok home, the place was quiet as your footsteps papped against the wood floor when you went down the hallway to the bathroom. If he was at the gym then he’d be hightailing it to the shower, unless he wanted to be mean and give a sweaty hug, and you wanted to take advantage of the hot water before he got back. Living with a group of undergrads to try and save money had come with many pros and cons, but the true loss had been the long hot showers you treasured. It was a luxury if you were able to snag fifteen minutes without someone banging on the door.

The fact that he had written out a note instead of sending a text kept the smile floating as the water heated up, your favorite playlist playing loud enough to be heard from down the hall. It was the little things that he did that made you wonder if it was right to tell him those three special words. Since the two of you started dating, it was impossible to imagine yourself with anyone else, and while you didn’t want to jump the wagon and declare that you were ready for marriage, being able to say I love you and hear him tell it back to you, sent butterflies dancing in your stomach.

Reaching in to check the water, you hung the robe on the hook, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. Purple hickeys dotted all over your body, primarily centering around your breasts and neck. Unable to help yourself, you stepped closer to the mirror as you let down your hair, tracing the shape of the marks that he had left out of love last night.

When you thought back on it, he had been so focused on your breasts, his hands remained on either your hips or your face, tilting you constantly so that he could kiss you in whatever position he put you in. But never once had they touched your stomach. Eyes falling to your torso, the lack of any curves had you biting the insides of your mouth, ignoring the dulled pain as you swiped away the fog that had gathered on the mirror.

At least, you thought they had been out of love.

There were no curves. It was just a square. You were just a square. No wonder Hoseok had ignored your stomach last night. He was constantly working out and even with his abs and broad shoulders, his waist still had the slightest curve that was obvious when he wore tight shirts, giving his body the appearance of an upside-down triangle. He put in the time and effort for his muscles and here you were, just a square.

Your workout routine? The most of a workout that you got involved walking on campus to get to each class and then your car for home or work. You couldn’t remember the last time you had carved out a set amount of time to go to the gym or do a home workout. There was barely any time to yourself.

The hot water raining down on you was a momentary distraction from the thoughts swirling around. It only lasted a few short minutes. Like wildfire, they ignited memories and beliefs that you swore you had locked up and burnt to ash years ago. Especially when you have been doing so well recently.

Numbers of a scale rapidly spin each time you stand on it. The black and white numbers playing wheel of fortune as they decide your fate for the night. Did you lose? Or did you gain? The cards were always held by the ringmaster that was the small scale and whether or not they were what you originally wanted; they were never good enough when they were finally dealt out.

It was never enough. Never good enough. You always had to push it and even then, it wasn’t enough. The image you saw in the mirror convinced you to take smaller portions of meals, pushing the hours in-between meals before suddenly cutting off eating after a certain time, because the way your stomach twisted in pain and begged for some sort of substance had you convinced that it was working.

Days. Weeks. You’d be so good at keeping up with it, but there was always a hiccup that sent you plummeting in a spiral. It could be a snack, a small cherry tomato or even a cracker, and the next thing you knew all the containers were on the counter as you shoved whatever you could down your throat without a care in the word. Even then it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. You’d be eating, but your stomach would feel like a bottomless pit because you were so hungry. Hungry to the point that you wouldn’t be able to recall what the food you ate tasted like.

Then the scale would be mocking you all over again.

Leaning backwards against the wall, the water from the showerhead made it impossible to distinguish between the tears sliding down your face. You just pressed your lips together, just staring at the floral shower curtain that was hanging up, the shampoo bubbles sitting in your hair as you remained still.

You have been doing so good lately. The past hadn’t even been lingering thought and when Hoseok entered your life, everything just seemed to be falling in place.

Yet here you were, standing in the shower with water that was steaming but you felt nothing, rehashing old thoughts that were crawling their way through any empty space that was available. The tiniest crack of an opening was all they needed to enter uninvited.

He didn’t know about this. Hoseok. You had been so good with eating, no longer cutting back or bingeing that it never crossed your mind to tell him. But as you moved under the water to rinse out the suds, your fingers grazed the hickies he had left in his place. All over your chest and neck. Avoiding your stomach. Your thighs were barely even grazed. Everywhere but your stomach.

He knows, you thought, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, gasps and whimpers filling the bathroom but drowned out by the music as you cried. There was no other way to explain it. He saw what you used to see, what you still see. The square. Nothing more than a body with rolls that hung on you. It was a miracle he was able to still have sex with you last night. How could he be with someone like you when it was so obvious that he put effort into maintaining his own body.

Body on autopilot, your hands went through the motions of washing out your hair and then applying conditioner while your mind detached itself from the mundane task at hand. The idea of him seeing you like this, with no shape at all, what you considered to be a square...no. A square was too nice of a term. You were not a square. A glance through the opening of the curtain let you see your reflection in the mirror, and your eyes watered up once again. Not a square, you thought. A blob. A fat, overweight blob, taking up his time and space.

Twisting your hair, you stared at the locks as water poured out before abruptly shutting it off, fingers gripping the handle that controlled the temperature as you pressed your free palm against the wall. The bathroom was like a sauna. Even after with the water shut off, the room was hotter than hell.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away those thoughts. They were leeches clinging to the inside of your mind and no matter how much you pulled, they weren't coming off. In a daze you manage to straighten up and get out of the shower, wrap a towel around yourself and hair, all while biting down on the inside of your cheeks in an attempt to push them away. When you looked up however, the smear mark from when you wiped the fog off the mirror was still there, allowing you glimpses at yourself. For a split second you saw bloodshot eyes stared back and purple hickeys staring at you, but you looked down towards the floor to hurry out of the room, unable to push those thoughts and images away.

That’s because it’s you.

That blob is you.

It’s you.

Last night was wonderful. Beautiful. Perfect even. But now all you could think about was how Hoseok had avoided certain areas of you on purpose. That perhaps, he didn’t think you were as beautiful as he thought.

You didn’t recall changing. One second you were entering the bedroom in nothing but a towel and the next when you looked down to grip the fabric tighter, you were dressed in one of his black t-shirts and a pair of panties you had packed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the towel fell from your fingertips and in an attempt to hold on to something, anything to keep you from floating away, you slid them over your face and into your hair, twisting and gripping the locks until there was a hard ache on the side of your scalp.

“Go away,” you softly whispered, tugging a little hard to make those pesky leeches leave you. “Please go away. Please”

They needed to go. Disappear. It didn’t matter if you had to burn them to a crisp and leave behind a permanent scar. You just needed them to go away, because spiraling was not an option. Not again.

The house was silent when Hoseok arrived, his keys jangling together until he closed his fist around them, making him wonder if perhaps you were still asleep. A small smile formed as he quietly toed his shoes off, the first destination in his mind was to go to the bedroom and see if you were there.

Last night, neither of you had gone to sleep, or truly slept, until dawn had begun to peep through the curtains – because apparently the night didn’t last forever like the two of you had thought. A fault that was perhaps all on him and he should have known better. He was supposed to be older, wiser, more experienced, but how people liked to forget that he was still a man only in his twenties. Just…later in them.

But as he neared the bedroom, he remembered full well how you had wrapped your limbs around him, coaxing him back for more, kissing him not only on his lips but in everyplace where his skin wasn’t dotted with purple love marks from you.

Since he wore tank tops to work out in, the marks had certainly left an impression on the guys at the gym, receiving more head nods and grins than usual. The older man at the jewelry store however, had been less impressed. Then again, that could also be because Hoseok had gone straight there after working out, skipping out on his shower to pick up his order before the store closed for the day.

Not exactly the best decision that he’s made in life so far.

Carefully pushing open the bedroom door, his smile softened upon seeing you curled up on the bed. Not wanting to disturb you, he quietly set the box on his nightstand and left the room, going straight for the bathroom to shower.

As much as he would have loved to tease you, you didn’t deserve waking up to him smelling like dried sweat.

However, he frowned upon seeing the floor mats placed on the floor and condensation covering the mirror, droplets of water covering the entire surface of the bathroom. He turned to look down the hall, but he couldn’t hear any movements or your voice calling out his name.

Maybe she was still tired even after showering, Hoseok thought, shrugging it off as he shut the door behind him, hoping you hadn’t used up all the hot water.

Water dripped from his hair as he entered the bedroom, the towel tightly tied around his hips and confirming every single imagination and daydream. A glance over at your body revealed that you hadn’t moved at all in the time that he was gone.

Smirking, he kneeled on the bed, moving until he was behind you, pressing a hand on the mattress in front of you to maintain his balance while he leaned down to kiss your neck.

“Wake up love,” Hoseok murmured, dragging out the kisses as he took his sweet time in trailing them up to your jawline, last night once again reclaiming his mind. It was a joke to even consider that it had left in the first place.

He wasn’t going to lie and say that he hadn’t missed the sex when the two of you were apart more often than not, sex was great, amazing, otherworldly and even more with you. But that wasn’t even number one on his list. More often than not, he missed being able to sling an arm around your shoulders or waist to bring you in for a hug. The way that your fingers would run through his hair when you thought he was asleep, and the way your eyes always lit up when you talked about something that happened in your classes. Or when you would bump his leg with your foot to ask him about a word that was just on the tip of your tongue, but just conveniently out of reach at that second. It was always a simple word, but the way you exaggerated your arm motions while trying to describe it were fascinating to him.

Hoseok missed you.

Feeling you shift underneath him, his lips curled into a smile as he lifted his head, prepared to give you a kiss that you deserved, only for that mindset to suddenly change when he saw your watery eyes.

That was not how you normally woke up.

The last time he had seen you crying after waking up was when you had gotten your period in the middle of night. It had been a week early and the cramps came out of nowhere, leaving him clueless with what to do but willing to do anything to help ease the pain. Which meant a late-night run to the twenty-four hour convenience store, looking at a picture of the brand of pads you used on his phone, along with buying your favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream and the big bottle of Advil.

He already had a heating pad at home for days when he overworked himself and his muscles got sore. Before leaving for the convenience store, he had set it up for you.

“What’s wrong love?” Hoseok asked, shifting so that his weight was on his left hand behind your back, hovering over your body to try and see your face better.

Before he could do it for you, you were quickly wiping your face with the heels of your palms. “Nothing,” you hurried to say, moving to sit up with the mindset of rushing out of the bedroom to make a run for the bathroom, hoping he would believe that it was a simple eyelash in your eye.

But he was too quick for you, his hand gently capturing your wrists and moving them down as he cupped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Baby, it’s not nothing. What happened while I was gone?”

Sniffling, you shook your head. No. Why would you point out the obvious? He knew what you looked like. He saw. So why was he playing this game with you?

He sighed at your stubbornness, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up. Not caring if he got the blankets and sheets wet, he settled down beside you and slipped an arm underneath your body to roll you over and into his embrace where he securely wrapped his other arm over you. Once you were nestled in, Hoseok rested his chin on top of your head, drawing a lazy shape on your back, patiently waiting for the moment that you found your voice again.

The second Hoseok hugged you, the back of your eyes burned and you tightly squeezed them shut, not wanting to see anything, an old way to tell yourself that if you couldn’t see, then you wouldn’t have to see what was being reflected back at you.

But wrapped up in Hoseok’s arms, with his heart beating like a sweet lullaby, arms strong enough to fight off anyone who tried to hurt you, even he was unable to find and protect you from the leeches that forced you down the path that was littered with the broken glass and bloodstains that was your past.

His heart broke at the sound of your cries echoing in the bedroom, feeling the tears slide down his chest as he rubbed your shaking body. There was nothing he could do or say to make you feel better until he understood what was happening. All he could do was be here to hold you until you were ready.

Time passed by slowly, but at some point, the tears began to dry up, and the gasps for air had calmed down, allowing you to be able to breathe normally again. The only time you had physically moved was to cling to Hoseok, despite not wanting to tell him what was swirling around in your mind, you didn’t want him to leave you.

A blob.

You’re just a fat blob.

Do you really need to eat lunch today?

“Make it stop,” you whimpered, fingers clenching on the pillow behind Hoseok as your fist dug into his back.

His body jerked at the new bump but he ignored that, choosing to focus on what you were saying. You didn’t know it, but the entire time you had been crying, tears had fallen silently down his cheeks as he watched them fall into your hair. He hated seeing you in pain.

“Make what stop love?” He softly asked, moving a hand to be able to stroke your cheek.

“My mind,” you cried, not yelling, but your voice cracked as the emotions swirling inside you forced it to raise. “Please, make it stop. Shut it off, anything, please. Please, make it stop!”

If the world was to crash down around him, Hoseok knew that it would only take seconds, or even minutes, for it to crash and end him. Six months ago, you had agreed to go on a blind date set up by a friend of yours who had gotten a tattoo done by Hoseok. It had been a spur of the moment, neither of you really searching for anyone, but the thought of being in the company of another person instead of alone had tempted both of you enough to say yes.

