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divaofmads · 13 days ago

Text

Thanatos | Dr. Crane

Pairing Jonathan Crane x Female Reader

Gif by @breakfastonuranus

Summary: A psychopath who wants to control fears — and a woman willing to become his plaything. On a journey filled with desire and fear, control and pleasure begin to blur into one.

⚠️ Warnings: +18, MDNI, NSFW, Smut, Fingering, Domination, Vaginal Sex, Rape/non-con/underage content is not present or condoned, The content explores consensual dark erotica and kink with clear agency, Age Gap (F! 20 -M! 30), Heavy sexual tension, Dark themes, Psychological manipulation, Obsession, Gaslighting, Dark!JonathanCrane, Fear Kink, Toxic relationship dynamics, Fear Serum Mentions, Experimental drug use (fictional substance, psychological context), Power imbalance (mentor x intern dynamic), Do not romanticize manipulation in real life, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional.

Word Count: +10k

Dividers by @arcielee

📌A/N: While writing this story, I drew inspiration from Freud’s concept of the death drive (Thanatos), the life/sexual drive (Eros), and the dark line where these two opposing forces intertwine. What is told here is not just a fantasy; it's also about how people approach their desires with fear, and how they transform fear into desire. My story is both a warning and a surrender. Like a life lived under the shadow of death. Or like the sudden sense of absence that appears at the very depth of pleasure.

You began to tidy up the scattered documents on your desk. Files, pens, your glasses case. You slowly zipped up your bag and stood. Adjusted your shoulders. Noticed the bottom button of your shirt had ridden up and hastily tucked it back in. Your reflection in the mirror showed a tired but content expression, the day was over, or so you thought. Your palms were still clammy, because working in Dr. Crane’s office wasn’t merely an academic duty; it was a kind of survival art. Even his silence was a threat, and you had no choice but to obey it.

The wall clock had just passed six, its ticking sound slicing through the silence like a blade. In your mind still lingered the notes you’d taken throughout the day, the patients you observed, and Dr. Crane’s meticulous gaze. That gaze had followed you like a shadow through Arkham’s dimly lit corridors all day. Even though barely two sentences had escaped his lips, Jonathan Crane seemed to read you with a chilling precision. It was as if he knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling, what you were suppressing, better than you did. And the most terrifying part? He seemed to enjoy it.

Just as you turned toward the door… the handle clicked. And like a cold gust of wind, he entered.

He stepped in holding his notebook, and the air in the room shifted. The temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees. The dirty yellow light highlighted the pale sharpness of his features. His eyes looked at you like a hunter sizing up prey, just before striking.

“I don’t recall granting you permission to leave.”

His tone was low, measured, and deep. But the undertone was ice-cold. It wasn’t merely a sentence, it was a decision, a judgment, a command. Your heart skipped. Your hand remained on your bag strap; you couldn’t move forward or backward.

You opened your mouth, but the words stalled on your tongue. Because you knew there was no point in arguing. Jonathan Crane wasn’t just a strict professor; he was like a surgeon dissecting you. He had placed your soul on the table, opened your veins, and watched you from the inside. Not just as a student, but as a subject.

“It’s past six... I just…” you said softly, like a child retreating to defense. “I was just packing up, doctor.”

His expression didn’t change. His eyes stayed locked on your face. Then, he stepped closer. The door didn’t shut, through the crack, a line of sterile white light cut into the dark office like a blade.

“So you were preparing to escape before I dismissed you?”

His voice didn’t rise, but the subtle sarcasm scraped at your insides. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders sagged. You knew everything, this damned internship, hung between his lips. He had told you on the first day: “If you want to stay here, you’ll follow my rules. My rules are... changeable. Like your courage.”

“No... no, I just misunderstood, I think…” you said, but before you could finish, the strap of your bag slipped from your fingers. A small thud. And then silence. And his footsteps, ah, those slow, deliberate steps began echoing across the hard floor, sending a shiver through you.

Jonathan stood in front of you. He didn’t tilt his head or raise your chin when he spoke. The space between you was barely a breath. You smelled him; a metallic medicinal scent, a hint of sweat, and the dusty aroma of old book covers. His face was expressionless, but his eyes… they watched you break.

“This internship… requires diligence. Small details often determine fate. For instance, do you know who decides when you’re allowed to leave this office?”

You slowly shook your head. Your lips parted, but you gave no answer.

“I do,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “Not you. Not the bell. Don’t think you’re ‘free’ just because the sun has set. I control this institution’s rhythm, Y/N. And your little sense of time can’t disrupt my system.”

He reached out. His fingers moved toward the button on your collar but didn’t unfasten it. He only touched it. With cold and steady pressure. It felt like he was pressing not on the fabric, but on your throat. A tremble rose beneath your heart. A shiver coursed down your spine. You weren’t afraid… at least, not just afraid. There was something in that touch a submissive surrender mingled with fear.

“If you want to leave…” he said, and with his thumb under your button, he lifted your chin, “...you’ll ask for permission. While looking me in the eyes.”

You stood there, head bowed. Your body motionless, but inside, storms were brewing. Jonathan Crane’s eyes were on you. He had your strings in his hand, unraveling you. He didn’t even need to raise a hand. That eye contact was pushing you back, further and further from yourself. You swallowed against the heat swelling in your throat.

“Please… may I leave, Dr. Crane?”

Your voice was soft, barely a whisper. But in the silence, it was a confession, an audible expression of your submission to his authority. You didn’t want to please him as much as you feared angering him. Because his wrath wouldn’t be verbal, it would come through action. And while you didn’t yet know what he was capable of… your imagination was more than active.

His eyes lingered on you for a few seconds. Then, his eyelids drooped slightly, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. He examined you. Smelled your helplessness.

“No,” he said flatly. The word echoed like a bullet hitting the wall. “We’re not finished yet.”

Your heart paused. What could you say? To object… would be suicide. Your shoulders dropped. You dared to meet his eyes.

“But…” you said, swallowing hard, “…it’s past working hours. For today…”

“Be quiet,” he cut you off. His voice didn’t rise. But the tone, was like a slap that shattered any thought of defiance. “If you work with me, time does not belong to you. Understand? Time is mine.”

He took another step. The sound of his shoes still echoed coldly on the floor, but now he was just inches from you. Your eyes drifted to his chest, just below the collar. You couldn’t see his heartbeat, but it was there. Close. Dangerous. Yet… alluring. With the back of his hand, he lifted your chin this time. His palm was warm, but the skin he touched went numb. When your eyes met his… your balance shifted.

“You’ll go down to the archive room,” he said softly. His fingers remained at your chin, pressure slightly increasing. “Retrieve file A-38. The one with the red label. When you bring it back, we’ll… examine it together.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t about going to the archive. You didn’t care about the contents of the file. What mattered, was his tone. His request, so unnecessary and arbitrary… was a test. A rehearsal for control. A reminder of your place, your time of surrender.

“I suggest you move quickly,” he added. He removed his hand from your face but immediately reached again for the button on your collar. “And if you try to leave again without permission… next time, we’ll speak differently.”

He didn’t press the button. He just paused there. But for a moment, you felt your whole body lock beneath the tip of his finger.

He held your gaze for a moment longer. Then turned and walked toward the bookshelf. All that remained was silence, your shallow breath, and the fragile desire trembling in the cold room.

Your fingers trembled. You tried to suppress the storm inside as you took a deep breath. You knew… when you returned with that file, what awaited you wouldn’t be limited to the pages.

And the next time you stepped into that office…

you wouldn’t leave as yourself.

As you stepped into the corridor, even your own footsteps sounded too loud in your ears. It felt as if each step echoed off the walls, amplifying the noise inside your head. Your fingers were still trembling slightly, but you weren’t sure if it was from fear… or the lingering phantom warmth of where he had touched you. Your heart fluttered inside your chest like a restless creature clawing to escape. Your body moved forward, but your mind was still in his office. That tone of voice, the breath that brushed your neck, that single word: “No.”

No.

He had said no. And for the first time in your life, after someone told you “no,” instead of stepping back, you had chosen to move forward.

That was what shamed you the most. That fluid guilt flowing through your veins. Yes, you had to obey his command. This internship was a necessity for you. But deep down, you knew, it was no longer just about obedience. There was a need rising from within, something you couldn’t name. When you looked into his eyes, there was something stirring in you, something that made you feel… tainted. Desire and hatred should never be so tightly woven together. It shouldn’t be like this. Why did the dark feel so… alluring?

Why did his humiliation burn just like his touch?

Your underwear had grown damp. Even that detail embarrassed you. If he had realized what state you were in around him… he’d tear you apart. And even as you imagined that moment of unraveling, you felt shame.

You took a deep breath. Tried to collect yourself. The archive room was at the end of the corridor. “I’m just getting a file,” you told yourself. “A piece of paper. That’s all. Calm down.”

But your steps began to shorten. Because as you neared the door, all you could see was a slit of dim light. Most of the ceiling lamps were broken. The archive room was one of the least used, most forgotten spaces in Arkham. When you pushed the door open, the metal hinges groaned with rust. The creaking sound slithered across your skin like a chill.

Inside… was a dark labyrinth.

Only one fluorescent light flickered weakly on the left. It gave off more of a tremble than brightness. The rest was in total darkness. The shelves, if you could even call them that, were chaotic. Stacks of files, labels scattered across the floor, toppled folders. The place looked like it had been abandoned after a war. Which section was A, which was B? Where were the red-labeled files? Nothing was clear.

There were narrow paths. Just barely enough space between the shelves to squeeze through. Turning, bending, even taking a deep breath felt difficult. You felt like even a moment’s distraction, as small as a loose screw, could bring the whole structure crashing down on you. The air was stale. The familiar scent of dust filled your nose. You tried not to cough. In this silence, even the slightest sound from your throat felt too much.

A-38.

With a red label.

Your mind repeated the instruction over and over. Your feet moved cautiously between the shelves. But with each step, you felt more and more lost. Not physically… mentally. This place felt like Crane’s mind: cluttered, chaotic, narrow, out of control, yet woven with a strange, magnetic logic that kept pulling you in.

You lifted a few folders. A-14, A-22… C-03… B-67… All jumbled. Some labels were torn, others faded. As your hand brushed over the folder covers, the moist, dusty cardboard tickled your skin. Your eyes were adjusting to the dark, but your body remained on high alert. You kept feeling like if you turned around, someone would be standing there. Or… maybe you wanted to feel that.

Because his voice was still in your head. “If you try to leave again without permission…”

It echoed in your mind like an unfinished threat.

And you… you were beginning to hope for more than just threats.

You didn’t know how long you’d been struggling among the files. Time seemed warped in here. Your fingers were dark with dust, your elbows scratched from the sharp cardboard edges. Your back ached from twisting and bending in this oppressive space. But above all, you felt a weight. Something non-physical… an instinctual pressure. Your heart was slowly speeding up. Your ears buzzed. And strangest of all, at the tip of your nose, you smelled him. That same metallic, medicinal tone mixed with a dark cologne… or was it just your imagination?

Just as you were sifting through the lower section of the B shelf, a shadow suddenly passed to your right and struck the floor. You hadn’t heard any footsteps. As someone appeared behind you, your body instinctively tensed, but then you heard his voice. That cold, sleek blade of a voice, full of restrained authority, familiar and terrifying.

“Truly… that a task this simple challenges you so deeply is… disappointing.”

His voice was too close. And as soon as you heard it, your heart clenched and the tension radiated through every inch of your body. Your hand still rested on the files, but your focus shattered. The space behind you… wasn’t empty anymore. Just like the silence in your mind. He was here. Quietly. Watching. Patiently. And now… he had arrived.

You swallowed, feeling your throat muscles scrape against each other. Your eyes scanned the shelf in front of you, but the letters made no sense anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible. “It’s… quite disorganized. The labels are missing.”

It was an explanation, but also a defense. Because the thought of disappointing him had carved itself deeper into you than fear. It felt cruel, yes, but also… like a fragile form of attachment.

His presence shifted behind you. No sound. But your body could feel every subtle movement he made. The distance between you was shrinking. This shelf row was barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side. And he wasn’t moving past you. He was behind you. Very close.

You couldn’t move. His breath grazed the exposed part of your neck and you instinctively held your breath. Nothing touched your back, but where was he? He was close. You felt it in your bones.

“This file,” he said, his voice landing near your right ear, “is a kind of… case study we’ll be working on. If you want to learn, and you must, for this internship, you must understand what and why you’re looking for. Otherwise, you’ll wander in the dark like a blind subject.”

One more step. This time, you couldn’t suppress your breath. Because something lightly touched your back. Not harsh, not aggressive… but definite. His body, maybe his jacket… or simply his nearness was enough to make you feel it. You realized someone had bent near your waist. Then, something brushed the inside of your arm. A fine fabric. His hand. Moving discreetly at your elbow. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t turn your head. Your face was blank. But inside… chaos exploded.

And he continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

“Perhaps someone like you struggles to find what they’re looking for… because they don’t quite know what it is they’re seeking.”

The end of his sentence was dangerously close to your ear. But the real realization was that your body had forgotten how to move. You stayed as you were, hands resting on the files. Because if you moved, the contact might become more obvious. Or… it might change. It might go further.

And maybe… you wanted it to.

And the most terrifying, most shameful thought was this:

You wanted to stay like this.

As your fingers kept gliding over the folders, Crane’s presence was no longer debatable, it wrapped around you like a second skin. You stood caught between the shelf and his body, positioned so that even the lack of space itself felt intoxicating. The tightness of the archive room pressed him closer, yet he moved as if it were nothing but necessity. But nothing about this was natural. Every move was calculated, every breath rehearsed.

Suddenly, his right arm reached over you to grab one of the folders above. As the inside of his arm passed just behind your shoulder, you felt his hips brush against you, for the first time, there was no ambiguity in the contact. You held your breath, but he kept moving as if nothing had happened. His fingertips hovered over the labels, yet he didn’t move his body an inch away. On the contrary… he leaned in, just slightly.

The side of your neck was bare. Strands of your hair were messily falling. That’s when you heard his voice again. This time, lower. More personal. His vocal cords nearly touched your skin.

"Why are your hands shaking?"

It wasn’t a question. Not even an observation. It was a kind of threat, silent, implied. Not physical. Psychological. His voice seeped under your skin. The heat of his breath vibrated at your neck. Your shoulder now felt like it was pinned to his chest. There was no room to retreat. The shelf in front, his body behind. Your breath shortened. You thought of saying “stop”… but your tongue didn’t move. Because you didn’t want him to. But you couldn’t ask him to start, either. You were circling inside a moral void. And yes, you were scared it might cost you your internship.

He raised his hand again, reaching for another folder. This time, the motion was slower. As his fingers passed just in front of your arm, his palm lightly brushed your wrist. And stayed. He didn’t pull back. Not until he had the folder. The weight of his hand pressed against your skin, unmoving. You closed your eyes, tried to hold your breath—but your chest started rising and falling too fast.

And he noticed. Of course, he did. For Jonathan Crane, your body's responses were data. He didn’t need your words to understand. Your pulse, your breathing, the trembling at your fingertips... they were maps to him. And reading those maps gave him pleasure.

He leaned in a little closer. You felt him move through your hair. His lips were nearly at your exposed neck. It made your skin shiver. Your eyes locked on the labels along the far wall, but none of the letters made sense anymore.

You were scared. Every brush of his skin had carved itself into yours. But what followed shattered you even more. His other hand touched your outer thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. A warm touch. Maybe even a caress. But done in a way that suggested accident, like it was just part of the motion.

You swallowed hard. The knot in your throat wouldn’t loosen. You couldn’t speak. Your back was being pressed further into his torso. You were locked in place. And yet, his hands remained—on the surface—innocent. He was just browsing folders. Just… helping.

But his touch lingered longer each time. Each folder he reached for, he seemed to do so with unnecessary tenderness. Like he wasn’t touching paper, but skin. When he pulled one out, his hand grazed your hip. “Accidentally.” But it was too specific to be dismissed. And when your knees trembled, his breathing deepened. His chest rose beneath his jacket. He was watching you. Drinking in your reactions.

“You’re feeling too much. That pleases me. It means... there’s still something left in you to break.”

That’s when it hit you. This wasn’t just about finding a folder. This was a session. A covert experiment. You were his subject. The narrow archive aisle was the lab, and your helpless responses were the data. Every small shiver echoed inside him.

For a moment, you imagined yourself through his eyes. Someone who couldn’t move, couldn’t flee, and yet… wouldn’t say “no.” Your chest tightened. But within that tightness, something darker bloomed. A pleasure you couldn’t explain pulled you deeper.

And Jonathan Crane… he wasn’t rushing to drag you there. He was guiding you slowly. Without force. Without resistance.

Because you were already breaking.

The folder with the red label trembled between your fingers, shining like salvation. It had been wedged deep behind the shelf, covered in dust, nearly invisible. The rustling sound it made as you pulled it free shattered the icy shell inside you. Your heart began to race, but this time, it felt like breathing again.

“Ah... this is it,” you said, your voice trembling with a fragile kind of joy. “We’re saved.”

That word slipped out before you realized: saved.

Your own tongue had chosen it, as if aware of the weight of the moment. The presence of the man behind you still burned on your skin. But the file… was just an excuse.

You reached back with a gentle but decisive touch, placing your hand against Crane’s chest. It wasn’t gratitude, it was an attempt to escape. And the moment your fingertips met his warmth, it hit you like a blow. But when you pushed, he didn’t resist at all.

It was as if he’d only been there to observe you.

As if he wasn’t trying to trap you, but provoke a response. And he got it.

Once you stepped out of the narrow aisle in the archive room, you inhaled deeply. As the door creaked shut behind you, you realized something inside you hadn’t followed. It lingered on your skin. On your hip, your wrist, your neck... everywhere he had touched, a trace remained. A shadow.

You clutched the folder to your chest and started walking. Your steps became mechanical. Your left arm supported the file tightly, your other hand opened and closed in the empty air. Your eyes looked ahead, but your thoughts clung to words for distraction. You tried to smile. Maybe if you laughed, it would pass. Maybe if you spoke, everything that had just happened would disappear.

“Finally,” you said with a light smile. “Those shelves were like a battlefield. I think A-38 might be this building’s best-kept secret.”

