#If evil why whimsical-little-creature-shaped?

[cupcakeshakesnake]

I like this thing. The creature

They're like a lone Moomins character in a sea of anime men and women

I just like the shape of this thing. I do not care for the rest of One Piece lmao

[whumpitisthen]

To hang an animal

Tw for gore, it doesn't actually happen but theres lots of graphic descriptions in this, enough to put a warning up here too — for further tws check tags :3

@whumpsday asked to be tagged!

Upon wandering into this newly carved out burrow in the pleasant critter village, its wandering ends when it lays eyes upon the little thing. Sitting on his bed, scrambling the pillows around, he is chatting with his sibling happily as it watches him. Their belongings are scattered across the floor carelessly, evidence of their recent change of circumstances; still chaotic, yet warm and filled with new life, new opportunities. The smell of a new home was always intriguing, but not quite as attractive as the lush, black and white striped tail swishing in the air excitedly, the large, pointy ears twitching as they poke out from under the duvet or the whimsical, adorable voice giggling with childish purity.

His smile innocent, his mind none the wiser to an evil aura shaping just in the doorway leading to their cosy new bedroom. It has been watching for a while, observing the hybrid boy's ears perk up at every creak in the floorboards. He seems unsettled. What an observant creature — he doesn't know it yet, but his body has already picked up on the warning signs emanating from the being lusting after desperation and despair.

From the shadows, without hesitation, it strides through the door like it belongs, like the room is its and the mammoth oak this nest was built in is its very own property. Time seems to freeze around the boy, locking gaze with it as the world turns grey and his sister turns to mist. A darkness cloaks the corners of his vision that are not enveloped by its presence, deemed unimportant by the creature; and so it blocks out everything but itself from his sight.

A tall, slender figure is before the raccoon boy, one that so calmly and with purpose walks towards him that he doesn't even realise how impossible it is that it's in his home. It feels so dangerous, yet so unassuming. Like waking up with a second brain; feeling nothing out of the ordinary right up until one turns and sees another head grown from one's own body.

He has never seen the creature before, but it feels awful familiar when it sits next to him onto the soft bed, leering down at him from much too high. Like a lost, long forgotten brother showing up again and living with him like he was never even gone. Like the very bed the boy sits on has always belonged to it, and he merely borrowed the space while it was unoccupied. His brows crease in worry, but he doesn't run, doesn't yell in surprise at its sudden appearance. He scoots a little further away wordlessly when it focuses its undivided attention on him to make space for it, curling up just a bit, pinning those adorable ears that look too large for his head backwards onto his dark auburn hair. It feels his core shiver with proximity and its own resonates in turn with excitement.

"Hi," — it greets him simply. Harmless. Casual. Unnervingly so.

"He - , Hello..." — he mumbles out a pathetic reply. It can tell he feels guilty already. He feels like he is the one out of place. He doesn't belong here; not here, truly, but it's not his own fault he caught the eye of a malicious being. Nevertheless, it isn't here to make friends, but to have some fun.

"How is the moving going? Do you like your new room?" — it inquires like they know each other, like they are friends, with ill intent. Its modest, polite yet friendly words summon in him conflicting feelings. The calm before the storm, where he can smell the rain and see the swirling darkness of clouds in the sky, though has no choice but to wait until lightning strikes him.

"Uh, yeah... I do," — he sheepishly confesses, and the weight of this small confession is akin to divulging the whereabouts of a beloved to a serial murderer. The boulder hanging from his heart has his skin reeking of guilt, though he himself isn't sure why he feels that way. He says no more; he knows it's not his place to talk. He is in the thing's own corner of reality — what it wants will happen however twisted and confusing. His very soul knows to behave in the presence of the owner of his current world; a world in which questions about its name and species, and queries about how and why it had gotten in here were a waste of time, and therefore illogical to be brought to existence at all.

"I am glad. It would be terribly unfortunate if you had spent all this time finding your own little corner to hide away in, only for it to be less than satisfactory for you," — it lilts in a kind tone, dripping vanilla and honey onto the scuffed up floorboards with each syllable. He never looks up at it, focused solely on the ground under his feet, making himself as small and harmless as he can. A submissive thing, truly. Already growing ready to be shown his place. It licks its lips and tastes fear. — "I have been searching for you."

He is clearly awfully uncomfortable, wringing his fingers together and bouncing his bestial little legs. He must not be used to such height differences; at least, not under pleasant circumstances. It is certain the small vermin hasn't met many kind giants. To judge others, the point of departure is always oneself — and it itself isn't known to pass up the opportunity to crush the bones of sweet things like him.

He knows he is in trouble, though there is no earthly reason for him to feel that way. The creature's whims mould his psyche like the experienced, callous hands of a baker fold dough. — "I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't know. 'Was just..." — he trails off, unsure of what he was even doing a moment ago. His brain must feel fuzzy, just like those twitchy ears. It takes the opportunity to lower him an inch into its web.

"You were just getting ready for bed, I know. Getting nice and comfortable, warming the blankets, grabbing pillows. It is very soft, isn't it?" — it quizzes him more, keeping up his sense of discomfort with ease. It pushes on the mattress, feeling the layers of bedding give under its hand with no issue. It truly was wonderfully cushy, all snowy cotton and silk and duckling feathers, with a thin layer of his own fur already covering the top of it all. Delicate, just like the paws hanging off the side of the mattress. He nods, taking hold of the thin sheet covering the top half of his bed in one fist and kneading his anxiety into the material. Its wide smile unsettles him greatly, as does the angle from which it beams down on him. As does the awful faux-kindness in its pleasantly quiet voice. It reminds him of an old teacher he had; it has a very similar way of talking. He was a sweet old man, however, not a being three times his size, coated in fuzz and shadow, leering at him with that constant grin.

"Mhm. Very soft. I should know, as this is my bed."

That catches him off guard, eyes flying all the way up to meet its own drilling into his skull. That, too, is a lie, obviously so. In the real world, that is. If he even thought to doubt the creature for a single second, he would realise immediately that that simply cannot be true — from the simple fact that it's much too large to fit into this bed. However, he is stuck in a dream woven from the ever growing lust of the demon infecting his mind, and in dreams like this one, the dreamer does not have control of his own thoughts. Tangled in the silky cocoon of nightmares, he will simply experience what it wants him to, and what it merely wants him to feel at the moment is churning horror in his stomach at having wronged it somehow. Such a mundane mistake, to claim a bed that does not belong to him by mistake, and what a delicious expression it has brought onto his face.

It watches his throat work on swallowing down the frozen clot of blood caught in it. — "I didn't, I'm so sorry, I didn't know...! I, I really didn't—"

"I don't want your frantic, empty apologies and pretext," — it cuts him off so swiftly the blade of its hiss cuts into his core, shaking him. It loves watching him dwell in his absolute lack of power; so used to living under the heels and adapting to the whims of all around him. It needs to only evoke a long familiar feeling of deep inadequacy in him, then pull his attention along on a leash like a pup. It says no more, watching him intently for a response in deadly silence, suffocating him efficiently. The drought on his tongue sticks the muscle to the roof of his mouth. Perspiration pearls on his face as a delightful gift to the eyes of the being. They stare at each other, each expecting something from the other.

Finally, the tall silhouette leans just a tad closer to the boy, smiling at him sweetly, pushing him more. His neck disappears between his shoulders, turning his head downward again in shame and sheer terror. A silent little whimper only it could hear escapes him through his snout-nose, those dark brown, near black irises blink rapidly as they stare at the wooden floor. It gets a wonderful idea, planning to take full advantage of his frozen still state.

"Are you always this sweet when you get yourself into trouble? I can tell it happens often," — it prods him more looking for a reaction, curious how long until he breaks under the steady pressure of its presence, — "you always make mistakes like this. Mess up and bear the consequences, yet do it again the next time. An annoying little critter, truly."

It touches him fondly, but he flinches like it had hit him. He is skittish, starting to panic more with every word that slithers out from between its teeth, more still the closer it leans to him, sounding so condescending and sympathetic it makes his skin crawl with a thousand insects. It wants to push him until he reaches the edge, and see how long it can balance him on that blade between shaken but controlled and wild, unreasonable panic.

It continues easing him into the bubbling tar, slowly sticking his fur into it with care with each caress across his shivering skin. — "I can see the cogs turning in that little head. You are thinking of ways to get out of this. 'How could I appease it just long enough to escape and never return?' It's written all over your face, you might as well just tell me out loud."

"I really didn't mean to —"

"Hush," — it whispers into his ear with such lust and excitement and danger and intensity and so many other horrible attributes that all the air leaves his lungs in a single shrill gasp as if it itself crushed it out of him. That smile is even wider, and makes the order sound so much worse, like he is one single word away from sending it into a sadistic, unstoppable fit of violence enacted upon him. The proximity has those long lashes sticking to each other, locking his eyelids together. — "I've told you I don't care. I have also told you you can't wriggle your way out of this. Do you know what happens now?" — murmurs the dangerous voice of the creature against his skin. It listens to the sharp gasps of a woodland creature trying not to cry, lungs working overtime to inhale air and exhale all the putrid smoke of dread filling them. He shakes his head no, too afraid to trust his voice to make it past his lips. It's adorable, just the sweetest view. He makes it want to rip into him with everything he does.

"Yes, you do," — it encourages sinisterly, — "what happens now is what happens each time you fail to behave adequately, and bring onto yourself the wrath of those much more powerful than you." — It can almost taste his delightful sorrow. He is unconsciously, ever so slowly pulling in the opposite direction, finding it harder and harder to stay still when attacked so directly and perversely from the side. — "Like me."

One too many inches too far, and it slides right up against him once more, holding him gently with a hand encompassing his shoulder first, than sliding languidly down his side all the way to his waist, where it is so apparent how much larger it is when its fingers reach far more than halfway across his whole belly that his legs almost cross over each other in fluster. He whimpers again as he feels it so close to himself now, as he feels it breathe and warm him, as he feels it vibrate with the way it purrs these awful words to him, — "go on. You know what happens well. I want to hear you say it; I want to know all those other times caught trapped between a wall and a rusted blade taught you something after all."

His lip wobbles at a memory — whether a true or a false one created by it, he remembers all the same: the hand wrapped tight around his throat, the wall he was pinned to so effortlessly, the blade held so, so close to his eye, the figure towering over him with a horrible glint in their eyes threatening with a smile on their face the way they will destroy the fragile little orb if he shows his face around that side of the village again. What he feels right now is far too familiar to what he felt then, squeezing his throat savagely.

With great difficulty and a pang of childish shame, he forces out his answer, — "Kh-, Consequences?"

He can hear its lips pull back to reveal far too many sharp teeth in an awful grin. — "That's right. Consequences."

He wants to say so many things. How he would leave right now and it would never have to see him again if it'd let him. How he doesn't need to be punished, because he already understands what he did wrong perfectly and doesn't need to be taught a lesson. How truly, horribly, desperately sorry he is, a million times over. No sound escapes him however, his voice frozen behind his Adam's apple. He is too scared to say anything. It's for the better anyway; he would only annoy it more with his pleading. It finds his terrified silence much more entertaining.

"What do you think I will do to you now, little one?" — it muses to the boy, holding him ever closer, leaning against him and suffocating him with its face lowering into view, taking up every little corner of his vision, — "what kind of consequences should I make you suffer through for something like this? How much should I hurt you? Hm?"

It squeezes him a little, jostles him, rouses his tense muscles and returns some life to them. Ruffles his hair in a friendly gesture, combing through it slowly right after to feel through each soft, fluffy lock of hybrid hair, and to disregard more the boy's personal space. It acts so nonchalant and casual that it almost scares him more than it would if it was angry. It makes him feel like its entire purpose in the world is to bring harm to people like him. Like this is nothing out of the ordinary for it.

The movement did nothing to unlock his words; all it really achieved was to remind him of his ability to move and run and escape like the slippery wild little thing he is. Coupled with the anticipation of his judgement and punishment, his flesh quivers incessantly like the hooves of a newly birthed fawn. In that, the being only finds more joy.

"Do you know what I do to little creatures like you? Ones with such lovely fur, and gorgeous hair... Shiny, beautiful eyes." — It keeps running invasive hands across his body like he is an object. Decoration. It leans in again, finding those eyes blown wide and clouded in mist, pulling on his hair just enough to make him look up at it. It wears a scary expression now, full of malice and danger, and he swallows harshly as he witnesses its quickly darkening eyes, and the downright demonic growl of a voice that whispers to him, — "I take a freshly sharpened knife to their skin, and peel it right off."

Its hand holding him close lets up to demonstrate each line it would cut along, pulling those sharp nails along his flesh slowly. The poor thing doesn't even breathe, — "You have to have the animal hanging, stretched out open wide," — it explains matter-of-factly to the ball of anxiety at its side, not missing the word 'animal' used to describe him, truly feeling like nothing but prey to this carnivorous being, — "Then, I cut along the shiny fur, tearing it from the flesh bit by bit. All along the the stomach, up the torso to the neck — for some animals, its better to cut along the hind legs up to their tails, and then pull the flesh out of their skin by folding it over their whole body and peeling it off whole backwards, effectively turning them inside out! Isn't that fascinating?" — It does not wait for an answer, and so it gets nothing more than a nauseous expression, — "Slicing it carefully, meticulously, slowly off of your flesh, folding it until it parts enough to pull off in one piece. I make warm, soft little pelts out of adorable critters like you. There have been times when I was careful enough that they would survive a couple days after." — it pauses, tilting its head at his captivating, alluring reactions, voice having returned to a more human shade, its mouth pulling back anew with giddy excitement, — "I wonder if you would live to suffer through all that."

The boy shakes his head, almost not believing what he's hearing. It wants to make him into a carpet? To, to maim him to certain death? His mouth is open, shaking the gasps leaving him. — "No, no, you, y-you don't have to —!"

It grins again, and he has grown to dislike its smile more than anything he ever has in his life, — "Oh, don't be like that. You're acting like this is such an inconceivable, unlikely thing to expect. I mean, you must have noticed by now."

His confusion is obvious, so it simply looks away from him for the first time since it revealed itself, to look down at the bed that now belongs to it. His gaze follows it, and he screams so loud as he springs away from the bedding it nearly makes even the creature jump. Now he is truly panicking, and it knows it has managed to break him beyond the point it had been looking for.

What was pristine clean, white linen sheets and silk is no longer; replaced with the skin of countless hybrids, just like the boy. They are grotesque, bloodied, matted fur and feathers. It sticks to the touch, and the small thing can't catch his breath anymore. He was sitting on the remains of countless corpses, the twisted pelts of his own kind. The longer he stares, the worse it becomes — he spots a few fingers, bones, even eyeballs and a whole leg dangling off the side, and it truly is unlikely he hadn't noticed until then — but, of course, he hadn't really been sitting on something so horrid up until the creature decided it fit to change his circumstances once again to terrorise him more.

"No, no, no, no, I won't, you can't! I, I, I, I'll leave, I'll leave right now, please forgive me!" — His frantic begging brings warmth to it, a special kind only the truly desperate cries of its prey manage to emanate.

"You cannot run from your own mistakes, little critter," — it sings hauntingly, ominously. He just keeps backing further and further away, eyes darting to the window, to the pelts, to the demon watching him. He will surely bolt in just a few seconds, — "And even if you can... No one has ever escaped me before," — it adds with a knowing smile.

However, logic and reason take no part in animal instinct.

With a lung filled with terror he scrambles to the side suddenly, expectedly, sending his little body through the open window to the outside. He then grabs onto the bark of the massive tree giving home to a civilisation of things like him with thin little limbs, and starts climbing it masterfully, if not clumsily, to get away from it. No thought makes it through his brain aside from wild, nonsensical ideas of distance leading to safety from the threat.

The threat smiles wide at the prospect, standing from its throne of gore.

It walks to the same window, changing with each step it takes. Ripping and stretching of skin is heard as it morphs into something different, inconceivable, monstrous. Its nails grow to claws, then talons. Its fingers gain more digits, bending along with its arms in new directions. Muscle mass grows inexplicably, bones protrude from the chest as a second ribcage forms over its torso like armour. Its skin stretches across nothing but bones and muscle, a void black colour. Horns, a tail, and by the time it reaches the curtains dancing adrift, the being accusing the hybrid boy of lacking humanity and value now becomes something so far removed from anything human it circles around into something cursedly divine.

It makes its way out of the bedroom in no time, tearing apart the very wall of the tree for it, signalling to the boy scaling the humongous trunk its arrival with a broken, rotted cackle. It allows its form to grow ever larger still, — almost like the hunt has activated something in it, something that made it bring out what certainly could only be its true form. A form for tearing innocent little things like him apart.