Six months ago, you became his entire world and here you were, crashing around him, begging for him to stop whatever it was that was going on in your mind. Something that he had no feasible solution for. If he knew how to fight the demons that only you were able to see, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t, and knowing that, had him feeling like he was failing you in every possible way imaginable.

Gently, Hoseok shifted your body and moved you next to him on the bed, and when you tried to look away, he cupped the side of your face with a tilt in his direction. There was no avoiding in seeing the pools of tears building up and over his eyes.

“Tell me what’s wrong love,” he whispered, stroking your cheek once more. “You’re scaring me, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”

God, he was hurting. You hadn’t expected him to react in such a way.

Lie. Tell him you’re fine. He’ll believe it if you believe it.

You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

Wetting your lips, you repeatedly opened and closed them, feeling like a damned fish unable to breathe and in search of water. Instead of suffocating, you were drowning.

“I…”

An ache built up in your stomach, reminding you that you truly hadn’t eaten anything since last night. Twisting and curling, the sharpness of running on empty was the cold kiss from a toxic lover. Memories of binging on food after midnight cuddled you from behind, weighing you down with iron shackles locked around your stomach.

“I…”

Skip lunch, eat a little bit of dinner so he won’t worry.

Tell him that you’re fine.

“Please love,” Hoseok begged, his fingers smoothing back locks of hair that had begun to fall in your face. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me. You don’t need to carry this by yourself.”

Lie dammit.

“I’m starving,” you whispered, watching his eyebrows pull together, fingers pausing on your skin but you reached up with a shaky hand to cover his, gripping tightly. “It hurts. So much Hoseok, but I don’t want to eat. I tell myself that it’s better if it hurts, but I…I can’t anymore…I can’t.”

The leeches were shrieking in your mind, white tips of a burning fire were touching them and they were dropping to the ground, yet the fire didn’t hurt one bit. For the first time in so long, the shackles of your secret came undone allowing you to step away from the broken path you had set yourself on.

Hoseok had turned his hand to run his thumb across your knuckles, the realization of what you meant hitting him. Eyes watering up, he opened his mouth to speak, only there were no words that felt right. You were hurting so much right now, the last thing he wanted to do was say the wrong thing without meaning to.

But like a dam that had suddenly burst, the words that he couldn’t find, were flooding out of your mouth. “I��I was so good, better than I have been in years, but last night and this morning, it was one thing after another and I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop my mind from going there and it was all I could think about and I…I don’t want to think like that anymore. I don’t wanna be that person anymore.”

“Last night,” Hoseok softly repeated. What had he done the night before, a night that he had thought was so perfect, that was able to nearly cripple you this morning? The idea that he hurt you without even knowing it made him clench down on the inside of his cheeks.

You shook your head, knowing that you weren’t saying it right, implying that it had been his fault when it hadn’t. “While you were gone, I was showering and I…it’s so fucking stupid, but I saw my reflection and your note saying you were at the gym I just, I just started comparing myself to you. You’re always working out, doing what you can to stay fit and it was like years of self-hatred suddenly came back, reminding me of how gross I was, how fat I am and I couldn’t stop it…it was like once it came back it wasn’t going to leave and I – ”

Except you didn’t get to finish. Between the tears once again clogging your throat and Hoseok yanking you back to his chest, his shoulders shaking as he started crying because there was no way in hell he was able to hold it in anymore. The words died off, but you both knew where it was heading.

The fabric of his shirt that you wore wrinkled under his hands, the soft fabric of the towel that he wore grazed your legs. How it hadn’t managed to come undone from all the moving around was a tiny thought that stuck inside your brain.

“Don’t.” Hoseok’s arms tightened around you, almost painfully, but his grip was in only one arm as the mattress dipped underneath your bodies, and the next thing you knew he was pulling you to sit on his lap as he sat up with his back against the headboard. His eyes were rimmed red, cheeks flushed. There wasn’t a time where you recalled being able to compare his eyes to an ocean. Not until now at least.

His chest was heaving as he leaned his head back against the wood with a soft thump, bottom lip trembling while trying to form together something to say. Words. He needed words. “I…you never…not once did you say anything to me.”

“Because I was good when we met,” you cried. “I hadn’t been doing anything, and I’ve been so good this entire time, but this morning it was like…like I was suddenly drowning in it because it’s always been like this, always coming in waves. And I wanted to start it all over again.”

Despite how much it hurt, how hungry it made you, there was that painful satisfaction of seeing the numbers go down on that evil scale. To be able to wear the clothes that you never could before. The way your stomach aches and cries out at one, two in the morning yet you deny it the simplest thing it wanted, because for a period of time, you were the one in charge. You had control over what was happening in your life and it…it was fucking addicting.

“But you’re already so small.”

The tears had slowed down, always slipping down his cheeks faster when he thought of how long you’ve been hurting, and he had never known.

Bottom lip trembling, somehow, you managed the weakest of smiles, voice cracking as you spoke. “I know.”

You always had been, but the reflection you saw in the mirror, never was real. For years you were purging yourself of a you that never once existed.

The person that Hoseok saw when you thought he wasn’t looking, the one who gently swayed to her favorite music, who had a love affair with words and their meanings but more often than not forgot them. The woman he saw who, on their third date hurried him over to the park to watch the fireflies dance in the night sky because they were the only type of bugs that you liked, and the woman who he reached out for when waking up first thing in the morning even if he hadn’t spent the night at your apartment, was not the same one that you saw.

You saw a version of yourself that you hated, so much so that the only way you would be happy with your reflection, was to destroy yourself.

Instead of speaking, Hoseok simply hugged you tightly to him, resting his head against yours as he felt you curl yourself around him. To say that this wasn’t how he had pictured this morning to go was a mild statement, but as he left a gentle kiss on your shoulder, he simply wanted to love you, and show you what it was like to be loved.

Time ticked by slowly, but when Hoseok finally lifted his head off yours, the tears had stopped falling leaving his eyes itchy and dry. He barely glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Instead, his gaze went to the black jewelry box he had set there. With everything that’s happened, he forgot that he had even picked it up.

“It’s – it’s not my place to tell you what to think,” he softly said, reaching over to retrieve the box. He felt you shifting and knew that you were watching him, a glance at you showed the curious frown you wore. “But I think you’re wrong. To me, you’re not gross. You’re not overweight. Ever since that blind date, six months ago, you’re the only woman who I care about.”

Without any ceremony, he held the box out for you to take, gently smiling and nodding when you looked up at him as if to ask if it really was for you.

Carefully, you opened the lid, feeling your heart nearly collapse at the sight of the necklace that delicately laid a bronze gold heart on the white fabric. On the side sat a tiny firefly, and in the center in elegant cursive read, ‘You’re the reason why my heart beats.’

“I love you,” Hoseok finally confessed. Lifting a hand, he brushed the hair back out of your face, his fingers gently grazing your cheek as he did so. “All I want is for you to be happy, love. You mean the world to me, and I want to help you through this. To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, but now that I know that’s not what you see, then I’ll help you. So that one day, you might be able to see what I see. Whenever that may be.”

His image blurred once more. Instead of hiding your face from him, or wanting to get away in general, you reached up to pull him down for a kiss despite the tears. Each one was short and sweet, but like an addiction, you kept going back for just one more.

Even if he didn’t understand it completely, or maybe he did, but he was willing to learn to help, because that wasn’t a life you wanted anymore. You just…you just didn’t know what to do, or how to do it by yourself. Not when those leeches were able to corrupt such an amazing night in seconds.

Hoseok wasn’t one to break away from a kiss but this time, he leaned back to take the necklace from you, undoing the clasp and hooking it on for you. The heart rested right in the middle of your chest. Right where it belonged.

“Now, I know I promised to not bring home any work,” Hoseok said, gently wiping away a few stray tears on your cheek. “But I remember you talking about getting that tattoo done one day. If you want, I can do it for you.”

“I never decided where though.”

His eyes softened. “I heard someone talking about this thing called the butterfly project. The idea is to draw a butterfly in the place where you’d hurt yourself, and by having it there, it’s supposed to help stop those urges. Maybe…maybe we can do something like that.”

The room fell silent.

You had been wanting to get your fireflies tattooed for years now. They were a favorite reminder of a simpler time. When the world was kind and beautiful and not harsh like you had painfully learned it to be. Sitting here with Hoseok, he served as the reminder that despite the hurt, there was always hope nearby. Whether it was from him, the world, or even deep within yourself.

Hope and love had a funny way of coming together in the darkest hours of our lives.

The tattoo gun buzzed loudly in the kitchen.

Hoseok pressed his lips together, eyebrows pulling in concentration as his gloved hands skillfully moved the machine while he began the process of outlining the cluster of fireflies on your thigh. When this was all over, there would be fireflies flying around at dusk on your body forever.

It was something you loved, in a spot that you passionately disliked, but even now you smiled. Because how could you look at something you loved with hatred?

None of this was going to be easy. Gazing at Hoseok, a small smile appeared. Perhaps he felt your gaze on him, but as he lifted the gun to wipe the area, he glanced up at you. A soft smile instantly appeared.

This wasn’t going to suddenly fix things. That was far from the truth. But that was okay because in reality, that was life. There was the good, the bad, and everything in between that got thrown at you.

Life isn’t perfect, but with Hoseok…it felt like it was.

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little-miss-dumpsterfire · 4 years ago

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I think I made you up inside my head ~ a td au

Hi everyone (or anyone out there)! This is my first ever tumblr post, so apologies if I’m a bit rusty. I’m originally a Wattpad writer, but I think for this story in particular, I’m better suited over here (I like ‘em spooky).

So without boring anyone, I present to you, my total drama horror anthology - “I think I made you up inside my head ~ a td au”

Chapter One - I can still hear their screams

It was her eyes that initially gave him a profound feeling of unease. The vacancy of her stare was reminiscent of the eyes of the dead; a thick fog drowned the vibrancy of her irises, dulling the shine that they had once held. His heart pounded against his chest as he set up his equipment, trembling fingers fumbling with the intricate wires and cables. The atmosphere in the room, nay, the house he found himself in was suffocating.

One interview. That's all you came here for. The media attention you'll get for this will be astronomical. Just focus on that.

His preconceived notion of his guest had been immediately shattered upon meeting her earlier that day. The tabloids and news painted her as a 'psycho hose-beast', the living epitome of an LSD trip. Yet, it was her fragility that shone through most as she sat before him. Her signature frizzy orange hair had darkened, resembling more of a rich copper, combed neatly into a bun. Her fingers were slender and pale, like those of a porcelain doll, and gaudy rings embellished them all, minus her left ring finger. Her pressed teal pantsuit was a stark contrast to his jeans and a graphic tee, yet she was undoubtedly feeling more comfortable than he was.

He cleared his throat, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead before reading out his preprepared spiel.

"Hello all and welcome back to the Pop-Culture Paradox podcast. I'm Axel Riley, your resident tour guide through the scary side of Hollywood. In today's episode, we will be delving into one of the most infamous conspiracies in reality TV to date."

His voice caught slightly in his throat, catching him off guard before continuing.

"My guest today was an ex-contestant on the hit reality show series Total Drama Island, as well as its follow-ups Total Drama Action and Total Drama World Tour." Upon hearing those words, she visibly cringed and balled up her right fist on the couch next to her. "Welcome to Isabelle "Izzy" Danaher-Morgans!"

"Thank you for having me here, Axel," Izzy added politely.

Axel stared at Izzy quizzically. "I gotta say, you're a lot different to what I thought you'd be like."

"I get that a lot, I really do. And honestly, a lot of aspects of my portrayal were exacerbated by the producers. I have ADHD and had been on medication up to that point. Not that that takes everything away, I was just better at focusing and less impulsive. But for drama, they weaned me off of my meds. That fact, alongside the drugs they had to have been putting in the water, just pushed me off the deep end."

"And what has life been like for you since the show? Last time viewers properly saw you, you had transformed into your alter 'Brainzilla'," Axel asked, probing Izzy to reveal any dramatic details.

Izzy laughed awkwardly. "That was a time in my life I cannot explain, truthfully. I did get back to some normality with counselling and medication, and I now work as a therapist for former child stars escaping from the industry."

Axel sighed defeatedly, tapping his lead pencil against the corner of the coffee table.

This is too boring. I need something for listeners to really bite their teeth into.

Carrying on with the extended mundane conversation, Axel was carefully planning the perfect moment to poke the bear and reveal his main prerogative.

Interjecting Izzy mid-sentence, Axel raised his eyebrow and asked the question that had been eating him up inside since he arrived.

"So Izzy, tell me, is there really a Total Drama curse, or is this all just bullshit?"