Your voice tried to sound natural, but it felt foreign even to your own ears. Something inside you was still trembling. It hadn’t stayed behind. It was walking with you. His hands, his breath, his voice were now buried in silence, yet you could still feel him.

Dr. Crane was watching you. His eyes were on your face.

Through Arkham’s long corridors, the echoes of your footsteps over cracked ceramic tiles accompanied his silence. He didn’t say a word. Nothing. That made you feel even more on edge. His silence wasn’t a punishment, it was a clue. He knew he had read you. And now, he was enjoying the sight of you trying to wear your armor again.

You felt his gaze. Heavy. Sharp. Like fingers pressing into your back. It wasn’t the kind of desire that chased, it engulfed. A shadow wrapping around you from the inside. Picking through your mind. Memorizing your skin. The desire of a man who devoured you not with his hands, but with his eyes.

And no matter how much you clung to words, that silence… said more than any sentence could.

When you entered his office, the space transformed again into Crane’s domain. Unlike the cramped archive, it was wider, but somehow more intimate. The light was muted. The amber glow of the lamps leaned across the desk, casting soft halos on the papers, forming shadows. But here, shadows weren’t just from objects, they were intentions.

As you opened the folder, he sat down in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. His fingertips touched one another, the familiar position of the observer. His eyes weren’t on your face. They hovered just below your neck, on the fabric of your shirt. But he wasn’t looking. He was scanning.

As you pulled the files from the folder, you noticed he hadn’t moved closer. Not yet. But his breath arrived before any motion did.

On the top right corner of the first page, there was a date: 03.08.22

Below it, a name: Leonid F. Klein.

And beneath that, a note scribbled in handwriting: “The perfect lie. Even to himself.”

“Klein,” Crane said, not taking his eyes off your hands, “a case of obsessive-compulsive behavior coupled with advanced mythomania. Which means he wasn’t just a pathological liar. His sense of reality was fractured. Lying wasn’t a defense, it was structure. Pleasure.”

His voice was low, but every emphasis carefully chosen. Just like the words. You rotated the file slightly toward him so both of you could read at once. That motion brought your shoulder close enough to touch his. Your knees nearly brushed. But neither of you pulled away.

“In cases like this,” he continued, fingers tapping the desk’s edge, “we don’t just look at the lie itself. We look at what need shaped it. Sometimes, the individual... requires a process even to confess the lie they wish were true.”

He placed his hand near the page. Close, but not quite touching yours. Yet you could feel the heat of his skin. The deliberate proximity.

“For instance,” he said, lowering his voice further, “imagine someone’s made to do something they didn’t want. They may say they didn’t want it. But the body... might tell another story.”

“Klein was the same. He always said, ‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’ But his pupils would dilate. His voice would soften. His pulse would spike. The body doesn’t make alliances with lies.”

A pause followed. Not from lack of information, but to listen to your reaction.

Your breathing had changed. He noticed.

Your hand trembled. He saw that too.

His eyes slid from your face to your chest, then to your neck, and finally... to the edge of your lips.

He didn’t say a word. But somehow... he said it all.

“People often want what they claim they don’t. But knowing that, hurts. You have the intellect to understand that.”

These words weren’t direct. But their weight was unmistakable.

You felt exposed. You stared at the table.

He touched your shoulder with the outside of his hand. This time, deliberately. Gauging your response. Then he leaned in. As he turned the next page, he spoke beside your ear.

“Do you know what a liar truly seeks, more than anything?”

“To be believed?”

“No. To be caught.”

You swallowed. Hard. Your eyes drifted toward the corner of the room. But your body, as if trying to escape, shifted slightly away from the desk. Your hip slid to the side, putting space between your leg and his. The distance still looked professionally acceptable. But what you felt… had already passed those boundaries.

He brushed your fingertips with his. Brief. Soft. But calculated.

“One doesn’t only defend themselves from others… but from their own impulses. And impulses... love resistance. Resistant minds are their favorite playground.”

With those words, he finally looked into your eyes. Fully.

And brought you to the edge.

Jonathan Crane’s touch on your hand ended in a thin line. The closeness he had maintained up until that moment had been sharp and patient; but now he pulled back. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes for a few seconds. He left between you not a tense silence, but a calculating space. Then, when his eyelids slowly opened, it was as if he had become a completely different man, but he was still the same Crane. Only he had moved into the next phase.

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Rhythmic, thoughtful. Then he tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes returning to the pages. But there was a sentence on his lips that would pierce your mind:

“Do you remember… that new prototype I mentioned last term? A beta-typogenic class combination… a type of fluid. A formula that facilitates the confessional reflex. It is being developed to overcome behavioral blockages.”

His tone was neutral, as if you were in a classroom. But that was only the first layer. His words were presented to you as a technical reminder; but what was seeping beneath the tone… was something else entirely.

His jawline was harder. The inside of his eyes was measuring.

He was measuring whether he remembered or not, not just on the level of knowledge, but on another level as well.

“It’s a very interesting thing, chemically,” he continued. “There’s a very fine line between the neurological structures needed to tell a lie and the structures needed to repress it. If you can blur that line… everything that’s repressed comes to the fore. It spills out into words. Inevitably.”

You held your breath. Your hand was still on the corner of the file, but you weren’t looking at the pages anymore. As he spoke to you, he stood up abruptly. The slight creak of his chair echoed through the room like a small tremor. He turned his back to you and headed for a closet in the back corner of the office. His movements were not quick; each step was measured and heavy. As he opened the closet door, the fluorescent light reflecting off the metal shelves inside dazzled him.

He reached out and pulled out a small glass tube. Inside was a liquid as dark as night and quivering with a golden hue. The liquid moved slowly inside the glass, rippling as if it were breathing.

Jonathan turned to you, twirling the tube between his thumb and forefinger. His face was still expressionless. But his eyes… bore the impatience of a God about to begin an experiment.

“I’m glad you remembered,” he said. “But the question is… whether you have the confidence to put this theoretical knowledge into practice.”

He moved closer. He stood across the table, holding the tube in his palm. From where you were looking, the liquid was clearer now. The glass had been warmed by his body heat. He didn’t hand it to you. Not yet.

“The effect of the drug is temporary,” he said. “It doesn’t cause unconsciousness. It doesn’t involve external intervention. It just… brings out what’s inside. It doesn’t numb. It cleanses. It erases obstructions.”

Then he stepped forward. He came around the corner of the table and approached you. The tube was still steady in his hand. His stance was under control, but your breath was close enough to brush his chest. He lowered his voice another notch. He whispered, as if only you could hear: “Do you trust me?”

The words were easy. But their content was poisonous. And then came another sentence; that fragile persuasion that trapped you, leaving no way out: “Or… is there something you’re afraid to confess?”

Your whole body tensed. Because at this point, the choice was no longer whether to accept the drug or not.

The choice was whether to accept and accept how much you obeyed him. Whether to learn who you were in his hands or not. And he was offering you this drug as a personal tool, not just an experimental one. Would you choose to deny yourself?

Or, looking into his eyes… surrender?

Jonathan finally placed the tube on the table. He rolled it slowly to a stop. He locked his eyes with yours. There was a threatening expectation in his eyes. A cold, scientific, frightening curiosity-infused expectation. A decision that seems like "it's your decision", but in fact it has already been made for you.

The glass of the tube stopped spinning on the table. The movement had stopped, but the liquid inside seemed to still stir. It vibrated with uncertainty, fear, but also with an uncontrollable curiosity, just like the restlessness inside you.

You smiled. Forced it. Your facial muscles relaxed for a moment, your voice tried to sound natural.

“We can’t do this… I mean, it was an experiment. A prototype. I don’t know if testing it on yourself… is reasonable or ethical. It might even be… illegal.”

The rise in the voice at the end was tried to sound like a joke. But even you didn’t believe it. Your eyes still avoided his. Because there… there was a darkness reading you. A clinical coldness that analyzed not only your behavior but also your desires.

Jonathan Crane was silent for a moment. His head tilted slightly to the side. The line between his eyebrows wasn’t just a superficial sign of thought. He was watching you. He was listening to all the “no’s” you had hidden under that sentence. And then he spoke. Slow, sharp, as if every word had been chosen to tear you apart from the inside.

“I don’t meet students like you every semester. Do you know what’s interesting? They’re all brilliant at first. They’re all praised with grades. But then… they’re not tested. And no success that isn’t tested is real.”

He took a step toward you. His hands were tied behind his back. He was taller than you; his position was that of a judge rather than a teacher. He was cold. But that coldness… seemed like it would be warmed by a punishment.

“You think you’re ‘the best,’ don’t you? The most careful, the most patient, the most meticulous… even the most courageous. But none of these… should apply only to the classroom. There’s no room for these fairy tales in your professional life.”

The words seeped in. To be the best. That was the command you wrote inside yourself. You wanted to be ‘the first’ in his eyes. To be distinguished, to be seen as different. Because this internship… was the most fragile bridge of your career. And Crane had caught you on that bridge.

“Do you remember the students before you?” he asked. “Not one of them has been in this room with me where you are now. None of them have come this close. None of them… had this much potential.”

Your breath caught between your lips. Your chest heaved rapidly, but that breath was not a victory… it was a loss. He had set you apart. He had offered you the title of first place, but that title came with a price.

And Crane, as the one who held the prize, reminded you of that price:

“People like you can’t afford to be weak. They’re not afraid to make a decision. They think you won’t hesitate.”

“But now… you’re running away. You’re afraid. Because this is the first time you’ve been put to the test.”

His eyes locked on yours. Not to convince, but to leave no room for escape. Then he turned his head slowly. He opened the drawer on the desk. He pulled out a sterile syringe with a black frame.

It was the same temperature as the glass tube, but much more menacing. And he began to prepare this threat, as if it were a ceremony, calmly and methodically.

“It doesn’t change you. It just… opens you up to you.”

“Without any external interference, it just lets you face your truth. That’s what all ‘successful’ people avoid. Learning… who you really are.”

A note of tone appeared in his voice as his fingers tested the steel of the needle:

“If this is too much for you… maybe you’re not as brave as I thought.”

There it was. It was chosen to sink in. If you’re afraid, it’s because you’re weak. If you don’t accept, it’s because you’re not ready. And you… had to be ready. Because in his eyes, you were ‘the best.’

And in his eyes, being ‘the best�� was tantamount to obedience.

The hissing sound as the syringe began to draw the liquid echoed through the room. The golden liquid, flowing from the glass into the metal, was now only a few centimeters away from you. And Jonathan Crane watched you with no expression of triumph on his face.

Because he had already won.

The hissing sound as the liquid in the glass syringe vibrated into the metal needle was like a warning bell for you. It didn’t echo throughout the room, but it became an internal whisper that buzzed in your ears. This was no longer part of a laboratory experiment, but a chemical revelation ceremony played with your body. And you… You were standing there, facing Crane. Your wrist was exposed. The sleeve of your shirt was slowly rolled up. Your veins were highlighted by the effect of fear. The blue under your skin was now a direct target.

The hard rubber sound of Crane’s hands as he put on his gloves seemed to polish the seriousness of the moment. And then, the brief but infinite second of injection that would prepare you to see from within, not from the surface, would begin.

“Stay calm,” he said in a low voice. “This will only disable the voice that silences you. Everything else… already exists inside you.”

You felt the moment when the metal of the syringe needle touched your skin before it went deeper. First, the coldness. The sudden tightening of nerve endings that knew something was coming. Then a little pressure.

And then…

Introduction.

The moment the needle punctured your vein, your brain registered the moment. The puncture wasn’t sharp, but the wave that followed was…a fire that burned inside you but couldn’t seep out.

Crane slowly pushed the plunger. The fluid in the glass tube was now moving through your veins.

Your vagus system was activated. Your heartbeat slowed for a moment, then sped up. Your breathing became irregular. The fluid was directly touching the communication between your amygdala and your prefrontal cortex. The frontal lobes of your brain, which “censored reality,” began to fail like a membrane that was slowly evaporating. In its place, a more primitive layer was preparing to speak.

The drug’s intravenous spread reached your brain’s limbic system in about 8.3 seconds. And that’s when you realized that your body was no longer yours.

A vibration rose. First in your neck. Then in your shoulder blades. Finally… in the center of your chest.

The bottom of your chest tightened as if someone was pressing from inside. There was not enough air. You didn’t want to breathe because even the air you took in at that moment seemed to be under Crane’s control.

Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Your sweat glands activated. Your subcutaneous temperature rose rapidly, while your body warmed up by 0.5 degrees.

But the most dramatic change happened inside. Your mind’s voice fell silent.

Instead, whatever was repressed began to climb upwards with the chemical drive of the liquid. Just as nausea comes not from a thought, but from a physiological drive…

For a moment, an image of the past flashed before your eyes. A failure. A race. A class. Eyes looking at you. That minus sign you received after the exam. That moment when you were told “insufficient”. It opened up in your mind like an unhealed wound. And then, the voice inside you asked: “Does Crane look at me like that?”

No thought was safe for you anymore.

It was all getting ready to come out. And he… was watching you.

When Crane withdrew the syringe, a small drop of blood rose to the surface after the metal had been removed from his skin. He pressed it gently with his fingers, but for the first time the contact was truly personal. Because this time, it wasn’t just the medicine that had seeped into his skin… but also his gaze.

“This is… the first stage,” he said. “Now, not your words… but your instincts will speak.”

Your pupils were dilated, your forehead moist. The insides of your knees were tingling, your body was losing control, but you weren��t falling yet.

Because you were still resisting. But the resistance was no longer just suppressing the medicine, it was suppressing yourself.

The silence of the room had changed to something else now. There was a chemical vibrating in the air; an aura that was invisible but coursing through your veins, an effect that took your thoughts from your hands and delivered them to his fingers.

You sat in your chair, your eyes wide, your lips parted. Your breathing wasn’t smooth, but rather undulating like waves crashing against the shore. Your chest, your shoulders… all seemed to carry a weight that was loaded onto your body. Everything you had suppressed inside you wanted to come out in the uncontrolled movements of your body, but you… were still trying to resist. Confessing… meant everything.

Jonathan Crane was still standing. After dropping the syringe into a medical waste container, he slowly guided his steps towards you. His stance was calm, but this calmness was only apparent from the outside; underneath it was strategy, appetite, lustful attention. His eyes lingered on you; he seemed to take note of your every reaction. But he didn’t want to tear you apart… he wanted to have you by making you unravel yourself.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked, his voice low but direct. “Not much. Just honestly. Are you afraid?”

Even the question was a trap. Because if you said “no,” you would be lying. And you couldn’t lie. If you said “yes,” you would be accepting the fact that he was controlling you. But you… you were torn. After a few seconds of silence, without lifting your eyes from the table, you whispered:

“A little.”

He smiled. But it wasn’t warm. It was patient, mixed with pleasure. He was starting to figure you out. And now, he had decided to dig deeper.

He moved closer to you. He took a step toward the back of the chair. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was getting closer to you from the thickening air between you. There was a deep silence. Then his voice rose again, from somewhere near the back of your neck. You shivered, your muscles tightening. “So what makes it hard for you to be honest with me? Fear? Morality? Or… something else?”

Your body quivered reflexively at that moment. Because the question wasn’t direct, but the implication was very strong. The words caught in your throat. The word “morality” felt like a needle when it came out of his voice. Was it what had happened between you and him that you were questioning… or was it that you wanted those things?

You swallowed.

“It’s just… weird,” you said with difficulty. “This isn’t normal.”

Jonathan tilted his head a little to the side at that answer. Like a doctor watching a subject’s first reaction. Yet he wasn’t impatient. Because he knew that the magic of confession… lay in its delay. Then, without forcing you at all, he began to speak slowly, in a way that would mentally grip you:

“People worship mediocrity to escape normality. They force themselves into ‘reasonable’ patterns. But inside them… there is a darker, more honest self. Those like you know this very well. Because you… don’t just want to be successful. You want to be distinguished. To be noticed. To know that something that is thought to be untouchable… has been opened up specifically for you. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you don’t stay silent.”

His words were filling the voids inside you. You were trying to resist, but your lips were moist, your fingers were tightly gripping the edge of the table. That liquid running through your veins was now loosening not only the urges, but also the shame.

Then he asked the question. Slowly. Almost in a whisper. “Have you ever thought about me?”

The blood rushed to your face. You felt like even hearing that sentence was tearing you apart. Your shoulders started to sag, as if someone had reached out from inside your heart and pulled away all the walls you had stepped on.

For a moment you couldn’t answer. But then… the word came. Like a rotten whisper.

“Yes…”

Jonathan’s eyes lit up. He didn’t smile. Because this moment wasn’t something to laugh at. This was the moment when the armor that made you who you were cracked for the first time.

And then he took another step. This time he was right next to you. He didn’t put his hand on your shoulder, he didn’t touch your hair. But you could feel his presence… under your skin now.

“When?” he asked. “What moment? What thought?”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to run away. But the words… came.

“The first day of the internship… when you didn’t look into my eyes. You weren’t talking to the other students like you did. I thought about it then. But I didn’t want to. But I thought about it anyway.”

Crane lowered his gaze to you. Just like a patient is put under observation at the first moment of crisis… only this time his interest wasn’t just clinical. He wasn’t solving you anymore.

He was solving you in order to take care of you.

Jonathan Crane accepted your confession with silence. He neither mocked nor showed any surprise. He simply remained silent. But this silence was not an ordinary “I heard”. This was the first time a lock was turned. And he… had now stepped into the room behind that lock.

He took another step. His fingers were slightly tense, but he did not touch. He would not touch yet. Because you had to want him to come closer. Your mind was just getting used to this confusion, and he was slowly untangling you with his patience.

He pulled a chair from the table and sat down next to you. There was a short distance between you, but that distance was now lost in his eyes. His pupils were constricted, scanning you. But this scanning was no longer clinical. It was a preparation for possession.

“You said what you thought of me,” he said softly, “but that is only the beginning. Thoughts… can escape intention. But desires are more honest.”

He was silent for a moment. You heard his breathing. The uncomfortable warmth that his arm leaning on the table had awakened in you was seeping up from under your body. Like a fire that could not reach its depth but made you feel it was approaching.

“When I enter the same room with you… what do you feel? Really. When you see me… how does your body react?”