The fearful boy only takes one glance behind him to check if it is following him, only to cry out at the terrifying form of it gaining on him with its many limbs escaping from that awful body. He picks up the pace, though he thought he could not run any faster, and flies upwards with all feet and hands smashing against familiar branches and nooks, launching himself higher and higher. The concern barely coalesces in his mind that he does not know what he will do once he reaches the top of this tree, however long that will take.

He has no time to think it through, able to now feel the trembles of the thing chasing after him vibrating the oak he clings onto. The sky blinds him as it shines between the pristine green leaves of the tree crown, the sunlight reflecting off of the tears streaming down his face. His nails splinter apart against the rough wooden surface in his haste. His clothes tear on twigs, caught on them for a second; just long enough for the monster chasing him to nearly reach his tail with a clawed hand.

Another larger branch is passed in a flash, and suddenly, escape seems impossible as his paw slips and he has to catch himself, dangling like an ornament above the being's terrible jaw. In a moment of desperation, and true, pure panic, with no better ideas, when the time comes he lets go of the branch, letting his body fall past the monster's. Expecting to be caught by a leaf or falling to his death, the only thing he didn't expect was to be thrust against the trunk of the tree with such force his guts squish inside him like goo. As he looks down, the upside down face of the creature grins back, panting with exhaustion and thrill. A massive talon brushes against his throat. It was maybe three times his height when they were sitting next to each other; now, it is at least ten times as big, dwarfing him in comparison. Truly like a mouse in the paws of a lion.

His lungs are unable to expand enough to draw in a single full breath. It can feel his tiny heart smashing against his ribcage furiously. He is frozen still once again, stunned from the sudden capture, and the smash against his back.

"A wild, frantic little pest… If you cannot outrun me on your home turf, how do you expect to fare against me on the duff, or my own domain?" — it laughs, its voice grinding against his ears terribly, its words hurtful, yet its voice filled with amusement, — "silly thing, silly, silly little thing…"

Its hand pushes on him, causing the boy to cry out, crushed between it and the tree. Hanging upside down like this doesn't help his terror either, clutching onto the claws that crush him with vigour, yepling, kicking, twisting helplessly as tears wash his face in streams. It watches him, tiltings its head this way and that, experimentally pushing on him, and then letting go swiftly when it feels his ribs cracking. It lets him slip an inch, then another, causing its tail to wrap around its hand tightly.

It decides with time that he must pass out soon if left like this for much longer — the exhaustion, panic, fear of death or worse, lack of air, gasping and feet- up osition will inevitably become too much. As a last jolt to him, it lift him away from the tree and flips him in the air with one hand, greatly entertained by the scream of terror and look of daze. — "If you have nothing more to say…"

"I, I-I, please. Please, please don't hurt me, please, I'll leave, I won't ever come back — or, just, just don't skin me, please! Mercy!" — he sobs, holding his head, curling against its thumb holding his chin up with its sharp end, pinning those ears flat against his head once more, — "I'll do anything, anything at all, please, please. Have mercy, just one chance!"

His sobbing, his helplessness, his twitching in its hand, his submission — it greatly pleases it. With a tightening of its grip, it shushes him gently, a whimper ending his pleading satisfyingly as the air leaves him. — "Mmm… What are you offering me, little one? You think what you may give values more than your lovely fur? More than the taste of your flesh?" — it purrs to him, its growl reverberating through his body, its teeth far too near for him to open his eyes and face a tunnel to his quite possible acidic end. The new threat of not only being skinned, but eaten only has him sobbing harder, hoping its only that; a threat, not a promise, not yet.

"Anything, anything, anything at all, I swear! Please, just, just one chance. I-I will prove myself, I will! Please. I beg of you! Aagh —" — he keens when he is silenced again.

"Be more specific, now. You'll give me ideas," — it murmurs, giving hope to him, playing with the boy's emotions like a cat playing with broken winged bird, — "you don't know what you are begging for, love."

He surely doesn't, because if he did, he would have been relieved to know he might only be eaten, as opposed to skinned, or indebted to it for life. Instead, he clutches at the little hope of surviving this encounter at all with all he has, — "Y-You can do anything you want to me. After —"

"I can do whatever I want to you currently, too. Don't tempt me."

"Ghghn —, yes, yes, I'm sorry. But, but I can help, I can be of use, to, to you! I can do more, I can, I can," — he seems to break a little, pausing to catch his breath, whining, — "J-Just don't kill me, please… I don't want to die. I can't, I can't be skinned, I can't die like this…"

He runs out of energy halfway through his words, going limp in its hand. It's almost as if he has knowingly given his body over already, becoming putty in its claws to mold. — "Poor, stupid, sweet little thing… you have no concept of what you have done."

With that, it shifts, and the world shifts, and he is blinded for a moment. He feels like he is falling for a second, then like he is floating for another, and suddenly, he is back in his room, like nothing happened. The window is open, letting in cool air. The bed is no longer filled with gore. The creature is no longer quite as monstrous as a second ago.

He looks around like he has already died. Like he thinks he was killed, and is now stuck in limbo. His pale, sickly complexion and his wide, terrified eyes land on the monster again, only moving to shakily lift his arms and hug himself tightly. It stands before him with its arms behind it, smiling at him fondly. He says nothing, forced to comprehend too much at once.

It steps to him languidly, gently, like it hadn't done anything more than that at all. Like it hadn't almost crushed him in its grasp just a second ago. Like it isn't planning on skinning him. It takes his chin and lifts it, bowing its torso down to look deep into those red, horror-filled crystal orbs, — "would you truly do anything to avoid punishment? To avoid death?"

Slowly, reluctantly, he nods. His lungs barely move.

"Would you offer your services to me so freely, so passionately, just for that?"

He nods again. He feels like he is in some form of dream. If only he knew.

"Would you offer your body? Your mind?"

He nods. The creature smiles kindly, sinisterly.

"Silly boy."

It backs off finally, letting him breathe and relax with a last ruffle of his hair, jostling his ears. A shudder runs through him that is so violent, he grips at his chest to feel his heart beating. He doesn't know if he will ever be able to move his body from that spot again; he feels wholly burdened by certain death. Small, tiny whimpers escape him, but he is no longer crying. His throat must be tensed so tight, dried out with fear.

It walks to his bedroom door, opening it. It pauses in the doorway with one hand on the door handle to turn to him once more, — "I will see you again soon, sweet thing. Sleep well."

The door closes behind it, and his world regains its colour. The birds chirp once more, his bed is as comfortable and clean as it was before, the blur of his nightmare fades. His sister continues where she left off, saying something about a guy she saw at the market with an obnoxiously red hat, but pauses swiftly when she sees his expression. She assumes he is feeling sick. She assumes right, though has no idea just how right she is. She comes over to provide a bucket, in case it's needed, and is grabbed by the boy so fiercely, she can't help questioning him. She receives only violent sobbing, a kind so awful she had never heard his brother make before.

The creature will return again, with tasks. It will return and he will regret ever agreeing to give his survitude to it, and will try to escape or refuse, and then it will force him to do whatever it wants him to do anyway, worse than before. The chance to so thoroughly ruin the hybrid boy's life offred to it by himself leaves the honey sweet taste of lust on its lips.

It watches him cry for a while, then truly departs, wandering along the branches of the gorgeous oak. If anyone else sees it, they know better than to bring attention to themselves, and leave it to its lonesome.

It will return to him when he least expects it, in his worst moment. Then, it can truly have fun.

Those tags about catching a tiny whumpee trying to escape up a tree were wonderful. Would you ever write that?

you know what i didnt even think of that perhaps i will write it

[roguebotanist]

I’ve been playing around with talk to transformer today and thought it would be fun to extend a bunch of sim bios! I think someone may have done something similar recently, but I’m not really sure. Anyway, here’s every sim in Strangetown (bolded parts are their original bios). Long post ahead:

Loki Beaker

As soon as he perfects his latest invention, Loki is sure to get the recognition he knows he deserves. In the meantime, he keeps himself busy by trying to assemble a nuclear reactor out of common household items. During one of his experiments, he accidentally melts the family dog. Realizing that his so-called tools of destruction are so harmless, Loki gladly takes his pet back home and happily adopts it. Fearing that the strange creature will cause more damage if he is ever left alone, Loki goes to great lengths to keep it, including stacking hundreds of baby chicken eggs in the backyard.

Circe Beaker

Circe knows 238 different ways to make someone scream, and none of them are nice. She enjoys taxidermy and collecting coat hangers. She has a wonderful knowledge of names and an affinity for Hallmark, which is why all her books are centered around Christmas and spring holidays. This is particularly important to her, as her whole life is completely shaped by them. The children love to ask questions about things, and they are able to make up as many of the answers as they like. Do you have a huge embarrassment problem? One of Circe's known phrases is 'Where's the finger in your back pocket?'.

Sometimes in the garden, she prances

Nervous Subject

His hobbies include twitching and blinking a lot. He's also fond of travelling and baking. Along with the broad and meaty teeth of a canine, St George the giant groundhog has a day-old beard and a partial gingivitis – which is the inflammation of a plaque inside the teeth. His beard and gingivitis don't hurt his routine; they just mean he's a bit slower and a bit more circumspect.

That's because he's aged.

Olive Specter (yes, it gave her stats)

Olive will stop at nothing to get what she wants. She spends her time collecting mushrooms, sharpening sticks, and excavating her yard. As you might expect, she has a big appetite, and eats anything that she thinks is good enough for her. She's as much of a carnivore as you are, and is able to catch fish or birds at the least opportunity. She doesn't bother with plants, and prefers to live in areas full of food.

Alignment: Neutral evil

Hit Dice: 1d8+2

Speed: 30 feet

Ophelia Nigmos (this one is unsettling and strangely coherent)

Ophelia's hobbies include hypochondria and monitoring the air quality. She worries about the future... and the past... and the present. Especially right now.

Her past memories have become like mantras, repeating over and over in her head. They are the most important thing to her. This time, she's not sure she will remember them the way she did before. She's aching to go back and erase her past.

That which is most important to her--the things she left behind--has been forgotten. And nobody can help her. Nobody.

PT9 Smith

The only thing PT9 loves more than his lawn is his family. When he is not spending time with his children, he enjoys clipping coupons and staring up at the sky. Over the years PT9 has found his place in the aquarium world. He has helped educate people on different types of fish and he has hosted various education seminars for clients who have "fish stories" to share. In his spare time, PT9 enjoys spending time with his wife and his grandchildren.

Jenny Smith

Jenny loves having a career, but she wishes she could spend more time with her family, and maybe make some new friends. She really likes green. She wishes she had more friends. She wishes her mom would talk to her more often. She wishes she had nicer hair. She wishes her nose looked like a horse's. She has a lot of sympathy for humans and hopes to see one in the future. Jenny is a cross between a cat and a dog with a medium build, no special traits, but that means she's got a lot of muscle and a huge body

Johnny Smith

Johnny dreams of being the hero that rides in on a white horse, or at least a cool sports car. He'd go on to become the worst Superhero in all of space and time, which I guess is exactly what a normal, human teenage boy would do.

Jill Smith

When Jill closes her eyes, she sees dolphins. She has her heart set on becoming a deep sea welder someday. She loves dolphins so much, she's often put one in the trunk of her car and hit the gas to cheer her up.

"I love them so much," Jill declares. "I'm a Dolphin Lover."

Pascal Curious

No matter what happens, Pascal believes there is a logical explanation for everything. In his free time, he practices home psychoanalysis and collects conspiracy theories. He's become adept at opening jars containing creepy little bones or fragments of jellyfish, an odd skill in the world of ponysaurus hunting.

"I have been extremely lucky with bone fragments and that's not even being exaggerating," Pascal said.

Vidcund Curious

Serious and exact, Vidcund strives to fit the universe into a nice tidy package. He has an unnatural fondness for African violets. He is literally covered in them, from head to toe, if not technically. This is an odd love-hate relationship, a love-love and a hate-hate; that leaves us to sit and imagine the potential war between the vine and the earth.

Lazlo (”Twilight”) Curious

Not as studious as his older brothers, Lazlo got his degree in Phrenology. He likes to call phone psychics and spends hours trying to bend forks with his mind. His middle name is "Twilight" because his father was a vampire. He hates flowers.

General Buzz Grunt

The General likes to have his clocks set to military time. He used to enjoy barbershop quartet singing, but that is classified information. It's unknown when he fell in love, but it's possible that he was one of the first humans to understand the concept of love.

Tank Grunt

Tank Grunt wants to be just like his old man. He spends his days lifting heavy things, dodging imaginary bullets, and being bigger than the other guy, but deep down inside, he wonders if anyone really knows who he is. He hates it when his grandmother wants him to call her "Mama" and his grandma is pissed, and he just wants to stay in the dark and get away from the boring world around him. If he could just learn to love himself, he'd be unstoppable.

Ripp Grunt

Ripp totally doesn't care what you think of him. He is going to do whatever he wants to do, which is mostly what everyone else is doing. He has this whimsical desire to show off his tattoos, even though they give me nightmares (sometimes it feels like these tattoos are like a big torture device). He is hyperbolic and outrageous and uncouth and rude to the point that he's almost comical.

Buck Grunt

More than anything else, Buck wants to be a pet stylist to the stars. He spends a lot of time wondering why his father never seems to notice him.

"I want to have big hands and big feet, and I'm hoping I'm going to end up a couple of feet longer than my parents are," Buck said. "My Dad tells me a lot of things like, 'My son is going to be that guy who gets attention by the funnest side of you you've ever seen.' "

Cousins' health makes him optimistic about his prospects

Ajay Loner

To pass the hours, Ajay enjoys counting the grains of sand in his backyard. He may be about to blow his last few thousand, so he worries no more. "You can always count them. You just have to keep on keeping on," he says.

Chloe Curious

The complete opposite of her sister, Chloe just wants to meet new people and to have a good time. She can often be found daydreaming or chatting on the phone. She is very positive and has a creative mind, a big help when composing mean tweets. She always makes sure she keeps her emotions under control and is not too outgoing in social situations.

Lola Curious

Intelligent and focused, Lola knows what she wants and how to get it. She enjoys politics and telling those around her what to do. She keeps her enemies close and keeps a close eye on her enemies' backbones. Her love of Doctor Who and her interest in exploration drive her to travel the galaxy.

Erin Beaker

Erin spends a lot of time working on her psychic powers. Of course, she isn't really psychic, but don't tell her that. Erin's already a pro at picking out great dates with potential future partners. Nothing beats having a psychic date.

Kristen Singles

Kristen envisions herself as a world famous sports champion. She doesn't particularly care for Strangetown, but it's only a pit stop on her track to greatness. As much as she hates to admit it, her talent has never been in question, but that's not stopping her from strutting and parading around town in a T-shirt advertising her skills. She's no longer treating her sport as a game, but instead is obsessed with her prowess as a self proclaimed "muscle mom." 

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {8}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 7. Consequential Confidante

A/N:

A bit of a lighthearted chapter, the calm before the storm if you may. There’s a chapter I can’t wait to post, but I’m saving it for Valentine’s ~♥

8. The Queen’s Fool

Elsa victoriously smiled to herself, at achieving a slightly longer stay.

“Whatever you wish to do, they all sound like entertaining options, a game sounds fun, I’m quite curious to see if you can make them laugh, they are rather serious.” she giggled. “I wonder how loud you have to be for them to hear?”

“Well I imagine we’ll find out!” Hans remarked lightly. “This is the part where I make a bleeding fool of myself to make a Queen laugh. What better use for prisoners, ey?” He suggested lightly, and took the chair Elsa had been sitting in, to lean it close to the doors, but out of their swinging path, in case they should suddenly open. He sat in it and leaned back, keeping an eye on the doors as he rocked back on the back legs of the chair in most ungentlemanly fashion.

“-But you know, your Majesty-!” He began, as if they were mid conversation, raising his voice somewhat and speaking more toward the doors, “The most involved job I had in the Navy was in dealing with the Pie shop in Tortuga. I had to deal with all the pie-rates.” He suggested, with a grimace at the awful wordplay.

“Feel free to boo that one, it was awful. Ah, but I could tell you the sad tale of the chicken farm left out of most versions of Macbeth. Too bad, it involved a Murder Most Fowl.” He couldn’t help but be a bit amused by that one. He was a sucker for Shakespeare jokes.

“I’m quite fond of dancing, you know. Practiced with all the maids at home. One asked me, ‘Doesn’t it make you dizzy, to waltz so often?’, so I simply told her ��One must get used to that, you know, I’m afraid that’s the way of the whirled’.”