The colour drained from Izzy's face as she locked eyes with the podcaster. She fidgeted with her rings, twisting them around her fingers repeatedly. Her mouth gaped open and closed like a fish, unable to form any coherent words. In response - the only way she physically could at that moment - she shook her head viciously.

"No? Hmm, that's really interesting. It must just be an extreme coincidence that a majority of your cast-mates have either perished or disappeared. Did you know that they were dead, Izzy?" Axel probed, salivating at the thought of the publicity this will bring in.

"I don't want to talk about this," Izzy replied curtly, looking down at her legs and picking at some invisible lint on her pants.

"Like when this all started with the death of-"

"I said I don't want to talk about this, Axel. I'm done here," Izzy proclaimed, removing the headset and standing up from her couch.

"Ju- wait a damn second," Axel jumped from his seat, yanking his headset cord from the soundboard before grabbing Izzy's wrist.

Izzy pulled herself from his grip, rubbing the sore spot on her wrist. "I said no. We don't need any more amateur journalists trying to disturb the dirt of the past."

"You listen to me for a second," he said, putting his finger close to her face, "I drove all the way from California to be here. You fucking owe me the details."

Scoffing, Izzy walked to her kitchen, grabbing an icepack from her freezer for her wrist.

"Kid, I went toe-to-toe with Chris McLean and Chef Hatchet for three seasons. No young tech boy from California is going to intimidate me." She paused and thought for a second, passing a cursory glance at a timber door down the hallway. "You know what? Fine. You want to talk? We can talk, but not on record."

Axel rolled his eyes and huffed out his chest. "Then what's the fucking point?"

"The point is... well... the point is that you'll be able to talk to the only known survivor of that fucking show."

***************************************************

Izzy lead Axel to the dead-bolted timber door situated at the back-end of her house, removing a key from an adjacent picture frame that sat on a table. The latch clicked and squeaked sharply as the door was pulled open, the pair slowly making their way down the dimly lit staircase. As the door slammed shut behind them, the force knocked over the precariously positioned photo frame; in its silver walls sat an image of twenty-two kids smiling on a rickety dock, blissfully unaware of what the future had in store for them.

Axel felt across the crumbling brick wall until he came to a light switch, coated in a thin layer of cobwebs. He flicked the switch, being greeted by a low humming noise before the filament brightened and burst, sending glass shards flying through the air, crashing noisily on the cement floor. A sudden scratch rang out as Izzy stuck a match against the matchbox, lighting the gas lamps that lined the walls.

"What... what is this place?" Axel asked, goosebumps emerging over his arms.

"Some may call it a museum. I prefer to call it a mausoleum," Izzy replied, glancing over at the confused boy.

Stacked in the centre of the room were rows and rows of wooden shelves, lined up next to each other. Assorted items and relics were neatly arranged, an antithesis of the lackadaisical nature of how the rest of her house was decorated. Axel looked at all the objects before stopping on something he thought looked familiar.

"Wait," he pointed at them, a confused look plastered on his face. "These beads... they're Beth's friendship bracelets... the ones she gave out in Action."

Izzy nodded slightly, her face illuminated by the flickering flame of the gas lamp. She stopped in front of a large white shirt, holding it up to her face, inhaling the scent.

"Mmm," she said quietly to herself, "still smells like chicken cologne."

"These things, these... relics. These were all from the cast. And look, you even have some from Revenge of the Island. Why do you have these, Izzy?" Axel asked, increasingly creeped out by the environment he found himself in.

"I keep a part of them because if I don't, I can't trust myself to remember if they were real or not."

She replaced the shirt back to where it was neatly folded and turned to face Axel.

"I lie awake at night, tossing and turning. I think to myself, 'I am the cursed one here'. And it's true," she said softly, her eyes prickling with tear droplets.

"How?"

Izzy chuckled sadly, tears gathering on her light eyelashes. She walked over to one of the many glass cabinets and stared at her reflection.

"Because even though they're dead, I can still hear their screams. And now it's someone else's turn."

#total drama #horror #this might be shit but I'm having fun #yay anthologies!#I promise it gets better

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winifredsandersonsbitch · 5 years ago

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Everybody Needs a Hobby

Spike x Summers! Reader

Warnings: some colorful language, implied smut, S5 spoilers mentioned

Description: You’re frustrated with the crude reality of life in Sunnydale. You want something you can love that won’t go up in flames. One night, you pick up a poetry book from the library and Spike stops by to give you a vivid reading.

You need something to take you out of the violence of your everyday life.

You try painting. Relaxing watercolors aided by books you pick up at the library, bright acrylics splashed across canvases. Soon your room is filled with artwork that ranges from clumsy to talented. You start giving paintings away to make space. Birthday presents for your friends, surprises for elderly neighbors, just-because gifts for Spike to make his crypt more colorful (he laughs at them, hurts your feelings a little, but the next time you’re in his bed you see them peeking out from behind a curtain). It works, for awhile, but you crave something less solitary. Plus your artwork takes a darker turn when you wake up from nightmares, which is frequently.

You turn to yoga classes at the YMCA. Twisting your body into poses is a different kind of hell after a night out with Buffy, but the stretches take so much of your focus that they force you to stop overthinking. Then your instructor turns out to be a former genie with a sinister agenda and you have to drop the class. It was getting expensive anyway.

You join a intermural volleyball team, but after a gruesome loss one of your teammates takes up the dark arts. You start baking and almost burn the house down. Even community service gets dangerous when the blood bank is ambushed by vampires.

“I’m just so frustrated,” you explain to Dawn one morning at breakfast. “I mean, I love all of these things and I want them to work out, but Sunnydale poisons everything. It’s like I can’t even have a hobby on the Hellmouth.”

She peels a banana with manicured fingers. You dropped her and her friend off at the salon last week and now it’s like every motion has to be fit for a hand commercial. “Fighting vampires is a hobby.”

“No, it’s a full-time job,” Buffy says, swiping an apple off the counter. “And (Y/n) already has two of those.”

“Well, there you go.” Dawn shrugs on her backpack. “You don’t need a hobby.”

You do, though. Spike insists on supplementing your income with his, so you’ve cut down your hours at the office and you’re only taking weekends at the diner. For the first time in years, you have time to relax. You don’t want to waste it.

Buffy spots the sour look on your face and nudges your arm. She drops the core in the trash and washes her hands under the sink.

“Maybe it’s time to go back to school,” Buffy suggests. “I know it’s the middle of the semester, but you could apply for next year.”

You don’t want to make her feel bad, especially since she’s in the same situation as you, but school doesn’t feel urgent when you’ve got the apocalypse going on every other year. Plus you don’t even know what you’d major in. There’s no degree for monster fighting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You finish your yogurt, check the time on your watch. “Come on, Dawn, I’ll drive you to school.”

After you drop her off, you head into the office. It’s slow today. The coffee machine gurgles to life every thirty minutes to keep the employees awake and the copier sits silent in disuse. Barbara and Anne giggle together in the annex over a tin of buttered cookies. The phone rings at the reception desk only twice in the morning. When you answer, no one’s there.

You spend most of the day looking up courses that you might be interested in. There are a few that catch your eye, but you can’t fathom how you’d put them together into a degree.

One of them, creative writing, jumps out at you. You used to write when you were in your early teens. Mostly angstsy poetry about how no one understood you and how invisible you felt. It’s embarrassing to look back on now, but then it had felt like a statement to the world.

Writing made you feel known. You gave it up when you went to college, mostly because it seemed impossible that it would ever amount to anything and partly because you didn’t have the time or energy to focus on it. College seems silly now, all that effort for a paper degree when you know what’s really out there, but if you went back you wouldn’t be going just for the degree. You’d be going because you love to learn.

It’s not so important that you get published and famous anymore. You don’t need the spotlight when you’ve already got the most important job in the world: taking care of your sisters. It’s fine to work in the office and at the diner where you’re nothing more to people than another employee. You know you’re making a difference, even if they never will.

But your heart aches a little for what you might’ve had if life hadn’t gotten in the way.

That night, you stop by the library to pick up some books. Just to see if you still have a passion for them the way you used to. Sunnydale’s library is open until ten p.m. and you stay curled up in an armchair in the fiction section until close. You check out four books to take with you: a poetry anthology, Little Women, a collection of short stories from around the world, and a YA novel. You figure that if you try all different genres, maybe you’ll land on something you love.

Your walk back to the house is uneventful, thankfully (having just renewed your library card, you don’t want to have it revoked if something sinister takes a bite out of your books). You have a late night snack with Dawn since Buffy is still out hunting and then take your books up to your room.

You leave the window open so you won’t have to get up if Spike drops by and curl up in bed with the anthology, a notebook on your bedside table in case of inspiration. You’re not totally sure when he comes in; it feels like hours and seconds since you opened the book. The words are swirling around in the soft light of the room, bouncing off the bed frame and the dresser, colliding with your closet door and knocking the paintings askew in their frames.

“Shouldn’t leave your window open like that, love. Something wicked might find its way in.”

His shirt is off already, you register, as he peels the book from your fingers and kisses you deeply. You make a noise of protest against his mouth and he pulls back, eyebrows raised.

“What the hell book is that, to have you so absorbed you don’t even notice me come in?” He picks it up, dangles it in front of you. “Can’t be porn. Because, obviously, what you’ve got in front of you is better than porn. You Summers. All repressed and self-righteous. If it’s the bloody Bible or The Guide to Enlightenment or some—”

“Don’t make fun of me, William,” you retort, snatching it out of his grasp. “It’s a good book.”

“Must be,” he scoffs. Then he reads the cover. His features flicker through three different emotions in the span of five seconds. “Poetry?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not— Here, give me that.”

Grudgingly, you hand it over, and he settles in between your legs, his head resting on your breasts. He picks out the filthiest, most sexual poem he can find (which is still incredibly tame by his usual standards) and recites:

“‘I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what’s underneath. I want to walk down the street—’”

His voice is low, soft, like he’s switched into someone else in the moments between his choosing the poem and his reading it. It makes you shiver. His hand slides up your thigh, at odds with his careful, thoughtful voice.

“‘I want to walk like I’m the only woman on earth and I can have my pick. I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me—’” At this, he shifts position, moves the underwear beneath your pajama shorts aside and slides a finger up. You bite your lip. “‘—To show how little I care about you or anything except what I want.’ I like that one, what about you? ‘Confirm your worst fears?’ ‘How little I care about you or anything except what I want?’ Sound like someone you know?”

You hardly realize he’s switched from the poem to conversation until he pauses his ministrations beneath the bedsheet. He’s angled toward you now, one hand twisted under the sheets and his back against your inner thigh, a toothy grin on his face as he repays you for earlier.

“You’re such an ass.”

He ignores this instead of cutting in with his typical I’m evil, duh speech, nuzzles your neck. “I’d like to get you into a dress like that, love. Have you walk down the street in it, showing off—” He sucks at the skin, hard. You cry out. “But then we have to have a way of letting everyone know you’re mine, don’t we?”

“Spike.” His name comes out a moan, a quiet prayer.

“You want another poem? I’m liking this book.”

He returns to his regularly upright seated position, pretends to adjust his reading glasses, then flips through the pages, leaving you wanting. He lands on a sonnet, airing the words out to the open room as you squirm. Finally, you decide to take matters into your own hands, but he stops you, bursting into a new stanza.

“Here in the electric dusk your naked lover tips the glass high and the ice cubes fall against her teeth...”

He replaces your fingers with his own, guiding you through the poem with a small circles. When you beg, he undresses for you, sets the book down.

“You’re just an erotic hallucination,” he breathes, touching everything as if to make sure that the line isn’t true.

He’s teasing, but a part of him clings to these words in a sad, sweet way. When he’s finished and you’re spent, he rolls over onto the other side of the mattress and his mood shifts again.

“I loved a girl once,” he says, and it stings, even though he talked about Dru often when you first started up and even before, like he wished to hurt you into wanting him. “I wrote her this poem. I used to write a lot, before. I was hopeless that way.”

His voice isn’t soft now. It’s almost angry, like he has been during sex at some points. Passionate and raw and mad at someone that wasn’t you. Flickering back and forth between past and present.

“You probably would’ve liked William,” Spike says. He barks a strangled laugh. “He was just your type. A scrawny mama’s boy who lived through his books.”

He was almost gentle earlier. You can’t understand why he switches like this, between acting like he can’t go on without you and twisting the knife. You roll onto your side.

“Might’ve been, once,” you murmur. This pillow talk is almost worse than the nights when he leaves right after to get his fix, claiming you’ve made him hungry. “Boys like that wouldn’t look twice at me now.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, love.”

You can hear the smile in his voice though. He likes that your self-esteem is low. It feeds his ego, that he can hurt you even though he can’t drain you dry. He’s soulless, after all. On some level, he probably does need you like he says, but it’s not pure. It never will be. He can try to help you when it suits him, restrain himself from severing ties because he craves closeness, but he’s still Spike.