The question was direct and chilling. This was no longer a ‘test’. This was a transition to another layer of confession. And under the effect of the drug, the filters on your honesty were now dissolving. But this honesty was chaining you instead of freeing you. Because everything you said would mean surrendering to him a little more.

You swallowed. Only one word came out of your lips first: “Restlessness… I feel like there is no limit to what you can do.”

But he waited. He looked at you without blinking. That answer was not enough. Because when you pulled away from his gaze, he could see your heart speed up. Your eyes wandered around the room, as the words were preparing to fall from your chest, the urges that you had not even confessed to your own inner voice began to rise.

“But… also… curiosity. I want to see your limitlessness. I want to stay even when I should be leaving. And that endless unknown makes me feel attracted to you. It’s… disturbing but… addiction, Dr. Crane.”

Crane slowly lowered his head. Like a hunter watching you over his shoulder. Not your words, not your fragile tone… nothing was foreign to him. He didn’t respond as if he already knew you. He watched you patiently, as if he were shaping you right now. And then he asked something even more specific. It was proof that he was moving toward becoming not just a counselor but an object of obsession:

“So… what would you like me to know about you? When you think of me… how would you like to be seen, Y/N?”

The question was like a knife. The answer was something you were waiting for, just to see in his eyes. Maybe “to be noticed.” Maybe “to be liked.” But in that moment, a more primal urge emerged:

“I want you to see my weaknesses… especially my fears,” you said. “But without belittling me. The thought of you not pitying me triggers me…The fantasy of controlling me stimulates my groin.”

Your words caught in your throat. Because this wasn’t just a confession; this was a declaration of your voluntary inclusion in the entire system he had created.

Jonathan was silent for a moment. Then, he leaned in. Very lightly, very slowly. You felt his breath near your cheek. But still, he didn’t kiss. Because the biggest touch between them… was still your voice.

“For you, boundaries are just the outer shell,” he whispered. “I’m not helping you break yourself. You’re already broken. I… am just holding up a mirror to you.”

And what you saw in the mirror… wasn’t just you. It was how he saw you now. And it was something you had never seen before.

Crane’s words didn’t hang in the air. They had descended over you like a heavy veil, slowly descending. You were breathing under that veil now, hazy, uncomfortable, but familiar. Because the deep, clinical softness in his voice… wasn’t a cure, it was a promise of resolution.

Your shoulders had slumped, your jaw had trembled slightly. Your body didn’t feel like your own. It was a place where only his words echoed. And Jonathan Crane was the architect of this place.

Nothing was rushed as he approached you. He slowly raised his hand from the edge of the table, and with a slight bend in his thumb, he reached just below your cheek. His touch was so gentle that at first you weren’t sure if he actually made contact. But then the veins beneath your skin began to pulse at the gentle pressure.

“Has anyone ever looked at you this closely?” he said.

“With all your masks off. Without running away. Without judging. Just… watching you.”

Your eyes turned to him, but you couldn’t look. Because this wasn’t just a look, it was the first step of surrender.

He didn’t take his eyes off you. As if he was memorizing all the subconscious folds inside you by watching your every breath.

His fingertips moved from the edge of your chin to your lips. He didn’t turn your face. He just touched your lower lip with his thumb. But this contact wasn’t affection; it was a form of dominance. Not to caress you, but to see where you were trembling. And you shivered.

A muscle twitched involuntarily on the side of your neck.

Because in his palm was not only the pulse of deep desires but also of repressed desires.

Crane moved his head a little closer to you. When his breath touched your skin this time, your body moved with an internal reflex, but you couldn’t move.

This was the disintegration of a body torn between running away and staying. And he saw it.

He could now read you without the need for medication.

“What do you imagine when you think of me?” he asked, his voice low but poisonously calm. “What do you want me to do with my hands? What did you imagine me doing, Y/N?”

It wasn’t a question, it was a confession. But it had to come from you. It had to be your choice to say it. And so your last remaining boundary would collapse with your hand.

Your throat went dry. Your eyes darkened. But the answer came. In a whisper. The words seemed to come from inside you, not from your lips.

“When I think of you, we’re always in the same place: in a dark room, with only your voice. ‘Be patient,’ you say. There are handcuffs on my wrists… But not just physically… You’ve captured me. You bite me because I want to be yours. With every painful touch, I become more dependent.”

Crane’s face didn’t come closer. He just listened to you.

Because that was the moment you opened up to yourself.

And that surrender… was the greatest victory for him.

“Good,” he finally said. “Because you have now surrendered yourself to me. Not your body, but your mind. Your most fragile part.”

He moved closer to you. His hands were now on either side of your neck, but he was not squeezing you. He was just pressing you with his presence. And you… even as you breathed, you were now following his rhythm.

He looked you straight in the eye with those cold eyes. “Get up,” Jonathan said, his voice echoing through the room. His tone was commanding, yet it also carried a dark allure. You did as he said, obediently. Jonathan stood before you, but it was impossible to understand what he was thinking or doing. And that uncertainty aroused you.

His frequent tapping of the glass syringe on the table against the floor gave him away. He was a control freak, and you wanted to be under his control.

Crane’s gaze changed. The dull calm of his eyes gave way to a sharper determination. He was no longer trying to untie you, but to possess you. For once, the contact was unwavering.

His fingers reached under your chin, tilting your head up slightly. You let out an involuntary sigh as you turned to him, an echo struggling with both uneasiness and surrender.

And then… his thumb pressed the edge of your lower lip. This time harder, like a beckoning gesture.

“I’m here,” he said. “And you’re mine now.”

“You want more, don’t you, Y/N,” he said, his voice as soft as ice. “Because you… you’ve already prepared yourself for this moment.”

He increased the pressure on the corner of his mouth a little more.

The thought that your desire wasn’t yours, but his… made you shiver and pull at the same time. You parted your pale lips slightly, the suppressed fear you carried inside you like a mysterious invitation in the curve of his lips. Jonathan, at that moment, mixed with your breath, as if he were looking for a spiritual contact, not just physical. But he didn’t kiss you. No. He had to drive you crazy first. He leaned down to the side of your neck. His lips didn’t touch your skin. But his breath was directed right at that point that coincided with your pulse. Your whole body was stuck for a moment. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because movement could be the end of something. But you didn’t want it to end. He first touched your neck with his lips. Where your pulse beat. Your body trembled as if you’d been electrocuted. “Are you scared?” Jonathan asked, his breath touching yours. You nodded slowly. “Yes,” you answered, your voice trembling. Jonathan’s smile widened even more.

He ran his tongue first. It left a chilling dampness on your skin. Then a bite, just like in your dreams. Not enough to hurt you, but arrogant enough to claim it. “Perfect,” he said. “Fear is the strongest emotion. And you will share it with me.” As he felt the speed of your pulse, its irregularity, the pull mixed with fear, he felt like he owned you from the inside. It was as if he had completely taken over your body, like a parasite.

While you continued to feel his tongue, his lips, he moved along your neck. He brushed his lips all the way to your jawbone. From there, he reached your cheeks. But he never fully touched you. He did not let your tongues burn with each other’s wetness. His breath was now touching the spot between your cheek and ear. His fingers started from the tip of your shoulder; He moved down to your breasts, which filled the palm of your hand, over the thin fabric. Then he slowly slid and glided. First, he traced the outline of your waist, the hollow of your spine. Your body was so tense that each touch was not an observation but part of an experiment.

He bent his head ever so slightly. When the tip of his nose touched yours, your body shook. This was not a kiss. This was the first threat of contact. When your lips finally met; this kiss was a trembling and contradictory touch, dancing on the thin line of passion and death. His cold and controlled demeanor frightened you. He had the careful manner of a doctor measuring your body temperature. He measured how your lips were reacting. He pressed lightly, pulled back. He came closer again. This was not pleasure, but the application of the first dose that would create addiction.

His fingers slid to the back of your neck. Your skin shivered. And then the kiss deepened. But you were still not directing him. He lightly ran his tongue between your lips, drawing you in. But the movement of his tongue is deliberate: each curve slowly, almost calculating. Jonathan is not kissing you… he is silencing you. He is stopping all the “Is this true?” echoing in your mind by pressing it against his lip.

His eyes weren’t closed. They were open. He wanted to watch your reactions. There was power and analysis in his eyes, not affection.

When he slid his tongue into your lips, the rough, wet surface of the papillae tickled. The deepening rhythm as your tongues intertwined, as if synchronizing your heartbeats. There was no limit, but the tempo was his.

Even when he pulled away from your lips, the kiss wasn’t over. His gaze flickered to your mouth, then to your eyes. The pressure of his hand on the back of your neck continued.

“Do you realize how easily you give in?” he whispered, his fingers landing on your collarbones. “The serum I made won’t break your resistance. It will only disrupt your lying mechanism, and that comes with fear.”

And before you could respond, he pulled you closer. Slowly, but firmly. Your body touched his chest. His arms didn’t wrap around your back. He just stopped. Crane wasn’t holding you. He was locking you up.

“The void I’ve created inside you,” he said at ear level,

“Only I can fill it. And you belong to me now… in another form.”

Your body took an involuntary breath. As if your tongue had not yet reached the thoughts that were passing through it. But his fingers were now roaming the lower edge of your abdomen, carefully but insistently pushing you toward your limits. As if he were making decisions every millimeter, measuring when the touch would turn into desire, when it would turn into surrender.

One of his hands was now pressing gently on the back of your waist. He had paused there before pulling you closer. You were on the edge. And Crane knew it.

His gaze, as it slid down from top to bottom, showed neither hunger nor complete aloofness. Like a psychological prey, he watched you for when you would give in. His lips moved, but almost whispered:

“I want to see you… not what the world sees when you hide under cotton and fear.” His fingers touched the first button on your shirt. He wanted you to do it. He wanted you to watch him, but he made it clear to you before he did. He unbuttoned the button with a single movement. When he stretched the edges of the fabric to the sides, the curved lines of her breasts were visible.

There was nothing moving in the room at that moment. Only your heart. It was beating so hard that you were sure even Jonathan Crane could hear it. Your eyes were locked on his; but his was fixed, yours was searching. Perhaps you were instinctively looking for an exit. But this was Crane’s mental labyrinth. And now you had reached the last room from which there was no exit.

With trembling hands, you took off your vest and left it on the chair. Jonathan’s gaze roamed over your body, watching your every move. “Now your shirt,” he said, his voice becoming even more authoritative.

You unbuttoned his shirt clumsily. Your fingers were shaking more than usual. You felt the coolness of his skin against your underwear. You caught your breath at first. Then your rhythm quickened. This, the symptoms, occur for two reasons. Either intense desire or… fear.

Jonathan’s eyes rested on your breasts, but his expression remained blank. “Go on,” he said, as if this was just an experiment.

You prayed that your knees wouldn’t betray you as he took off your skirt. That shiver was always running up your spine. But also in your groin.

You were left in nothing but your underwear. The texture of the lace against your skin was almost whisper-light; delicate shades of purple and gray quivered like diamonds against your skin. The bra that hugged your breasts was more than just a piece of fabric, it was an intention. A clever trap between covering and exposing. The lace patterns traced thin paths across your skin, each one as clear as a line your fingers would want to cross, yet still forbidden.

Your panties were seductive with a simplicity that words failed to describe; the almost invisible thin bands dug into the bony line of your hips, the front generous enough to cover only the most intimate secrets. It was like a sensual oath, inviting you to imagine before touching.

Jonathan’s gaze traveled down your body, taking in every detail. “Very beautiful,” he said, but his voice was devoid of praise. “But tonight, your beauty does not concern me. Only your obedience.”

But you could no longer make eye contact with him. Your breathing quickens, but you can’t get enough air into your lungs. There’s a tension in the center of your chest, like your heart is stuck and hasn’t yet convinced itself to beat. Like when you’re scared.

“Look at me,” he says. His voice is controlled and measured. But you can’t look at him. When he does, eye contact is like a slap.

“You’re resisting eye contact… classic displacement behavior under chemically induced anxiety. That means it’s working.”

The serum.

Yes, the fluid Jonathan had injected into your vein for a special “test.” He hadn’t told you about his fear symptoms.

You heard his footsteps. He was approaching. You had pressed yourself against the window sill as if you could run away, but you didn’t realize it. The room wasn’t big. And you had nowhere to run now.

Jonathan stopped right in front of you. You were still looking away.

“Look at me,” he says again. There’s no anger in his voice. But there’s something there that defies argument. Like a scientist trying to keep a subject in line when they’re running away from him. With your eyes still on the floor, he took another step.

“Oh yes, you feel it, don’t you?”

The serum’s effects increased. The hormones of fear—adrenaline, norepinephrine, cortisol—danced through your blood. His hands were shaking, his knees felt weak. But he knew it, he was watching it, and he was aroused by it.

Jonathan held your chin in his fingers as you continued to look away. Not forcibly, but with an obsessive patience. He turned your face toward his.

His lips almost touched yours again. “No. You can’t look away. Not from me.”

“Fascinating,” he said when your eyes finally met his. His thumb slid to the corner of your mouth, barely touching your skin. You wanted to run away, and at the same time, you wanted to sink to your knees.

Jonathan Crane looked at you like someone analyzing you. “You’re shaking… but you’re not trying to.”

“Do you know what that means?”

You couldn’t answer. But what was going through you was neither fear nor desire. You were on a sharp, slippery line drawn between the two.

Your chin was still in his fingers. Even if you turned your head to the side, he wouldn’t let you. The pressure he applied was light but absolute.

When you tried to escape with your eyes, his gaze would bore into yours again. Looking at you was like penetrating you. And it was exactly what he wanted you to not be able to escape.

“That’s it… breathe. Let it take you.”

Let “it” take you. What? The serum? Fear? Or… it?

Crane leaned his head down a little more. His forehead was so close to yours.

"Your pupils dilated... your skin flushed... your hands trembled. Fear reached its peak. Now let's see what happens next."

He moved a little closer to you. His breath was just above your lips. But he didn't kiss you this time.

His hand slowly moved down from your chin to your neck. He stopped there. He felt your pulse with his fingertips. Much more noticeable now.

You were still shivering. But... But that touch wasn't just fear anymore. It was warmth. A desire. A mixed, dirty pulling feeling.

When he kissed your lips again, this time he was harder. He wanted fear to cascade, to merge with lust. When he pulled his lips back and looked into your eyes, he saw your pupils dilate. His cock was getting hard with this sight. And after that kiss came another one. A little more pressing, a little more burning with desire to possess.

His fingers wrapped around your neck a little tighter in the beat.

Then he put his hands on your bare waist. He squeezed you between the wall and his body. As if to remind you that he owned you.

His voice mixed with your breaths. "You can still stop this. But you won't."

Because you couldn't stop. The serum continued to flow through your veins. But now his voice, his touch, his closeness to your skin... More effective than the serum.

The wetness he left on your lips shone in the dim light, like raw meat.

Suddenly, he grabbed your hair from behind. Not hard, but determined. His fingers got into your hair, gripping it near the nape of your neck. Your head fell back suddenly, your neck tensed, your breath hitched. His breath licked your skin as he spoke.

"You're scared like prey... and I've never seen anything so perfect," he said through his teeth.

His fingers pressed against your hair roots, steadying you.

Your skin was burning. Your heart was beating like it had lost control. His other hand found the edge of your panties. And he entered between your skin and the fabric like an invader, finding the outer lips of your vulva.

It was wet... Dr. Crane’s fingers were wet enough to make them soggy. His middle and ring fingers were wet enough to slide easily into her slit.

A slick sound filled your ear as he stroked your inner lips in a circular motion.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled wryly, “Oh, my… you’re soaked,” he said, while continuing to tease your clitoris and vaginal opening. “So tell me, what exactly are you afraid of? Of me, or of the fact that I scare you and you enjoy it?” he whispered. When he reached your clitoris and stopped there, he squeezed the bud with two fingers. Even the slightest pressure inevitably stimulated the dilated capillaries inside. Your sensitivity increased to the point that your temple twitched with each stroke.

As he continued to crush your clitoris between his fingers, you felt the pain. Your chest heaved, you sighed, your mouth slightly parted. This was more than it should have been. Pain triggers your fear, Dr. He made you see Crane as a threat—and you should have. You wanted to run away. But the pleasure in the pain was so sweet, so tempting. Lust and pain balanced each other. Your mind was giving warning signals… your body was writhing in surrender.

“Ah. You weren’t expecting this, were you?” he said, his index and ring fingers stretching your outer lips. “That your fear would make you… suffer for me,” he said, his middle finger brushing along your vulva. It stopped at the entrance to your sensitive vagina, applying pressure.

You were so out of control that your breathing quickened. Your muscles tensed, you held onto the arms of the man you feared, your fingers trembling. The man who was bringing you to orgasm locked eyes with you, both godlike and beastlike. And he stared into your eyes, impassive, emotionless, and grabbed the fabric beneath him, pulling it taut. The sound of the fabric tearing didn’t fill the room, but your ears did. His dominant movements, his dull gaze, his desire to possess reminded you of death. You wanted to escape from him. To escape without looking back and to lock yourself somewhere he couldn't find you.

The wall behind you was no longer just a physical boundary. As alive as your own skin. Cold. Hard.

But he was more honest than you. Because you still thought you could escape. His presence was as close as a sentence. As heavy as a look. And you had already accepted that you couldn't escape, but you wouldn't admit it to yourself.

Jonathan threw the torn fabric in his hand to the ground and stepped back toward his desk, as if he expected you to follow him. Your inner thighs were wet as you took a step. Your arousal was flowing through your legs in a colorless, slippery liquid. It was the arousal of fear, the orgasm of death.

You stood in front of him. “Now,” he said, “you will bend over for me.” He raised one hand and pointed to the table. The files were scattered on top of it.

Your fingertips were trembling slightly. Your breath was now uncontrollably ragged. Your body wanted to get closer to a man you saw as a devil.

The moment you realized this, the inner scream began.

Your mind was screaming, “No.”

But your skin… that fire that stretched from your spine to your womanhood, knew that you were nothing but Crane’s shadow.

You turned back to the desk, your hands fixed on a place where there were no papers, your head bowed. He was right behind you, and that feeling was more dangerous than making eye contact with him. Because he was watching you. And him continuing to watch without doing anything, not taking you even though he had untied you… would leave you even more naked. Because then you would not only carry the desire, but also the shame of rejection.