He spoke loudly to try and make sure the guards could hear, and always with a glance toward the door, trying to listen for any stifled snickers, grinning a little by the end. He was clearly racking his brain for the best dumb jokes, to try and get a giggle out of the Guards– and out of Elsa.

Elsa’s smile grew wider and wider, so wide that it hurt her cheeks.

Like her smile, Elsa’s laughter grew with each joke from a soft giggle to a hearty laugh.

She wasn’t sure if she actually laughing at the jokes themselves or more of the overdramatic antics of his delivery.

Seeing Hans trying so hard to cheer her up with his jokes warmed her heart, it was hard for her not to smile for that alone.

As Hans finished his last joke:

“What’s going on in there?” wondered a voice, not belonging to the guards, in the hall.

The doorknob began turning.

“Hey!”

“Wait!”

The door already opening. The way the door opened obscured the view of who was entering from Elsa, yet Hans could see leaning up close to the door.

A short walking snowman entered the room before the guards could stop him.

Hans was perplexed, at first. One could almost see in real-time how his brain processed.

Human shape?

Too small.

What’s that?

NOT HUMAN

WHAT.

All that to say, Hans went from casually leaning back in his chair, to standing on it, looking down from a few feet up, agile as a cat in less time than it took to say his name. He even balanced it on two legs again, somehow, and didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the difficulty of his balancing act.

“What in God’s holy name–?!” He managed, looking for all the world like a startled cat– and yet still managing to keep the chair’s balance as he stood on it.

Once he determined it not to be a threat, he stepped it back down to four legs, but he was clearly no less tense about the strange creature.

“Good god, she had a snow baby.” He remarked with an overdramatic gesture to the snowman, just to make Elsa laugh again. As if his looking like a startled cat and standing on a chair wasn’t funny enough. “I have to know, is this one in line for the crown?” Hans wasn’t often scared for his life, so if he sensed a threat in Olaf, he would probably still have quips. It was just the surprise that set him to standing on the chair.

The door actually opening startled Elsa. Especially, when she realized who’d entered. Her eyes grew wide and her skipped a beat. She got on her feet as quickly as Hans had jumped on the chair.

“Oh no!” Elsa uttered. Quickly making her way to the door, fearing that if he was here, her sister might be close by as well.

“Hi. I’m Olaf!” greeted the childlike snowman, waving his stick hand at Hans.

Hans lacked whatever fear Elsa had, and instead stepped down from his chair and crouched down to Olaf’s height, quite curious.

“Hello Olaf, I’m Hans.” He offered a hand for a handshake, as much curiosity as politeness. He looked like he was greeting a child, but for the clear perplexity about his person.

“Have you heard of me yet? I imagine you probably have.” He was curious to see how the little snowman’s attitude would change when he knew what monster he was greeting.

'Ah! What was he thinking?’ Elsa internally screamed. How was Hans revealing himself so nonchalantly? If he told Olaf, the little snowman was bound to tell Anna, and she couldn’t let that happen.

“Hans?” Olaf pondered, as he shook Hans hand. “Like that evil Prince that locked up Anna leaving her to die and tried to kill Elsa?”

Elsa let out a slight cough as if clearing her throat, wordlessly warning Hans to refrain himself from disclosing more information to the young curious snowman.

“O-olaf! What are you doing here?” Elsa interposed, as she shot the guards outside an icy glare letting them know the question had really been directed at them.

“We’re sorry, your Majesty,” both man sheepishly apologized. Elsa was truly disappointed, they had one job and they’d easily been trumped by a childish snowman. Imagine if the intruder had been Anna instead of Olaf. Hans had been right her guard was in serious need of retraining.

Elsa quickly scanned the hall with her eyes as she closed the door behind her. Luckily, it looked like the hall was clear.

“Oh, Elsa! You’re here too?” Olaf bubbly replied. “Isn’t it funny? This comical man shares the same name as the awful Prince from the Southern Isles.” Elsa winced. “But you’d never be alone in a room with that guy.” Elsa let out a sigh of relief and a nervous laugh, never had she been more grateful of Olaf’s childlike naivety. “I was just passing by when I saw the guards snickering outside the door and heard jokes coming from here, I just had to see what was going on.” He’d finally answered the question she’d asked. “ Is this guy a clown?” he asked. “Sorry, Hans the Clown, but I’ve never heard of you before,” Olaf briefly interjected. “I didn’t know the castle had a clown.” He continued his rambling, until Elsa interrupted him.

“Olaf, where’s Anna?” Elsa asked, trying to find out if her sister was near.

“Oh, Anna’s with Kristoff,” the snowman answered. “Do you want me to go get her, so she can hear the clown’s jokes too?” He asked turning towards the door, his hand already gripping the doorknob.

“ No, no, no, no, no,” she repeated frantically, waving her hands in front of her. “Please don’t go tell Anna!”

“Why?” He asked in a serious tone as he turned to look at her suspiciously, as she stood there nervously. “Wait!” he cried out excitedly. “Is this a surprise for Anna?” he asked all bubbly again. “I love surprises! If he’s a surprise for Anna, her birthday is coming up, I promise not to tell! I don’t want to ruin the surprise for her.”

Oh, Hans would definitely be a surprise for Anna, no doubt about it, but not in the whimsical way Olaf was imagining.

Hans couldn’t help but be amused. “I believe in that line if profession I would be considered the Queen’s Fool.” Hans corrected, amused. He would acquiesce to Elsa’s demands, and weave stories in the process.

“I’m simply a traveling fool who got injured. Her Majesty has allowed me to rest here awhile. Would you like to stay for some stories?” He did his best to distract Olaf, while Elsa fussed. Technically, he considered what he had said to be true, he was a fool, he had traveled there, he was injured, and he was allowed to stay in the castle to heal. He was just omitting some details.

“I’m not worth the Princess’ time at the moment, I’d have to heal up and prepare some material before I could entertain properly, you know. But stories, I have plenty. Whether true or fiction is another question.”

Elsa was glad Hans had picked up on her cue.

Olaf gasped with excitement.

“You tell stories? I love stories! Can I hear one?” asked the small sentient snowman, before Elsa could cut in.

“Well of course little snow-prince!” Hans assured sweetly, the mask of the fool sliding on as quickly and easily as a pair of gloves. As he spoke, he scooped up the snow-man and set him on the chair Hans had been standing on, himself stepping back to take a more active role in storytelling. He buttoned his shirt in haste while he considered the story, and rolled up his sleeves as if to dispel any questions.

“Now, Once upon a time, for all good stories must start that way…” He paused, as if to think a moment. “There was a prince of mirrors named Simon, a Queen of spiders, and a sword of truth.” He grinned a little. His hands flitted across the scene, marking characters and their feelings, without representing them like puppets. His hands were simply indicators of place and mood, seemingly always moving, to capture Olaf’s attention.

“Prince Simon was a clever young man, a swordsman, an adventurer, a sailor– but he was, himself, a mirror. He could only reflect others, either how they themselves were feeling, or what they wanted him to be. On one of his many adventures, he stepped into a dark cave, with a torch held high in the darkness. With the water dripping from stalactites and collecting in pools of inky water on the floor, drip-drip-drip, he walked through the darkness unafraid, until he heard the skittering of eight legs tapping across the floor.” His hand substituted nicely for the spider.

“But deep in the darkness, he could spy a glint of gold, so he walked on, and on. As he could see in the distance that the gold was the hilt of a sword, He found one leg stuck. Then another! Then, he could no longer move. When the torch slipped somewhat in his hand, he saw a slight shimmer in the air, of spider silk, wrapped around his limbs.” He made as if to pluck a strand of it from the air, a broad gesture to keep Olaf’s attention on him.

“'Such a handsome young man,’ said the spider queen, the size of a carriage and with slavering jaws. 'I am so very hungry, but, if you answer my questions, I shall let you go,’.

But that was not the only one in the room.

'She lies!’ Sang a golden voice, that could only have come from the sword far away. 'Tell no lies, and I shall save you!’ But, Simon was a mirror. He saw a liar before him, and mirrors only remember what they can see before them.”

“'Tell me, young man’ Said the Queen, 'What is your name?’

And Simon thought, but only for a moment, before he said 'You may call me Ainsel.’

'Tell me, young Ainsel, where do you live?’ she asked, treading closer on her web, with eight insect eyes peering into his.

And he thought again, and said 'Upon the earth, betwixt some trees, with grass all about, and a view of water.’

'Tell me, young Ainsel, 'pon the Earth, where in your home do you sleep?’ She stepped closer, yet closer, until her pincers came all too close to his neck.

'I sleep in a bed,’ He said 'Under blankets, above the floor, with a roof far above.’

And upon that third question, the spider Queen hissed, dissatisfied with his answers. But before she could bite down on his neck and eat him for lunch, the sword of truth flew to his hand. He brushed the web aside with the sharpened blade, and fled from the cave with his newfound steel companion, leaving the spider-queen hungry. She prowled the kingdom for years after, but could never find anyone called Ainsel, nor distinguish one home 'pon the earth betwixt some trees with grass all about and a view of water– let alone to find someone asleep in their bed within. And that, dear snowman, is how to handle the strange and the fey without being eaten for lunch after.” Hans grinned, keeping things playful and interesting, hoping to keep Olaf interested in his stories– if only because it was something interesting to do.

Hans had already started his story before Elsa had time to oppose, but like Olaf she attentively listened to his tale, yet she was also trying to uncover the underlying meaning of his words.

At face value it was a simple story of a man handling the strange and fey without being eaten for lunch, but felt it was actually an allegory reflecting Hans’ true feelings.

It was obvious Simon was a reflection of himself. At first Elsa thought the Queen of spiders was meant to represent herself, but by the end of the story she wasn’t quite sure, the spider seemed to be symbolic of something far more grim.

The Princes cunning of knowing when to tell the ‘truth’ ended up saving him from his impending demise, but maybe there was more to it than that. He’d said mirrors only remember what they can see before them and before him was lying Queen, yet he told the truth on the third question which had brought the sword to his aid. Had the Prince taken a leap of faith, by no longer reflecting what was in front of him, and instead trusting the sword to save him if he told the truth?

Elsa thought she’d come up with a good interpretation of the stories hidden meaning. But then again, she could very well be over-analyzing a tale just meant to entertain a child, that Hans just so happened to subconsciously add elements that sounded very much like his own circumstances.

The tale of the Prince of mirrors that shattered his reflection to gain the sword of truth and escape the clutches of the hungry Queen of spiders.

It had been an engaging story nonetheless.

Like with all the stories he had told her, Hans storytelling ability was quite captivating, even more so with the addition of his animated gestures. The care he put into crafting his story in a way to maintain Olaf’s attention was quite endearing. It’d be rather hard to try to hide the smile from her face.

“Woah!” Olaf said amazement once the tale had ended. “ He’s good!” he directed the comment to Elsa, that made her chuckle. “Another!” begged the little snowman clapping his woody hands together.

“ Olaf, that’s enough for today, I think we’ve imposed on m– our dear fool’s time long enough for one day. It’s best we take our leave and let him rest now,” Elsa reasoned.

Elsa mentally kicked herself for her near slip of the tongue, Hans had referred to himself as her fool, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to view him as such, let alone say it out loud. A slight blush returning to her face.

“Aw,” groaned Olaf.

“Next time, little snow-prince. I’ll tell you a new story next-time.” He hummed, as if that were his only job in life. “Good evening, your Majesty. Rest well.” He was polite and sweet as always, and he didn’t seem to mind being referred to as 'dear fool’. Indeed, it was kind of amusing. He gave a polite showman’s bow, to complete the picture.

Sooner or later, though, he would have to give the Guards a lecture. Perhaps if he was a good enough prisoner, the Queen would let him take on the guards’ training. What an irony that would be.

Elsa went over to help Olaf get off the chair. Her eyes found Hans’ as she readied herself to head out.

“Thank you, for indulging us,” she said warmly. Her soft blue eyes telling him she was thanking him for more than just playing the fool. Elsa held Olaf’s hand with one hand while her other was on the doorknob, and she slowly opened the door as she continued making sure the guards could hear. “Also for your advice about retraining the guard, it’s been duly noted on my list of priorities.”  She said banteringly rather than out of malice. She just couldn’t believe their guard had easily been breached by Olaf, it was a bit alarming actually. She flashed Hans a smile, before turning to leave.

“Bye! Hans the Fool,” Olaf waved with his free hand as Elsa pulled him along with his other.

“Your Majesty,” both addressed her sheepishly as she and Olaf exited the room.

The Queen and her 'Snow-Prince’ swiftly turned the corner and continued down another corridor.

Olaf tottled along, happy to hold Elsa’s hand and think a lot about what he learned that day.

“Wow, what a great story! But, Hans the Fool said he was here because he got hurt. What happened? He seemed healthy to me. Was it an inside hurt?” He proposed. Olaf didn’t quite have the knowledge to recognize Hans’ torso of bandages, he just thought it was a weird undershirt. Maybe that was why he didn’t seem to mind the fact that his shirt had been unbuttoned when he had arrived.

“Hm?” Elsa looked down at the curious snowman. Not knowing how or if she should answer his questions. She slowed down her pace as she pondered. “ H-he made a mistake and he got hurt because of it,” she answered simply. “ Inside hurt? You could say that, he’s good at hiding his hurt behind his smile, that’s why you didn’t notice, and why I thought we should let him rest.”

Like Hans she was omitting information, yet still answering truthfully.

“Oh… Why would he hide that? He’s hurting so he shouldn’t hide that, right?” Olaf proposed. “Why would someone do that?” He didn’t know Elsa’s habit of hiding emotions. He was too naive to know that.

“Some people hide it…because they think it’s easier for them, they don’t want other people to worry,” she spoke from experience.

Olaf frowned a bit. He thought it was wrong, but didn’t quite have the reasoning or explanation for why it was.

“What kind of mistake did he make? Isn’t it weird that he has the same name as Hans? D'you think he knows Evil Hans?” Those questions were easier to think of and ask.

Oh uh, he was asking too many questions all of which she was reluctant to answer.

“Uh,” She let out a nervous chuckle. “ Olaf, I don’t think all that is important. All that matters is that he’s here with us now and he’s getting better.”  Elsa said in an attempt to stop his curious questions.

“Hm. But I want to knooowww.” Olaf whined. But he smiled and giggled a little. “Well he sure is Hansome.” Olaf giggled at his own pun. “Oh I’m clever, I should try being a fool.”

“Oh, Olaf,” she gave a lighthearted laugh as she shook her head. “You know what? If your so curious about him, you can go visit him again…tomorrow.” she stopped and knelt down in front of him. “ Just remember, don’t tell Anna.” she said as she vertically put her index finger across her lips.

“Hmmmm- Okay!!” Olaf chirped, jumping in the air excitedly.

He was kind of a loudmouth, but he could try. And thankfully, he was easily distracted from things. Even if he didn’t remember not to tell, it was a dice roll whether he would remember it at all. “Are you gonna be there, too? Are you learning all his stories?”

“Yes, I’m learning all his stories,” she smiled. “I’ll try to go as soon as I can, if I can even find the time,” she let out a sigh as her smile began to fade, “But tomorrow might be a little busy for me, trying to get the guards retraining all figured out and that’s a lot of paperwork.” Her head hurt just thinking about it, but it was necessary for the well-being of Arendelle.

“Aw, they’re nice guys, why do they need re-training?” Olaf was… not the brightest. But he was a child. It was to be expected.

[sassy-postal-shipper]

Love Will Tear Us Apart - 2/12 - Did You Know?

Ship: Roman (Creativity)/Remus (Intrusive Thoughts)

Summary: Remus is often left alone and is wishing for someone to come be with him. He is only truly close to his brother Roman. He starts getting letters from a mysterious stranger, who professes love to him. The letters say many details that emphasize Remus’ beauty, but Remus starts thinking that the stranger wants Roman. As much as Remus wants to be in love, he wants to be with Roman just as much.What is the Duke to do?

Rating: M/Explicit

AO3 link if Tumblr doesn’t work

Previous - Next

Warnings: Evelyn Evelyn AU, Shapeshifting, Imagination, Yandere, Everyone is Yandere, Developed before POF, Animal Motifs, Every Side has an Animal

Love Will Tear Us Apart - Chapter 2 - Did You Know?

If there had been a time when they had been together, when they had been one person, neither body of Creativity could remember. They knew that, logically, there had been a time when Creativity had existed as one, what with the terms “good” and “bad” now separating them at the root of their lives.

That was what the Shield had said before he had disappeared into nothingness, at least nothing that they could recognize.