“They’re scared of me now.” Your arms cross under your breasts. You’re not self-flagellating tonight, not really. You’re in the mood for the truth. “They know.”

“Know what?”

“They know, on some level—” It sounds silly, only it isn’t, not to you. “—what I’ve done. And no amount of watercolors or yoga classes is going to change that.”

You didn’t realize it until you said it out loud, how much you were trying to be the girl you were before your mother’s death. How much you missed her and the almost casual slayage that was common before Glory. Sure, the world almost ended a couple times, but you knew how it would turn out in your heart. This— with Buffy, with Dawn— you have no idea.

You lapse into silence, purposefully even your breathing out so it seems you’ve fallen asleep. He gets up not long after, rustles around your room for a moment in a way that makes you nervous, and then pulls the window shut behind him as he exits onto the roof. You fall asleep at some point, drifting in and out of a dream featuring you at the office in a nightmare distortion of your boss’s birthday party until your alarm goes off.

You sit up and smack the button off, sending a piece of paper cascading to the floor. It isn’t until after you’ve brushed your teeth and fully woken up that you retrieve it. It takes you a full thirty seconds to process the first line of the pretentious and somewhat offensive poem Spike left you.

It’s disgusting. It’s explicit. It’s replete with words that you have to look up.

You love it.

When you go down to breakfast, Dawn cracks jokes about the dazed smile on your face until Buffy shushes her and sends her off to finish getting ready for school.

“Seriously, are you okay though?” she asks when the two of you are left to yourselves. You could ask her the same question, with the already scabbing gash on her forehead, but you settle for a quick shake of the head. You feel like you’re burning up, like she can see through you to all the things you did last night.

“No— I mean, I didn’t sleep well.” You pour yourself a cup of juice and take a seat at the table, trying to suffocate your grin. “But I think I found my new hobby.”

#fanfiction #spike x reader #spike #btvs season 5 #btvs #btvs x reader #buffy the vampire slayer

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vfdarkness · 4 years ago

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Love AVFD, the season finale was amazing and I can't wait to see what you do in season 2! I'm curious, what are some of your favorite horror podcasts?

Thank you!

I’ll answer - at the same time - I’ll give the caveat that I’m less inspired by other horror podcasts for AVFD and more so by horror and other sorts of fiction (magical realism, weird fiction, surrealism) in other mediums. I might make a follow up post to this one in the future and list out a few books and authors that’ve been especially influential for the show.

For podcasts though -

Welcome to Night Vale was what got me to listen to modern fiction podcasts. It’s not horror per se, but walks a strange line that I appreciate and the single narrator radio host format is inspiring for those of us too poor to put on larger productions. I heard the show while living in Chicago back in 2013. At the time I tried doing a Twilight Zone-esque podcast called The Night NeverEnding (you can’t find it online anywhere anymore) but I was doing everything myself and the writing and narration quality just weren’t there.

I am in Eskew - I really love this show. It plays with so many themes and things that I’m also attracted to. After I’d been writing NoSleep stories for awhile and wanted to do something more, I heard this show, and again thought about making a podcast. So Night Vale and Eskew are probably the two biggest influences on AVFD coming into existence.

The Black Tapes - great production, exceptionally well acted, and some individual episodes and ideas that carry across the series are excellent. I feel this show has gotten enough praise elsewhere though that I don’t need to write further about it.

Nightlight - I only started listening to this one recently, but it’s wonderful. Really well written stories, great narration. In particular, the last two episodes as I write this have been really good - if you’re looking for a jumping off point. Back in their first season they narrated a story by W.E.B. Dubois that’s just amazing. I had no idea Dubois wrote fiction. The story’s called The Comet - about NYC being destroyed and the only two people left are a poor black man and a wealthy white woman. This was decades before The Twilight Zone but it’s that same sort of story - using speculative fiction to smuggle in social commentary.

The Magnus Archives - shortly into our series people told me our show reminded them of TMA. I’d not heard it before. I’ve since listened to the first several episodes, but stopped shortly into the first season - not even ten episodes in if I recall. It’s fantastic, I love it. But as I was writing the first mirror leeches story initially the second part of that story ended in an identical manner to a story TMA did. I didn’t want to be influenced to do - or not to do - stories based on another show so I didn’t want to listen further. I’ve had second thoughts on this though. Especially since I feel the world, direction, and mythology of AVFD is established enough in my head that it can’t be further influenced by other series.

Old Gods of Appalachia - another exceptionally well-written story with phenomenal narration. I didn’t get very far into the first season for the same reason I didn’t listen much to TMA. I’ll probably listen further to this one too soon though.

Nocturnal Transmissions - I have to mention Kristin’s other podcast. He’s the best narrator in the business and he curates incredible stories. When I was contributed stories for NoSleep I got asked a dozen or so times to have my writings used by Youtube narrators and various podcasts. Most of these weren’t bad - but you could tell it was just someone doing it for a hobby. Kristin’s show is as professional as it gets - in terms of production value and his talent as a narrator. He asked to narrate a story I wrote - a quick, silly thing about a guy being upset that his neighbor is just a giant spider in a trenchcoat and no one seems to notice. Several months later, I was thinking of starting an audiodrama of some kind. I really liked the idea of a parapsychologist (Peter Venkman’s job in Ghostbusters) having Frasier Crane’s radio psychiatry job. I pitched him that and so we made AVFD.

Wolverine: The Long Night - Not horror, but I have to mention this. It’s written by Ben Percy who taught me creative writing in college. He had a huge impact on me. At that time, at the university, I was being led astray by the rest of the English dept - told that you couldn’t write speculative fiction stories - horror or weird fiction - and get taken seriously. If you weren’t writing about married couples having passive aggressive arguments where nothing really happens - then you weren’t writing “literature”. Not so in Percy’s class. He had us read Jorge Luis Borges, Angela Carter, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Joyce Carol Oates - authors celebrated across the globe as literary yet they wrote amazing mythic, strange, horrific tales. He had us read an anthology of stories put out by McSweeny’s where literary authors wrote speculative fiction - showing how to use literary techniques to write genre lit. Today, in 2020, that all might read as obvious - of course you can write literary speculative fiction. I’m 37. I was in college in the early 2000s. It was far less obvious then. Anyway, a lot of the best advice I got on writing came from him. A lot of authors who’ve influenced my writing - I was introduced to in his class. And when I went to create AVFD - I felt confident I could write in the audiodrama because I was taught by someone who’d already written a breakout series in the medium.

And finally I should mention The Storage Papers and Weeping Cedars. The first is about Jeremey, who purchases an abandoned storage space that’s filled with files on strange and horrific things happening in San Diego. It’s a really well-produced single narrator show. And Weeping Cedars is more in line with The Black Tapes in terms of medium - a journalist doing an audio documentary. in this case about a small upstate New York town. The show unfolds very slowly - like a long Stephen King novel. I recommend them both.

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years ago

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TWD Preview Show

Hey everyone! So, on Sunday, we had the TWD preview show, which covered TWD, FTWD, and TWB. I watched it, hoping to pick up some TD tidbits. First off, I’ll say that there was nothing huge. There were a few minor comments that I side-eyed, and they’re worth mentioning, but nothing huge (or obviously I would have posted it right away. ;D)

But, as usual, some of my theorists picked up stuff I didn’t. Check out our observations and conversations below.

@wdway: One of the things I did go away with is there will be more characters along with Daryl and Carol in the spinoff, they're just not willing to tell us yet. I know people are always complaining and I've already heard the thing about, well we know Carol and Daryl come out of the series alive, thanks for ruining that for us. Like anyone thought they would actually die in the series.

The letters from Scott were a bit interesting especially the second one. There's going to be some very personal character stories end the 6 episodes it sounds like, that part wasn't really a shocker but it's nice to hear it.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

I only wrote down a handful of things. And they weren’t really the “main” things being discussed. More like side or afterthoughts that the various people said.

1) Did you catch what Lenny James said about where he was when he heard the news about TWD ending? He said he was in Atlanta with Pollyanna and the guy that played Jared. Now, Jared is deceased, so if he were filming anything, it would have to be a flashback or dream sequence. But given how big a part of Morgan’s our key was, that doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility to me. But it was interesting that he said he was with Pollyanna. If Lenny and Pollyanna were filming together, that suggests that Morgan and Jadis will come face-to-face at some point. The helicopter group?

And no, he didn’t actually say they were filming. But he said they were “doing a thing,“ and he obviously didn’t want to see what it was. I mean, if they were just having dinner together as friends, why wouldn’t he just say that. So it seem to me, like maybe they were filming or doing some sort of project he couldn’t talk about.

2) When Lenny James said that he almost revealed a spoiler, Chris Hardwick said something along the lines of, “it’s always on the tip of your brain. Like, don’t see the spoiler, don’t see the spoiler.”

It just jumped out at me because Chris Hardwick likes to say he doesn’t know any spoilers. That kind of proves that he does.

3) The show Runner for TWB has been a writer on the show since season four and is close with Angela Kang. I thought that was interesting, given how much she’s worked on Bethyl episodes and that Bethyl really, for all intents and purposes, began in season four. He talked about Jade us, the three ring symbol, and a helicopter people. He also said that what happens in the world beyond will be tied heavily to the mythology of the main show. Now, first and foremost, I think that means the helicopters, which we know I’ve been around in the background since season one. But that could be a tie to Beth and Grady as well.

4) they also said the anthology spinoff or feature both old characters and new ones. Not sure what to make of that, but I wonder if “new“ stories might tie into the helicopter group and Beth in some way.

5) Some suspicious things Lauren said. They were joking around she said what if Maggie returns, and she doesn’t like kids or dogs, doesn’t speak anymore, or has no face. I get that they were making a joke, but she managed to reference dogs, Whisperers, and “speak no evil” all in the same sentence. No idea if I should be reading into that but it jumped out at me.

6) Finally, they said that the Carol and Daryl spinoff will be about discovery. Naturally, my TD brain went, “discovery about where Beth is?” 😝

So yeah, that’s all I got.

@wdway

The showrunner for The World Beyond, has written quite a few episodes, co-written some I'm wanting to say Beth kind of hints, I'll try to check that out tomorrow. Years ago I had made a list of episodes and their writers directors it's in one of my folders. Do you think Scott's comment is the new title of the spin-off I believe it was, The Walking Dead Lives. When I heard it that's the thought I had.

I haven't really re-watched yet, I wanted to give you a list of some of the episodes that are definitely full of Beth feels that were written by Matthew Negrete.

Inmates- cowritten with Channing Powell.

Slabtown- also cowritten with Channing Powell.

Consumed- cowritten with Corey Reed.

Knots Untie- cowritten with Channing Powell.

Twice as Far- no cowriter. This is the episode where Denise is killed.

The Well- no cowriter. This one of course is the introduction of the king and the kingdom, there is an awful lot of Beth feels in it, like the little drawing on the wall of a blonde girl with a ponytail running.

Hearts Still Beating- cowritten with Channing Powell. This episode is the one worh the houseboat. So many Beth feels. Of course we first see the hint of the hipsters/junkyard group.

These are not all the episodes Matthew Neggrete has written for TWD, these highlight the ones I feel are very Beth oriented. And I guess what I'm saying is it's obvious that The World Beyond, showrunner is very in the know about the storyline regarding Beth. If by some chance tptb plan on hunting at or revealing Beth through this series than they are definitely in good Bethyl hands.

(This is probably the Big Cheese takeaway!)

@wdway

The World Beyond hasn't even premiered yet and they have already put in the rule book what makes a good head shot. The Walking Dead universe now has a diagram visual where to place a bullet or the area of the head to aim for in order that a person would not come back as a Walker.

Follow the (yellow) lines to the center showing where your gun shot target would be. I love this little piece of information. This is a still shot from last night's Premiere preview. There was no live action preview for this scene, this is just the still shot obviously from the series. Note, no little yellow line goes to the top forehead in this diagram. A person with a shot that was at the forehead would not come back as a walker someone like Beth.

Yeah, I totally missed that while watching, and that’s super-awesome. Probably my favorite thing about this special.

So yeah. That’s what we found. I hope you found it encouraging! ;D

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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vee-angel · 5 years ago

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Talynn’s Edge (Part 2)

(Just reposted the first part of this story with the corresponding illustration. This section will have a pretty significant amount of blood and violence, both sexual and non-sexual. And just an FYI, this part is not a stand-alone story by any means. If you want to understand what’s going on, I recommend reading the first part, and if you want to understand what’s going on well, I recommend reading the first part, and watching “Sonnie’s Edge” from the Love, Death + Robots anthology series on Netflix. If you want to completely understand, than do all that, and also read the short story by Peter F. Hamilton.)

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Something was different about the vibes tonight. Me and the rest of Sonnie’s Predators had seen plenty of fight nights, but this was the fight night. Khanivore vs. Hellcat. Me vs…. her.