When Jonathan’s hand touched your hair, your muscles clenched. His fingers tightened around the strands. He leaned your head back against his shoulder, his lips tingling your ears. “You flinch when I touch you… but your body calls me back like a prayer,” he said, his voice threatening. “Isn’t it beautiful? Your terror is what makes you… irresistibly wet.”

Jonathan’s face cracked into a smile, but it was dark. “You don’t belong in the outside world anymore,” he said, unclasping your bra. “You belong here. In this room. "Under my control," he continued. After your bra was removed, you were now as naked as your soul. Your warm body tensed when his cold hands cupped your breasts from behind. Your areolas were hard, your nipples were erect, and you felt the coldness of his fingers very sensitively. But that wasn't all you felt. His cock pressing against your hips was straining the fabric, twitching to fill your tight vagina.

He cupped your left breast and squeezed it hard. He crushed your right nipple between his fingers, just like he had done to your clitoris a moment ago. He leaned down to your ear and rubbed his tongue around it. All the way around, as if he were setting a boundary around your ear.

You, on the other hand, frowned in fear and began to moan with desire. The husky sound coming from your throat was lustful and shy at the same time.

"You're ashamed of how much you want this, aren't you, Y/N?" Jonathan said, sliding his hand from your left breast down to your belly. "But this shame... making you tighter. Wetter. Needier." His fingers were making a figure 8 at his groin now. "Don't hide it. Let it devour you. I want to see everything about you."

All of this, while the serum in your veins was still stimulating your amygdala, was getting darker and scarier. "No." came out of your lips. "No" had many meanings for you. But most of all, it was because you couldn't accept that the doctor you thought was more terrifying than your nightmares wanted to fuck you. Yet, he had been in your dreams ever since you saw him. Ever since you saw him, you wanted him to fill you with his sperm on the gurney in his lab. But the serum made everything complicated.

Jonathan pressed his hand on your back. His fingertips were strong enough to leave white marks on your skin. You bowed in lustful fear. First a little, then a little more... But it wasn't enough for Dr. Crane. He wanted you to press your face against the table.

You turned your head to the right. When your left cheek touched the file, the first thing you noticed was the cold. It was as if all the light in the room had been drained from the walls; only his silhouette remained. Your eyes were on the metal cabinet, but your mind was on him.

Your breaths were short, broken. You wanted to slowly push yourself up, but… When the warmth of his hand pressed against the center of your back, something inside you unraveled.

You were in the exact position he wanted. "I've been dreaming of this exact position since you were leaning over my bookshelf last semester," he said, his hand still on your back, applying pressure. It restricted your movement, shouting that the will was in his hands. "I almost touched you then. But I waited. Because now... now you'll remember this for the rest of your life."

And his free hand went to his tie.

You didn't see him. But you heard his movements. The slight rustle of the fabric of his tie. Time suddenly slowed down. As if every second was diminishing one more defense inside you. And you were no longer sure what was more troubling: his hand holding you or the fact that he hadn't done anything yet.

His removal of the tie was slow and precise. As if he'd done it a hundred times. But this time, not to loosen your shirt, but to steady you. His eyes never left yours as his fingers released the fabric that had come loose from his collar with a single tug. He took his time. Because he knew that fear thrived best in waiting.

And you... were motionless.

Your lungs were rising and falling rapidly in a narrow space.

Your hands were shaking, but your body couldn't move. Your head was crowded: "He chose you long ago. You always knew that."

The tie was now in Jonathan’s hands, and even before it touched your skin, you felt him tie you up. Your body froze, but your thoughts were screaming, “He won’t do it now. He’s just scaring you. It’s just a game…”

“Put your hands behind your back,” he said. His voice was low but unarguable. Just that sentence sent an icy shiver down your spine. You didn’t move. But he didn’t wait. He gently but firmly guided your wrists back. His fingertips were cold; like a doctor’s gloved hands.

He noticed you were trembling. But he didn’t say anything. As the fabric of the tie wrapped around your wrists, your heart began to race like a false alarm. But no one would wake up from that alarm. Because you were the only one in the room. And he was listening to your fear.

When the fabric was knotted, your hands were now tied behind your back. Your shoulders were tense. And he studied you like a painting. His gaze was not cold, but dark. Not satiated, still hungry.

The sound of the belt reached your ears. You knew it was your turn, but your heart was pounding with fear, and the colorless liquid flowing down your legs was thickening.

The hard, heavy click of his metal buckle echoed in the silence of the room, brief but firm. Every moment you didn’t see, your ears grew stronger with your imagination.

Then, that dry scraping sound of skin being pulled across fabric… As the buckle was released, the belt flexed like a spring at the end, then relaxed and dropped.

The sound of the zipper was more delicate. It cut through the air like a thin, continuous scratch.

The weight of his pants yielded on its own as the waistband came undone. The thick fabric made a gentle scrape as it slid down his legs; a brief stiffness at the knees, and then a muffled, rolling sound as his weight dropped to the floor.

He wore only a pair of skinny, smoky-gray boxers underneath. The fabric was neither new nor worn; it was simply “used.” He grabbed the faded seams and pulled them down. His hardened penis arched slightly as it was released from the elastic at the waist.

Jonathan was straining at the entrance to her vagina. He first took hold of his penis with his hand and flicked it toward her clitoris. A warning shot through your spine, clenching your fists. But the fabric around your wrists was straining and hurting. You sighed through your teeth.

Then he stroked your vulva a few times. He reached down from your clitoris to the entrance of your vagina, and pushed a few inches inside, but never in. It was driving you crazy. “Oh, please, Dr. Crane!” you moaned. “Please,” he begged. Like prey begging the hunter.

Jonathan was even more aroused by your words. “Should we put that in your internship report?” he asked, almost rasping. “‘Subject: Dr. Crane applied full pressure; subject responded with incoherent moans and demanded more.’” Dr. Crane could no longer catch his breath. “Let’s call it… behavioral data.”

You were aroused by these words. Both terrified and lustful. Triggered by the corrupt desire he had for you. His pursuit of you, his insatiable obsession with you, was enticing. “You scare me, Doctor…” you moaned. You paused but never stopped. “…but I don’t know why I still desire you so much.” The words came out in gasps, “I want you to fuck me, in all your sick fantasies.”

Jonathan wheezed breathlessly, “Do you really need someone to dominate you, Y/N? And someone to bring you to your knees with nothing but their eyes.”

You groaned breathlessly, “No… not someone.

Just you and your twisted mind.” You looked so eager. So needy.

When Jonathan pushed his cock into your vagina, it enveloped you completely. It wasn’t very long, but it was thick. Too thick for you. Too tight for him. He threw his head back in pleasure as the rough, warm walls of his vagina wrapped around Jonathan’s manhood. “Oh, Y/N, every breath belongs to me. Every tremor you make is my victory.”

His cock was surrounded by the knots of your warm vaginal walls. This rough structure allowed him to feel you deeper. Jonathan was losing himself in the pleasure you were giving him, moaning. Every time he pushed his big cock inside you, his swollen balls slapped your ass, stimulating both your ‘g’ spot and your clitoris, making you almost cry. And you couldn’t react at all. He had you completely trapped in his body.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jonathan asked as he fucked you like an animal. “Tell me you want me, Y/N, tell me you want to be trapped in my darkness.”

You were out of breath. With the intensity of the terrifying pleasure you were experiencing, the whites of your eyes were exposed, and your moans were getting louder and echoing in Jonathan's ears. "Oh, Dr. Crane, this is beyond my dreams."

Your flesh was slapping against each other with each impact as he rooted into your tight hole. And he continued to thrust rhythmically. "It's wonderful to feel you from the inside." he said.

You were both about to reach the peaks of pleasure. Your tight vagina felt Crane's hardness and veined surface down to the smallest cell. His penis was wrapped around your knotted walls, twitching.

You were now at the height of your orgasm. Even though his penis filled your vagina completely, the juices of pleasure continued to leak from the exit of your vagina. You were so wet that a slurry sound echoed with each thrust.

Jonathan leaned over you and put his lips to your ear. Now you could taste his moans, his short breath, the warmth of his breath just behind your ear. He bit your earlobe. It was painful, but the tip of his tongue was taking the pain to a stimulating level. "My poor obsession, just be patient a little longer. It's almost here."

The table was shaking. The creaking echoed off the walls of the room as the table legs rubbed against the floor. The muscles in his hips were now clenched, and he was about to spill his sperm onto your womanhood. But he held himself back to witness the moment his sperm slid across your skin, and he pulled out of you suddenly and came breathlessly onto your hips. As his sperm spread over your warm skin, you came right after. Your juices of pleasure had soaked the office floor, and the rest had seeped down your legs and dripped down to your ankles.

The effects of the serum had completely worn off, and you were left alone with only your interest and desire for Jonathan Crane. Your ears were buzzing, your eyes were blurry with pleasure. You were on cloud nine, realizing you had never had an orgasm before. You had never had real sex. And what you wanted was exactly what Jonathan Crane wanted.

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acquired-stardust · 11 months ago

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Game Spotlight #15: Policenauts (1996)

Ash finds herself firmly back in the Kojimaverse as she talks about the 1996 Sega Saturn version of Policenauts for Acquired-Stardust's first spotlight of our second year. Disappointing followup or misunderstood masterpiece? And just what is a "sexy adventure" anyway? Come read along as we answer all these questions and more!

Oh, Hideo Kojima. When last we covered his work in written form on the blog it was almost a year ago in the form of a spotlight on 1994's Sega CD port of Snatcher (which you can read by clicking here). If it wasn't already abundantly clear let me state the obvious: I'm a huge fan of the man and his work. I think he's one of gaming's top creative geniuses alongside the likes of Yasumi Matsuno, Fumito Ueda and Yoko Taro. But you could be forgiven for not sharing that feeling when looking at Policenauts on a surface level or by taking common talking points about it at face value.

Policenauts is something of a black sheep in the Kojima portfolio that is often maligned by people for being 'Snatcher but worse'. It has a similar fish out of water setup taking place in a near-future science fiction world. Its lead character, the womanizing Jonathan Ingram, has a similar relationship with a former lover to Snatcher's Gillian Seed and even looks a bit like him, a point that is alluded to in the game itself as part of a meta cameo (one of several callbacks and references to Snatcher). The sexuality and its use for attempts at comedy can be obnoxious and over the top. Some of the themes of Policenauts are also retreads of themes Snatcher deals with, which can certainly dip into feeling like they were less effective this time around. What's more, the game is far more linear and on-rails than Snatcher, presenting far fewer opportunities to tinker with it and discover much in the way of hidden easter eggs or cleverly placed extras. Some of its later developments feel a little bit like 'a hat on a hat' and not entirely necessary. Its featured romance is very forced and odd (though ultimately executed extremely well). These things are all true.

Be that as it may, make no mistake about it: Policenauts is a fantastic experience that is, like its lead character, a fascinating time capsule from a long gone era. Following a similar blueprint to Snatcher's usage of various sci-fi media (most notably Blade Runner), Policenauts is heavily patterned after the Lethal Weapon franchise, and uses the familiarity one may have with its buddy cop formula to get its foot in the door before subverting your expectations as it deviates into its own original work rather quickly.

Opening after an accident in combination policeman-astronaut (the titular Policenauts) Jonathan Ingram's testing of a high tech mech suit during a spacewalk outside of the space colony Beyond Coast that sends him adrift in space for 25 years while cryogenically frozen, Jonathan picks up where he left off by becoming a private investigator of meager success in Earth's Old LA. Finding himself a stranger in a world he is 25 years removed from and stricken with severe cosmophobia from his ordeal. Jonathan's former wife has moved on and remarried. His four fellow policenauts have settled into comfortable lives on space colony Beyond Coast as something of heroes and celebrities. Forced to overcome his cosmophobia when a very personal case sends him once more to Beyond Coast, Jonathan reunites with his best friend and former fellow policenaut Ed Brown (himself still a cop on the aforementioned space colony) to unravel a conspiracy.

It's often said that Jonathan is a very unlikable character, but I find the opposite to be true. There is a solemness, sadness and resilience to him that comes across very well, being inherently at odds with a time that did not stop and life that moved on without him. Much is also made, as previously noted, of his womanizing, and I'd like to address that talking point by first pointing out that much like Snatcher, the vast majority (in fact all but one or two instances) of the sexuality of the game is entirely optional and serves as a bit of meta humor. Jonathan's inability to control himself is a direct result of his literal inability to control himself as he is at the complete mercy of the player, who can decide to pester multiple female characters to with zero benefit. Just as well, Policenauts lands firmly in the genre of something I like to call 'Sexy Adventure', a term borrowed from a song featured in the iconic Lupin III franchise that contains works you might be familiar with such as Space Dandy, City Hunter, Dirty Pair and indeed Lupin III.

Several tropes of the genre include a strong sense of Japanese sensuality and horniness, action sequences involving guns and cars, romance, large scale conspiracies and characters who are masters of their particular fields to an absurd degree. Jonathan's womanizing, something almost exclusively indulged in as optional behavior by the player, is certainly less than Arsene Lupin III for example, but coming to terms with the horniness of this micro-genre is imperative if you hope to enjoy anything it has to offer. Just as well, Policenauts' original release platform before being ported to the Sega Saturn was the PC98 which (along with the earlier PC88) was known for a frankly overwhelming amount of pornographic hentai games. To a large extent this was very much the norm for games on the platform and the time, and while nothing in Policenauts borders on pornographic, the sexuality of it is to be expected.

Policenauts doubles down on a distinguishing feature of Snatcher in its thorough worldbuilding, and is perhaps the key area that the game shines in most especially when compared to Snatcher. Containing an in-game encyclopedia that is always accessible at the touch of a button, it is dauntingly dense and features countless clickable entries detailing many aspects of life, culture and science in the Policenauts universe, often dipping into heavy doses of hard science with surprisingly detailed explanations behind even mundane parts of everyday life on Beyond Coast, such as biodegradable plastics, a problem which Kojima envisioned solved by 2040. I was a bit taken aback by given the foresight of the plastics issue given our own real-world news cycles being dominated by topics like microplastics in recent years.

The level of real science involved in the encyclopedia is rewarding for those of us who like to devour every bit of information we can get our hands on and can pick out the real from the fictional and it helps make Beyond Coast feel all the more real. The sci-fi Japanifornia that is Beyond Coast is almost a character unto itself to an even further extent than Snatcher's setting of Neo Kobe and remains in my book one of the most fleshed out and believable settings in all of gaming. Furthermore the knowledge Hideo Kojima has in a time before the level of availability and access to information we have in the current internet age is hugely impressive.

Overwhelming density is a recurring aspect of the game which may make or break your enjoyment of it. For a game that is less interactive than Snatcher it is somehow more dense, intimidatingly so if you are willing to indulge in its encyclopedia and really study the universe that Kojima created. The player is also able to examine a shocking number of elements of backgrounds and get multiple optional lines of dialogue about them, although as previously noted Policenauts offers much less in the way of diversion and distraction, and is significantly more linear.

Some of the core themes and strengths of Policenauts are similar to Snatcher, and while not all of them are as well executed this time around, a number of them exceed Snatcher. The importance of family, as well as different utilizations of it, is highlighted through the game. For Jonathan it is a trauma. A source of obligation and a constant reminder of not belonging in the world. Fellow former policenauts Ed Brown and Joseph Sadaoki Tokugawa are also used to explore these themes, with Ed's family keeping him grounded after personal and professional tragedy leaves him similarly traumatized and Tokugawa's lineage is a guiding beacon, instilling in him an ambition that sees his rise to the head of the Tokugawa Corporation, which has become large enough in the 25 years Jonathan spent in cryo sleep that it's said to quite literally own outer space. Ed's scenes with his family are perhaps the emotional core of the game and are shockingly well done for a game that features slapping a woman's breasts in an attempt to swat a mosquito.

Further themes explored are the way that the past becomes the future, and how easily it is manipulated by bad actors with agendas when few people who lived through it are around to contradict those agendas and narratives. Policenauts also plays into real history in its utilization of time as a story theme with its character names, often referencing real Sengoku-era Japanese family clans.

It is a fascinating predictor for some of the subjects explored through some of Kojima's later works. The toll that time takes on individuals is is also a constant fixture of the story. Pioneering heroes become broken down and traumatized. Corruption will slowly trickle in if you allow it to in ways that a past self would've stood against. One's life can always change in the future for both better and worse in ways that the present self could never have foreseen.

Jonathan contrasts Snatcher's Gillian Seed masterfully in this particular regard as a man who is a literal manifestation of the past, confronting his former comrades and the state of the world head-on as a reminder of the bright ideals that guided mankind to space to begin with. Also of particular note, without delving too much into spoiler territory, is the remarkable way that Jonathan trusts the corrupting factor of time to help Ed's son Marc given all the damage Jon has seen it do to those around him as well as the world itself.

Although there is a genuine tension to the game as well as a real feeling of both being and interacting with important in-universe figures, the conclusion of the game is a bit lackluster and sudden. Policenauts' plot is largely intentionally predictable, only containing a few twists you might not expect. The game's romance, previously noted as being a bit inexplicable, is ultimately resolved very satisfyingly and in a way that reinforces some prominent themes of the game.

Just as well the game takes criticism of Snatcher (and adventure games as well as visual novels as a whole) a little unevenly. It is far more linear than Snatcher, but features significantly more combat sections that see the player shoot an ungodly number of bullets and drop a frankly impossibly comedic amount of enemies by the end of the game. They are unnecessary and detract from the experience a bit, but understandable over-correctons to criticism of the traditional Japanese adventure game genre as well as Snatcher in particular.

As an aside, Policenauts features one of the most clever inclusions of a sound test mode that allows you to listen to various tracks from the game including its haunting opening theme "End of the Dark" as well as the fantastic "One Night in Neo Kobe" that was featured in the opening of Snatcher.

Policenauts is an uneven experience that in some ways reflects common trappings of its time while also looking forward to humanity's future. It asks some very pertinent questions about humanity's ability to conquer big issues if we are so unable to conquer the worst aspects of ourselves. Its usage of time and the trauma it can inflict on even the best of us can be rather sobering to see, and Jonathan's hope for Ed's son in the face of that is rather inspiring.