There were times when they wanted to go back to how they used to be, but they both remembered that they were so lonely. They could remember their hands - only two! - shaping the canvas and clay of Imagination into a fine castle, their Dream, and Thomas had just been blooming into a creative force in the world.

They could remember what happened afterward, when they split apart and they became Two. Remus’s hair had not yet turned white, and Roman’s voice had yet to gain the royal timbre that it had when Thomas was older.

That’s when Loneliness became familiar.

While Thomas was able to perform with Roman guiding him, Remus was set to take some control over Thomas’ dreams when the world was asleep. Remus had almost complete reign over dreams. There were nonsensical trails that Thomas would go down, eventually getting trapped or becoming too frightened. Remus was attentive, going to find Thomas and showing him how to beat all the traps that Remus had inadvertently created while letting himself go freely while his brother was busy during the day.

Thomas didn’t always lean into him, but when Thomas would relax, he would ask Remus for a piggy-back ride. If Remus would tell the truth without embellishing it with unnecessary details, he would tell Roman of how wonderfully delightful it was to have the sensation of Thomas’ little puffs of breath on the back of his neck, little arms loose and limp around his neck.

Thomas was beauty, wonder, light, and every wonderful sensation that Remus had been able to feel. The feel of stepping onto sunlit grass were Thomas’ fingertips that occasionally played with Remus’ hair before he went to sleep. Remus would do anything for him - eviscerate himself, kill the boy down the road who ripped up one of Thomas and Roman’s pictures, make him sing something inappropriate as long as he could until he got what he wanted.

However, Thomas began to grow further away from Remus. Instead of Thomas finding beauty in what others could find horrifying, knowing that it was better to steer away from certain things than just avoid it at all, Thomas pushed Remus away. He no longer dared to go down the paths that Remus had worked on. He would no longer touch the delicate horrors that Remus had bled over to create visions of Fear that Thomas could grow from.

The Guard had begun to lead Thomas away from the hidden crevices in the Imagination, multiple eyes that were vigilant and wary. When Care began to push Remus back, to make sure that Thomas and Roman sat at the front of the Imagination’s garden, Roman pulled him to sit next to Thomas. They both loved him; why would Remus stay away.

It was different when Thomas was alone, though.

Alone, and only with the Guard, Thomas always ran away now whenever he sensed Remus near, and gone was the boy precious child sunshine sweetling bubbly beauty that was the only other creature aside from Roman that Remus had loved.

Roman would come to comfort him at night, the gentle dim Sunlight that Remus would reflect back to his brother in measured bursts of Moonlight. He would show Remus everything that Thomas did that day, and even Remus’ influence couldn’t be ignored.

Thomas could imagine dragons and spiders, scary snakes and evil witches. Oh! - even if all of Remus’ influence was bad, Thomas was enjoying himself and making new things in the Imagination; and because of this, Remus never minded that Thomas found him scary or bad, as long as he was able to be helpful to his boy. Remus still saved Thomas from nightmares, after all.

Sometimes, there were tales among the Sides and the Others of an eclipse, where for an instant, the Creativity-that-was would return, and Thomas would be in awe. Usually at night, because the world couldn’t witness it, but Remus and Roman would disappear, and the King would return, ready to rule over his Kingdom within Imagination, and Loneliness no longer existed.

Remus never remembered those times, though.

Roman couldn’t remember them either or so Remus recalled him saying , and as Thomas grew, Remus was banished further into the darkness of Imagination, Roman having to travel further every night to make sure his brother was doing well.

They didn’t know how much time had passed; the Imagination was whimsical when it came to time, and they didn’t always have a way to keep track of time here and in Thomas’ world.

What they did know was that the eclipses were far and few, and Remus was getting lost in the Loneliness that came with the Imagination, a sense of disconnect that was only getting worse in Remus, no matter how many stories Roman told to keep away the awful feelings.

On this night, Remus was waiting for his brother. The stars lit up the beaten path that had grown again by feet, meters, lengths, or fathoms and that would bring Roman back to him.

How long had they existed? Roman had become a Prince to rule over their kingdom in Imagination well, devoted to their people and always ready to answer the call to adventure that Imagination would create at Thomas’ will or even its own volition. The Creativity was a volatile and unpredictable thing; it had given life to Roman and Remus both, after all.

Remus had become a ruler without responsibility. Remus had become a Duke who could attend to all the small things that Roman could not see. Remus had a much more in-depth insight into the Little People’s lives, one that Roman couldn’t envision; those were the limitations of Creativity on a grander scale, but Remus was in charge of nitty-gritty details that often would break a story without Suspension of Disbelief.

“No hair to climb, but nevertheless the sight granted to me, sublime~”

Remus sat up, spying his brother in the moonlight. Roman stared back at him from the doorway, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders like one of their capes. Roman waved to the bed, and Remus obeyed as he always did when he had his usual stint of nightmares and Loneliness. As Roman came close, the scent of cinnamon and sugar accompanying him with the noxious scent of roses, Remus felt his body tremble, his skin undergoing a chill that made goose-flesh creep and take over his flesh.

“Come.”

“I will.”

Roman climbed into bed, the glide of their clothed legs smooth and warm. The blanket around his shoulders was a fire over Remus’ body, warm and all-encompassing.

“That was awful.”

“It’s late and I’m tired. I don’t mind.”

They settled onto each other. Remus moved his legs like clockwork, Roman letting one leg of his fall between Remus’ legs and the other out to trap one of Remus’ legs between his own. Roman rested his head over where a human heart would be if they were human; instead, the grinding sound of a ratchet was heard, clicking and ticking in a way that made Roman shudder.

“Scared?”

“You’re here. Why would I be scared?”

Roman sighed as Remus threaded his fingers through the Prince’s hair. Soft and silky, clean and smooth - these were the sensations that Remus associated with Roman’s energy and power. Roman was powerful and careful, every motion precise and easy.

Remus could destroy the world under his fingers just with a simple wave of his hand, destroying anything he would want to create. Roman would disagree, his own ticking heart steadfast in his chest.

“When did we meet last?”

“That doesn’t matter, really…”

No, it didn’t.

Being a part of Creativity was amazing. Roman had his Kingdom. ‘Twas a metropolis that was interwoven into the fringes of Remus’ Domain. Both areas had inspiration from the gallantry of King Arthur’s tales, the houses and kingdoms of wisdom of fictional Arabia (Agrabah not being a subtle influence), and even the futuristic realms influenced by Japanese films and anime. There was always something to gain their interest; if not, they could just Create it!

There was an order maintained, as the Imagination populated itself with villagers, city-goers, and those who maintained their position in the Imagination by performing tasks that Thomas had imagined essential in any fantasy setting, classic or unorthodox. All of the characters that Thomas had created for his videos and Vines were here as well. Remy and Emil even lived in the area of the metropolis that was more modern when compared to the rest of the fantasy world.

Magicians, law-men, villains, and healers - there was nothing that the Imagination didn’t offer!

Roman and Remus would find each other at night, ready to Create dreams that Thomas could indulge in, and now that Thomas was an adult and he had learnt of Remus, they could have even more freedom!

Thomas didn’t enjoy everything that Remus Created, but Thomas would be loath to say that he hated some of the dreams that came at night. Ghostly hands that worshiped his body and lips that sang  litanies to Thomas, because Thomas had no lover there to press himself against; oh, Remus had fun Creating dashing rogues and handsome princes that he could entice into his bed, ones that would worship the darker side of Creativity!

Roman would observe occasionally, a cursory glance from the Passionate light of Creativity. Sometimes, Roman would send someone to Remus, letting his brother indulge in a lover that was something else. Roman never engaged in those types of fantasies, ones that were rooted only in the flesh. Roman appreciated the beauty but he never indulged in the dreams; he was waiting for Thomas to find someone, and they would all be happy then.

Surely, when they wouldn’t have to sleep alone again...

As Remus settled to rest with Roman, he listened to Roman talk about how cross he was.

“What?”

“A morning-star. To the head!” Roman pouted, pressing his pursed lips to Remus’ forehead. It was a closed-off kiss, and it didn’t matter; Roman had never closed off his heart to Remus though he had certainly earned the right to close Remus off in the past .

“But I wanted to surprise you!”

“... Did it have to hurt like that?” Roman pulled away, looking at Remus’ eyes. They were looking for something that Remus didn’t know if he could even emote! Before Remus could argue, Roman pressed him down into the mattress.

Remus might be cursed with hard-hitting truths as a large part of his speech, but his body enjoyed the softness of a down-filled mattress. It was on top of the much firmer, much more modern mattress that Mom had gotten Thomas too many years ago to matter, but it let Roman push Remus into the plush without suffering the harshness underneath. Even as Roman scowled down at him, Remus bit his lip to keep from moaning at the softness beneath him.

“You need to let Thomas call you from now on.”

Remus blinked up at his brother. “Do you think he will?”

He tried not to sound excited by the idea that Thomas his boy his light his love his very God that commanded and demanded Remus into being back when the boy didn’t realize the exceptional potential that he had hidden away in that little body would actually ask for Remus’s input, but Roman saw right through him. Roman smiled down at the lesser-titled brother that was filthy disgusting dull evil and pressed a kiss to the center of Remus’ forehead.

“Of course he will, my dear. You know,” Roman began, settling down to rest on Remus’ chest, “he’s nervous, but he’s a bit more excited now. I told him that you made him have those… more sultry dreams, and he is intrigued! It’ll be wonderful, dear, I promise you!”

With that, Roman settled into the wondrous world of sleep, body limp and chthonic with the ethereal light of a yellow star still burning bright from him. It dared to harm Remus, but Remus had never been averse to pain.

Oh, Remus could smell Roman’s hair. It smelt nauseatingly disgusting; for sunshine and butterflies, the blood of a freshly conquered foe, and the scent of begonias. Remus, on the nights when he would lay on Roman’s chest, would be burning brighter than the corona of the eclipse. His hands would wander down, the tentacles that his body had stroking the animalistic features that Roman couldn’t hide while he was asleep, dreaming. It was the one time that Remus had ever entertained the notion that Roman could be a fraction of a monster like he was. It was everything that Remus could ever desire from his brother.

Thomas would get rest tonight, especially after Remus’ fantasies had gone awry the night before. He didn’t know why they wandered down that path, but Remus was never one to look away from the prospect of any kind of entertainment.

Roman’s arms tightened around Remus’ waist, the Prince humming some strange tune as Remus fell into sleep as well.

[vesuvianvienna]

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Vampire Julian at the Masquerade with my apprentice Vienna. This is shameless. I have no shame. tagging @anjatheapprentice @arcana-dumpsterfire and @bazzpop and if anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!

cw: heavy smut, blood

The ballroom. Empty for years after the Count’s untimely death, now brimming with champagne and laughter and the rustle of billowing skirts. Music rang from the rafters themselves, seemed to vibrate in the very walls as the partygoers danced, spun, and whirled around the cavernous space. Vienna stood near the back, clutching a full crystal of some sparkling liquid she had taken off a tray just to have something in her hands, grateful for the mask affixed to her face for its ability to hide the anxious expression on her face. Asra had accepted an invite to the Masquerade, but had mysterious business to attend to and had begged her to go in his stead. Weak when it came to denying her master, Vienna had agreed, and had barely slept for worrying since. Large crowds made her throat shrink and her stomach turn, especially large crowds of complete strangers. Even the dress, as breathtaking as it was, did little to boost her confidence. Asra had had it custom made for her, the midnight blue silk light as a summer breeze against her skin, the skirts enchanted with little spangled stars that twinkled when she moved. Her mask was similarly constructed, royal blue damask with spangles around the eyes, embroidered with silvery thread and adorned with a single rose, its petals matching the blue of her hair. Her shoulders and decolletage had been dusted with a silvery powder, making her shimmer as if she had been sprinkled with starlight. No facet of her appearance, no matter how whimsical or fantastic, could bolster her. Shaking hands gripped her skirts as she shouldered her way past the revelers and out into the garden, taking no notice of a figure clad all in black, piercing eyes following her every move as he shadowed her.

Fortunately, though the terrace wasn’t entirely deserted, it was far less crowded than the ballroom itself, and Vienna took a deep breath, thankful to be able to shake off the claustrophobia. The marble of the railing was cool against her forearm as she leaned against it, looking out over the moonlit gardens, a soft smile touching her face. How she would love to explore them, to acquaint herself with all the curious and exotic blooms that flourished there.

While she was lost in thought, a man dressed in brocades of clashing purple and orange sidled up to her, a drink in his hand and a rather improper gleam in his eye. “Enjoying the garden? Surely you must be, being such a rare and exquisite bloom yourself.”

Vienna’s head turned, slightly startled by the voice to her right. “Oh,” she said, clutching her glass closer and giving the stranger a polite, if rather stiff smile. “I suppose so.”

Mistaking her curt response for an invitation to move closer, the man grinned down at her, now merely a hair’s breadth away. He lifted a gloved hand to pinch her chin between thumb and forefinger, lifting her head as if to inspect her. “Yes, a rare flower indeed. Are you seeking company tonight?”

Stunned at first by his forwardness, the smell of strong liquor on his breath snapped her out of her frozen state, and she wrenched away from his grasp. “I most certainly am not,” she spat, painted lips curled back over her teeth in a disgusted grimace. “I think you should leave.”

“Ah, I see this rose has thorns,” the man chuckled, advancing toward her once more. Her rejection didn’t seem to faze him, violet-clad hands reaching for her once more. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, watery eyes fixed at a point above her head. From behind her, she heard a voice, pitched low in warning.

“You heard the lady.”

For a moment, the boorish gentleman seemed nearly frightened of whoever stood behind her, though she didn’t dare take her eyes off of him long enough to look. But the fear seemed fleeting, and his lips curled in a smirk as his alcohol-driven bravado returned. “So she’s your pet, then? Surely you wouldn’t mind sharing her? After all, a sweet little thing like this should be-”

His words were cut off in a flash of silver as Vienna surged forward to press a small but deadly sharp blade against the side of his neck, the weapon drawn from somewhere within the folds of her skirt. “I am no man’s pet,” she hissed, thoroughly repulsed by his behavior. “You will leave the palace grounds now, and I will be sure to inform the Countess of your despicable behavior.” Vienna stepped back, extending her arm to keep the knife to his throat. “Now, get out.”

The message finally seemed to have sunken through, the man turned with a flick of his coattails and fled. Vienna relaxed, tucking her blade back into her skirts; she had no intention of reporting anything to Nadia, who already had enough to worry over without dealing with the headache of this trifling encounter. Perhaps at a later date, she would bring it up, but for now–

Suddenly, she remembered the voice from behind her, soft in tone but threatening in pitch and timbre. In a rustle of silk, she turned to see who had tried to intervene, but was met with an empty terrace. Mere moments later, she heard a soft chuckle and caught of a flash of black out of the corner of her eye, a long shape that seemed to be heading for the maze. Without thinking, she gathered her skirts and followed, wanting to see her would-be rescuer, wanting to thank him for his attempt at gallantry, but mostly wanting to put a face to the voice.

Tall hedges surrounded her on both sides as she entered the maze, her heart rising to the back of her throat. She knew it well enough by now, but there was still the possibility of getting lost within its twists and turns. A voice–his voice–seemed to sound from within, beckoning her further, hesitation a mere memory as she kicked off her ridiculous heeled slippers to run after him.

Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. Follow, little one, follow…

No matter how fast she ran or where she turned, his voice always seemed to be just ahead of her, guiding her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, when finally, she reached the courtyard at the center. There he stood, his back to her, strikingly tall and imposing. As she drew closer, he turned, a pleased smirk on his mouth, one piercing grey eye pinned to her. The hem of his long cape brushed the ground, stirred the grass around his booted feet as he fully faced her.

“Well done, lovely one.”

Vienna paused, her body twitching as if summoned to him by invisible strings, and yet she hesitated. “Who are you?” The question was asked softly, curiously, accompanied by a slight tilt of her head. Logically, she knew there should be fear, but she felt none. His grin widened, a dark brow arching over the top of a beaked mask.

“I’ve had more names than most. You may call me Julian.” He bent at the waist, sweeping forward in a graceful bow. “And what might I call you?”

“Vienna.” She gave her name without a moment’s thought, a smile touching her lips as he straightened and strode toward her. Gently, he reached for her hand, cradling it in both of his as if she were some delicate artifact, and brought it to his mouth.

“A pleasure, dear lady,” he purred.