Seems like a pair of woman beastie baiters going head to head was a bigger draw than I’d thought. Traffic is shit in the cities anyway, but the sludge of vehicles and bodies round the arena made it so the old twenty-wheeler’s cab had to slog inch by inch before we could unload Khanivore’s pod.

Hadn’t seen Talynn since that night months ago in the shitty spunk-stained hotel room. Fight promoters had set everything up. Closest thing we’d got to talking was signing the same fight contract. Still, she’d been in my head more than I’d have liked.

I felt ready, though. Near half a thousand dead rabbits made sure of that. Gotten to the point Khanivore had the muscle memory to spear a frantic hare running full clip near a hundred-percent of the time. Her bone-blade tentacles should make quick work of Hellcat even with its ungodly speed.

Wondered if Talynn still remembered the agreement we made that night. Winner gets to have their way with the loser. Ain’t exactly any way I’d have to pay up if I lose, but if I win, I wouldn’t mind a good shag. Honestly, I’d got a bit obsessive as of late, and needed the release.

I’d scouted the set-up a couple weeks before. Arena was bigger than the last one, but same basic set-up. Fight-pit dropped into the floor with rows and rows of people packed like sardines. Pit was the biggest one I’d seen so far, made room to maneuver, also meant her beastie had room to pick up speed.

After we finally got unloaded and took care of pre-fight business, we waited for the ring-master to start talking me up so I could make my entrance. Heard the clamor of the crowd before taking a step out into the open with Wes and Ivrina on either side. The Sonnie’s Predators fans jumped to their feet and went wild. My fans, I was the one putting it all on the line after all. God it felt good. I was the champion, and I wasn’t about to let some yankee cunt take that away from me.

Announcer kept on with peppy hyperbolic fanfare as I settled down in my signature zen pose at the edge of the pit. They could pretend they was excited because we were both undefeated, but really it was just that both pilots had tits for the first time.

Finally saw Talynn walking out from the other side of the arena. My heart beat a little faster and I couldn’t tell if it was because I still fancied her a bit or because the psychotic twat scared me a little. Honestly, probably a bit of both.

“Fuckin’ Hell, do you suppose that’s real?” Wes asked

“Fake stuff don’t clot like that.” Ivrina said back.

For half a second I wasn’t sure what they was talking about. Then I saw it. I mistook her for wearin that same shiny red skin-suit I’d seen her in last time, but it wasn’t that. It was blood.

Fuckin’ perfect outfit to intimidate, I figure. Ain’t nothing gonna scare the shit out of somebody quite like walking out naked smeared with gore. Her face was different, too. No babydoll grin, just this death scowl pointed right in my direction. Whole affair gave her this look like some kinda Aztek deity you could summon if you knifed out enough living people’s hearts as tribute.

She was taking this one serious, I figure. Ain’t no point in going the whole nine to intimidate unless you’re scared yourself. She didn’t think this up last minute. Maybe over this last stretch this fight had been running through my head more times than it ought to, but now I knew. I’d gotten into her brain-space, too.

“You ready, Sonnie?” Ivrina’s voice came real gentle from the side. She didn’t want to fuck my concentration. I didn’t even look at her or Wes, just gave a quick nod staring straight ahead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“A’right, booting the Affinity Link… Now.”

There was a brief flash where I was falling through a thick ocean of pitch black, but my brain did quick work making sense of the sensorium coming through my body... Khanivore’s body. My eyes opened to the sight of the pod freshly opened and I stepped out on freakish strong thighs.

I heard the announcer saying my name and dashed out into the fight-pit. I moved quick, but not too quick. Didn’t want to telegraph how fast I’d become.

Hellcat got announced then. The black beast stalked out slow and confident-like. Didn’t make any fancy display like the first time I saw. She wanted to save all its energy for ripping limb from limb and then fucking the dead, bloody stumps.

This is when fear kicked in; locked in a pit with nothing between me and this prickly murderbeast that wanted nothing more than to kill me. This is when it got real. My survival instincts start screaming at me and I became primality incarnate. My body tensed, bone blades poised to strike, legs ready to dodge. This was it.

The fight lights went on.

Nothing.

Hellcat stared, quiet menace rising off it like smoke. Didn’t strike, didn’t lunge.

It started to move, real slow like. Tense steps around the edge of the pit like it was circling prey. I did the same; wasn’t about to let it flank me. I couldn’t let my guard down. I’d seen how fast it was. Talynn wasn’t going to let me survive a mis-step.

We’d gone around a full three-sixty with careful slow steps, staring one another down. The crowd had gone quiet, too; just waiting. Was this her strategy? Wear out my patience, wait for a mistake? A reckless move? Not gonna happen. She can take as many moments as she likes, and I’ll savor every one. Because if I fuck up, I won’t be having any moments ever again.

I kept my nerves steady, If anyone was going to be reckless it’d be her. . . and she was. She kept on going round, but she was moving farther from the edge. She had her eyes locked on and couldn’t help but get closer. She may have been fast, but I still had murderous tentacular range. The spiny hyaenodon was inching dangerous close to the point where I could hit it before it could attack me.

Few more steps and the fucker’d be just within my attack radius. Decided to let it get a hair closer just to make sure…

By the time the crowd gasped, I had two bone-tipped tentacles buried near half a meter into the side of Hellcat’s neck. With two more vipering straight into a spot behind its shoulder.

Couldn’t have been more than a third of a second it took to get all four blades embedded in its flesh, and I wasn’t lettin go easy.

Turns out Hellcat didn’t plan on letting go either. Fuckin beastie rolled toward me, wrapping my tendril arms around itself and aerating them with hundreds of jagged porcupine quills. It near pulled itself close enough to start ripping and gashing with claws and teeth when I whipped it across the pit with a sickening velcro sound of spines ripping out of its back.

Hellcat hit the wall hard but made a quick recovery. Blood from its wounds had already stopped flowing. It felt like it left a couple of kilos worth of needles in each one of my bone-blade tentacle arms. That was going to slow me down. I shouldn’t have thrown it; I’d panicked. Fuck!

The beastie gathered its footing then rocketed straight across the pit. I tried spearing it, but I was too slow with the shredded muscles. I felt those diamond hard shark teeth clamp into my thigh and rip through a chunk of armor and flesh before dodging back to the far side of the pit.

I’d seen this before when it fought Minogore. Now that Talynn had relieved me of my best weapon, it was back to typical strategy. Hellcat was going to rip off little bits of me until there was too little left to fight back when it went in for the kill. Shit!!

I wasn’t gonna go out that way, couldn’t let it happen. Had to stay calm, strategize. Hellcat was digging in its feet for another rush. Just as it took off I speared the floor between me and it. The appendages might have been too slow to attack, but I could use them as a barrier. And stuck full of needles as they were, they’d be too nasty to bite through. Hellcat veered off and spun around looking damn near offended that I wouldn’t just lay down and die.

I stayed low and kept on with the same strategy. I was fighting defensive now, putting thorny tentacle arms between me and the beastie every time it lunged. A couple cycles in of this and I learned I could direct the fucker left or right as I pleased. Started using this to my advantage and swiped off a good few chunks of its back legs with clawed fingers.

For a minute I thought I was getting the upper hand, but then the little beastie got around the tentacular cage I’d been keeping myself in and nipped off a good bit of shin. Told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. But then... it did happen again. And again. And again.

What the fuck was going on! I had a good strategy, but then it seemed like Hellcat somehow managed to get even faster. I got this sick feeling when it dawned on me. It wasn’t faster… I was slower. Why!? Khanivore had enough oxygenated blood to fight for an hour at least. It wasn’t near that long, yet. I’d barely lost a drop of blood. There was no goddamn reason I should be fatiguing just now! Did the team miss something after the last fight? Did Wes or Ivrina fuck something up in Khanivore’s pod?!?

Not now, survive first, kick their arses later. It wasn’t time for thinking or clever strategies no more. This was time to not die; to go for full berzerk primality!

Enemy was readying its footing for a death-blow. My thoughts had all collapsed into a single brutal directive: Kill.

Hellcat lunged, I lunged straight back at it. Clawed fingers shoved straight down its gullet as I tackled the fucker to the ground. Serrated shark teeth crunched my right hand straight off while my left was carving out its eye. I yanked the mutilated limb from its maw and put the beastie in a headlock with the stump. I felt every remaining spine it had digging into my guts, but I didn’t give the tiniest fuck. I was going to rip this cunt apart!

The beast thrashed about as the claws of my left hand ripped through its gut, yanking out bones and ribs before frantically scooping out every bit of meat and organ I could reach at through its soft underbelly. It kept thrashing about in a panic way longer than most, a testament to Talynn’s bioengineering prowess. But I could feel the life draining on account of my savage evisceration.

I had won. Hellcat was dying.

I dropped the scooped-out fiend to the floor of the pit to let it make it’s death-rattle before finally going limp.

I heard Talynn shriek as her Affinity link to Hellcat died. The blood-clad beauty wasn’t intimidating anymore. I saw her eyes filled with terror and hands shaking as she rushed forward. Look on her face actually made me feel bad for her.

The girl actually continued forward, making this panicked climb into the fight pit. Just kept repeating, “No, no, no, please no.” in this hysterical, teary voice. The drop into the pit was a good three meters, even from hanging. Looked like she cracked an ankle the way she limped over to Hellcat’s side.

She went prostrate next to her dead monster, face a mess of tears and snot, and started doing these great big heaving sobs as she laid her hand on its face. Whole thing was fucking tragic.

I had just enough strength to raise a bloodied arm in triumph, but the crowd wasn’t quite as thrilled as it should have been. The bloody crying girl really fucked the vibe. Couldn’t worry about it now; Khanivore needed to get back to her pod, and fast.

I hobbled back down the corridor on half-eaten legs and felt a relief when the pod sealed. Now that I was animating a human body again, I could appreciate the fight I’d just had and won. There was times I worried I was over-preparing for this one bought, but now I knew she was everything I was expecting her to be. Talynn was batshit, but fucking brilliant as a baiter.

I remembered our deal about winner fucks the loser, but by the look on her face out there, figured I ought to give her some time. I headed backstage and we opened up a nice expensive bottle we got just for this particular win. Had a toast to no more fucking rabbit stew.

Then something happened. Wes poured a shot and slid it over to me, but the glass shattered on the floor before I’d even raised my hand to catch it. It was the same feeling I’d had out in the pit…. I was getting slower. Wasn’t a problem with Khanivore’s body… problem was the brain inside it.

“Somethin’s wrong.” I told them. “It was like this out in the pit. My reflexes was getting slower right near the end. Still getting slower now. She did something to Khanivore, something that’s fucking up my brain.”

The team rushed to the pod. Wes hooked up the interface and checked some measurements and data I didn’t quite understand. Started looking real panicked. Came back to tell us something about something was wrong with the nervous system.

“Cheatin’ fucking cunt.” Ivrina said. “I’ll bet her beastie’s got some kinda neurotoxin on those goddamn spines.”

“And Khanivore ain’t got no filter organs; the pod can do the basic stuff but it wasn’t meant to contend with poison.” I was pissed off. Talynn meant to kill my beastie even though she’d lost. Only she didn’t know it was my brain inside of her. I pounded a fist on Khanivore’s pod. “She’s gonna tell me how to fix this, even if I have to beat it out of her.” I stormed out headin straight for the opposing team’s green room. The team called something after me about saying they was going to keep trying to see what they could do. They seemed shaken. I couldn’t blame them. I was too.

Made my way through the under-halls to the sound of spectators filing out above me, eventually burst in on Talynn sitting in the dark staring at the empty pod, knees hugged up to her chest.

“Talynn,” she cringed a bit hearing my voice, but didn’t turn around. Seeing her look so defeated drained the anger right out of me. Probably a good thing, too. I had to speak gentle. Ten seconds ago, I’d planned to go all fire and intimidation, but antagonizing her wouldn’t do any good. “Hey… I’m sorry about your beastie, but I got to talk to you. Something’s wrong with Khanivore, she’s still dying even in the pod. We got to thinking it might of been your Hellcat. Those spines got poison on ‘em, don’t they?”

There was a long pause, “Venom.” Talynn corrected in this little sotto voice.

“Yeah, all right. Go to admit, I never would have thought to do that.” I felt like a damn hostage negotiator, and come to think of it, I kinda was, “But the fight’s over now, so I need you to fix it. Give me the antidote or tell me what I got to do so Khanivore doesn’t die.”

“Why the fuck should I?” Talynn snarled all sudden-like, finally turning to face me. She stood, limping forward angrily and got right up in front of me. Olfactory presence almost made me wretch; drenched in rotted blood made her smell like a mass grave. “Hellcat died! You killed her! Why shouldn’t you have to watch your own precious Khanivore fade away?? Maybe then you can know what you did to me!”