In some ways it reacts too strongly to criticism of adventure games as whole as well as Snatcher in particular by creating a lighter, more predictable and linear experience with more lightgun gameplay segments that detract from the overall package. Its sexuality and hamfisted comedy that comes part and parcel with the sexy adventure micro-genre can be a pain point, and it can be off putting in its density if you allow it to be. In some ways it is inferior to Snatcher, which makes an incredible case for the necessity of actually playing a good adventure game rather than just watching it that Policenauts sadly does not live up to.

But despite it all Policenauts is every bit as clever as Snatcher and in some ways it is just as strong, if not even stronger, a predictor of Hideo Kojima's future runaway success with Metal Gear Solid. Its highs may often not reach the peaks that Snatcher does, but even its valleys remain far higher than most games you could spend your time on and it remains a constant influence on some of the most popular indie game standouts like VA-11 Hall-A, 2064: Read Only Memories and Mullet Mad Jack.

If you have an interest in the works of Hideo Kojima, traditional Japanese style adventure games or the sexy adventure micro-genre, a vacation to Beyond Coast might be just the thing for you.

A gem hidden among the stones, Policenauts is undoubtedly stardust.

-- Ash

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welldonekhushi · 8 months ago

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Facts about Anastasia

Website used to create Anastasia's picture!

Anastasia Graham is my VAMPYR OC and I'm interested to share with you a few facts about her to understand her character more!

Anastasia's Theme:

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Anastasia has been known to be an important presence for Pembroke Hospital, not because of her skills and management to have things sorted within no time, but acts as a "support" for the patients as her kindness and compassion for the sick and weary gives them a ray of hope, even in the most hopeless and darkest times of the era: The Spanish Flu Epidemic.

On the other hand, Anna too was suffering from exhaustion and feelings of overwhelm because she was witnessing the filling of patients along with seeing them die in front of her eyes. She broke down a couple of times in silence, or in private because she couldn't show her condition to her mentor, Dorothy Crane in the fear of getting scolded again.

Being a nurse, she's also the assistant for Jonathan Reid, a famous surgeon and physician who recently joined the Pembroke after "The Great War", brought in by Dr. Edgar Swansea as she guides the man throughout the premises and leads him to his new office. Surprisingly enough, Anastasia has heard about the doctor before, and always praised him for his commendable work and service for the army.

Anastasia also specializes in treatments for fatigue, pain, and similar ailments, often crafting her own medicines in a private room within the hospital. This personal workspace allows her to prepare remedies tailored to the specific needs of her patients.

The knife in her hand, as seen in the picture, was a gift from her father, a former Guard of Priwen hunter. Its silver-coated blade is a potent weapon against vampires, exploiting one of their greatest weaknesses. Anastasia always keeps this knife close at hand, ready to defend herself if she senses any danger.

Pippa Hawkins is a distant relative of Anastasia’s family, connected as a cousin. Despite the familial distance, Anastasia and Pippa share a close bond, more like sisters than cousins.

In Anastasia's story, she forms a deep bond with Dr. Jonathan Reid. Initially, they work side by side as colleagues, but before long, a profound connection grows between them. Jonathan, however, hides his true nature from her, fearing that she would end their relationship if she discovered what he truly is. Yet, despite this inner struggle, he would do anything to protect his beloved Anastasia—no matter the cost.

Here's a little art I've done on the two! Hope you like it! <3

#vampyr #vampyr game #vampyr 2018 #vampyr fanart #oc #original character #my oc #vampyr oc #anastasia graham #dr jonathan reid #jonathan reid #oc biography #oc lore #oc fun facts #Youtube

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disneytva · 2 years ago

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Moon Girl And Devil Dinosaur Serves Season 2 Premiere Date And Teaser Trailer.

Ever since ending on one intense cliffhanger this past May, fans of Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur have been wondering when they'll get the chance to see more of Lunella Lafayette and Devil Lafayette.

Super Nova beacuse Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur will premiere on Disney Channel and Disney XD on February 2, 2024 at 8:00PM EST, before hitting Disney+ the next day.

Season 2 guest stars will include David Tennant ("DuckTales" franchise), Cynthia Erivo ("RoboGobo", Universal Pictures Wicked), Andy Garcia (Elena Of Avalor), Edward James Olmos (Blade Runner 2049), Robin Thede (20th Television Animation "Central Park"), Jonathan Banks (Pixar Animation Studios "The Incredibles 2"), SungWon Cho (Iron Circus Animation "Lackadaisy"), Giancarlo Esposito (LucasFilm "Star Wars: The Mandalorian"), Arsenio Hall (Warner Bros "Black Dynamite"), Ann Harada ("In To The Woods"), Jackée Harry ("Sister, Sister"), Manny Jacinto ("Hailey's On It"), Carol Kane ("Dog Day Afternoon"), Xolo Maridueña (DC Studios "Blue Beetle", "Primos"), Alex Newell ("Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist"), Parker Posey ("Mr. & Mrs. Smith"), Ephraim Sykes ("Hamilton"), and Peter Weller (DC Legacy "Batman: The Dark Knight Returns")

Aadditionaly a special Moon Girl And Devil Dinosaur - Theme Song Takeover starring Devil Lafayette will drop on January, 2024.

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#Moon Girl And Devil Dinosaur #Moon Girl & Devil Dinosaur #MGADD #Marvel #Laurence Fishburne #Helen Sugland #Steve Loter #Jeffrey M. Howard #Kate Kondell #Jack Kirby #Brandon Montclare #Natacha Bustos #Amy Reeder #Disney Channel #Youtube

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stiles-o-dylan24 · 2 years ago

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King of My Heart Chapter 24 - The Battle of Starcourt

Author: @stiles-o-dylan24 Pairing: Steve x Summer Byers Word Count: 10.5k Warnings: canon violence and themes, language, mentions of wounds, blood, descriptions of mind flayer melting people into a monster, mentions of death, bodies, character deaths, fluff A/N: you can blame me or labor day for this being so late, either choice would be acceptable, I love you all SERIES SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

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I kneel next to El and grab her hand while she continues to scream in agony with the pain in her leg.

We can hear a noise coming from her leg and we look over, Erica leaning closer and asking “What is that?”

“There’s definitely something in there” I repeat and we can see something under her skin moving around right below where the initial wound on her shin is.

“Jesus Christ” Dustin says and I scrunch my face up, trying not to gag with how it sounds and looks. I focus on El and I grab her hand more, setting my free hand on her shoulder.

In between El’s continued wails of agony, Jonathan has an idea and he looks at us, ordering “Keep her talking– keep her awake, okay?” before he gets up and runs away from us.

He runs past Scoops and runs across the middle area of the food court, heading to the teriyaki place and hopping over the counter.

“Jesus christ” Dustin mutters again and El grunts, closing her eyes and flinching her head to the side.

“Hey, hey, hey– stay awake, stay awake,“ Mike tells her, looking up at Dustin and I on her other side “Let’s get her on this side, on this side.”

We go to move her while Mike slides to sit behind her, guiding her so she’s laying back on his chest.

“Easy, easy, easy” Steve quickly says, setting his hand on my back as he reaches for her legs and helps us move her.

Steve kneels beside me while Robin starts stammering “It's, uh… you know, it's not actually that bad,” everyone looks over at her and she nods, her eyes not looking away from El’s leg “There was a… the goalie on my soccer team, Beth Wildfire, this other girl slid into her leg, and like the whole bone came out of her knee, six inches or something, it was insane–”

“Robin” Steve says, looking up at her and she finally looks over at us saying “Yeah?” and Steve states simply “You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry” Robin breathes out genuinely, looking back at El at the same time Jonathan runs back over and slides to a stop at El’s feet.

“Okay– all right, El?” Jonathan says and El looks at him, all of us doing the same and Jonathan nods “This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?”

“Okay” she sobs and I grip onto her hand more, saying “We got you, just squeeze the crap out of my hand okay?”

She looks up at me, just nodding her head as she cries more and my heart is breaking for her that she has to go through this.

“Okay I need you to stay real still” Jonathan instructs, putting on a pair of plastic food service gloves and holding out a wooden spoon to her “And here, you’re gonna want to bite down on this, okay?”

“Jesus christ” Dustin mutters once more while Mike takes the wooden spoon Jonathan is offering and holds it over for El to bite down on.

Dustin takes her other hand, saying “Holy shit, holy shit” over and over again while Jonathan lifts up the knife and brings it near her leg. He hesitates, looking up at all of us and Mike says “Do it”

“Okay” Jonathan says, taking a moment before he sets the end of the blade against the top area of the wound on her shin. He presses it down and slices the wound open causing El to immediately start screaming even louder. She pushes back into Mike and squeezes my hand even harder while the wound starts oozing blood and something else I’m going to forget I saw from the cut. I try not to look or gag at the noises I’m hearing and Dustin leans further away “Oh, shit.”

Jonathan drops the knife, the blade clattering on the tile floor while El screams and sobs behind the wooden spoon in her teeth. He takes a few seconds before he’s pushing his fingers in through the area he just cut open, causing El to screech in pain even louder.

None of us are able to hold back our reactions and we all gasp or groan in disgust at what we’re seeing happening. El whimpers through a deep guttural scream, her hold on my hand increasing to where I think she could break my hand, however, I ignore it and just set my other hand on hers to let her know we’ve still got her.

“Jonathan!” Nancy yells over El’s screams and he shouts back “Stop talking!” before he slides his fingers to the side of the wound in El’s leg and she screams even louder.

“Goddamn it!” Jonathan yells and moves to keep trying to find this creature that’s inside her leg, however, El stops him when she shouts “No! Stop it!” She spits out the wooden spoon from her mouth and continues to yell “Stop! Stop!” while Nancy reaches over and hits Jonathan’s shoulder also saying “Stop.”

All that can be heard is all of our collective panting breaths from watching everything happening and El's whimpers as she pushes up from her lean against Mike and croaks heartbreakingly “I can do it– I can do it”

El lets go of mine and Dustin's hands while Mike helps her into a sitting up position with her legs out in front of her. She holds one of her hands above her shin, screaming out in pain when this creature doesn't immediately fly out of her leg. Instead we watch as it seems like the creature that's in her leg is just shaking around even more while it stays latched onto her.

I scrunch my face up in solidarity pain as I watch El continue to scream out while she's trying to force this creature out of her leg, however, all we can see is it moving and shaking under her skin even more while she wails in pain.

With one more echoing scream from El this thing finally breaks the surface of her leg but it's still attached to her. El’s scream increases and her powers raise to an intensity that the front windows of the store we are gathered in front of shatters apart. We all scream and flinch away, Steve covering me as the shattered pieces of the glass fall down around us.

El’s screaming continues and the creature shrieks as El is finally able to lift it out of her skin. She holds it in the air in front of her screaming even more before she pulls her arm back and launches this creature in the air away from us.

It flops onto the tile floor a few times with a sickening noise and starts to crawl away, however, it doesn’t get far as the next thing we see is a boot covered foot stomp down onto it.

El is panting from the effort that just took from her and we look up, seeing Hop, mom and Murray Bauman standing before us looking worriedly between us all.

Hop's face twists in worry when he takes in El and he doesn't waste a second before he walks quickly over towards us. He bends down to help El stand up and carries her over towards the center area with the benches and a water fountain, sitting with her on the square bench that has tree foliage in the center of it.

Mom sits down on the bench with them and puts El’s legs in her lap while she wraps her leg with bandages we got from a first aid kit at one of the restaurant's back counters along with a soda for El to drink.

I stand off to the side of them with Max and Steve standing on either side of me while Robin, Will, Lucas and Erica sit down on the side of the fountain facing us and Dustin, Jonathan, Nancy, and Mike stand beside them so we’re in a somewhat circle.

They all start to tell us about what they’ve been dealing with while we have been underground, starting with Will who explains “The other night at the movie I felt the same feeling on the back of my neck that I felt last year whenever the mind flayer was close and it wasn't until it happened another two times before I told these guys about it. We figured out that even though El closed the gate the part of the mind flayer that was attached to me must have been locked out here with us when the gate was closed.”

“We then figured it must have found a new host which led us to Billy who was acting weird and worked at the pool where Heather had been missing” Max states and I look over at her “Heather Holloway?” I ask and they all nod at me. I cross my arms over my chest and Steve looks at me in his silent question and all I’m able to say is “We went through the lifeguard training together.”

“I’m really glad you quit working at the pool when you did, Summie” Will mutters quietly towards me and Steve steps closer, setting his hand on my back while they continue. Max looks over and explains further “Billy was completely covered while he was sitting in the lifeguard chair like he was trying to stay out of the sun and since we know that the Mind Flayer hates heat we tested Billy in the sauna at the pool."

Mike nods and adds on "We cracked the heat up on that thing when we locked him in the sauna and how he reacted to the heat we saw he was definitely flayed–”

Mom makes a noise and looks around at them all for an explanation “Flayed?”

“That’s what the Mind Flayer does, he flays people– takes over their minds and once they do that, they basically become him” Lucas explains and lifts his hands up “Billy’s veins got all black and he broke out of the sauna, El fought him and he took off.”

“And at the same time I was at the hospital with Mrs. Dricoll who out of no where was reacting the exact same way as Will was last year when we were at the cabin– yelling almost like a roar and she had black veins all over her skin.”

“Mrs. Dricoll?” Hop asks and Nancy reaches up to scratch the side of her head “She's this older woman who called the paper and wanted us to investigate these rabid rats that ate her fertilizer and when we went to her house we found the rat she had captured and it was definitely acting weird. I called around and other farms reported the same thing about rats or something eating their fertilizer or just other chemicals they had. After the paper wasn’t going to take our story seriously without proof we went back to her house to get the rat, however, it was gone and we instead found her eating fertilizer which is how she went to the hospital.”

Nancy points over to the group and continues “Their sauna test happened at the exact same time Mrs. Driscoll was acting like Will last year. So once we figured out she was flayed along with Billy we had to assume there were more people probably flayed–"

"Which is how Heather was brought up–" Max interjects, nodding her head over towards El and explaining "We were just messing around and trying to spy on Billy the other night, but when she went into that void area to find him she saw him leaning over Heather and whispering something to her– and she was scared. Billy felt El in there with him and he made sure she couldn't see where they were. We spent the next day trying to find Heather which we finally did– she was at home having dinner with her parents and Billy."

"Her dad is Tom, who was our boss at the paper," Nancy continues "And the next morning after their dinner he was acting weird when he fired us after we had gone back to Mrs. Driscoll’s house, almost like he was on drugs.”

Jonathan nods his head with her words, lifting his shoulders up as he explains further “We went to the Holloway’s house and they were all gone but we did find their kitchen torn apart and a bunch of cleaning chemicals were spilled open like they had been eating them.”

“What does chemicals and fertilizer have to do with the Mind Flayer? I mean Will didn’t eat chemicals last year” Steve mutters and Nancy shakes her head saying “No, we’re getting to that” before she looks around at all of us “We couldn’t figure out where the Halloways were but the scene around the house and in the garage suggested they were taken somewhere. I remembered that Mrs. Driscoll kept repeating 'she had to go back' so we thought the flaying was happening somewhere else– somewhere that Billy didn’t want El to see in the void when she had found him in there talking to a scared Heather.”

“Next plan was to go back to the hospital and follow Driscoll to where she wanted to go back to so badly” Will explains and Jonathan scratches behind his head, elaborating further “When we got to the hospital Mrs. Dricoll was already gone but Tom and Bruce were there– flayed, with the black veins all over them and after Nancy and I fought them off their bodies kind of dissolved–”

“I’m sorry, dissolved?” I repeat and Jonathan nods, unfortunately continuing “Dissolved into this fleshy mound of bones and their insides and they oozed across the floor towards each other until they formed this large fleshy monster looking thing.”

“Um, when you say fleshy monster…” I trail off and Nancy makes a face, saying “It was every part of their bodies, even the bones which were also used as teeth. It was disgusting.”

“How could their bodies do that?” Steve asks and I make a noise looking at him and quickly over at the group, stating “The chemicals– if they were ingesting the chemicals they were essentially obliterating their insides and then they'd–” I stop so I don’t throw up and Mike nods at me “Yeah exactly and the amount of people who were flayed had to be dozens because they all melted their bodies the same way Tom and Bruce did at the hospital and it’s now one big monster. The Mind Flayer– it built this monster in Hawkins, to stop El, to kill her and pave a way into our world–”

“And it almost did,” Max says, looking around as she continues and indicates over to where we just were “That was just one tiny piece of it.”

“How big is this thing?” Hop asks and Jonathan nods “It’s big– thirty feet, at least.”

“Yeah” Lucas chimes in, looking over at Hop as he fills in “It sorta destroyed your cabin… sorry” he whispers the last word and Hop shakes his head.

Steve makes a noise and says “Okay, so, just to be clear, this… this big fleshy spider thing that hurt El, it's some kind of gigantic... weapon?”

“Yes” Nancy answers quickly and Steve continues “But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon… with melted people.”

“Yes, exactly” Nancy shakes her head like it couldn’t have been described better and Steve nods “Yeah, okay. I... yeah, I'm just making sure.”

“Are we sure this thing is still out there, still alive?” Mom asks and Max nods, explaining “El beat the shit out of it, but, yeah, it's still alive.”

“But if we close the gate again…” Will trails off and Max looks over at him, continuing “We cut the brain off from the body–”

“And kill it–” Lucas states familiarly, adding on “Theoretically.”

“Yoo-hoo!” a shouting voice sounds up behind us and I jump before I turn around with everyone else, all of us seeing Murray walking towards us. He’s got papers in each of his hands and he’s rustling them around while he waves his arms about “Yoo-hoo!”

Murray quickly walks over, continuing to wave his arms around until he leads us over to the table and chairs seating area of the food court. Once we’ve gathered over at the tables mom and Hop walk over to the table where Murray is standing and he slaps down the papers in his hands onto the table. He starts pointing around on the papers while he says “Okay, this is what Alexei called ‘the hub’. Now, the hub takes us to the vault room”

“Okay, where's the gate?” Hop asks and Murray points to a certain area on the paper, answering “Right here. I don't know the scale on this, but I think it's fairly close to the vault room, maybe fifty feet or so.”

“More like five hundred” Erica states and walks closer towards him, jabbing “What, you're just gonna waltz in there like it's commie Disneyland or something?”