With him so close now, she felt something prickle at the back of her mind, something that felt like a warning. Her stomach gave a clench as she realized that his lips were cold, even through the silk of her glove, and when he glanced up at her through his lashes and smiled, she caught a glint of something sharp and white. Pointed teeth. Fangs.

“You aren’t human, are you?”

He laughed, a soft chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he straightened, still holding her hand. “My, you are quick on the draw, aren’t you? No, darling, I haven’t been human for quite some time.” His head tilted to the side, regarding her with curiosity and amusement. “Yet you aren’t afraid of me. Why is that?”

For a moment or two, Vienna couldn’t answer. Why wasn’t she afraid? She had heard Asra speak of his kind, creatures that had once been human but had been bitten, infected, cursed. They could only walk in darkness, possessed unholy strength, speed, and senses, and sustained themselves on sacred, running blood. They were meant to be monsters, murderers, and yet…she saw no such evil in his eyes, no such malice in his smile. Slowly, she finally answered, “If you had wanted to hurt me by now, you could have. If you wished me dead, I would be.”

Julian laughed again, at last releasing her hand, though he took a step closer, looking pleased when she didn’t move back. “Clever woman. It’s true, I mean you no harm. My kind have gathered a rather nasty reputation, but you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her gaze was soft beneath a furrowed brow, questioning, searching. “Then why lead me here?”

His teeth gleamed in a wide, rather insolent grin. “You intrigued me. I haven’t seen you at the Masquerade before, and I’ve been in attendance for many, many years. And after that display with that poor buffoon, I knew I had to introduce myself.” Julian chuckled at the memory. “Here I thought I would come to your rescue, your dashing hero, but I believe you frightened him more effectively than I ever could.” His hand lifted, pausing for a moment and only resting his fingertips against her neck when she didn’t pull away, her head lifting a fraction to expose the slender column. The leather was cool against her skin, and she pressed her lips together to hold back a sigh. “And even from across the ballroom, you smelled so sweet…”

His voice dripped with longing, with hunger, but not threat, his touch ever gentle as he traced the shimmering ridge of her collarbones with the tip of his finger. Her stomach gave a pleasant little flutter beneath her corset, an unfamiliar heat settling there as he swallowed her up in his ravenous stare. Slowly, she reached up, lifting onto her toes to reach his mask and tug it away from his face. Her heart hammered in her chest at the sight of him, sharp lines and angular features, handsome and dangerous. His lips, soft and full when they weren’t curled in a smirk, lifted at the corners, and Vienna wondered if he could hear how her heart began to race at the reveal of his face. His hand lifted to her cheek, tracing the edge of her mask, before he murmured, “May I?”

Vienna nodded, closing her eyes as he reached behind her head to untie the mask and lift it gently away from her face. If the mask made a sound when it hit the ground, she couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in her ears as he cupped her cheek in his hand, his touch cool and achingly tender. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw that his stare had shifted to the slope of her neck, flushed pink in a rosy blush. “Vienna,” he cooed, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, “sweet little one, will you let me have a taste?” His touch slid to her throat, and she wondered how such cold fingers could leave such heat in their wake. “I won’t take much, just a sip or two.”

Her voice felt locked in her throat at his softly worded request, so she took his hand instead, his long fingers curling around hers as she led him to a bench made of stone, set with soft cushions in jewel-toned fabrics. Her skirts rustled as she sat, pulling him to sit beside her as she held his hand in her lap. “Take what you need,” she said gently, tilting her head back to better see his face and to better expose her vulnerable throat. Julian smiled, fangs glinting with pinpricks of captured starlight.

“Let’s not be hasty,” he purred, curling a finger beneath her chin to keep her head tilted at the perfect angle. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t begin with a kiss?” His head lowered, his silhouette outlined in silver moonlight, and his lips brushed against hers, so soft at first she wasn’t sure she had felt them at all. His mouth was as cool as his hands, sending a pleasant shiver skittering down her spine as his lips slotted more firmly against hers, both hands cradling her head as if he were afraid she would slip from his grasp. Vienna’s hands curled in the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer, all but melting into the kiss. Her lips parted as she sighed against his mouth, barely noticing when he leaned forward, his hand cupped beneath her head to cushion it as he pressed her onto her back. His cape fell around them, shielding them from the outside world as his tongue slipped into her mouth, almost shy as it slid along hers. At the first moan he coaxed from her, Julian answered with one of his own, her arms locking around his neck as his body covered hers, all passion and sweetness and breathless anticipation. At last, he broke the kiss, giving her only a moment’s pause to catch her breath before his lips descended onto her throat.

At first, his kisses remained soft, like gentle electric pulses that tingled down her spine. Then his mouth opened and those fangs grazed her skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make her gasp as he pinched her pulse between his teeth. There was no blood, not yet, but the mark he left swelled a livid rose madder, a slow drag of his tongue both soothing the sting and drawing a mewl from her. “Beautiful,” he whispered against her, though she couldn’t tell if he was referring to her or to the mark. Her hand, trembling ever so slightly, slid back through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he crouched over her, streamlined sinew and lean, predatory strength that didn’t match the tenderness of his gaze. His lips touched hers once more, briefly, before her turned her head to the side, lowering his mouth to the unmarked side of her neck. His teeth paused at the looping throb of her vein, allowing her a moment to brace herself before sinking his fangs into her soft skin with a low hiss.

Vienna cried out, clutching at him as the pain flared hot, then subsided, giving way to a sensation that wasn’t quite pleasure but was too close to tell the difference. It was intimacy in a form no human tongue could describe, as if he were drinking from the bowl of her heart, running his fingers through her soul. Less than half a minute seemed to stretch to fill an eternity before Julian finally lifted his head, looking as though it pained him to do so. A thrill of something she couldn’t name shot through her at the sight of his lips darkened by her blood, stained a deep, damning crimson. Before she could fully enjoy the sight of them, however, he was lunging forward to take her lips in another kiss, this one desperate and frantic, as if he had swallowed a deadly poison and her mouth held the only antidote. Expecting to be repulsed by the taste of her own blood, Vienna found herself strangely enchanted by it, the tang and salt so foreign and yet so familiar.

When at last he let her breathe, Julian looked down at her like a man half-starved, caressing her cheek and gazing deep into her starry eyes. “Delicious,” he murmured, stroking one fingertip over the teeth marks in her throat before his mouth lowered to her skin once more, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her throat before nipping at her collarbones. “I want more.”

His kisses strayed all over her body, somehow leaving spots of heat in their wake even through the layers of clothing between his lips and her skin. The line of her decolletage, the silk-clad swells of her breasts, the quivering plane of her stomach; she half expected to see scorch marks left behind on her dress. Vienna shivered, pushing herself up on her elbows as Julian wrapped long fingers around each ankle, grinning as he saw her legs were bare beneath her skirts. “Please,” he purred, sliding one leather gloved hand up her calf. “Let me taste you deeper, sweet Vienna.”

“Yes,” she said almost too quickly, too breathlessly, lifting her leg to rest her ankle on his strong shoulder. “God, yes.”

His eyes flashed as his hands slid up her legs, pushing her skirts up around her hips as he lowered himself between her thighs, his broad shoulders opening her up for him. The moonlight exposed her, left her vulnerable beneath his heated gaze, but she felt no fear, nor did she feel cheap or embarrassed. The way he licked his lips when he saw the thin triangle of sheer fabric at the apex of her thighs, the way the black centers of his eyes seemed to swallow up the grey made her feel strangely powerful, ethereal, like an enchantress of myth and fable. His fingers ghosted up her thighs, teasing her with feather-light touches as he pressed kisses to the trail of warmth they left behind.

“Look at me,” he whispered, urging her eyes down to where his mouth rested against the pulse of her femoral artery. Reddened lips skinned back over his teeth as he bit into her as if he were savoring the sweet juices of a ripe, succulent fruit, not deep enough to break the skin but hard enough to leave a livid bruise, the flesh darkening as he sucked the taste of her into his mouth. Vienna cried out, grateful for their seclusion as she wound her fingers through the gentle auburn waves of his hair, ruthless bites littering her thighs before he lifted his head and nuzzled into her palm. “Do you have any idea how utterly edible you look right now, darling? If we aren’t careful, I might just swallow you whole.”

Midnight blue silk caressed his cheek, one gloved fingertip tracing the curve of his lower lip. “Then please, be careless with me.”

The delight on his face gave her heart a thrill, now gentle lips pressing a heated kiss to the cup of her palm before he lowered his head once more. Impatiently, he tugged her skirts aside so that she could see him properly, the wordless command to keep her eyes on him written plainly in his stare as he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her mound. Vienna bit at her lip, all the air pulled from her lungs as long fingers curled around her undergarments, ripping them away as if they were no sturdier than a moth’s wing. He drank in her shiver as the night air caressed her bare skin, unbearably cool against her heat. Black leather slid deliciously against pale thighs as he lowered his head once more, auburn curls tickling her skin as he hesitated, his lips a mere whisper away. That first teasing flick of his tongue drew a mewl from her, a rather feline grin tugging at the corners of his mouth before he repeated the action, a slow, devilish drag up her folds that had her writhing. His name left her lips in a ragged moan, more breath than sound, and that alone broke him, a groan rumbling in his chest as he closed his lips around her clit and sucked hard, fingers sinking into her thighs. Vienna’s back bowed, fingers clutching at his hair, at his shoulders, needing to grab hold of something before she floated away while his clever tongue dipped lower, prodding into her slick entrance with a muffled sound of pleasure. His eyes were closed, concentrating on the overwhelming taste of her, heady and exquisite, more fine than the rarest vintage, sweetened by the sounds of her moans and the way her hips rocked up, chased his mouth, as if she would perish without its warmth. As his tongue slipped deeper, playfully curling and twisting, one cool leather-clad fingertip rubbed slow, tantalizing circles over her clit. Her thighs trembled, her breath trembled, her whole body shook under the dizzying spell of his wicked, wicked mouth, a rabbit snared in the kindest of traps. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and finally Julian’s eyes opened, the pupils blown wide and his stare dark and intense. He didn’t speak, at least not with words, but she heard him nonetheless.

Darling girl, come for me.

As if the command itself were a sharp edge, it cut through the last of her tethers and she flew apart, shattering with a cry of his name. Every muscle coiled tight, every sinew strung as tight as an archer’s bow, and yet he did not relent or ease his passions; if anything, his tongue pressed deeper, his finger stroked faster. Adoring eyes narrowed with the intent to drive her utterly mad with pleasure, one orgasm spiraling into another, and as her body began to show signs of coming down, the insistent flicking of his tongue at her clit tossed her headlong into her third.

He had mercy on her then, and lifted his mouth from her, licking his lips to savor her as she collapsed in a heap of heaving breasts and rumpled skirts, eyes as vast as the universe itself as she slowly floated back down into her body. Julian was wound tight as a spring as he crawled back up over her, flicking her skirts back down over her thighs and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You,” he rasped, “are dangerous, sweet girl. A man could lose himself to you.”

Vienna slowly sat up, feeling a dreamy light-headedness that was part blood-loss but mostly pleasure. His arms curled around her waist to hold her flush against his body as she covered his face in tiny raindrop kisses, her heart shuddering in her chest. She needed to be closer, needed to feel more, needed-

With a short yell, the two of them tumbled off of the bench and onto the grass below, Julian tucking himself beneath Vienna to absorb the impact. Strands of hair that had come loose from the twist she had snared them in tickled his cheeks as she sprawled over him, catching herself on his chest. For a moment, they stared at each other in stunned silence. Then, Vienna felt a purr rumbling in his chest beneath her hands, felt his hands slide from her waist up her back. “Yes, I much prefer this view,” Julian said with a smirk, gloved hands now slipping over her shoulders and down her arms. “Whatever will you do with me, Vienna, now that you’ve got me in such a compromising position?”

She blinked, and then a feline smirk of her own curled on her lips, her body fluid and graceful as she slid down to straddle his hips. With her skirts rucked up around her hips, she could feel him against her bare folds, the texture of his breeches deliciously coarse, and beneath them…

“Oh, Julian,” she breathed, spreading her thighs and rocking her hips against his, rubbing herself deliberately over him and drinking in the way his eyelids fluttered, his lips parted. His hands curled at the bell of her hips, gripping at her skirts as if he were seconds away from tearing them from her body. “Julian,” she breathed again, unbuttoning his waistcoat and the shirt underneath, sliding her palms over his bare chest. She wanted him, and oh how the fire of that want blazed hot in her belly. But did he desire her the same? Would a man of such strength and power want someone so fragile, so mortal? He cast no spell, held her under no thrall; every choice she made, she made on her own, and such passion was unfamiliar to her, foreign and frightening. Would he guide her through the fire?

The touch of his cool hand on her cheek brought her back to the present, and she noticed a crease between his brows, a searching look in his eyes. “Vienna,” he breathed, “you don’t have to do this. If you don’t want this–”

She surged forward, crushing whatever he was about to say between their lips in a heated kiss. His hands gripped at her, desperation in his fingertips as she curled her fingers in his hair, her lips parting to allow his tongue into her mouth. When at last she surfaced for air, she pressed her forehead to his, blue sweeping against red. “I fear I want this too much,” she admitted in a whisper, pressing herself closer to him. “We have only just met, you and I.”

A moment’s pause, then a short, adoring laugh. “I have the strength to snap your neck like a twig, and you’re worried that I may think poorly of you for wanting me?” There was no malice in his gaze, no malevolence in his words, and she leaned into his hand, nuzzling against his palm. “You know what I am. You know the monstrous truth of my nature, yet you don’t shy away from me. You desire me all the same, despite the brevity of our…relationship. If that is not something to covet, precious girl, then I don’t know what is.”

A bit of her fear drained away, and a smile graced her lips. “Do all your conquests find you this charming?” He laughed again, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before sitting up once more. Her fingers were sure and steady as she unfastened the front of his breeches, her breath catching in her throat as she saw in full moonlight what she had only felt before. She grasped him, warmer than she had expected and heavy in her hand, and he let out a soft groan, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Vienna lifted her skirts once more, positioning them so that the tip of his length just barely rested at her entrance, tormenting him with her heat, so close and yet out of his reach. From within the folds of her skirt, she withdrew her knife once more, liquid moonlight shimmering along the blade before she drew it over her palm. Julian’s eyes widened, lips parting as his stare darkened, intensified at the sight of her blood. “Drink,” she instructed, holding her hand out to him. “Please. If I am to be yours, then let me be yours fully.”

Julian hesitated only a moment before wrapping his hand around her wrist and tugging her hand to his mouth, his tongue dragging sensuously over the shallow cut. He groaned, bucking his hips up against her, and Vienna slowly let herself sink down onto his length, letting out a soft keen as he pushed deep within her. A growl rumbled against her palm as he sank into her velvet fire, the pleasure and heat like heaven itself as she languidly rolled her hips, adjusting to the feel of him. Vienna braced her free hand against his chest as she set a pace, swiveling her pelvis as she leaned forward, her head swimming with the throb of dull pain at her hand and the heady pleasure down below. Julian’s lips entirely covered the cut on her hand, his eyes half-lidded and piercing as he gazed up at her like he would like nothing more than to swallow her whole. When at last he tore her hand away from his mouth, his lips stained dark, dripping crimson, he reached up and deftly plucked the pins from her hair, letting the blue curls tumble around her shoulders. “That’s better,” he purred, carding her hair through his fingers as he gripped her hip, urging her to move faster. “Just like that, darling, yes.”

Her moans were swept away on the evening breeze, soft whimpers and curses falling from her lips like rain as Julian dug his heels into the ground and thrust up into her. Their bodies rose and fell, crested and crashed like waves upon a shore, ceaseless and eternal. Vienna felt her chest contract, all the oxygen pulled out of her lungs as he pressed on her back, urging her down to press his lips to her chest, over her racing heart. Time seemed to stand still, as if the moon herself had paused to watch them, to guard them. Her blood still slicked his lips, leaving lurid marks on her collarbones and where the tops of her breasts swelled above her dress, yet she couldn’t find the will to care how he marked her. She whispered his name, chanted it like a prayer as that fire raged, that scorching coil drawing tighter and tighter within her, and Julian pulled her closer, clung to her as if she were the last hope for his soul.

“Vienna,” he murmured, sliding his hands over the soft, tempting swells of her breasts. “Oh, Vienna…” He was close, too close; a brush of her lips on his skin would be his undoing, and he removed the glove covering his right hand with his teeth, reaching down between their undulating bodies. Fingers that were warmer than they had been at the start but still startlingly cool against her heat slid over her clit, rubbing in gentle circles, coaxing her sweetly toward that precipice. “Come over the edge with me, darling. Please.”