“I won’t know anything! I’ll be fuckin’ dead!” I paused to steady myself. Talynn gave this narrowed eyed look of suspicious incomprehension. Fuck, I had to tell her. “I ain’t in here, not anymore.” I poked a finger aggressive at my temple, “This body’s just animated by a bioware processor stuck on top of a spine. My real brain’s getting rotted away by your fuckin venom right now. If Khanivore dies, I die.”

Talynn took a step back in stupefaction. She just stared for a moment like she was trying to figure out whether to take me serious or not. I didn’t even see her hand reach back to grab the three kilo wrench that’d been set down next to the pod. Not until she whipped it around and cracked open the side of my head with it.

“Fuckin’ hell!!!” My hand went to my temple, which was several centimeters sunken in now. For a second, my thoughts flashed that she was crazy, then I realized why she’d done it. If I was lying, she figured I deserved to be killed, and if I wasn’t, she wanted proof.

I guessed that one side of my skull looked like a Jack-O-Lantern left out ‘til July, so the fact that I was still standing there glaring at her should be proof enough that there wasn’t anything neurologically essential inside my skull.

Talynn looked wide eyed for a moment, “You’re… that’s fucking insane.” was all she said. Thought I saw a flash of a smile for a second as she turned around and rushed toward a big trunk. Yanked out a big handful of hypodermic syringes full up with some amber liquid. She handed some of them to me. “Three should be enough for Khanivore. I need to keep a couple as a backup in case one of my team pricks themselves while they’re...” she just trailed off, not wanting to say ‘handling Hellcat’s corpse.’

I rushed back without a word, and near crashed into Ivrina halfway. She came to look for me, worried that I’d collapsed or something. And honestly, I was feeling like my ability to control equilibrium was fading fast. I ended up handing the syringes to her while she told me just sit down on this grimy wooden bench in the hall.

My heart was pounding, for the next few minutes I sat there doing mental exercises and seeing how well I could touch my fingers to one another. Not that well, it was seeming. But after about ten minutes, my thoughts seemed to settle down, I felt like my brain was doing a proper job animating my body through Affinity again. The antidote worked.

For a while I sat there thinking about what if Talynn was right about me being the crazy one. She at least had the good sense not to get into the pit herself; except she did just that after her beastie died. Maybe the two of us were psychotic. Maybe that’s how come I didn’t feel mad at her no more. I didn’t just fancy her cuz she was pretty, maybe I like that she’s the only one I’d met who’s just as fuckin’ mental as I was.

Barely noticed the man walking up on me until he’d sat on the rotted wooden bench next to me. I recognized him as one of Talynn’s crew, older than the rest. Had this way about him like he was some detective from a noir style American film. Tough as nails type who’s been too jaded to care about rules no more.

I pulled my hood farther to hide the shattered skull, but he didn’t look in my direction, just stared straight ahead as he lit up a cigarette and started talking at me.

“I want to tell you a story.” His voice was deep and dark, full of gravel and gravitas. “Once upon a time there was a little girl named Tara-Lynn. She ended up in the care of the state at a young age. Parents abandoned her, or maybe they got themselves killed. Doesn’t really matter.” He paused to take a draw at the crackling ciggie.

“One day a couple comes along and decides that they’d like little Tara-Lynn to join their happy little family.” he continues, “Except she finds out it’s not so happy. Her new mommy and daddy expect her to pay back the adoption fees with interest. What’s little Tara-Lynn to do? Well… mommy and daddy thought of that, too. It seems they knew some men who’d pay them a lot of money for some time with little Tara-Lynn. You know the type of things men pay to do with little girls?” he paused to take another drag, “Yeah, I hear you know a little about that.”

Sitting there listening, I felt a sick bit of bile boiling up in my gut. Felt like I should say something, but he kept on before I had a chance.

“Story doesn’t end there. One night the police were called to Tara-Lynn’s house after a neighbor complained about a smell like a dead animal coming from the premises. Cops got inside to find mommy and daddy stabbed to death in their bed and little Tara-Lynn still clutching a bloody kitchen knife. Dried blood caked onto her pink pajamas. “Little girl went into custody, mommy and daddy went to the morgue. She said she didn’t do it, and for a while, they believed her. Medical examiner said there was no way a ten-year-old could have committed such a beastly crime. They were stabbed so many times, he stopped counting wounds after two hundred… each. “When they asked little Tara-Lynn what happened, she told them that an angel had come to rescue her. An angel named Talynn. After a few months visiting with a shrink, they finally got it figured out. She told them what they were doing to her, and she got a diagnosis. Split personality.”

“Jesus fuck...” the words came from my mouth an awed whisper.

“Talynn,” he ploughed on, “isn’t a person. And she’s definitely no angel. Closer to a demon. And demons don’t just sit quietly and wait when there’s nothing to do. Tara-Lynn may have escaped mommy and daddy, but she ended up with a new monster; one that lives inside of her.”

My mind flashed back to that night with her naked body across the motel room mattress. I remembered seeing all the scars that looked self-inflicted. It made sense now, Talynn had been hurting her. Wheels in my head turned, before things finally clicked into place, “That’s why she does it, then” I interrupt the man before he has a chance to keep talking, “She had a beastie livin’ in her head her whole life, then finds out she can just custom make a suit for the monster inside, then stick it in a pit an’ let it do what it does best.”

Man took a final puff on the cancer stick then stood up to snuff it under a cracked leather boot. “Except you killed the suit, broke the cage. And now the monster is pissed off.”

I took his meaning that he was frightened that with Hellcat dead, Talynn’s demon was going to go back to hurting her to get its jollies. Maybe even hurting others. “Ay!” I called after him as he started walking away, “the fuck you want me to do about it?”

* * *

I spent half a week giving the situation a good thinking over before I got around to calling Talynn. Normally I wouldn’t give a rat-shit about anybody, but something bout her story made me want to be helpful like. Maybe it was because I felt responsible on account of I killed her beastie. Maybe it was because she’d really been raped and brutalized while I was going round lying about it. Maybe I was just randy for her, I don’t fuckin’ know.

Anyway, I’d come up with this plan, right? If Talynn had this demon living in her head that might end up on a killer rampage unless it had somewhere to focus its hate, I was gonna give it something to focus on. A bit of tough love is what she needed, I figure.

I rang her up, half expecting her to back out of the arrangement we had, due to I would have been dead if she’d won. She sounded downtrodden still, but also seemed eager for a bit of distraction and self-destruction.

I had her show up at the shit-hole warehouse that served as the home-base for Sonnie’s Predators. A good half the team lived there, but I threw them a few quid and told them to find someplace else to be for the night.

Khanivore was in her pod at the far side of the big room. She wasn’t terribly visible, since I’d turned out all the lights except for the big one over the training ring that clicks on with a big, dramatic snap. The circle we had laid out in the middle was roughly the size of a fight-pit, and used primarily for training and testing. Could still get a whiff of old rabbit’s blood if you was paying attention. Outside the ring was a few bits of machinery, but mostly some big crates filled with jugs of intravenous nutrient juice, and a few tanks of preservative fluid for when she needs her pod re-filled with fresh stuff. There was one big box with biohazard stickers all over it that had Khanivore’s excreta inside it.

I paced around a bit, half nervous, half excited. Then I hear a knock at the big metal door. I click the button that loudly rattles the huge metal warehouse door up. I see Talynn standing there; she hadn’t bothered to dress up for our ‘date’ by the look of it. She had this ragged sweater on, and even defeated as she looked, there was still a spark of fire in her eyes. She stepped inside and I clicked the door motors to put the door closed again.

“Welcome to the HQ.” I said with a flourish of my arms that was maybe I bit more smug than it had to be. Her eyes stayed locked on me.

“If you’re going to fuck me, just get on with it.” she said. I could tell it was Tara-Lynn speaking. The voice was little, and a bit scared. It wasn’t the big, bad beastie that lived in her head.

“I got a question for you.” she didn’t react. “When I made that deal with you. About the winner gets to have their way with the loser. Which one of you was I talking to?” ‘

Her face flashed a snarl for just a moment when she realized somebody told me about her bisected psyche. She took a few seconds to turn it over in her mind, “What’s it matter?”

“Matters ‘cuz I think that big, bad Talynn made a bet, and is here expecting little Tara-Lynn to pay up since she lost. So I got a new idea.” I toss her over a pair of those old fighting gloves they used in caged MMA matches. “Double or nothing. You and me, nothing lab-grown. If I win, I get to have my way with Talynn. I ain’t got no interest in bullying a crying, little victim; but a hard bitch who carves up pedos… that’s something that’ll hold my interest.”

She looked down at the floor, worried like. Then in an instant all the worry drained away and these inferno-hot eyes shot up to meet with mine. “And if I win, you’ll submit to me?” She growled the words as she stalked forward at me with these slow, menacing panther steps. A little grin formed at the side of my mouth as I saw the beast I faced in the pit a few days ago appear in front of me in human form.

“That’s the way of it, yeah.” The night was lookin like it’d shape up to be my own private carnival of depravity.

A few rips of velco had our fighting gloves on. I popped off my shoes so I was down to just the threadbare wife-beater and my capris. Talynn had a few more layers to get down to an appropriate amount of covering. Yank wasn’t acclimated to the London chill.

It’d been a good few years since I’d been in a proper scrap using the body I was in now. Last time was in my teen years when this little twat and her friend jumped me calling me a slut and saying I’d fucked her boyfriend. Had her in a solid ground-and-pound position when the friend glassed me in the side of the head with a bottle she’d hidden in her backpack. Probably still have the scar on my cheek from it, but nowadays it’s blended in with the mess of mutilation my face has become.

Talynn steps inside the taped off area that served as our make-shift pit. She starts circling real careful the way she did in her beastie form. I wasn’t having none of that bullshit, so I charge straight in stabbing and elbow into her left tit. She tries to grab on but loses her balance.

She’s on the ground and I start putting some kicks on her. One of her lips splits open pretty good before she sinks her teeth into one of my toes with this feral little-girl growl. I can’t get it dislodged even when she starts coiling the rest of her limbs around my leg. A couple good jerks and thrashes got me off my feet crashing onto the cement. She twists around and drives her heel straight up into my cunt a couple times.

Don’t rightly know how, but somehow I grappled her around until I had her under me, face down. That hair-glue she puts in her mohawk let me get a good grip on it even though there wasn’t much to grab. I said to her that she better admit defeat or I’d bash her face right open here and now on the rock floor. She says “Eat shit” and I bash her face a couple times so as to let her know I ain’t joking. She gets angry-quiet and doesn’t say anything for a while. Too long for my liking so I collide her face with the cement once more. Finally she admits that I’d won.

I take a minute to catch my breath. This fight went quick but I had to admit that Talynn had this brutal ferality that got me good and randy. She kept glaring at me as I chained her wrists strappado style up to this overhead winch that ran on a track the length of the warehouse. I gave her enough slack that she could kneel down without her shoulders coming dislocated, but not much more than that.

I fade into the shade round the edges of the room for a minute to grab some of what I’d gathered in pre-planning. I stuck a good sharp straight razor in my pocket and picked up this novelty camera I’d gotten a few years back. It was supposed to look like one of them old nineteen hundreds ones that print out the pictures as you take them.

I clicked off a few piccies and tossed the print-outs on the floor in front of her. Her face looked venomous at me as she realized her private humiliation was gonna be saved for posterity. I hang the insta-camera from my belt and got to work with the razor. I made a real show of turning her outfit into garbage.

I take a few more images of her naked body, making sure to get some real nice close ups of the intimate bits. Then I got to examining her real close, like she was a piece of meat. I figured neither of us put any time limit on things, so I didn’t have no need to be expedient.

Talynn didn’t resist, but she wasn’t really cooperating neither. Took a solid kick in the calf-meat to get her to put her legs apart. “You’re 0 for 2, beastie.” I whisper to her as I stand behind her and run my fingers from her cunt up over her arsehole.

“Ain’t so tough without a half-tonne of claws and teeth to slip in to, yeah?” She stood still just glaring off into the distance. I got up real close behind her and yanked her arse back against my hips. Put my arm around her waist and bend forward real close, so I was talking into her ear. “Tell me what it felt like when I was ripping your guts out.” Her teeth clenched so hard, I’m surprised she didn’t crack one.

“Staying quiet, eh? Maybe you need a reminder.” I put her in a headlock just the way I did in the ring, shoulders twisted to just near popping. I press the straight edge to her chest and slide it down between her tits, just hard enough to let out some drops of ruby red, but not so deep that she’d need more than a few stitches to patch her up. Carved a ragged line almost all the way down to her cunt hair.

I hold her close as I whip out the insta-cam and flash a pic of us cheek to cheek. I see she’s got this look of sick disbelief in her eyes. The polaroid falls to the floor to stain with the drippies of blood slowly hanging out her torso.