“I'm sorry, who are you?” Murray asks and she throws him a sarcastic look, throwing back at him “Erica Sinclair. Who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman” Murray answers and Erica lifts her hand up as well as her brows “Listen, Mr. Bunman, I'm not trying to tell you how to do things, but I've been down in that shithole for twenty four hours,” she switches to look around at mom and Hop as she finishes with “And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you're all gonna die.”

Murray stands up from his lean on the table and says “I'm sorry, why is this four year old speaking to me?”

“Um, I'm ten, you bald bastard!” she shouts back at him, causing Lucas to shout “Erica!” and she answers with “Just the facts!”

“She’s right” Dustin chimes in, elaborating “You’re all gonna die, but you don’t have to” he walks up to the table and directs his words to Murray while reaching for the paper on the table “Excuse me– sorry, may I?”

“Please” Murray smiles brightly through his frustration and Dustin sits down at the table, sliding the paper towards him and grabs a pencil from his front vest pocket “Okay, see this room here?” he draws a circle around the room “This is a storage facility. There's a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system. That will lead you to the base of the weapon. It's a bit of a maze down there, but between me and Erica, we can show you the way.”

“You can show us the way?” Hop says slowly and Dustin lifts his hand up, reassuring “Don't worry, you can do all the fighting and the dangerous hero shit, and we'll just be your… navigators.”

“No” Hop says simply, shaking his head and adding a little shoulder shrug “Nope.”

With that Hop gets to work checking the dead bodies of the Russian guards, grabbing their guns and their radios.

Steve, Robin and I head over to one of the restaurants and start scouring for any snacks and drinks we can find. We find some chips and Steve throws Robin a bag while I put the nozzles on the drinking fountain to get sodas for us to drink.

I hop up onto the counter and sit down next to Steve while we finally get something in our stomachs after not eating for like two days.

Robin stands in front of us and eats her chips, moving her eyes between the pair of us "So... what did you guys talk about when you were all drugged?"

I snort and take a drink, swallowing down the bites of chips "We laughed a lot while we were drugged"

"Hmm" she says, smiling knowingly and saying "You seemed pretty close in the bathroom when we walked in" causing me to glare at her and she silently laughs while Steve talks around his chips "We threw up in the bathroom."

"In the same stall?" Robin asks, failing at hiding how disgusted she is at that thought and I roll my eyes dramatically at her "No not the same stall– we interrogated each other to see if the drugs were still in our systems."

"Oh so you of course needed to be in the same stall to do that" Robin agrees, smirking at us "Were the drugs still in your system?" she asks and I nod while Steve clears his throat "Possibly."

I look over at him, however, his full attention is on getting the last of the chips in his bag and Robin nods, muttering "Interesting"

Quickly I switch to looking at her and she just smiles, and I choose to ignore her now. I need to sleep before I can even attempt to understand all of the revelations that have come to light this evening.

“Hey, heads up” Hop yells, getting Dustin’s attention before he tosses him one of the radios and continues “You can navigate, just from someplace safe.”

“It's not that simple” Dustin starts and Erica says “The signal won't reach.”

Dustin nods and holds up the radio while he elaborates “Not with this. You need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians' radio tower. But for that to work, you need to have someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super powered handcrafted radio tower, one preferably already situated at the highest point in Hawkins. Oh, wait. That's me. If you want us to navigate, you got us, but we need a head start– and a car.”

Hop stays silent, nodding along with everything Dustin listed off before he spins around and looks at me “Summer, c’mere kid– bring the other one with you too.”

Steve jerks his head back, pointing at his chest and looking over at me “Me? Does he mean me?”

“Yup, come on” I laugh and hop off the counter, reaching over to grab Robin’s arm “You’re part of this team too, let’s go.”

Hop digs some keys out of his pocket and holds them up to show Dustin as we come to a stop next to them.

Dustin smiles and nods before we go over our plan for what we’re all going to be doing next and the groups we are splitting up into to do it.

Mom, Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Lucas, Mike, Max and El are going to head to Murray’s in Illinois so both Will and El will be as far away from the Mind Flayer as possible.

Steve, Robin, Dustin, Erica and I will head to Dustin’s radio tower so that we will also be as far away from the Mind Flayer as possible giving Dustin and Erica the safe place to navigate the directions needed for the air vent tunnels.

Which leaves Hop and Murray who are going to be the only ones staying at the mall to follow through with the plan down in the Russian tunnels to destroy the weapon trying to open the gate.

We also go over the group names for each of our groups along with the call signs for when Dustin will be communicating with Hop and Murray so that the Russians don't catch on if they happen to overhear the conversations.

Once the plans are sorted Hop tosses the keys over towards Steve who catches them against his chest. Hop nods his head towards the direction of the front of the mall, instructing “Car's parked out front–” he points at his face “Drive them safely there.”

“Yes sir” Steve says and we move to take off towards the direction of the front of the mall, however, mom stops me when she quickly runs over and grabs my arm. She makes a noise and hugs me to her "You guys be safe"

I return her hug and say "You guys too," grunting a second later when she increases her hold around me "Um, mom... you're crushing me"

"Sorry" she chuckles and loosens her grip, pulling back from me and setting her hands on my shoulders "I love you"

I smile at her, saying "I love you" before I frown at her, catching onto her weird behavior "What are you doing?"

She smiles sadly, admitting "I need to be apart of destroying this thing" and I widen my eyes slightly as I work through what she's saying "You better destroy this thing and not get hurt in the process."

"I'm going to be fine, sweetie... I just need to know that you and your brothers are going to be as far away from here as possible" mom stresses and I hug her again "We will be." I pull back and connect my eyes with hers while I state "I'll see you soon."

"Yup" mom kisses my cheek and sets her hand on Steve's arm, smiling softly at him and he nods, reassuring her "We'll see you soon."

With that we catch up with Robin, Dustin and Erica and we make our way to the front entrance of the mall. Steve pushes open the front doors, laughing softly and saying “Oh, man, now this…” he tosses the keys up and catches them “This is what I'm talkin' about!”

“Toddfather?” I mutter when I read the front license plate of the white convertible with the top down and Steve scoffs “Oh, screw Todd! Steve's her daddy now” he laughs and sets his hands on the top of the car and the closed door to jump up into the car through the open top.

“Did you just talk about yourself in the third person?” Robin asks as we walk around the other side and I snort asking further “Did he just call himself daddy?”

Steve snaps his eyes in my direction, pointing at me like I need to be quiet and I just laugh, shaking my head at him. Dustin hops into the back seat behind Steve while I open the passenger door and hold the seat forward for Erica to climb into the backseat. Robin rushes past me to sit down next to Erica and I make a noise, seeing her smirk at me. I narrow my eyes at her while Steve asks “All right, where are we going?”

“Weathertop” Dustin says and looks over at me when I'm still standing outside of the car “Come on Summer breeze we gotta go”

Robin smiles brightly at me and I drop the seat back, spinning around to sit in the front seat with Steve who asks Dustin “Weather-what?”

“Just drive” Dustin urges and Steve huffs, turning back around to start the engine “Okay, jesus!”

The engine revs and Steve sets his hand on the back of the seat, his fingers brushing my shoulder when he does, so he can turn around and look behind the car as he reverses away from the front of the mall.

He sets the car in drive and takes off across the parking lot, following the directions from Dustin once we get on the road.

“Jesus, how far is this place, man?” Steve asks after we've been driving for fifteen minutes and Dustin leans closer to the front seat “Relax, we're almost there.”

“Suzie must be pretty special, huh? I mean, if you built this thing and lugged it all the way to the middle of nowhere just to talk to her?” Robin inquires and Dustin smiles, answering “I mean, nobody's scientifically perfect, but Suzie's about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be”

“She sound made up to me… she sound made up to you?” Erica asks and I look over my shoulder to see she directed her words towards Steve… who doesn’t answer right away.

That fact doesn’t go unnoticed by Dustin who says incredulously “Why are you hesitating, Steve?”

“I'm... I'm... I'm not! I'm not!” Steve tries to argue “I think she sounds real. You know, totally, absolutely real.”

“Left” Dustin says as an answer, stating more urgently “Turn left”

“There's not a road here” Steve states back and Dustin shouts “Turn left now!”

“Jesus! Hang on!” Steve yells and grabs the wheel, turning the car sharply to the left. We crash through a small fence on the side of the road and we're immediately driving through a field.

Steve keeps a hold of the wheel and keeps driving straight, yelling over his shoulder “Whoa! Henderson, where are we going?!”

“Up!” Dustin yells back and Steve does as instructed by Dustin and keeps driving the car up the hill we’re coming up on.

The car bounces along as we hit the rough terrain of the hill, Steve shouting “Oh, Jesus!” while I shake my head and grip onto the side of the door, yelling “We’re not gonna make it!”

“Yes, we are. Come on, baby– come on, baby!” Steve answers, hitting the side of the wheel.

We continue up the hill, however, the engine noticeably strains as the wheels come to a stop, spinning in the dirt while they can't gain any traction.

“Come on!” Steve yells, slamming his foot onto the gas pedal “Come on, come on!”

The tires continue to spin without traction as Steve pushes harder on the pedal, however, we are clearly not going to move anywhere and I roll my eyes, looking around “Guess the Toddfather has its limitations."

Steve pants, lifting his foot off of the pedal and throwing his hands up off the wheel. He looks over at me and huffs out through his frustration, shoving the gear shift into park and turning off the engine. We open our doors and I hold the seat back for Robin and Erica before we start walking up the rest of the way to the top of the hill where this super long distance radio is at.

Erica drops her backpack onto the grass at the top of the hill and Dustin kneels down in front of the radio, switching it to the channel he was told by Hop.

“Bald Eagle, do you copy?” Dustin says into the radio, continuing “Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?”

“Yes, I copy” Murray answers and we all chuckle in our relief that this worked. Dustin clears his throat and clicks the side button of the radio to say “Call sign?”

“Bald Eagle” Murray answers and Dustin doesn't hesitate to say “Please repeat”

“Bad Eagle” Murray stresses with absolutely zero patience in his voice “This is Bald Eagle!”

“Copy that. Good to hear your voice, Bald Eagle. What's your twenty?” Dustin asks and Murray clips out his status “We reached the vent. I'll contact you when I need you. Until then, silence.”

I chuckle and Dustin smiles into the radio answering back “Roger that, Bald Eagle. This is Scoops Troop, going radio silent. Ten ten, over.”

Dustin smiles up at us and Steve reaches over to pat Dustin on the shoulder.

Murray comes back over the radio and asks for directions, which Dustin and Erica guide him through until we're silent again. I set my hands on my hips and slowly walk around the top of the hill, looking up at the night sky and seeing all the stars shining above us.

“Scoops Troop, this is… Hm. Bald Eagle. I've reached another junction.” Murray's voice comes over the radio and Dustin looks down as he tries to remember “This is what?” he asks and Erica fills in “The fourth junction.”

“All right, so if memory serves, this is right after the My Little Pony thesis” Dustin says and I make a face, looking over at Steve who mouths ‘My Little pony’ at the same time that Erica explains “We went left, so he has to go–”

“Right” they say at the same time and Dustin picks up the radio to direct Murray “Fly right, Bald Eagle– fly right.”

“Roger that, flying right” Murray says, his voice dripping in sarcasm and I laugh, shaking my head as I spin back around and look out over the city in the distance.

“What’s the My Little Pony thesis?” Robin asks and Erica grumbles “Don’t get him started” before Robin continues “Don’t get him started just tell–”

I tune them out, however, as Steve turns around with me and I see a flash of the lights at the mall, causing me to make a noise and point over in that direction “Did you just see–”

“Yeah– yeah I did” Steve says and steps closer towards my side while we watch the city lights around the mall start flashing like the lights do when we encounter anything from the upside down.

“Hey guys–” Steve trails off, causing Dustin, Erica and Robin to run over towards us. We hear an echoing pounding noise as the lights at the mall continue to flash over and over. Dustin looks up at us and we all make the collective decision to take off running back towards the radio.

Dustin grabs the radio and shouts into it “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop! Do you copy? Over!”

“Griswold Family, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop. Do you copy?” Dustin repeats and the only answer over the radio we get is the sound of some kind of monster shrieking.

“Griswold Family, do you copy? Do you copy?!” Dustin yells and the next sound we hear is a bone chilling roar over the radio.

I widen my eyes and look up from the radio in Dustin’s hand, sharing a terrified look with Steve who sets his hand on my back, offering quickly “What if they’re not at the mall?”

“Do you think they would have left their radio?” I ask and Dustin shakes his head “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Please confirm your safety!”

When we don’t get an answer Dustin just continues to shout into his radio “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop! Please confirm your safety! Are you en route to Bald Eagle's nest? Please confirm your safety!”

My heart is pounding and I'm really starting to get scared they were prevented from leaving the mall somehow which means we need to figure out how to get them out of there.

“Someone, please just answer. Is anyone there? Just answer! Anyone, please…” Dustin pauses, switching to just repeating “Griswold Family, do you copy? Griswold Family, do you copy?”

We can hear another snarling sound on the radio and Steve shares a look with me while Dustin shouts again “Griswold Family, do you copy? Do you copy?!”

Steve grabs my hand and has me stand up with him, silently asking me to be on board with his plan and I nod towards him, squeezing his hand. Erica looks up at us when she notices we step away from them and she asks “Where are you going?”

“To get them the hell outta there!” Steve announces and pulls me along with him as he orders “You three stay here, contact the others!”

“Wait, Summer!” Dustin says and I stop my feet, looking back at him as he motions to throw me a radio. I let go of Steve’s hand to catch it and Dustin nods towards me “Stay in touch.”

“Got it” I reply, holding the radio up before I turn back around and Steve and I run back towards the Toddfather.

I set my hands on the top of the door and hop over it, landing in the seat at the same time Steve does. He starts the engine and shifts the car into reverse, luckily the tires getting enough traction that we’re able to go backwards down the hill.

Once we’re driving across the field and heading back towards the fence Steve crashed through, Steve looks over at me “Hang on, okay?”

I nod and grip onto the top of the car and we drive through the fence again, Steve swerving the car to the right as we turn back onto the road. He slams his foot on the gas pedal and the car takes off down the road back towards the mall.

We get to the mall in no time and when we pull into the parking lot we see the Wheeler’s station wagon and Nancy standing in front of the driver’s side door. She's got her arms raised and she's firing shots at this black car that is speeding and heading straight for her.

“Steve” I say and he nods, rushing out “Yeah I see her– hold on!”

Steve slams on the gas pedal again and right as Nancy ducks down I close my eyes and we crash right into the passenger side of the car, sliding across the road in circles until we come to a stop. I’m thrown into Steve’s side and I grunt from the action of the abrupt stop of the car. Steve immediately lets go of the wheel, turning to face me and gently grabbing the sides of my face “Hey, are you okay?”

I make a noise, attempting to nod my head a few times with the hold he’s got on me “How about you ask me that tomorrow?”

Steve chuckles, moving his thumbs over my cheeks “Yeah okay, I can add that to the list of things I will be talking with you tomorrow–”

His words are cut off when we hear the bone chilling snarl of the monster and we look over at the front entrance of the mall. I gasp and we flinch back when we see this massive monster crawling on top of the mall. Steve and I set our hands on the top of the car, lifting ourselves to stand up through the open top of the car as we look on at this monster “Holy shit!”

It looks exactly as they described it and identical to the shadow monster’s spider shape that Will drew last year. It snarls and growls as its six legs walk across the top of the mall towards the front where we’re at.

It roars down at us at the same time the station wagon’s horn blares and the car skids to halt beside us, Nancy leaning out the passenger window to yell at us “Get in!”

Steve sets his hand on my back before I hop over the passenger door of our car and run to the back of the station wagon with Steve quickly following me.

“Go, go, go, go!” Lucas shouts at the same time the monster roars again and I quickly climb into the very back of the station wagon.

I sit down and Steve climbs in after me, grabbing the handle to close the door behind us, shouting “Go, go, go!” at the same time he sits beside me.

Jonathan slams his foot onto the gas pedal and the tires screech as we take off across the parking lot. Steve and I lean closer towards the back window when we see the monster climb off of the Starcourt Mall front entrance area sign and it starts clamoring after us with loud echoing thuds of its feet pounding into the asphalt.

Jonathan continues to speed down the road, this creature right on our tail while he does, and I try to breathe through the adrenaline coursing through my body. Having to be in the very backseat area with a front row seat to the terror that is chasing us is not helping to keep my breathing from being anything but quick, terrified pants. Steve reaches over and grabs my hand again, his eyes focused on the creature chasing us as well as he threads his fingers in between mine. I squeeze his hand, grateful he's trying to reassure me that I'm not alone right now.

“Dusty-bun, you copy?” I hear over the radio in my other hand and I slowly lift it up between us when we hear “I copy, Suzie-poo– it sounds much better now, thanks.”

I smile over at Steve and we both say in our shocked wonderment “Suzie.”

“Okay, so, listen, do you know Planck's constant?” Dustin asks and she’s quick with her reply “Do you know the Earth orbits the sun?”

I chuckle with that and Steve shakes his head as he looks down at the radio as Dustin's voice comes back over “Okay, so I know it starts with two sixes, and then a… w–what is it?” he asks and Suzie doesn’t hesitate to counter with “Okay, let me just be clear on this. I haven't heard from you in a week, and now you want a mathematical equation that you should know so you can... save the world?”

Dustin is quick as he tries to reassure “Suzie-poo, I promise, I will make it up to you as soon as possible.”

“You can make it up to me now” she retorts and Dustin replies “What?”

Steve looks over at me when Suzie says “I want to hear it.”

“Not right now” Dustin replies immediately and she urges “Yes, now, Dusty-bun.”

“Suzie-poo, this is urgent” Dustin tries to get her to reconsider, however, she proves she doesn't care “Yes, yes, you're saving the world, I heard you the first time, but Ged is also saving Earthsea and he's about to confront the shadow, so this is Suzie, signing off.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Okay. Okay. Okay” Dustin quickly rushes out and he pauses before his voice comes back over the radio… however, he is singing

♪ Turn around look at what you see In her face the mirror of your dreams ♪

Dustin continues to sing and Steve and I share a confused look, I scrunch my brows together while he frowns at the radio and turns in his seat so he can look in the back seat at Lucas and Will.