Vienna was as helpless to disobey as she was to keep the sun from rising or the stars from shining, and she flew apart with a scream that could have held the syllables of his name but was too broken to tell. The world faded into streaks of dim color, shrank until it contained only him and the way he moved inside of her, the way he touched her so reverently it could break her heart. As she shattered, so did he, bursting within her with a moan and a shout of her name, and oh, if a lost soul like his could experience a woman so divine, then perhaps he wasn’t quite as damned as he believed.

At last, they collapsed against each other, his arms banded tight around her middle and her little fists curled in the open neck of his shirt. For several long, breathless moments, they laid there, panting and dazed, neither truly grasping that what had just transpired was real, and not some vivid dream. Then, Vienna kissed him, tasting the last traces of her blood on his mouth, and the spell broke, a smile curling on his lips as he returned her kisses. When at last their breathing had returned to normal, Julian sat up, pulling out of her and tucking himself back into his trousers. “I’d best return you to the Masquerade before you’re missed,” he said almost mournfully, stroking his bare hand through her hair. Vienna opened her mouth to protest, but she knew that Nadia would be concerned if she went missing. Slowly, on wobbling legs, she stood, brushing bits of grass from her skirts and readjusting her dress. Julian appeared in front of her, dangling her mask from one finger. “Allow me?”

Carefully, he tied the mask back onto her face, even helping her rearrange her hair into something more suitable for a social gathering. She didn’t miss his salacious chuckle as he picked blades of grass from her curls, nor did he miss the way she shivered when he brushed the back of her neck with his fingertips. When he was finished, she turned and slid her hands over his chest, drawing her lip between her teeth. “Will I ever see you again?”

Julian chuckled, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Soon, lovely. I won’t be able to stay away for long.” His arms wrapped around her as he pulled her close for one final kiss, more gentle than any before, his lips reluctant to leave hers. “I’ll find you,” he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll come back for you.”

And with that, he was gone, as if he had never been. A flash of black at her feet caught her eye, and she bent to pick up the only token he had left behind; his mask, beaked and feathered. She clasped it to her chest as she exited the maze, following the sounds of chatter and music back to the party, her slippers exactly where she had left them at the mouth of the labyrinth. The marks on her chest and neck attracted some odd stares and raised eyebrows, but no one gave her a second glance as she strode toward the palace, warmth in her chest and the gleam of a secret in her eyes. Julian would keep his word, of that she was certain, and her heart ached for him already. Her grip tightened on his mask, a wordless promise that he would come back to claim it, and her, soon.

Soon, my darling one

[ajartemis007]

AJ Imagine - Jujutsu Kaisen

Continued ~~

The Death Panting - Aimi’s hatred (3)

People didn’t pay much attention as old Aimi wobbled through the crowd. The market was really crowded today. But nothing deterred Aimi as she walked towards the temple. The only person who cared about her - her father, was long gone. Her mother didn’t care about her nor was she really gone. Dead? yes. Gone? no. She was there inside every blood cell, every thought, every emotion. And Aimi hated her.

It was because of Nozomi that Aimi had become homeless with a kid. Her husband wanted a boy but years of trying and Aimi couldn’t have one. She knew why. It was her mother’s curse, her filthy blood that manipulated Aimi’s body to abort male wombs and keep only one female womb. So, as her husband kicked her out to get a new wife, all she had was a daughter. And Aimi hated her too.

Surviving alone with a young child wasn’t easy so she tried to get rid of her daughter several times only to find her waiting for her every time she got back home. Because her daughter was a vessel to her demonic mother too. No good will come to her either, so she should rather die, but she wouldn’t. Aimi never named her daughter and was surprised when she started calling herself Kokoro. So that’s what her mother had decided to call her new demon child. 

Child or no, Aimi had to provide for herself. She took up odd jobs at wealthy households but was dropped when people found out she had a kid and no husband to provide for the family. The wealthy housewives didn’t want a woman like her around their husbands. So she took up the only available option, selling her body for money. Time made her soften towards Kokoro a little so she fed and clothed her with what she could make and Kokoro was happy enough to help with housework. Then her demon mother died, leaving them the hut in the forest where she now lived with her daughter. 

The temple was near now. It had always been here but her mother never tried to approach it, in fact Nozomi had avoided this part of town like a plague. But now here Aimi was, old and fragile, looking directly at the temple ground. She was here for answers. Her mother was immortal but Aimi wasn’t, she would shrivel up and die eventually and that time seemed very near somehow. She had to get her answers while she could. Nozomi didn’t even have to manipulate her to go looking for the temple, Aimi decided that herself, she needed more reasons to hate her mother. Nozomi while in her own body would never have done this but in Aimi’s body she felt she could. She felt she had to.

Wild grass grew everywhere she looked. No wonder this cursed placed was abandoned. Just stepping into the temple grounds had made her ears ring with screams of torment. Dark shapes shifted in the shadows of the woods behind the temple, none approaching her. Oh they wouldn’t dare, she was much more demonic than they were.

So this is where her mother was born. What a perfect place for a demon spawn. As soon as the thought took shape in her mind, she heard a chuckle, Nozomi’s. “Oh how much you hate me dear Aimi. I am your mother. Don’t be so harsh on this poor dead soul”, Nozomi said in a sing song voice. 

Aimi was sure no one could hear Nozomi except her. Nozomi knew the poisonous thoughts Aimi had about her. “Shut up you demonic whore, when I am done with you, I will be having the last laugh. Your filthy blood ends here with me and Kokoro.” Nozomi sighed, “Aimi, I know you hate me for what happened, but hasn’t it been ages? I offered to get you a new husband. A little brainwashing and you would have a brand new man. But you decided to hate me and your daughter for that stupid son of a bitch you loved and married. He threw you out but you decided to blame it on me and Kokoro. How is any of this fair?”

Yes, Nozomi had offered to get her a new husband. She could do that easily. All Aimi had to do was ask. Her mother could manipulate the feelings of people around her. Aimi could have a new husband, a brainwashed money bag. But she had loved her husband and his actions had broken her completely. All she wanted now was revenge. She didn’t marry Kokoro off, she never would. Let her mother starve. Kokoro was almost 35, no one would want her. Her mother’s line was as good as finished. She wouldn’t die without making sure of that. She would even kill Kokoro if it comes to that. Her hatred for her mother was much stronger than her love for that demon spawn. 

“I didn’t ask for a new husband, but I did ask for a son, didn’t I mother? I begged and plead and cried but you didn’t deter. And now you dare ask me why I hate you”, she spat poisonously. “I can’t give you a son. That’s the only thing i can’t give you. As long as you have my blood, as long as i live, none of my bloodline can have a male child. I really can’t do anything about it, it’s a curse on my bloodline put by me without a second thought.”,Nozomi tried and explained for the 1000th time. She had never needed a male body, one female was enough but she never thought it would result in this. ‘Some’ men really were filthy treating women as baby-makers, son-makers to be precise. But she hadn’t met a man like that, Haruki was anything but unkind. He had loved both Nozomi and Aimi like the only people that mattered to him.

“Thinking about my father now are we? You never deserved a man like him Nozomi. He was too good for you. How am i supposed to believe you didn’t just use him to proliferate. Must have manipulated my poor father to love a demon spawn like you. I know you would go to those lengths. You are a demon after all.” Aimi’s words hurt Nozomi sometimes but she was pretty sure she hadn’t manipulated Haruki’s feelings because Haruki had been the one to teach her about love. Haruki had taught her how beautiful life truly was. Would Haruki hate her for what she had done to Aimi? She didn’t want to know.

Aimi walked through the trees, her dark robe making her look like a creature from the shadows. She walked carefully, making her way towards the temple, trying to avoid stepping on the moss and slipping. It had rained. She now stood at the entrance, smelling the rain soaked soil and the rotten wood of the temple building. She stepped inside.

It was dark but she hadn’t brought a lamp. No money for oil. She squinted through the dark making her way inside carefully. As she wobbled on, a sudden rush of cold air hit her in the face making her shiver and she could hear a woman crying. A cry for help, but too weak. It couldn’t pierce the temple walls, no one would know she was here. Or had been here, long time back. Aimi was having a vision of the woman Noritoshi Kamo had experimented on. Impregnating her with cursed seed and aborting her nine times to create the Nine Death Paintings, one of whom was her mother. “So you are a demon and what’s more there’s nine of you in the world.” 

Nozomi could see things much clearly. She was right about there being more of her kind. She had eight siblings. The cursed energy this place emanated was immense. It was mixed with her mother’s sobs and whimsical chuckles of a man. A powerful man, who used cursed energy. Who was so full of cursed energy, it made her shiver even though she was inside Aimi. Aimi could feel her dread, she felt sick herself standing in this cursed place. “This man.. is he a shaman of some kind? I can feel the evil radiating from this room even though it hasn’t been in use for ages.” 

A shaman... yes. A sorcerer of some kind. “Get out of here Aimi. Now.”, she commanded. “What? Are you scared?”, Aimi gave a nervous laugh, “this man made you and you are no different. You are just like your father. Filthy and evil.”

Still, Aimi moved as fast as she could, lengthening the distance between her and the cursed temple. She wanted to be anywhere but here. Even being with Kokoro was better than this.

By the time she neared her hut the sky was completely dark. Aimi walked towards the light of her house like fly to fire. She couldn’t feel greater comfort than being inside the safety of her house. She had grown up here, felt her father’s love here. This was her safe haven. Nothing would touch her here.

She stopped short as she heard some rustling inside. Must be that rat Kokoro. She didn’t even feel like slapping her today. All Aimi wanted was hot food and a good night’s sleep. The cicadas sung on as she threw open the hut door and entered without announcing herself. Kokoro rushed to greet her “Mother”, she beamed, ”Dinner’s ready. I was waiting for you to return. I shall set the food. Please wash up, I’ve drawn warm water for you.” Ignoring Kokoro, Aimi went straight to take a bath. She was tired of Kokoro always trying to please her. Why couldn’t she hate her like Aimi did?

But for Kokoro pleasing her mother, especially now was really important. She had to tell her before it was too late. She knew why her mother hated her. She knew about Nozomi and unlike her mother, she truly loved Nozomi, her guardian angel. Nozomi had comforted her every time Aimi hurt her emotionally or physically. But right now it was Aimi she really needed. Her mother had to understand and be her ‘mother’, truly this time.

Aimi ate up without a word ignoring Kokoro’s efforts at having a small talk. She didn’t need to tell this good for nothing about anything she had seen that day. Nozomi would do it anyway, like she always did. She left the bowls for Kokoro to pick up and made her bed. As she lay there trying to sleep she could hear Kokoro washing up the dishes. Aimi closed her eyes as Kokoro entered as quietly as possible. She felt miserable. Another day without being able to talk to her mother. Kokoro fell asleep immediately as Aimi drifted off to sleep after a little tossing and turning.

Aimi woke up to Kokoro’s painful moans in the middle of the night. She turned towards Kokoro carefully trying to make out a squirming Kokoro in the darkness. Instant feeling of panic overcame her. This wasn’t her feeling, she was still dazed. It was Kokoro’s feeling. Aimi became still as she watched in horror. Kokoro’s top had ridden up to her breasts. She was sweating profusely. And she was touching a bump, her swollen belly catching the moon’s light.

Kokoro was heavily pregnant. Aimi hadn’t noticed because she didn’t pay her any attention. She hadn’t noticed Kokoro’s shift towards oversized clothes or her laboured movements throughout the house. She didn’t want to see Kokoro, not even in her peripheral vision. Because Kokoro was beautiful, radiant, like her mother and she had her husband’s eyes. Aimi knew Kokoro could be married off easily even though she had not a penny for her dowry. So she had waited for Kokoro to grow old and shriveled like her. But even at 35 Kokoro still shined, her cheeks pink and her eyes kind. Oh, how she hated Kokoro, how she hated all the efforts she had to make to keep her out of any man’s sight.

And now Kokoro’s belly was taunting her, laughing at her. It felt like someone had slapped her with cold water as she threw her blanket and got up. Kokoro had seen her stare at her swollen belly in horror. She had ran out of options. It had only been 7 months and she could already feel herself getting wet as her water broke. “Mother please help me.”, she whimpered. “Please... I was going to tell you but I d-didn’t know how. Please I beg, help me.” Kokoro tried to sit up.

Only silence rang out in Aimi’s ears. Kokoro’s words couldn’t reach her. She didn’t know how this demon spawn had gone and gotten pregnant. All she knew was that Nozomi knew and she and Kokoro both kept this a secret. 

Nozomi sensed Aimi’s hostility rising rapidly. “Calm down Aimi. This is your daughter. Help her. That’s your grand daughter inside her. Please, I promise i will give you a good life, anything you want. Please help her.”

Nozomi could fell Aimi slipping out of her grip. She had never felt this before, it felt like everything inside Aimi was revolting against her. Her rage screamed to be let out. She wanted to make someone pay for this betrayal and that someone was Kokoro. 

“Oh, you thought, you bitch. No you wait... you wait.” Aimi muttered, her eyes wild. She ran out of the house and picked up the axe embedded in the wood. It would have been a little difficult for a woman her age to grab the axe so easily. But she was buoying up with hatred, hatred that gave her strength. Nozomi had completely lost her hold on Aimi. And Kokoro’s fear was keeping her from thinking straight. “Run Kokoro!”, She was screaming in both Aimi and Kokoro’s head. “Get up and run. She is coming, she will kill you.”

Overcome with fear, Kokoro couldn’t move. She completely froze. She could feel both her mother’s rage and Nozomi’s cries for her to help herself. What bad had she ever done to anyone. Her mother hated her because she had wanted a son. She had to grow up filthy and hungry until her mother decided to feed and cloth her. And where did that money come from? Her mother had been a prostitute. All Kokoro did was follow into her steps, because there was no other way. They needed money, food, shelter. And Nozomi needed a new vessel which Aimi wouldn’t let her have. All Kokoro had to do was make a pact, promise Nozomi a new body while she helped Kokoro get money. Men would empty their pockets just by her touch, money they needed to feed their own families would be handed to her, no questions asked. 

Kokoro looked up helplessly as the figure entered the room. It wasn’t Aimi, it couldn’t be with its glowing amber eyes and flaming red hair, upright figure emanating strength. It was Noritoshi Katsumi, the Death Painting. As the axe came down on her, Kokoro’s entire life flashed before her eyes. Every futile effort to make her mother love her, every scream of pain as her mother hit her, cursed her, blamed her. Was she really going to sit here as this hateful woman killed her and her child. She would never be a mother like Aimi, Kokoro thought. The axe landed on her shoulder with a sickening crunch, shattering her collarbone. It could have done much more damage had Kokoro’s hand not shot up and pierced clean through Aimi’s mid section. 

Aimi stumbled backwards, blood splattering from her mouth, dribbling down her chin. All her strength faded and she looked down at this creature in front of her. She had birthed that thing. It had her mother’s amber eyes but filled with hate to the brim. Her mother’s red hair tumbled down it’s shoulders. One of its taloned hands sitting protectively on its swollen belly and the other inside Aimi. This was what her mother was, a demon, a curse. And this was what Kokoro was too, this was what any and every daughter of this cursed family will be. A demon. And this was what she herself was, death was better than looking at this abomination any longer. Those were Aimi’s last thoughts as she died.

The hut had burned to cinders by the morning, everything inside burned to a crisp. Kokoro didn’t think about anything else but the bundle in her hands, her sweet daughter as she walked away from the town leaving everything else behind. Except Nozomi. She wouldn’t leave Nozomi behind. Never. Nozomi was her guardian angel, her and now her daughter’s as well. Kokoro had sliced her own stomach to get the child out after she had noticed how easily her shoulder wound healed within minutes. It had hurt like hell, but she couldn’t wait to see and love her daughter. Her Yoshino. She would make pacts with any and every demon if it meant keeping this child safe and happy.

As she walked the road alone, a carriage stopped beside her. A man peered at her and her baby. She must look so helpless and alone, wonder if he would offer a ride. She wanted him to offer, she wanted it very much, especially after looking at his silk robes and golden brooch on his chest. A young, rich man. Someone sat beside him, his father. Hah, a wealthier man and so close to death. Perfect. 

“Please come in, we would love to offer you a ride”, the old man said. She had done an excellent job manipulating their feelings to help this helpless young woman, as soon as she had heard the carriage behind her she had projected the feelings out powerfully making them stop in their tracks. Ah, she loved this power. Stupid Aimi, she could have had the world if she wanted but she was stuck with her abusing husband. Kokoro would do better. The rich who would have wrinkled their noses at her were offering her a hand inside their carriage. All she had to make sure was that it didn’t stop there. By the time they reached where this father-son duo was going, she would have them both by their necks. 