I walk around real slow to get right in front of her. Her eyes was all fury and fear and fuck-yous. “You still with me, beastie?” I asked her. The carnal hate was my answer, it was still Talynn I was talking to. “Good, wouldn’t want you to miss anything.” I took her chin in my hand and hold up the straight-edge, “You remember the night we met? When you said about my scars that they was ‘love-letters written in flesh’ and asked if I get wet when I look at them. I’ll give you a chance to find out yourself.” I leaned in to kiss her lips real gentle, then I pulled back just far enough that I could see her eyes as I gashed one half of a Chelsea smile into the meat of her cheek. She started whimpering and her eyes filled up before angry tears started streaming down and mixing in with the blood.

I kept hold of her chin as I sliced the other cheek to match, a big red grin carved from the edges of her mouth more than halfway to her ears. I had this twinge of guilt, chopping up her face the way I was. Maybe I was going too far; then again, scars didn’t need to be permanent these days. Hell, I couldn’t go half a week without some twat telling me about a plastic surgeon that could make my face baby-smooth with the newest laser treatment. This bitch could afford it, anyway.

That was the agreement anyway, right? I won, so I get to do whatever gets my jollies. And seeing her here, helpless, crying, bleeding; fuck that gets me off. Best to keep going then.

A sort of artistry took over me, I didn’t want to randomly slice her up like some street-tough. I took my time; smooth, clean incisions all across her skin. Pretty red lines organized aesthetically across her light-tan flesh. I got caught up in myself, and all her screaming and crying turned into background noise, couldn’t even have guessed how much time had passed.

I finally came back to my senses when I took a step back to admire. I caught Talynn’s eye and slowly felt the reality that my canvas was a living person who’d been suffering the torments of Hell this whole time. Something about this felt like being in the fight pit again, yet different. Smell of blood, struggle of mortal fear, but this was quieter, meditative; almost loving in a way. I’d always been the fury and fire type, but I was beginning to see why serial killers who snatched women off the street and take them out slow did it that way. Except Talynn would be walking away tonight.

I almost forgot to take a few more pictures. She was dripping with so much blood, it brought me back to the way she walked out on fight-night. Except she wasn't full of menace any longer. She just looked… pathetic, defeated. Couldn’t let what little sliver of conscience I had left get in the way of the job I had to do. That beastie in her head needed a purpose, prey to obsess on; I was gonna make sure that was me.

“I’m… sorry.”

It came out in this little mouse voice that was so small I wasn’t sure if I’d heard anything. “You say something?” I shot back at her.

“I’m sorry!” She heaved it out through weepy sighs. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry, please just let me go. You win! You’re better than me! I’ve learned my lesson!”

I just stare at her for a good long second. “That what you think this is? I’m teaching you a lesson on account of I’m just a cunt who doesn’t like to be challenged?” She looked confused and fearful, I give her this real arrogant grin back. “Nah, it’s just the opposite, mate. I want you coming for me. See, I been winning so many times in a row now that I’m starting to lose the fear.” I get real up to her face and whisper the next bit, “I can’t have that, beastie. Fear is what gives me my edge. You gave it back to me fresh in our battle… I ain’t ready to let that go yet.”

She hung there from her wrists, heaving and wheezing and bloodied. Then all of a sudden she got grave-quiet, her head raised up to face me. Her gaze impacted me in a way that made my skin to ice. There was that babydoll grin again, “I should have known I couldn’t manipulate you. You’re just like me, aren’t you?” Her voice was rock-steady and psychopath calm, “That’s why it has to be me. I have to be the one to kill you, Sonnie.” I could tell soon as the words left her mouth that there wasn’t one molecule of bluff in them. Fuck, even like this, she had moments where she could still be absolutely terrifying; the fear elates me as the goosebumps on my skin start to smooth out.

“You want to do me in? I’ll give you a chance right here.” I toss the straight-edge to her feet amidst a pile of bloodied photo-prints and then stick the key to the cuffs into her hand. I start walking into the darkness round the edges of the warehouse, and make a show of tapping the side of my head and saying, “Case you’d forgotten, I ain’t in here.”

Wish I’d seen the look on her face, but I was busy starting up the automated protocol to shut down the Affinity link without a handler. Countdown started and I quick got into meditative pose so as I wouldn’t crack my skull open once motor control shut down. I felt that familiar sense of falling through darkness before the world faded in around me.

My pod was already opening. Khanivore’s muscles felt insane-strong. This body wasn’t fully repaired yet, but new pieces were in place. The replacement for the hand that Hellcat bit off felt like I had to concentrate real hard to get it to move; nerves grafts must not have taken full hold yet. My bone-blade tentacles had to be scrapped outright after what she did to them. Just as well, we’d been talking about an upgrade anyway. New set-up had five instead of four, and this was the first time I’d gotten to feel them. Put in more specialization, too, but they were still too fresh to really get a sense of that yet. With only the base muscle-structure implanted, my tentacular glory was blunt and unarmored. In fact, all five were still foetal soft.

Even so, I’d have to be careful. Last time I’d done this sort of thing was when Khanovire was turning Dicko and his Spetsnaz girl to mincemeat. Was the first time I’d felt what Khanivore’s body could do against human flesh; it was like a child manipulating this wet, cracking bit of playdough.

I saw Talynn in the light. She’d gotten her wristlocks undone and she had picked up the razor. She held it in two shaking hands in front of her in this defensive pose as I came into the light. She did this quick back and forth glance between the ten-centimeter hunk of metal in her hands, and the towering three-meters tall death-beast approaching her. She throws the blade to the floor with an echoing clatter and dashes fast toward the warehouse controls. Her feet slip on her own slick blood for a few steps before she can get traction, but that’s enough. I’d have laughed if I could, half a minute ago she was thinking she’d seize control of the situation, and now here she was practically shittin’ herself with mortal fear.

One powerful bound and a couple of steps puts me between Talynn and the door. A tentacle lashed out faster than even I expected and had her constricted round the waist and pulled off the floor. I take a moment, and ease off; a firm twitch and I could turn her torso into something looks like a used up tube of toothpaste.

I take my time walking her back into the light, I was going to need it for this. Khanivore didn’t have the best fine-touch pressure nerves, so I’d have to do a lot of this by sight. Talynn kept looking up at me, convinced she was about to die. I figured I best let her know my intentions. Two more tentacles coiled around her bloodied ankles and slowly pulled them apart ‘til she was about two thirds to a full split. Look on her face was distress as she realized her imminant rape, but not so much agony as to make me think I’d dislocated a leg on accident. And my grip on her waist left her enough room to breathe, though not too deeply it looked like.

I lifted her up and the last two foetal tentacles lined up ready to go inside her, each of them thicker than the fists she was using to pound and flail helplessly against me. The way she screeched when I violated my way into her arse and cunt holes made me think I’d ripped my way in. The trickle of blood from her shitter said I was right. Kept a careful eye on the depth, even blunted, my tentacles were strong enough to rip their way well into her ribcage.

Suddenly I understand why Talynn gave her beastie a cock all full of nerve endings. I wanted to feel this; the clenching and thrashing as I raped my way into her. I wished I could feel every twitch, every weeping heave from inside of her body. I wanted to milk every ounce of divine pleasure from her torment and humiliation. Too bad Khanivore wasn’t built with the pleasure nerves for that sort of thing. Tearful screams came like music one after another as I thrust in and out of her.

It was beauty, pure and simple. A naked girl, ruby droplets still gently streaming from my cold steel artistry. Her expression spoke of equal parts shame and agony. It was so gorgeous I wanted to weep right then and there from the sheer resplendence. I want her to feel this, I want her to remember this always.

A few minutes of thrusting in and out of her tiny little body; then it seemed like something in her mind broke. The crying subsided, and she just got this look on her face like she wasn’t there anymore. I got a flash in my head of what this must have looked like, felt like. A monster, towering over her, raping it’s way into her with no regard for what it was doing to her. Christ, I’d taken it too far. I was making her re-live the way those pedo fucks had treated her when she was little. Part of me felt a bit sick with what I’d done. I decide to let her go and place her gently on the floor. I climb back into the pod and the A.I. program I rigged up knew to put Khanivore back in storage and put me back in human form.

I took a quick few seconds to collect myself. A part of me wanted to apologize, say I got carried away, but then that’d negate the entirety of what I was trying to do. If I wanted that psychological tumor laser-focused on me, I’d have to make sure it thinks I’m really that heartless.

Talynn just laid there panting. Seemed like the trauma left her in a state just before catatonic. I take a few last photo print-outs for posterity and then I tell her to get up. Had to repeat it a few times before she climbed shaking up to her feet. I grab the back of her neck and guide her to the big, rattling service door. I punch the button and the big slab of corrugated sheet metal starts curling up to the ceiling.

I push her out onto the asphalt, and the polluted, icy breeze of outdoors needles its way into her open wounds and gaping nethers. She gasps and seems shook out of her thousand-yard-stare. She moves her hands like she’s ashamed of being naked out in the open. She blinks a few times before her blue eyes point in my direction. She speaks quiet at me; not threatening or boasting, just meditative calm like she was making an oath, “I’m going to kill you, Sonnie.”

I hit the door-close and the big metal wall begins to inch its way down between us.

“You’ll have your shot.” I say it with this smug look right before the door makes us lose sight of each other.

I walk off into the warehouse and tell myself I did a good thing. I got the monster in her head obsessed on me so it wasn’t gonna be hurting anybody else. A deep down part of me knows that’s just horseshit. I liked hurting her, I liked raping her; I wanted her to know that I was better than her, stronger. And if next time I face her in the fight pit, it ends up being my last time, than a broken little girl gets to have justice. And that ain’t so bad, is it?

* * *

“Everyone out.” I dismiss the team calmly. This is a sacred moment. I need to commune with the new body I’d made for Talynn. Our own body still pains us from what Sonnie did. The scars still ache and itch even after all these months. I could have them removed; two, three treatments at most. But it wouldn’t matter. The pain of knowing that Sonnie is still alive after what she did to me is worse than any of the slings and arrows that could befall my mortal flesh.

We worked tirelessly, we needed a new body, a better vessel. We were too confident last time and Sonnie destroyed us. My avenging angel was trapped without a body of her own. How could she do this to my champion, to my love??

It didn’t matter now, her new body was finally finished. It had been so crowded in here with both of us. But now my white knight would finally get to put on her new armor.

I lowered the lights to a few lumens above pure blackness. Talynn would need time for her new senses to all properly synergize with one another, and with the bioware processor; it’s best not to overwhelm the senses right away.

I press a few buttons and the Affinity Link is active. I take a deep breath as I feel the pod open. Heavy footsteps thud against the cement hard enough to rattle the walls of the building.

She’s moving slowly on all fours, this arrangement of anatomy would take some getting used to. I felt her moving toward me slowly through the darkness.

A glint in the darkness catches my eye a foot or so in front of my face, her smooth, diamond-hard teeth. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I smile as the obsidian hide of her head comes into view. I reach up to caress her neck as her other two heads slowly begin to appear in the darkness.

“Welcome back, precious.”

#talynnsedge

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kikithedeceiver · 5 years ago

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Shinmarry!

Oh ho? This is interesting.

[♡ Send me a ship and I’ll tell you]

Who accidentally pushes a door instead of pulling/vice versa

Both. Shintaro is quiet about it and quickly pushes/pulls the door instead. Mary however...let’s just say she gets confused, claims the door is locked and continues to try to open the door the wrong way.

Who doodles little hearts all over the desk with their initials inside them

Mary. As if Shintaro would do anything that cheesy.

Who starts the tickle fights

I think it would be Mary. Because not only Shintaro won’t do it, but surprising Mary in such a way would cause the fluff ball to freeze him for being mean. Of course, Mary can’t even get a laugh out of him.

Who starts the pillow fights

Mary! She just jumps onto Shintaro with the fluffy pillows!

Who falls asleep last, watching the other with a small affectionate smile

ShinShin the night owl. Mary can’t stay up long (I headcanon)

Who mistakes salt for sugar

Mary! She’s so clumsy, ok? (I also just remembered the anthology with Mary putting a loooooooooooot of sugar into her coffee)

Who lets the microwave play the loud beeping sound at 1am in the morning

...None of them. Mary and Shintaro would get cranky because wth they’re gonna both murder someone.

Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines

Mary doesn’t even know how to flirt! And Shintaro is too much of a loser to even do cheesy pick up lines.

Who rearranges the bookshelf in alphabetical order

Shintaro! I can see him annoyed with Mary never putting away the books she finished reading properly and just cleans it up for her.

Who licks the spoon when they’re baking brownies

Mary! Because she’s so impatient and wants the sweets!