♪ Make believe I'm everywhere given in the light Written on the pages is The answer to a never-ending story ♪

I open my mouth to say something, however, I'm not even sure what to say and my words die in my throat as I watch the monster continue to chase us and they continue to sing together now

♪ Reach the stars fly a fantasy Dream a dream and what you see will be ♪

Steve grabs the radio from me shrugging towards the front when Jonathan and Nancy look back as well, however, the singing continues and Will looks back at us incredulously before he faces forward again as well.

♪ Rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold behind the clouds And there upon a rainbow is the answer to a never-ending story ♪

They harmonize as they stop signing the last ‘story’ until finally Suzie says “Planck's constant is 6.62607004”

“You just saved the world” Dustin replies, the smile evident in his voice and Suzie replies “Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun” causing Dustin to say “And I miss you more, Suzie-poo.”

“I miss you more, multiplied by all the stars in our galaxy” Suzie counters and Dustin starts to say “No, I miss you…” before his voice is cut off and the radio is silent again.

“Did that just fucking happen?” Steve asks and I snort, leaning back against the seat “Yeah”

I look over at him and can see he’s trying not to laugh and I shake my head at him, warning him not to start otherwise I will follow him in a laughing attack and now is definitely not the time to let my sleep deprived self do that.

All humor dies from my face though when I see the monster stop its pursuit of us and it begins to turn around. The monster starts taking off back the way we came and I yell towards the front “It’s turning around!”

“What?” Nancy turns back to face us and Steve repeats “It's turning around!”

“Maybe we wore it out” Lucas offers and Jonathan shakes his head, gripping onto the wheel more “I don’t think so– hold on!” he shouts just before he spins the car to the right. For the second time tonight I’m thrown to the side with the spin, once again landing on Steve and he grips onto me while the car spins to a stop.

Jonathan gets the car facing the correct direction and he heads back towards the mall. Steve lets go and I’m able to sit beside him comfortably again, leaning my head on his shoulder “Let me know when we get there”

Steve chuckles and lays his head on mine “You got it, Sums.”

Once we get back to the mall Jonathan screeches the tires to a stop and we climb out of the back. Nancy walks around to the back with us and we grab the boxes of fireworks that they apparently picked up from a grocery store earlier when they were trying to treat the wound on El’s leg.

After dividing them up between us we grab our boxes full of fireworks and run back into the mall. We head to the second floor and the six of us split into groups of two and get set up along the railing looking down onto the food court area. We find Billy leaning over El, whispering something to her while the creature finishes climbing down from the ceiling skylights and stops in front of them. The creature opens its mouth and another creature that’s more of a snake like tendril comes out of the monster’s mouth and screeches at El.

Before it's able to attack her Will throws a firework and the creature wails with the explosion against its face.

“Flay this, you ugly piece of shit!” Lucas shouts before he throws another firework and it lands in the monster's mouth as it roars back at Lucas. The firework explodes and the monster screeches as it flinches back and we all take turns lighting the fireworks and tossing them down at the creature relentlessly.

We don’t let up as we continue to light the fireworks and toss them down onto the creature who screeches and roars in response to each firework explosion against it.

“Hey, asshole! Over here!” Steve shouts and tosses a firework that I lit the fuse and handed over to him, hitting the creature right in the mouth.

I light another fuse and toss my own firework at it, smiling triumphantly when it explodes against the side of its head.

We all continue to throw fireworks from every direction of the second floor we’re all standing on and the creature continues to wail and screech from the blasts.

“We’re almost out!” Will shouts at Lucas a little way from where Steve and I are standing and I can hear Lucas shout “I know” before Steve reaches down and grabs the walkie from inside our almost empty basket, yelling into it “Dustin! We’re out of time!”

All of us throw the last of the fireworks that we have, and look down over the railing. Now that the fireworks have stopped being thrown at it, the creature roars and moves closer towards El and Billy who is once again leaning over her.

Billy looks up at the monster, standing up and facing it as it snarls and growls at the both of them. It roars even louder before it opens its mouth and the snake like tendril shoots out like it's going to attach itself to El, however, Billy yells and throws his arms up to stop it from coming closer. He screams “No!” and holds the snake like tendril back with his hands, pushing back against it and keeping it away from El.

Billy screams again while the creature screeches even louder and we watch as a handful more of the snake like tendrils grow off of the main creature’s body and glide through the air towards Billy. One of the growing tendrils attaches itself into Billy’s side and he screams in pain, the sound dying in his throat when another claw tendril attaches itself into Billy’s other side.

The other four snake like tendrils all impale themselves into Billy’s torso and he screams in agony with each one, his head falling back.

Billy’s knees give out and he is lowered onto his knees with the creature's tendrils still attached to his torso, bringing it’s face even closer towards Billy’s as it roars in his face.

Billy just bellows one final scream right back in the monster's face, all of us watching in horror as the monster opens its mouth and the inside snake like tendril closes its claw up to form a fist. There’s one final scream before it plunges itself straight into the center of Billy’s chest.

“Billy!” Max shrieks from somewhere below us and Billy grunts as the arm that was plunged into his chest quickly removes itself followed by the other six detaching themselves from his torso . His body crumbles onto the floor and falls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.

The creature all of a sudden screeches even louder than before, and it starts to flail its body around and smash into everything on the ground floor as well as the second floor railing "They're closing the gate" I say and Steve nods.

It moves closer towards where Steve and I are standing, lifting its arm up to smash into the railing in front of us and I scream as we turn away. Steve grabs me around my middle and pulls me back with him, both of us falling on the floor and taking cover with our arms over our heads.

The creature stumbles around a few more times before it ultimately crashes onto the ground and it's silent around us.

Steve and I quickly get up and move to look over the railing, seeing the monster not moving anymore from where it crumbled onto the floor. We notice a fire has started around the monster in a somewhat circle and I know we’ve gotta get out of here.

"Come on, we gotta get the others" I say and tap Steve on the chest. He nods and sets his hand on my lower back as we follow the railing and gather Will, Lucas, Nancy and Jonathan.

Mike, El and Max meet us at the escalators and we hurry outside, all of us coughing through the smoke as we do. Once we're outside I notice all of the fire trucks and the military soldiers walking around and making a plan of action to get inside.

Firefighters walk up and wrap each of us in blankets, telling us we need to get checked out and separating us into different ambulances to do so.

The only ones who don't get cleared quickly are El, Mike and Max who each got knocked out by Billy and have their own cuts and bruises that need to be tended to.

I'm standing next to the ambulance that Max is getting checked out in, with Steve and Will standing next to me. We look over and mom appears through the crowd of soldiers as she desperately searches for us. She runs up to us and grabs Will, hugging him tightly before she grabs me and does the same.

"Are you okay?" she asks and we all nod and she breathes out shakily, increasing her hold on us. She pulls back and I notice the tears in her eyes, the look of despair on her face and I make a noise, looking around at the crowd "Where's Hop?" I ask and she presses her lips together, her chin wobbling with my question.

"No" I whisper, tears welling in my own eyes as I'm punched in the gut with the realization he's gone.

✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆✦

It’s been a week since the fourth of July and it’s been an adjustment period not just for us but the whole of Hawkins.

The fire at Starcourt Mall was so destructive that Owens was able to cover up the thirty people who were actually the victims of the Mind Flayer’s flesh monster and say they were victims of the fire instead. Hop’s death was also linked to the fire, stating he died in the line of duty trying to get everyone out, instead of that he was killed by the Russian’s laser machine exploding next to him.

Mom didn’t even hesitate to bring El into our family and move her into our home. We welcomed her with open arms, mom and I taking her shopping for all the essentials she needs and new clothes– you know the works. My college fund took a bit of a hit but that’s fine because in my opinion, El needed it more.

Today Steve, Robin and I are going to scour the newspaper and try to find a new place for us to apply to work and while it’s probably unlikely we’re also hoping we’ll be able to all work together again. Once we’ve put in the research work today then we’re going to have a movie night at Steve’s and I can’t even stress how very much needed it is.

There’s a knock on the front door and I get up from the couch to answer it, smiling when I see who’s on my porch “Hey”

Steve returns with a smile of his own and nervously moves his keys around in his hands “Hey, you ready?”

“Yup” I answer quickly and reach over to grab my bag, throwing the strap over my shoulder and closing the door behind me after I step out onto the porch.

We get in the car and head into town, picking up a couple of newspapers before we head to Family Video to rent a few movies for tonight.

We also stop to pick up some snacks and drinks and we head back to Steve’s house. All during our errands I tried to ignore his weird behavior, however, it was getting difficult to keep ignoring it when he was acting completely different.

He was quiet– the kind of quiet where it was obvious he had something on his mind and he only would seem like he was present with me when I would ask him something about the movies we were picking for tonight or the snacks and drinks we were picking up.

Noticing his weird behavior still hasn’t left when we get back to his house, I figure we’re at the stage where I can just ask– so I do “Stevie?”

“Yeah, Sums?” he asks and spins around to face me, setting his hands on his hips and I smile softly at him that even with whatever is bothering him he still uses my nickname “I was just curious… is there something going on with you today?”

“Um,” he trails off, smiling nervously and reaching up to scratch the back of his head “Well…” he clears his throat and I raise my brows expectantly at him, explaining “Yeah, see… I ask because it seems like you have something on your mind.”

He drops his arm back down and looks at me silently, breathing out a deep breath “I, uh, do you remember what we talked about in the bathroom?”

“Yes– you were supposed to forget all about it though” I grumble and he laughs, shaking his head as he looks down to the floor between us “I wasn’t talking about that which I definitely forgot about.”

“Good” I mutter and he chuckles silently, looking back up at me while he continues “I actually meant about what I told you.”

“Oh” I breathe, slowly nodding my head that I do remember and he nods with me “Right, see what I remember is how I didn’t explain myself well that night and how I definitely need to”

I lick my lips quickly, saying quietly “You think so?”

“Yup” Steve says, taking a step closer towards me as he rushes out “All day I’ve been trying to figure out the best time and way to explain it better, however, I’ve just– well I keep coming up short because none of the ways seem perfect enough.”

“Who’s to say there’s a perfect enough way for you to say what you need to say?” I ask and he snorts, shaking his head as he grumbles to the floor “Because it’s what you deserve, Sum.”

“Okay” I squeak and Steve smiles, raising his brows at me “So you already know what I’m going to say?”

“I have an idea what it might be regarding” I answer and Steve nods, making a hmm noise as he walks closer towards me. He stops in front of me and says “And you’re going to allow it?”

I make a contemplative little face, tilting my head to the side “Perhaps”

Steve smiles with my words, shaking his head softly at me and I shrug while I continue “I told you once that you should know I’m great at fighting for what I want” I say and Steve smiles even more, agreeing “Yes, I remember.”

“And what I want–” I pause, breathing out a calming breath before I admit “What I want is you, so–” I trail off and Steve widens his eyes, repeating “Wait what? You want me?”

“Yes” I breathe through my nerves, continuing “It has shocked me to my core, Harrington, but you have succeeded in becoming my favorite person and I kind of like you, a lot, so if wanting me is something you could possibly want too then you should know I’m prepared to show you how much you’ve made me fallen for you–”

“Shut up” he says and sets his hands on the sides of my face. He smiles like he can’t believe this is actually happening, shaking his head softly until the next thing I know he kisses me.

He presses his soft and warm lips on mine, and already this kiss is a million times better than the one that shall not be mentioned at a time like this. No, a kiss like this deserves to be the only thing that is talked about right now. He holds me to him, cradling my face in his hands and I set my hands on his chest, linking the smell of my strawberry chapstick to this moment that I will remember forever.

Just needing a little more clarification to what this means I try to say something and he makes a noise, breaking the kiss just far enough that his lips still brush against mine while he says “I said shut up, you don’t have to fight for me– I’m already yours, Byers.”

With that he kisses me again, keeping one hand on my face still while he wraps his other arm around my lower back and pulls me against his chest. I slide my hands up his chest and wrap my arms behind his neck, holding him just as close to me as he’s holding me. He moves his lips over mine, pulling me closer like it’s some kind of dance and I’m really glad he’s holding me up because Harrington can kiss.

He presses his lips against mine a little more, breathing in deeply through his nose while he holds me to him for a few more seconds before he pulls back. He rests his forehead on mine while our panting breaths mix together and I slowly open my eyes. Steve is already looking at me when I do and he smiles at me, moving his head against mine as he mutters quietly “So you fell for me huh?”

“I didn’t fall,” I grumble, glaring playfully at him as I reply just as quietly “You fucking tripped me”

He throws me a look, like of course he did, and I try to fight off my smile, looking up at him through my lashes and admitting “But yes I might be completely in love with you.”

Steve closes his eyes with my words, breathing in deeply like he’s trying to savor the words and I finally let the smile spread across my face. I tighten my arms around him and keep talking “You are the love that came without warning, Harrington” I say and he opens his eyes again, smiling even wider while I continue “I didn’t even get the chance to think or process it. I just woke up one morning and you were the first person I wanted to see that day– the only person at school I wanted to talk to. Then you danced with me and you took me to prom and that’s when I knew that I lost my heart to you. You had my heart even before I truly realized it.”

Steve moves his hands to my hips, gripping my sides as he pulls me against him and kisses me again and I could quite literally dreamily sigh with how amazing it actually feels to be held by him like this while he kisses me.

He offers a series of a few quick kisses before he looks at me and I think the smile could break his face in two with how big it is. He moves his eyes around my face, shaking his head softly “It is you,” he says simply, continuing “It is fucking you, Sums. I tried to describe it to you the other night but I cannot describe it anymore, it’s just you. You are the only one that I will ever want fully,” he shrugs like it’s simple and increases his hold on my sides. I hug him a little more as it’s my turn to smile with his words and he keeps going “You didn’t even have to do anything to make me fall for you– you were unapologetically yourself. I fell for your beautiful soul and your big heart and the way you never let me get away with anything. I fell for you when you wouldn’t let anyone see how upset you were except for me. I fell for you when you wouldn’t open a christmas present and when you tried to save me from a demogorgon. I fell for you when you fought to save Will and when you stood up to me when I tried to hurt Jonathan and Nancy. I knew I was in love with you when you gave Dustin advice and when you taught him how to dance and when you actually agreed to go to prom with me. I am in love with you, Byers, and I have never been more scared to lose you than when I was strapped to you while we were in chairs and laying on the floor of a Russian bunker as you told me I was the King of your heart. Which is fitting since you are the Queen of mine,” Steve licks his lips quickly and rests his forehead against mine again “I am head over heels in love with you, Summer Byers– you walked into my life and made me fall in love with a girl with freckles more beautiful than the stars.”

I am absolutely speechless with everything he said and I move my eyes between his a few times. I slowly move my head against his, whispering “Dammit, Harrington” before I set my hands on the sides of his face and kiss him, feeling him smile against my lips when I do.

|| << PREV || MASTERLIST || NEXT >> ||

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! As always let me know what you thought– comments & reblogs give me life!

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Please do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is property of @stiles-o-dylan24 on here and wattpad and stilesodylan24 on AO3. Stranger Things and its characters aren’t mine, however, Summer and this fanfcition is. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted: 5 September 2023

#stranger things #Steve harrington #Steve harrington x oc #Steve x oc #stranger things rewrite #king of my heart #komh #Steve harrington x summer byers #Steve x summer #stummer #stranger things fanfiction #Steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fan fiction #Steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fan fic #Steve harrington fanfic #Steve harrington fan fic #chapter 24

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paz-45 · 1 year ago

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EE Lyrics Study: teeth/bones/nails

Hello! This is my first "lyric study" for the band Everything Everything and the topic is: BONES/TEETH/NAILS.

Basically, when listening to their music, I kept noticing words related to this topic and I was curious if the topic actually existed across their discography. I marked every lyric that included key words:

bone, skull, teeth, vertebrae, fossil, etc.

I did a little research to see the cultural significance or any other meaning/symbolism of these words. I didn't want to dive too much into the actual meaning of the lyrics*** or the greater context of the song, but instead looked at the overall patterns of the key words.

I notice that in EE's lyrics, bones/teeth are mostly used to evoke images of graphic things being done to a body or to liken humans to other animals/creatures. There's mentions of bones both inside a living human and in someone/something that's dead.

Personally, I interpret these uses as a more shocking or uncomfortable way to refer to those parts of the body (e.g. teeth instead of smile, clavicle instead of collar, skull instead of head), which is pretty on-brand for EE's provocative lyrics/themes.

And half the street was under my nails -MY KZ, UR BF

Cos even now, there's a bone snapping -Leave the Engine Room

My teeth dazzle like an igloo wall, I inhabit, I inhibit ya'll -Photoshop Handsome

But right above my clavicle, the world becomes so laughably old -Wizard Talk

Teeth and nails your little anatomy -Luddites and Lambs

Past-tense -- what's a trilobite to anyone? -Kemosabe (marked because it only exists in fossil form)

Coiled heart, eye-tooth, feral child -Torso of the Week

And cloudy with potential, muscle mass and vertebrae begin... -Choice Mountain

While Princes fly drones that can see through your bones - Undrowned

The street is a boneyard she glances -Armourland

And now who's the fossil who gets the girl? -The House is Dust

Bic your head and show your teeth to them honey -Don't Try

And sweat runs up his neck and spine -Awe/Arc

You take the poleaxe out of your spine, push your shoulder back in its place -A.D.

Canine, fangs up out my throat -Distant Past

Teeth on a wire -Get to Heaven

Swing the hammer, the fragments, a skull exploding -Spring/Sun/Winter/Dread

Bone, to the blade -The Wheel is Turning Now

Bones in a bowl like a toad-in-the-hole, take the shape out of the mould -No Reptiles

And your spine is a glass spire -President Heartbeat

I can feel my bones screaming out -Yuppie Supper

Yet the concrete burns at the back of your skull -Night of the Long Knives

I'm just a knuckle dragger with a knuckle dragger grin -Desire

If my bones just fall away -Good Shot, Good Soldier

Skeleton boy with the skeleton girl souvenir -Big Climb

As fresh as my bouncing bones -Arch Enemy

The bones snap into place -Black Hyena

Stretching my lips over my teeth -SUPERNORMAL

I want the teeth of the enchanter - I Want A Love Like This

Drinking from a hollow skull -Cut UP!