And Nozomi. Nozomi was shut inside. She would have no say in anything, she would be forced to give her power to help. That’s how it was going to be from now onwards. After all she had helped kill her own child. Nozomi had killed Aimi. Nozomi would sit inside Kokoro, too weak to do anything as the image of her looking at her bloody hands after killing Aimi played in an endless loop. She had a new body, Yoshino, but at what cost. No, Haruki would never forgive her. For the first time Nozomi was afraid she had created a stronger demon than herself. Kokoro was a force to be reckoned with. And somehow Nozomi was also aware that this won’t be the last time she killed. And still she couldn’t help trembling with the surge of energy she was having, harvesting Kokoro’s negative emotions, lapping up like a thirsty dog. 

Kokoro would be Noritoshi Katsumi’s strongest vessel until she hits ‘perfect balance’. But that was yet to come. So much more would happen by then. Nozomi could barely wait. 

[sbfmp]

Planning and Production - 31st March

Concept Art

Why have you chosen this method of planning?

Concept art will be very helpful to show the progression and decision making I have to do in regards to my game assets (character design and environments). It will show the natural progression of my designs, and once annotated, will show my thought process behind why I chose what I did like and what I didn’t. I chose this method for those reasons, and also because in character design concept sketches are so important for development as it shows how the character design progresses alongside the idea for the project. I will need to have evidenced this progression and decision making, so I chose concept art as my planning method to assist in showing my thought process. In addition to this, most, if not all, games will have some form of concept art to go alongside it.

Why have you planned what you have?

I have planned to do a variety of concept art for both the character and environments using both reference photos and inspiration from other artists/ photographers. These artists include Trevor Henderson (https://trevorhenderson.format.com/), and the artistic teams on games i have used as inspiration, such as the Little Misfortune artist Natalia Martinsson. Both of these artists influenced my style I used in my project in at least one way.  Henderson’s creepy and eery creature designs are what I wanted to try and replicate when creating my NPC. Below is a comparison between one of Henderson’s character designs and my own FMP design. When designing my own I made sure to keep the lanky, tall and unnerving character traits, such as the long limbs and human-shaped head in mind in order to ensure I could accurately portray the kind of creature I wanted in my game.

Similarly, Martinsson’s work on the Little Misfortune game are what influenced my background design. Her whimsical style that looks dream-like is what influenced me to add a similar effect on my own background. 

I will also be using a few illustration warm up tasks to help me utilise and find the most creative outcome, and to ensure the final designs are as good as possible and fit the overall aesthetics and vibe of the project. I also planned to do this as most games will also have concept art to go alongside it; the concept art is some of the most important development to a game. For example, below is some concept art of 2021 game, Resident Evil: Village of three of the Dimitrescu daughters. This concept art showcases their designs in a simple and easy to understand way. 

Concept art for Lady Dimitrescu (below) showcases how concept artists will use a solid colour pallet for a character in order to be consistent with a character throughout development of a project. In addition to this, the close up of her face shows any unseen details in the fullbody art. 

How will this plan help you with your project?

It helps me to plan and get feedback regarding the characters and environments for my game. Once I have done most of my concept art I will get feedback from my peers and others to see which designs my target audience connect with most. This feedback will give me a good direction of what I want to do with my final project as the people I will get feedback from will be my target audience (16-26 year olds). 

How does your planning link to your idea?

My planning is linked to my main idea as I will need to create a character for my game, and the most logical way to do this is to create concept art of this character. I will also be doing concept art of my environments, using reference photos to inspire my own work. Most projects that have characters will have some sort of concept art- most movies will have a concept art book regardless of the amount of concept art that was made. 

How does your planning link to your research?

My planning links to my research as it will allow me to explore a variety of character designs from the inspiration I drew from my artist research. It will also link as when I receive feedback from my target audience, I will know how to adhere to my target audience more. My research has also helped me to identify what character design I want in my game- I found this through looking through and analysing different character designs from a variety of artists. This research, like previously stated, has influenced what I want my character to look like, therefore has influenced what I will included in my concept art. 

[mst3kproject]

1003: Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders – Part I

Before I sought it out to do this review, I had never seen Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders in any format but the MST3K episode, and even that I'd only seen once.  At some point in the planning stages of this blog I realized I was going to have to review it, and it actually gave me pause.  I seriously considered scuppering the whole project because I didn't want to watch this movie a second time.  In fact, I still haven't watched it again.  I'm writing this intro paragraph as a way of putting off watching the movie for a few minutes longer.

Why is a little hard to explain.  I don't hate this movie, but I sure as hell don't like it.  Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders isn't offensively bad like Attack of the The Eye Creatures, or even just plain offensive like Project Moon Base.  It is, however, intensely uncomfortable in its combination of cheery childlike imagery with what the Brains used to call 'good old-fashioned nightmare fuel', and something about it utterly repels me so deep in my gut it feels like appendicitis.  I use random.org to decide which movie I'm gonna watch next, and this one's number just came up... so after putting it off for a couple of weeks (thank heaven I have a buffer), I've decided the thing to do is just put on my Big Kid Pants and get it the hell over with so I never, ever have to watch it again.

Merlin the magician has used his powers to time-travel to modern California so that he can teach people to believe in magic again.  Among the first visitors to his Shop of Mystical Wonders are Madeline, a woman who can't have children, and her husband Jonathan, who announces his intention to give Merlin a bad review on Yelp or something.  At the urging of his own wife Zurella, Merlin gives Jonathan a book of magic to try to change his mind, and Jonathan tries it out that night in his basement.  Sure enough, the spells work, but after summoning Satan and breathing fire on his cat, Jonathan has expended so much of his life force that he has aged about forty years!  He tries to reverse the process but turns himself into a really ugly baby, granting Madeline's wish for a child to raise.

Now, this is all presented as if it's supposed to be very whimsical.  The interior of Merlin's shop looks like a cross between Galadriel's Glade in Lothlorien and the inside of a Rainforest Cafe.  Merlin himself is a Value Village Dumbledore and Zurella wears a brightly-coloured Renaissance-inspired outfit and gives out wishing stones.  This really ought to be a cheerful family film with a musical number sung by gnomes or something.  Instead, almost everything we see is straight out of a nightmare.  In fact, there is so much nightmare fuel in this movie that I quickly realized it wasn't all going to fit in a single review of my normal length.  That's why I've split both my summary and my analysis in two: if you want to hear about demonic cymbal monkeys, you're going to have to wait a bit.  For this session, let's stick to Jonathan's mercifully brief foray into wizardry.

Jonathan himself comes across as a person who should definitely not be given magical powers.  He mocks everything he sees in grating narration and laughs at the idea of driving small businesses into bankruptcy.  I think we all have a co-worker like him: one of those people who think everything they have to say is so very interesting, and cannot seem to take the hint that we want them to shut up and go away.  That person we would punch in the face if it weren't for the fact that everybody else would have to listen to him talking about it later.  He's a nightmare in himself, and his attitude, demanding that Merlin placate him or suffer the consequences, tells us that the power he wields through his newspaper column is already more than he can handle.

Sure enough, when Jonathan begins playing with Merlin's spellbook he doesn't even try to resist the corruption that this new form of power offers him.  He breathes fire, tortures his cat, and when a demon appears in his mirror it never seems to occur to him that Satan probably doesn't give very good advice.  By the time he finds the youth potion, he's gone all maniacal-eyed as he literally drinks his wife's blood.  The audience can only imagine that if he'd managed to master the powers of the book he would have become a modern-day Dark Lord and we'd all be forced to worship at his feet, as Mike and Crow kneel at Tom Servo's hoverskirt in the opening sketch.

Then there's the ending.  The idea of a man turning into a baby so that his child-less wife can raise him is a deeply uncomfortable one. Part of this is because the story never bothers to ask whether baby-Jonathan retains adult-Jonathan's mind.  Is he a blank slate for Madeline to mold into a less-offensive adult?  Or is he fully aware that he once had sex with the woman who is now changing his diaper?  What about Madeline herself?  She must know who the baby crawing out of her husband's clothing is.  Will she be able to be a good mother to him, or will her parenting always be coloured by remembering how Jonathan used to treat her?  And that's not even going into how twenty seconds of film here contains more Oedipal subtext than the entirety of Quest for the Mighty Sword. Just thinking about it makes me want a shower.

Also, that really is an ugly baby, and this is coming from somebody who's normally a big fan of babies.  Objectively I know that babies are nothing but immobile little loaf-shaped people with flailing limbs and no bowel control, and I don't want to have to change diapers or wipe snotty noses or listen to crying in the middle of the night – but when I see a baby, something in my hindbrain takes over and says adorable, must cuddle.  Big babies, small babies, fat babies, scrawny babies, bald babies, babies with hair... I love babies!  Except this one.  I find myself wondering if they did some makeup or something to try to make the kid look more like Jonathan... if they did, it didn't work.  If they didn't... then ew. That is one ugly baby.

Was this story meant to be nightmarish and uncomfortable?  The title Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders certainly doesn't sound like it belongs to a horror story.  The shop itself is whimsical enough, and there's sort of a happy ending in which I guess Madeline got what she wanted and Jonathan learned his lesson... kinda.  Some of the magical effects Jonathan produces, like the repelling spell, the diamonds, and the levitation, are treated as jokes.  But I think even if the TV show that this is so obviously a pilot for was meant to be relatively light-hearted, at least this episode was supposed to be a horror story.  The reason why has a lot to do with what Jonathan tries to do to his cat.

The narrator explains to us that the potion force-fed to the cat will turn it into a familiar – a helper animal so utterly loyal as to be willing to die for its master.  The audience will immediately notice that this description is diametrically opposed to the very nature of cats as we popularly percieve them.  Cats are thought of as aloof and self-serving creatures, with no interest in coming when they're called, never mind in doing what they're told. (People who own cats know, of course, that cats are actually clingy dumbasses who only like to pretend they think they're better than you – and contrary to popular belief, they're quite capable of learning to obey commands and even do tricks.  It's just that training isn't thought of as essential to the human-pet relationship like it is with dogs, and so most people don't bother.)

So here's Jonathan, trying to turn his cat into the opposite of what cats are 'supposed' to be, completely nullifying the animal's own will and personality.  That's a horrifying concept.  There also seems to be an element of spite in it, as Jonathan mockingly tells the cat, “you're about to learn the true meaning of obedience!” When Jonathan doesn't like a shop, he destroys its reputation.  When he doesn't like an animal, he destroys its mind.  If he'd managed to master the spells and make himself ruler of the universe or whatever, what does all this suggest he would have done to people? Then, when he is unable to enslave the cat (I think we’re meant to believe it attacks him because he got the potion wrong... but trying to rip its owner’s face off is the perfectly normal reaction of a cat having anything forced down its throat), he literally kills it with fire.  That's the kind of thing Nero did to the Christians!  So yeah, this much at least is supposed to give us nightmares.

At the end of this part of the story, I suppose Merlin has at least succeeded in getting Jonathan and Madeline to believe in magic, which he did say was his goal.  Maybe Jonathan will grow up again to understand that magic is not a power to mock or take lightly – and neither, I suppose, are shop reviews.  Maybe Madeline will be able to find hope knowing that miracles can happen as long as you don't get picky about how they happen.  Maybe magic is something we're supposed to believe in the way we believe in... oh, say, safe driving.  Those in command of something that could cause death or property damage need to learn to wield it with respect for it and for everybody around them.  That actually seems like a fairly plausible lesson for this part of the movie.

But then there's the 'evil monkey' sequence, which is actually a whole different movie.  See you next week. Fuck, I'm gonna have to watch this stupid movie again after all!

[brckengirls]

QUICK CHARACTER TRAITS AND BACKSTORIES

so, because of how long it’s taking me to get character abouts up, i wanted to post some basic traits and backstories so you can at least interact with them !!  if you want more information on anyone, dm me :)

AUTUMN PAISLEY

        traits :  compassionate, optimistic, bubbly backstory :  autumn grew up with a, quite literal, angel on her shoulder. though her parents never believed her, assuming it to be an imaginary friend, ambriel was very real. eventually, when she turned 21, ambriel revealed that she was their true vessel, the person made for them to inhabit, and left her to make the decision on whether or not to let them in on her own. now she’s refurbished an abandoned church in new york and is providing a safe haven for people who know about the existence of darker creatures than angels.

CHARLOTTE PRICE

        traits :  determined, stubborn, anxious backstory :  charlotte grew up with only her father, her mother having died from a “car crash” when she was young. she practically idolized her dad, and spent her whole life shaping herself into the perfect person. when her dad was brutally murdered by an invisible creature, she set off on a long journey to discover what, exactly, that creature was, as well as find a way to bring her father back to her.

MABEL CALIDA

        traits :  fiesty, sweet, assertive backstory :  mabel’s memory is spotty when it comes to her past. her first solid, real memory is of walking up to a big top circus tent after hours, body aglow. the only thing she knows about herself is her first name, and that she has the ability to control and create fire. her last name was given to her by the ringmaster, a reference to her power. now she is one of them, slowly learning more about her past, and her power.

MARIANA

        traits :  ambitious, manipulative, unpredictable backstory :  before mariana became a demon, she was a pediatric nurse. perhaps that’s why, now, she has a “soft spot” for children and teenagers. her humanity was ripped violently from her when she died, and in hell she was torn to shreds. when she finally achieved demonic status, however, she was amongst the strongest of them. now, her eyes are on the prize of ruling hell.

PEGGY FLORES

       traits :  feminine, poisonous, brutal backstory :  peggy grew up in the traditional nuclear family. the abuse that happened behind closed doors was something she carried with her into her own marriage, becoming the silent, enduring wife, pliable and perfect and still not enough. when she heard reports of the apocalypse breaking out, she made the decision to murder her husband and leave, paving her own way. she becomes violent and vengeful, easily underestimated due to her petite frame and femininity.

RHYLEIGH SONG

       traits :   independent, warrior, detached backstory :  rhyleigh grew up in a strict family, constantly evaluating her and her abilities. she was entered into self-defense classes, academic clubs, gymnastics, sports - anything and everything that would give her an edge. her grace was obvious from a young age, and if she lacked at any point her training would increase tenfold. she was made studious and strong, and any personality traits she had outside of what her family wanted her to have were completely repressed. despite all of this, she couldn’t save her family when the apocalypse hit, and now she’s alone, fighting and surviving and trying to avoid figuring out who she truly is.

CECELIA GUERRERO

        traits :  survivor, cold, unrelenting backstory :  growing up on the streets, cecelia’s ability to survive is what allowed her to last as long as she did. when she turned 17, she enlisted in the military and, again, her survival capacity allowed her to adapt and thrive, eventually granting her a coveted undercover op position. essentially becoming a highly skilled, highly trained assassin/spy, she has seen all sides of war and come out on the other side. after a particularly high risk mission, she is approached by an independent company for the betterment of humanity. she is enlisted as a leader of a group of important scientists, brought together to either save the world, or save humanity. when saving the world doesn’t work, they are tasked with building a spaceship big enough to rescue as many people as possibly, and find humanity a new home.

ELLAURAH STERLING

        traits :  nurturing, imaginative, musing backstory :  ellaurah’s family found her at a young age on the side of the road and took her in, essentially adopting her. her short life before that point remained a mystery, but for the most part, she lived a normal life. she struggled a little bit with normal things, like crushes and puberty and growing up, but no one looked into it too much. after all, how could anyone ever even begin to imagine that she is an alien?

JULIET

        traits :  manipulative, seductive, ambitious backstory :  juliet isn’t her real name, but the former alien princess’ name is properly incomprehensible to humans. so, she took her name from a star. for a brief period, before she left her planet, she was a queen - but, since that title came from her murdering her father, she was inevitably captured and thrown into prison. for her, though, it wasn’t difficult to escape her cell, then escape the planet. crash-landing on earth was a mishap, but she found that she loved how the people there looked. so, she shifted her form into a human one, and tried to blend in. and maybe she uses her powers for evil every once in a while, but how could she not? it’s in her nature, after all.

MELISSA LOVELOCK

        traits :  wild, whimsical, delusional backstory :  melissa is full of life and imagination, oft described as manic in her energy. she’s almost fae-like in her whimsy, and sometimes she completely forgets herself and her reality. her obsession with the concept of life on other planets led her to becoming an expert on alien physiology, and her theories were considered the best among her peers. as such, she was invited to join a team studying a real life alien that crash-landed on earth.