Who buys candles for dinners even though there’s no special occasion

Mary! She will so buy those, especially the super cute ones that are shaped like flowers and smells nice!

Who draws little tattoos on the other with a pen

...Again, they will murder someone, so none of them.

Who comes home with a new souvenir magnet every time they go on vacation

Mary! She just finds them so interesting! And it looks so cute! Shintaro just have no interest in them though

Who convinces the other to fill out those couple surveys in the back of magazines

Mary does! She gives Shintaro the puppy dog eyes until he gives in.

#kagepro #kagerou project #shinmary #shinmarry #kisaragi shintaro #kozakura mary #Anonymous

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cecilspeaks · 6 years ago

Text

144 - The Dreamer

It’s turtles all the way down. But man, it’s kittens all the way up.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Our top story today is the PTA bake sale from 4 until 8 PM at Night Vale High School. There will be cakes, pies, cookies and all sorts of desserts available, and the money goes to a great cause: funding for the blood space war. PTA officers Steve Carlsberg, Susan Willman, and Diane Crayton expect this to be the largest bake sale in more than a decade. This is because the City Council, in cooperation with the Sheriff’s Secret Police, in cooperation with a vague, yet menacing government agency, in cooperation with the world government, in cooperation with the lizard people wing of the Bilderburg group, has mandated that all citizens participate in this spring’s PTA bake sale. A group of men in black suits wearing sun glasses and earpieces gathered around City Hall this morning to confirm this. “Perhaps bring some moist blueberry muffins,” one of the mysterious men announced. “Or invisible pie,” said another. “Oh, oh, oh! If you have one of those special pans that makes only brownie edges,” said another. And each of the men squealed and clapped their hands saying: “Yes! Those are the best!”

So head on down to the high school and buy and sell some tasty baked goods for a valiant cause. It’s illegal not to.

In related news, more than 200 soldiers died yesterday in the bloodiest battle yet of the ongoing blood space war. Not all have been identified, but we have learned that Corporal Waymon Davis and Sergeant Yasmine Alfonse, both residents of Night Vale, are believed to be among those killed. Officials from intergalactic military headquarters said no armistice is in sight, as they are not certain who they are fighting, what they are fighting for, and when the fighting is even happening. “Time is super relative, man,” said senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald. “Like prrrrrrr, mind-blowing how some of the people who are fighting this war haven’t even been born yet! My head hurts just thinking about that. Spacetime, can you even believe it, just woooow!” Archibald concluded.

Why are we fighting this war and who is involved, and beyond bake sales and online crowd sourced donations, who is funding this conflict? Over the next few weeks, I will try to do my best to answer some of these questions, but beware that these questions may have no answers. Or worse, have answers that make no sense. Today we will start with what we know. We will start the story of – Eunomia.

Eunomia grew up on a farm. Her parents planted invisible all corn. All day, Eunomia would work the fields. This was the early 1800’s, so there were no gas powered tractors or tillers or combines. Eunomia would plant each invisible corn seed one by one in long rows over several acres. She enjoyed this work, because she loved the fresh air, the insects and the birds, and the dusk, her favorite moment. The stars would come out. During the late summer she would lie down in the corn fields, hidden among the tall invisible stocks of majestic corn. And she thought of all the possible worlds beyond this one. Eventually, her mother would call her home for dinner, and the next day Eunomia would dream about those worlds while culling the ripened corn, anxiously awaiting the disappearance of the sun, so she could comprehend the infinite possibilities of a life that was not this one.

On her 17th birthday, Eunomia went out to the corn field, but never returned. When her parents went to look for her, they found a large perfectly round clearing. There was no corn in this circle, only flat dirt, Eunomia’s packed lunch uneaten, her diary, her tools, and the clothing she had worn that morning, the last time anyone saw her.

In the 1980’s, librarians at the Night Vale Public Library found Eunomia’s diary, which historians had long thought to be either or legend. The librarians said they found it underneath the second floor Dr Pepper machine. A bibliophile or historian must have hidden behind the vending machine, trying to escape hungry librarians, but left the artefact behind when that person either escaped or was eaten. The librarians who found the book placed it on display in a new exhibit called “Early Night Vale Life: Quotidian scrawlings of delicious mortals”. It took many years of armed expeditions into the public library and cost many lives for historians to read this entire diary. But their brave efforts eventually paid off, as most of the diary has been transcribed or photographed. Here are a few sample entries from Eunomia’s journal.

“July 15, 1815. The star I have named Wolfgang has moved from its constellation. I believe it to be an artificial vessel. I shall send it a message somehow.

August 1, 1815. Wolfgang has grown larger and now changes colors. Tonight, it is azure. Last night it was turquoise. I predict it has seen our Earth.

September 4, 1815. Tonight I have carved a message into the corn. It is not in English, but in patterns, concentric circles connected by sharp angular lines. I have carved this message quite large. I do hope it is legible. Tomorrow morning I shall find out.”

And just below this entry, Eunomia has sketched this cornfield pattern into her diary. Her final entry was on September 5. “A man with a mirror for a face has come for me. Does not speak. Farewell.”

More on the story of Eunomia in a moment, but first, breaking news from city hall. Pamela Winchell, the city’s director of emergency press conferences, called an emergency press conference to announce, and I quote, “some crazy black bull blanks going down over here, y’all. Whooollyyy blank,” she added. Winchell was standing near a cornfield on the property of John Peters – you know, the farmer. She was covering her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other while jumping up and down. Winchell said, “Y’all have to see this mess, but also like don’t come aaanywhere near here, no way. But still like, it’s kinda beautiful with all the lights and stuff, you really have to see it but you can’t, don’t. Definitely don’t come out here, nothing to see,” she said firmly, only to continue: “Cooool, oh blank that’s raaaaad.”

City Council quickly ushered Winchell away from the microphone and said that they have formed a secret exploratory committee to investigate the lights coming from John Peters’ land. More on this story as it develops.

For weeks after Eunomia disappeared, townsfolk mourned the loss of a young and vibrant girl. The city declared her dead, and her church held a public funeral service. Her mother spoke about Eunomia’s vivid imagination and penchant for drawing and painting. Her father, through halting sobs, said Eunomia was a smart girl who loved astronomy and physics. The crowd gasped at this. Some of the congregation vocally protested saying: “He should not be accusing the dead of paganism. Eunomia’s father calmed them and said: “Science is not a fringe religion, Eunomia taught me this. She wrote about the movement of stars and planets every day. She dreamed of a time that human beings could leave this gravity and travel into deepest space. I, too, thought science was Satan’s checker board but now, thanks to my dear daughter, I think science is neat.” The congregation grumbled, but ultimately accepted that a grief-stricken parent must be given room for the madness of sorrow.

The people of Night Vale moved forward with their lives. Like all tragic loss, they remembered Eunomia, sometimes even see her, only to realize it was a shadow or a mistake of the mind. They felt sad and empty, but over time the sadness waned and the emptiness filled, as they always do.

Her parents sold the farm and moved into the city. Consciously, they wanted to be closer to their community, but subconsciously they feared having to endure the weight of public empathy, so they mostly stayed indoors. One year after Eunomia’s physical disappearance, the memory of Eunomia had all but disappeared as well. Night Vale was back to normal. No one was thinking about Unomia that day, that anniversary. They were thinking about something else: the visitor.

More on this soon, but first traffic. Christina and Ricardo Alfonse had just exited Route 800 toward Pike Street, when they planned to turn left toward the hospital. Ricardo was driving quickly as Christina was in immense discomfort. She was eight months pregnant when contractions began only half an hour ago. Fearing the complications of an early birth, Christina did not outwardly panic, she inwardly panicked. She grew quiet and still, as her body began to convulse and her guts begun to churn. She turned to her husband and calmly stated: “Ricky, the baby’s coming.” Ricardo, having read nearly a dozen books, including “The Physiology of Pregnancy”, “The Psychology of Infancy”, and “The Anthology of Relevancy”, felt prepared for even this most unexpected of moments. Inwardly, he did not panic. Outwardly, he was a blubbering mess. He rushed his wife into the car and onto the hospital going well over the speed limit, asking Christina if she was remembering to breathe, Christina repeatedly asking Ricardo to slow down and confirmed she was breathing. A minor accident between a top secret military transport truck and a 2011 Honda CRV along Route 800 near Exit 12 had slowed the couple down by a few minutes, and during that traffic jam, Christina turned on the radio to take her mind off her body. She heard a news update about the blood space war and the tragic deaths of two Night Vale soldiers, one of whom was named Yasmine Alfonse. Christina and Ricardo Alfonse knew they were expecting a girl. They knew they would name her Yasmine, because it is a beautiful name. Ricardo laughed at the dark humor of the improbable coincidence, but Christina never laughed nor believed it to be a coincidence. They arrived at the hospital with plenty of time to spare and three hours later their daughter Yasmine was born. Christina had decided to give her a different name, but when the nurse who was filling out the birth certificate asked, Christina said “Yasmine,” as she was unable to say anything else. It was like that moment had already happened and she was only remembering it.

So, expect 15 minute delays on eastbound lanes of Route 800 near Exit 12. This has been traffic.

On the anniversary of Eunomia’s disappearance, an astronaut arrived in Night Vale. The early 19th century villages did not know what an astronaut was. So what they saw was a puffy silver humanoid with a mirror for a face. The astronaut suddenly appeared in the center of town, roughly where the Dog Park is today, and walked silently through the dusty streets. Crowds gathered and followed the stranger, all the while pointing and warmly shouting “Interloper!” in hopes that the frightening figure would show signs of benevolence.

The astronaut, bow-legged and slow, walked without speaking toward the outskirts of town. It took hours, and by the time the visitor stopped, nearly the entire city had followed. There was a greenish aura about the astronaut as they turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut lifted their gloved hands to their neck and unlatched the helmet. There was a loud hiss and a pop, and the mask lifted. The crowd tentatively approached the stranger, and as the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out in horror. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse, long white hair peeling down the back of the skull, an incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them, startled eyes ever staring with no lids to express anything else, and what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed.

The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward – a tired and pale woman approached the decomposing astronaut and said: “Eunomia?” The astronaut opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. “Mother,” the astronaut said. Eunomia’s young mother touched her elderly daughter’s face. Unomia broke into dust. And the empty space suit collapsed into the ground.

More news, but first, The weather.

[“The Only Thing” by Ali Holder, http://aliholder.com/]

Dozens of astronauts appeared in Night Vale over the centuries that followed. They still occasionally do, but it has been 36 years since the last appearance. These astronauts are time travelers of sorts. They are Night Vale citizens who fight for humanity in the blood space war, but are returning home to recruit or retire. Those who have returned from battle have told us about Eunomia and her incredible leadership and diplomacy. Her death in the timeline of those fighting his war has get to occur, but in our earthly timeline she died 200 years ago in a cornfield. There is so much more to say about Eunomia and the beginnings of the blood space war, but we cannot cover all that here. It is much too complicated a story. [nervously] Plus, an empty-eyed messenger child from the City Council just showed up in my radio studio to tell me to get to the important news of the day. [gleefully] Thank you, child! Here’s an iPad, go play on Tick Tock and stop staring at me! I’m really creeped out!

[clears throat] The City Council organized a press conference this afternoon, but before it could begin, Pamela Winchell grabbed the microphone from the City Council and shouted: “Surprise emergency press conference! Hey, so a space craft flew down into John Peters’ cornfield, and these beings of astonishing structure emerged with two floating pods, and inside these pods were dead bodies! Ie was sad, but also the bodies looked pretty old, so maybe it was just their time. Sometimes that happens, you know, actually it always happens. No one has ever not died. Anyway, if you lost an elderly friend or relative, maybe come identify the bodies! Sorry for your loss.” Winchell then reached up into her hairline and pulled down a zipper that ran from her head to her waist as she opened herself, a Pamela-shaped cloud drifted up and away over the crowd, a faint voice saying: “Pamela out!” could be heard in the sky.

Several Night Vale residents came to view the bodies. One body was identified as Waymon Davis by his great great grandson Melvin. Melvin brought a daguerreotype photo of Waymon from 1980. In the photo, Waymon was 33 years old. The body Melvin identified looked to be in his sixties, but it was clearly Waymon. Christina Alfonse, holding her newborn baby in her hospital bed, saw the footage on television. When she saw the other body, she saw a woman in her seventies with Yasmine’s eyes, Yasmine’s lips, and even the same thick low forehead. Christina held her baby tight to her chest. “You are a brave woman,” she said to the infant Yasmine as she kissed her tiny cheeks.

Stay tuned next of the sound of an alarm click that cannot be turned off and a dream that cannot be awoken from. Good night, Night Vale,

Good night.

Today’s proverb: Talk to your kids about the birds and the bees. “Never look directly at birds,” you should say to them, “and bees? Don’t get me started.”

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcripts #episode 144 #the dreamer

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