AVERY VALENTINE

        traits :  troublemaker, brave, abrasive backstory :  avery was known as a troublesome child growing up. her family was not a broken one, sweetly putting up with her constant rebellion and encouraging her to be herself, only punishing her when truly necessary. as such, though her behavior is wild, she refuses to do anything that would properly disappoint her parents. despite her independence, she’s constantly struggling to figure out who she is, what she wants to be.

ROSALINE DARCY

        traits :  dreamy, loving, graceful backstory :  rosaline was an only child that was smothered growing up. her natural grace and creativity drew her to dance, mainly ballet. relationships, for her, were always about helping her significant other, being selfless to the point of losing herself. heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak brought her to the breaking point, and it was when she first heard the term “manic pixie dream girl” that she realized exactly what she had done to herself. now, she’s being forced to discover who she actually is for the first time.

[lisatelramor]

Run, Hide (It’s Dark Outside)

Y'know, 90% of these random kiss stories involve detective conan or magic kaito characters. Luck of the draw I guess? Either way, they're fun. There's still a few more coming. I just want to space them out.

For the prompt: Heiji – Kurama: Creepy

*

The body in front of him had, so far as Heiji could see, the right number of limbs and all the internal organs one would expect to find in an eviscerated corpse. Said organs gaped like the spilled guts of a fish onto the grass, adding to the scent of blood with the noxious smell of open bowels. The corpse had two blank eyes, and a mouth open in a death snarl. Two arms, two legs. The general shape was right, but that was as close to human as the body got. Reddish brown skin was flecked with stiff hairs like a boar, and the jaw of it had tusks. The nose shape was too flat, the rest of the teeth too sharp, and its hands had what appeared to be claws.

This was only the second time Heiji had ever run across something like this (and boy had he tried to forget the first time). The last time he’d been in middle school, and he’d been firmly removed from the case as a special police unit took over.

Unlike that time, this corpse was fresh. He didn’t have the slightest clue who else might be in this woods. Heiji had just come here for a vacation. Camping was supposed to be fun.

There’s signs of a fight—scarred trees, a few gauges in the ground, a clear line of blood spatter, bits missing where something had been in the way. Or was it someone? Heiji couldn’t tell what exactly cut the body. It was sharp, but not sharp like a blade. He gave the body one more look. In a pants pocket was an ID.  Despite his appearance in death, Akiyama Inozu looked human enough on his ID. Ugly as heck with a smushed looking face, but not someone Heiji would have given a second glance if he ran into him on the street, and well within the normal range of Asian skin and hair color.

Who did you call with shit like this? Police? A priest? Regardless, someone was dead. There was an old guy who owned the camp ground, Heiji supposed, but he’d left two days ago with some sort of family emergency, so Heiji could probably rule him out as both a suspect and someone to call.

Heiji snapped some pictures with his cell phone on the off chance that he would have to call this in to the police. There was a lot of chances evidence could get lost when you were in the middle of a woods. And since he was in the middle of the woods with a fresh corpse, he had to wonder where the killer had gone. Another camp site? Back to a car and driven away by now? The blood was so fresh it hadn’t even fully congealed. No, this had to have happened very recently. So recently that it was a miracle Heiji hadn’t heard the fight while wandering around.

“If I was a killer, where would I go next?” he muttered. Well, if he was a killer who quite possibly just got sprayed with blood and bits of entrails after disemboweling an opponent, he’d probably want to get clean before someone noticed. Showers were less than fifteen minutes of walking away.

Heiji tucked his phone away and edged around the gore radius of Akiyama’s body. He wasn’t going to be hungry any time soon, that was for sure… There was an uncomfortable feeling settled in his hindbrain as he walked, like he was being watched. If he was being watched, Heiji couldn’t figure out where from. Not a pleasant feeling in the middle of the woods with a dead body. And a murderer somewhere who might or might not be human. He might mock Kazuha’s charms, but that was only because he really didn’t’ want to think about the whole other realm of who knows what going on right under his nose. Yeah. Not fun thoughts.

It didn’t help that it was getting dark.

He had to squint a bit in the forest gloom where it was all shadows now that the sun had slipped behind a hillside. He kept a flashlight on his keychain though, and that helped. At least it did until he swung it up and the iridescent glow of eyes scared him half to death.

“Shit!” The glow, there and gone, was probably an animal. Probably. Heiji was never going camping alone again. Hell, dragging Kudo and his group of kids with him would have been better. Even with Kudo’s karma from hell, they’d at least have company. He could make out the edge of the trees and the showers beyond that. Thank goodness.

He didn’t make it to the clearing. Something tripped him—or he tripped on something, it was a bit unclear. Heiji fell hard face first into a bush. Twigs snagged at his skin and clothing as he tried to get out of it. There was something wrapped around his ankle though, and when he raised the flashlight again, there were the same glowing eyes from before, only there was a face with them and silver hair topped by two pointy dog-like ears. “Fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck��.” He was dead. Kitsune. Was it the evil kind or one of Inari’s? Stupid question since it was probably what took out the other guy. Heiji tugged at his trapped foot. There was a root wrapped around his ankle which shouldn’t even have been possible. Not going anywhere then…

Heiji gave as much of a bow as he could considering he was seated and still half in a bush. You were supposed to be polite to supernatural creatures, right? “Hello kitsune-san. I hope I’m not trespassin’ on yer territory or anythin’…”

The kitsune didn’t answer. Its ears pricked forward and its bright gold eyes never left Heiji though. …was it nine tailed foxes that turned silver? And it was a male fox. The stories mostly had pretty fox women or creepy old men, not scary-pretty demon men. It crept closer. There was something coiled at its waist. A whip? Could a whip eviscerate a boar demon? Or had it been those long claws? Hell, it was probably a magic whip to go with the magic creature in front of him.

“Just a harmless camper here, sir, didn’t know ya had claim a the woods. Uh. Was that guy yer prey earlier?” Woah, it was pretty big up close. Taller than Heiji with way wider shoulders and hell, even free Heiji wouldn’t be able to fight against a demon. Its face looked close. Even prettier close up if you were into sharp eyes, fox ears and fangs. “Uh. Please don’t eat me.”

The kitsune either smirked or it was flashing some fang for threat effect, but it had Heiji’s heart rabbiting faster either way.

“It’s considered a bad idea to take a walk at twilight,” the kitsune said. It crouched over Heiji, its face close enough that Heiji could have touched it if he wanted to. Which considering it meant it was closer in the off chance the demon wanted to rip his throat out, Heiji really would have preferred it further away.

“Y’don’t say,” Heiji said weakly.  He inched back as far as he could with his leg trapped.

“Yes,” the kitsune said conversationally, “you end to see things that’s best left to the imagination.”

“Y’know, I don’t usually imagine corpses. Not without bein’ able to catch who killed ‘em.”

“A bit of a detective, hmm?” The kitsune makes a sound that kind of sounds like a laugh. “Then you’ll sleep easier knowing the demon you found earlier had a death sentence for eating children.”

Heiji’s eyes widened. That whip at the demon’s waist was made of some kind of vine. Hoo boy. He used plants. Heiji was in a fricking forest. If a vine whip could disembowel someone, he hated to know what the guy could do with a tree. “Y’know, not sure if that helps or not,” Heiji admitted.

“He’ll get a trial in the afterlife if that helps.”

Yeeeeah, still not making the murder better. After this Heiji was going to start carrying a sword. Or something. Something that let him feel a little less helpless in this sort of situation. Cary ofuda charms even. Hell, if Kazuha could make omamori that worked, maybe she would have a talent with demon repelling and he should just drag her along if anything gave him the heebie jeebies like he was getting now. Like spiders running up his spine as predatory gold eyes seemed to pick him apart.

For a demon killer, there wasn’t a speck of blood on him. He didn’t smell like blood or death either. If anything he smelled like roses, and wasn’t that a head trip. Heiji couldn’t get any further back or flatter to the ground. He realized there was one kind of kitsune mythos he hadn’t thought of earlier. He swallowed hard as silver hair slid along the hollow of his throat. Gold eyes remained amused right up until Heiji couldn’t see them clearly anymore because his eyes were crossing.

“Detective,” the kitsune said, now all but covering Heiji’s body with his own.

“Yeah?” Heiji squeaked.

“Be more careful what you charge into.”

There was a press of lips against his own, the sensation of fangs hidden behind them, and the world spun out of focus. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a gravelly voice and the kitsune’s responding laughter.

*

“Was that really necessary?” Hiei said.

Kurama laughed. “No, but it was pretty fun.” He let Yoko drain away back into his regular human body. The teenager beneath him was unconscious, knocked out by a toxin Kurama had coated his lips with. He could have taken the ‘innocent human’ approach and knocked the teenager out while he was caught off guard, but it had been infinitely more amusing to pull a prank instead. Kurama was feeling a bit whimsical today; it was nice to be out of the city and surrounded by an old growth forest.

“You shouldn’t have had to catch him in the first place,” Hiei said. “You’re getting sloppy.”

Kurama shrugged. “You were the one who was supposed to dispose of the body.”

“Why burn it if you can feed it to your plants?” Hiei’s eyes flicked away from Kurama’s smirk. He’d probably let the human stumble upon the body in the first place. He resettled his gaze on the teenager in question. “Should we kill him too?”

“Hiei,” Kurama said drily, “that would only lead to more time on our sentences.” He stood, brushing bits of leaf mold off his clothing. “He handled running into a demon pretty well.”

Hiei snorted. “If you call being scared witless handling it well.”

“There was no screaming,” Kurama pointed out. “Not when he saw the body and not when I came out of the trees. I wonder if he’s run into demons before?”

“He has to have some ability if he could tell what you were,” Hiei said. “Am I wiping his memory or are you?”

“Your methods are more precise,” Kurama said.

“Lazy fox.”

Kurama stood aside and let Hiei at it.

“Hmm,” Hiei muttered as he reached out. “He’s got a luck charm on him.”

“Strong?”

“Strong for an amateur,” Hiei said. He put a hand on the teenager’s head. Behind its wrappings, the Jagan eye opened and glowed violet. “All done. He won’t remember anything.”

“I’ll take him to his campsite, you take care of the body?” Kurama suggested.

“Fine, but you have to do the report to Koenma.”

“Fair enough.”

*

Heiji woke with a bad enough headache that he wondered if he’d raided his dad’s liquor stash again. He was face down on his sleeping bag with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. He could have sworn he’d gone for a walk…

Ugh, next time he felt like escaping the world for a bit he’d escape a little less. Maybe bring someone along. Like Kazuha. That seemed like a really good idea for some reason. He had the strangest feeling he should apologize to her about something. He rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head to block out the sunlight glowing through the tent walls. He’d get up when his head stopped throbbing.

(Later Heiji found some alarming photos on his phone and felt very glad to be alive and even more terrified at his memory gap. He was never going to say a bad word toward superstitions again and he totally owed Kazuha an apology. And maybe a gift because her luck charm seemed to have pulled another miracle.)

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 4/24/17

D-Frag!, Vol. 11 | By Tomoya Haruno | Seven Seas – I keep emphasizing in these reviews that D-Frag! is a comedy first and foremost, and that’s still true. That said, there’s no denying that there are some romantic undertones in the series—Takao and Funabori most obviously, but also Roka more subtly loves Kenji. So it’s no surprise that we end up with both of them having to live at Kenji’s house for a bit—Roka due to a meteor strike (yes, really), and Takao simply due to fretting over having Roka get the drop on her. Thankfully, D-Frag! knows that its tsukkomi is always more important than its rom-com, and the jokes still fly fast and furious. Also, bonus points at the start of the book for remembering this is a school and there are actual grades involved. Great fun. – Sean Gaffney

Horimiya, Vol. 7 | By Hero and Daisuke Hagiwara | Yen Press – Last time I noted how little losing their virginity changed the lead couple in this series, and that’s still the case, but more interestingly, we get to explore consensual kinks in this volume. To be precise, Hori is turned on by Miyamura being forceful towards her—she’s not sure why, but her father’s explanation for it likely fits the bill. That said, it makes Miyamura uncomfortable, so I’m not sure how far they’ll take it in the future. In the meantime, Yuki takes the stage for most of this volume, as she asks Tooru to be her pretend boyfriend in order to help answer a guy’s confession. Only the guy quickly becomes a member of the main cast, and what’s more, the fake boyfriend thing is going to completely torpedo Sakura’s love. Will this end well? Probably not. – Sean Gaffney

Kiss Him, Not Me!, Vol. 10 | By Junko | Kodansha Comics – I suppose, given this has become one of the more popular Kodansha shoujo titles and therefore is not ending anytime soon, that we were due for a new rival. He’s a tough one, too—not only is he a voice actor who plays Kae’s latest obsession, but he and Kae were childhood friends—in fact, they were both fat at the time! It’s actually Kae’s weight that drives a lot of the plot—Takeru finds out about her harem, and due to some misunderstandings thinks that they only care about her thin, cute, busty self. (In fact, the main cast went through this several volumes ago, and (mostly) concluded it didn’t matter.) So now he’s kidnapped her and seems to be force-feeding her, as he’s also a bit evil. Fun, but highly variable. – Sean Gaffney

Liselotte & Witch’s Forest, Vol. 4 | By Natsuki Takaya | Yen Press – It is becoming more apparent that the shot we saw in volume one of Liselotte taking up arms against her brother is not what actually happened, and in fact the more we find out about her the more we realize that she’s another of Takaya’s favorite kind of heroine, the plucky Pollyanna with the hideously broken past. That said, there are a few signs that her brother isn’t completely evil here. We also get a lot more information on witches, including the fact that Vergue and Hilde were once human, and clearly becoming a witch was something very painful and isolating to both of them. There’s still some shots of light humor—Anna is shaping up to be a smiling villain in the best way—but for the most part things take a turn for the serious here. – Sean Gaffney

Liselotte & Witch’s Forest, Vol. 4 | By Natsuki Takaya | Yen Press – Liselotte is attempting to live a peaceful life with her friends, sewing frilly shirts and tending to her vegetable garden. The back cover promises an attack by the witch Vergue, and though it’s true that he ends up significantly damaging her house, he’s also driven away simply by her shoujo heroine powers of empathizing with his rejection of humanity in favor of a place he belongs with the witches. The most interesting parts of this volume are actually the flashbacks the Vergue situation evokes, as Liselotte recalls more of what happened with her brother, who maybe isn’t actually her biological sibling, and who seemed to be giving her the chance to get away from the capitol and find happiness. That’s far more intriguing than a straight-up villain, so I hope we learn more about him in the next volume! – Michelle Smith

Tokyo Tarareba Girls, Vol. 2 | By Akiko Higashimura | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – After her unexpected hookup with hot model and younger man Key, Rinko struggles to figure out what it means. With the help of her pals, both real and hallucinated, she ultimately concludes that it was just a spur-of-the-moment whim on his part, but that doesn’t keep her from being curious about him, especially when she learns that a woman he loved passed away. Meanwhile, we get some very welcome chapters from the points of view of Kaori and Koyuki, Rinko’s friends. I love that, in time, they too start experiencing hallucinations, although it’s pretty heartbreaking that they both end up in sexual relationships without love or future prospects. This series is funny and whimsical, but also fairly bleak and depressing. I do love it, but it’s probably best in small doses. – Michelle Smith

Welcome to the Ballroom, Vol. 4 | By Tomo Takeuchi | Kodansha Comics – Fujita learns some important lessons in this book—actually, the entire book is filled with important lessons. For Fujita, it’s that he’s still a beginner and has a long way to go, and that until he grows he’s going to come last. For Mako and Gaju it’s that they weren’t really observing the other person when they danced, and they want to reunite in order to compete properly. For Shizuku it’s that she can still feel jealousy over someone being judged to be more beautiful than she is—and also hate herself for having those feelings. Even Hyodo is beginning to rediscover a passion for dancing that has been cooled by his injury. But most importantly, there is the dancing, and the art conveying the dancing, and that is still amazing. – Sean Gaffney

Yowamushi Pedal, Vol. 5 | By Wataru Watanabe | Yen Press – The Inter-High race begins! Before we get to that, though, we have to establish what some of the rivalries are. Kinjou will face off against Fukutomi again, the rider who caused his defeat the previous year, while Imaizumi is up against creepy Midousuji. We’ve been hearing about Midousuji since the beginning, but this is the first time he’s actually appeared and he looks and acts like some deranged creature from a horror manga. After that, though, the race is on and it’s a mad rush for the sprinters to claim the top spot at the first checkpoint. As usual, it’s riveting and the enormous volume goes by too quickly. The climbers take center stage next time, but we’ll sadly have to wait until August for that. – Michelle Smith

By: Michelle Smith