But the seed inside your skull is now a watermelon -HEX

You can sing you can play my ribcage like piano -My Computer

***I feel like we'll never know exactly what Jonathan means when he writes (lol seems like he doesn't know sometimes either) so I didn't want to get caught up in guessing what he meant. I find it tiring to try to figure out 'why did he say that?' and instead just enjoy and find my own meaning :)

#everything everything #everything everything band #ee #e_e_#e e #ee lyrics #man alive album #arc album #get to heaven album #a fever dream album #reanimator album #raw data feel album #lyrics study #lyrics analysis

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boltlightning · 2 years ago

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So, Pinterest found out my love for Jorrington. However it showed me some other aesthetic scenes of AWE. Which makes me wonder, if he was still alive and survived, or perhaps kept alive by David Jonathan.

What side do YOU think he would be on in the stand off, why, and what would his response be?

Does this differ to you depending on how he would be alive (escapee or enslaved by Dave Johns)

I imagine angles could be: Civil yet sassy, violent either by skill or having more numbers, obedient (to whomever is his leader).

david jonathan..............

i've definitely thought about this an inordinate amount, and my biases are on fully display as i say norrington would be at elizabeth's side, or at least hovering behind her glowering, when dealing at the parlay.

i've gone through a lot of mental turbulence over a version of events where norrington ends up a pirate, because it's so antithetical to what he stands for both as a vessel of themes and a character with feelings, i have a hard time wrapping my head around it. i think he needed to die in the canon narrative. HOWEVER. i think there's a lot of good theme resolution if he metaphorically dies on the dutchman to save elizabeth, survives and escapes with her, and casts out his former self to become a pirate, even if just to kill cutler beckett in revenge. it's more about loyalty to elizabeth and revenge than it is actually believing in what the pirates stand for than anything, but even getting to that point requires a major ego death.

for all that the title is hollow, norrington is an admiral and a lifelong seaman. he could outgambit beckett in a fleet vs armada situation, were the fleet at his disposal not a pirate fleet, and i think he'd have real valuable input at the parlay...just nothing he'd want to reveal out of hand, like everyone else.

(more thoughts below this got out of hand)

furthermore: consider that the pearl and dutchman have their final standoff during a maelstrom. his canonical ego death happened while chasing the pearl into a hurricane; if he follows elizabeth, he can help steer the pearl out of a storm to safety. the bookends! the parallels!!!

in this consideration i do imagine he's somewhere between the snarky-yet-stuffy cotbp and scruffy-and-blunt dmc norringtons, as you say. that's a great read, and a fun little thought experiment about who he is without the blade of duty/expectation hanging over his neck. civil with a sharp tongue and little reason to hold it back, but with renewed purpose and less of a vendetta against the world at large.

tldr: swap out his literal death with a metaphorical one and he'd follow elizabeth anywhere, especially to battle

(not to self-promo on an ask from a friend but i did write a 20k fic about this very subject; i'd change some stuff now but the bulk of my thoughts are in this big ass thesis. thank you for your time now back to the show)

although..........i am thinking very hard about the idea that he, like jones, is still being forced into service here? like maybe beckett keeps swann as a hostage not to keep elizabeth compliant, but to keep norrington compliant, to make sure the dutchman follows orders in the big fight.

(aside: i don't think norrington fears death or would want to live as anyone besides himself, so he'd never accept jones' offer of undeath unless it was to protect someone else from the same fate. hmm hmm much to consider)

either way: beckett brings norrington to the parlay just to flaunt "look how many of your people i have in my charge! haha!" maybe norrington is trying to drop hints to elizabeth that her father is still alive during the parlay, but she's focused on will being there ALSO trying to drop hints, and it gets messy fast.

having received confirmation that everyone ignores the puppet admiral and uses him for leverage, norrington frees both jack AND governor swann and escapes into the narrative. or something. hmm i'll workshop it

this is a very interesting idea!!! thank you so much for the ask

#local girl has written thousands and thousands of words about this guy and still can't use his first name because we're not personal friends #anyway. thank you again!!!!!!!!! i hope this suffices #always happy to field hypotheticals like this i love to talk #replies #homelesspersonchic

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anysin · 2 years ago

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Fic: He Rose Victorious

For @ninetimesthepain, a Jon/Michael with an interpretation of the "leaving notes around a house" theme. An AU where Michael kills Jon after Jon walks through his door in Another Twist, but it's not the end of Jon. Creepy, warning for violence.

He Rose Victorious

Michael slays the Archivist within itself, painting its own insides with his pretty red blood. It takes special pleasure in eating his eyes, and once there is nothing left of him, it makes the mistake of believing that's the end.

The recorders on their own are already a bad sign, implying the presence of something inside Michael that isn't itself. But when the cassettes themselves start to pop up, when they start to play, that's when Michael becomes livid with rage.

"You think you can survive within me?" it screams ín the corridors, tearing the tape out of one cassette after another. "You are in my place of power, inside me!" You will lose!"

"I'm not for you," the Archivist's voice responds, echoing around Michael. "I'm marked," the Archivist continues, and Michael could swear he sounds smug.

Michael races within itself, destroying every tape and recorder it finds. It has the nastiest, most enraging feeling that the tapes are just the beginning.

Tapes, the statements, are on the nose from the start; they are about Michael's essence in the beginning, then about Michael itself, then about Michael Shelley. Both recorders and cassettes sprout faster than Michael can destroy them, meaning there is usually a whole choir of the Archivist's voices speaking within Michael, sometimes precisely at the same time, sometimes at odds with each other, leading to a cacophony. Michael itself is supposed to be madness; it shouldn't be suffering from it.

"You can't hide forever," it snarls down at a recorder. "Your little game is surely very fun for you, but it will have a bitter end. I will see to that."

"He was born," the Archivist replies from the tape, throwing Michael's own words back at it. Somewhere, everywhere, dozens of other tapes play the same words, the Archivist's voice similarly satisfied on all of them. "He was pointless."

"You are pointless!" Fingers sharpening, Michael crushes the recorder in its hands.

But the tapes and recorders keep coming, merciless in their sheer quantities. Michael starts to slow down, without meaning to, and the game changes.

The first time Michael spots the Archivist in one of the mirrors inside itself, it loses control.

It rushes the mirror, smashes it to pieces and chasing the Archivist's image on every shard, shattering them into smaller and smaller pieces until it can't see his face anymore. After it's done, its form is bloody and torn, and it doesn't feel any better. It knows he will be back.

"I will find you," it calls out into itself, hating that its voice now lacks confidence.

The tapes keep appearing, gathering up now that Michael isn't trying to destroy them so hard anymore, even though it means it's filling itself up with the Archivist's voice, his words, his cruel pleasure. It destroys the next mirror that shows the Archivist's face, and the one after that, but with the fourth one, it stops to stand before it, staring into the Archivist's dark, empty eyes.

"What do you want?" Michael asks. It feels tired, for the first time in a while.

It's insulted when the Archivist turns his back on it in the mirror, disappearing.

The day it goes silent inside Michael is the day of fate.

It runs inside itself, searching every nook and corner and smashing every recorder on its path, until it finally finds Jonathan Sims in the heart of itself. The Archivist looks worn too, just as weak and pathetic as he has always looked, but his eyes are alive when they face each other.

"Michael," the Archivist says.

Michael screams and lunges.

The Archivist doesn't try to fight back when Michael wrestles him to the ground, when Michael turns its hands into blades and raises them high for a strike. He doesn't fight when Michael stabs him full of holes, only stares at him as his blood spurts out of his wounds, his eyes full of strange affection. He's smiling.

"Stop that!" Michael demands. "You're dead, do you hear me? You're dead!"

The Archivist smiles on, even as Michael drives its blades straight into his eyes.

Afterwards, Michael flees.

It steps outside the door and it has all intentions to hunt, gorge itself until it can't remember the Archivist's eyes anymore. But instead it ends up wandering around London, driven by agitation and dread, until it can't stand it anymore. It returns to the door and goes through it, to face what it knows will be there waiting.

The Archivist is indeed there, standing among his tapes and recorders, running his fingertips over them. He smiles at Michael as Michael enters, and now it's Michael's turn not to resist when the Archivist approaches it. Even as it longs to kill him again.

"What do you want?" it asks him once he's close enough, when he raises his arm around Michael's neck.

The Archivist utters a little laugh.

"I don't know. This is pretty new to me too, I've got to think about it. But now that I'm here-" He tightens his hold on Michael, pulling it downward so he can kiss its mouth. "I might as well try to know you."

#my fic #the magnus archives #jon x michael

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konmarkimageswords · 2 years ago

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Philip K. Dick (1928-82) was the kind of science-fiction writer who is read and praised by people who don’t like science fiction. His fame moved beyond the genre’s ghetto after some of his novels and short stories were turned into movies—Blade Runner (1982), Minority Report (2002), and A Scanner Darkly (2006), to name a few. He is sometimes compared to Jorge Luis Borges, one of the finest short-story writers, and his work has influenced many authors (genre-bending Jonathan Lethem, for example) and filmmakers (the Wachowski brothers, directors of The Matrix).

Just as critics dub certain writers’ visions of the world “Orwellian” or “Kafkaesque,” some now use the awkward term “Dickian.” Dick’s paranoid vision is a unique, sad, funny, and—in its strange and sometimes very moving manner—even ennobling way to think about what we are meant to be as humans. In his later work, Dick’s outlook became deeply, even explicitly, informed by a Gnostic sense of the struggle to be fully human. Ancient Gnosticism was, among other things, concerned with the dilemma of humanity trapped in delusion, imprisoned in a world ruled by malign and unseen forces—a recurrent theme in Dick’s work.

What does science fiction have to say about human nature? For many serious readers, this is GeekCity, a corner of genre fiction inhabited by sad and lonely people who go to Star Trek conventions and collect action figures. The science-fiction writer Theodore Sturgeon is credited with what has entered the wider critical discourse as “Sturgeon’s Law.” When it was said of science fiction that “90 percent of it is crap,” his answer was, “90 percent of everything is crap.” Who can disagree? Serious science-fiction criticism finds examples of imagined alternatives that illuminate our own world in Plato’s description of Atlantis in the Timaeus, in his vision of an ideal society in The Republic, and in Thomas More’s imaginary society in Utopia. Some writers prefer another name for the genre, “speculative fiction,” since much science fiction has little to do with science. Whatever term you choose, the best examples show that one way to see our situation clearly is to imagine another, very different one. This can be done by placing a story in the remote past, an alternative present, or a near or far future. Philip K. Dick was the writer who did it best.

The animating idea behind Dick’s fiction—hardly original in itself—is that things are not as they seem. This is, of course, a major part of any religious insight—and as an Episcopalian, Dick understood this. Walker Percy’s essay “The Message in the Bottle,” for example, describes an island (this could be the beginning of a sci-fi plot) where everything is pleasant. Life seems good for all its inhabitants; then someone walking along a beach finds a bottle with the message, “Don’t despair, help is on the way.” This is what the Christian gospel says to a complacent, obtuse world, and it is not unlike one of Dick’s plots. In many of his stories, as in Gnostic theology, the world is depicted as not merely asleep, but deliberately deceived. Any remedy or salvation will therefore have to include a battle against powers that not only seem insane, but are evil. Overcoming the ruse requires special insight or special revelation that is shared by only a few.

This theme of widespread deception is woven throughout several of his plots. In The Simulacra (1964), the U.S. president is an android, but the citizenry has no idea. In The Penultimate Truth (1964), World War III starts with a fight between two superpowers. The battle begins on Mars, spreads to Earth, and is fought by robots. Humans are forced to live and work underground in huge shelters. The war ends, but the people are told that the battle rages above them on an uninhabitable surface. Meanwhile, the authorities continue to generate false war stories while they themselves live a bucolic life on the earth above. In The Zap Gun (1967), two great superpowers are at peace, and citizens of both nations are reassured that they are secure because of their side’s superior arsenal—but the weapons are designed not to function. Weapon design is, in effect, a kind of conceptual art, although the fact that the weapons do not work is kept from the masses. This is what keeps the world truly disarmed. When aliens threaten the earth, the weapon designers have to come up with something that really functions. There is an implicit Gnosticism here: only a select few know what is going on; most of humanity is sleepwalking.

This isn’t a happy point of view, to be sure. Yet what’s missing from the film adaptations of Dick’s work (of which the best are Minority Report and the director’s cut of Blade Runner) is Dick’s humor. Even his darkest stories are laced with funny moments. Another quality missing in the movies is Dick’s enduring compassion for the sadness of ordinary, confused human existence. His stories usually take place in a future, or in an alternate reality, where paranoia reigns, where appearances cannot be trusted, where people may be androids—robots made to resemble humans—and androids may be whatever human beings are, where the world we are presented with is a lie.

Dick’s life was messy. (Lawrence Sutin has written a good biography, Divine Invasions: A Life of Philip K. Dick, Carrol & Graf, 2005.) He was born inChicago in 1928 and died in 1982; his twin sister died in infancy. Dick’s parents moved toCalifornia and divorced. He lived with his mother until he matriculated at UC Berkeley for a short time, majoring in German. He was fascinated by German culture. After dropping out of college, he worked in a record store, and music plays an important part in much of his work. He was married and divorced five times, used drugs, was convinced at various points that the FBI was after him, feared for his sanity, and hoped for spiritual deliverance.

At the same time, Dick felt a keen loyalty to many friends, whose lives were often as complicated as his own. His novels are full of regular people with ordinary, often dull jobs; they struggle for decency, sometimes fail, sometimes succeed. There is always something sad, frustrating, and funny about their struggles, and I can’t think of another science-fiction writer who comes close to describing this sort of ordinary life with such compassion. The science-fiction novelist Ursula K. Le Guin once wrote that Dick’s characters reminded her of Dickens’s; sometimes you remember one and can’t place which novel he or she appears in, but the humanity remains vivid. Dick drew from his own life, sometimes quite directly, in writing his novels. A Scanner Darkly is about drug use—based in large part on his own experience—and it’s scary. It begins, “Once a guy stood all day shaking bugs from his hair.” It contains the only funny suicide scene I’ve ever read, and at the end of the novel Dick uncharacteristically explains what he has just written:

This is a novel about some people who were punished entirely too much for what they did. They wanted to have a good time, but they were like children playing in the street; they could see one after another of them being killed—run over, maimed, destroyed—but they continued to play anyhow…. Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error in judgment. When a bunch of people begin to do it, it is a social error, a lifestyle. In this particular lifestyle the motto is “Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying,” but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory. It is, then, only a speeding up, an intensifying, of the ordinary human existence. It is not different from your lifestyle, it is only faster.

Before movies made him known beyond science-fiction circles, Dick’s best-known work was The Man in the High Castle. It won the Hugo award (science fiction’s highest) in 1962. It describes an alternative 1962 America, in which the Nazis and the Japanese won World War II. There are some nicely imagined touches (Americans forge Wild West artifacts to sell to wealthy Japanese collectors; Germans fly rapidly around the world not in jets, but in passenger rockets), but at the center of the novel is a search for the author of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, an alternative-world tale in which Germany and Japan were defeated. This alternative world is not the one we know, the one that really followed from the defeat of Hitler; and finally, it is suggested that the world the protagonists live in isn’t real either. The I Ching, an ancient Chinese text, figures in the book’s plot, and Dick apparently used its chance-based methods of divination in composing the story. Although Dick never alluded to it, this sense of not being able to know what reality really is reminded me of the Taoist sage Chuang Tsu’s dream that he was a butterfly: it wasn’t clear to him whether he was Chuang Tsu dreaming that he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that he was Chuang Tsu.

In 1978, Dick delivered a lecture, “How to Build a Universe That Doesn’t Fall Apart Two Days Later.” In it, he said: “The two basic topics that fascinate me are ‘What is reality?’ and ‘What constitutes the authentic human being?’” This fascination went back to his first published story, “Roog,” which “had to do with a dog who imagined that the garbage men who came every Friday morning were stealing valuable food that the family had carefully stored away in a safe metal container. Every day, members of the family carried out paper sacks of nice ripe food, stuffed them into the metal container, shut the lid tightly—and when the container was full, these dreadful-looking creatures came and stole everything but the can… [T]he dog’s extrapolation was in a sense logical, given the facts at his disposal.”

Dick’s approach was not always so light. In an angry short story about abortion, “The Pre-Persons,” he wrote of a future in which the courts had decided that a person was a real human being only when capable of doing algebra. Children not yet old enough to grasp algebraic concepts lived in dread of extermination trucks that could come and take them away. Dick’s antiabortion stance led the feminist science-fiction writer Joanna Russ to send Dick a letter, “the nastiest letter I’ve ever received.” Although he later apologized for any hurt feelings, he said, “for the pre-persons’ sake, I am not sorry.”

If Dick’s early work sometimes had an implicitly Gnostic aspect, that quality became more explicit in his later writing. In 1974, Dick, recovering from minor surgery, answered his door for a delivery of painkillers. The young woman delivering the medication was wearing a fish pendant, and when he asked what it was, she told him that it was a sign worn by the early Christians. In “How to Build a Universe,” he writes,

I suddenly experienced what I later learned is called anamnesis—a Greek word meaning, literally, “loss of forgetfulness.” I remembered who I was and where I was. In an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, it all came back to me. And not only could I remember it but I could see it. The girl was a secret Christian and so was I. We lived in fear of detection by the Romans. We had to communicate with secret signs. She had just told me all this, and it was true.

For a short time, as hard as this is to believe or explain, I saw fading into view the black, prison-like contours of hatefulRome. But, of much more importance, I remembered Jesus, who had just recently been with us, and had gone temporarily away, and would very soon return. My emotion was one of joy. We were secretly preparing to welcome him back. It would not be long. And the Romans did not know. They thought he was dead, forever dead. That was our great secret, our joyous knowledge. Despite all appearances, Christ was going to return, and our delight and anticipation was boundless.

Dick was never entirely clear about what that experience meant. But he was convinced that something of great significance had happened to him, and wrote at length about his encounters with what he called “the cosmic Christ” in a free-form journal called “The Exegesis,” in which he understood Christ as part of a continuity which included Ikhnaton, Zoroaster, and Hephaestus. This syncretism is typical of Gnosticism. Dick’s efforts to explain what all this meant are less interesting than the work that came from the experience, his final three novels.

Dick’s visions and dreams coalesced in the VALIS trilogy—VALIS being an acronym for Vast Active Living Intelligence System, or God (of a sort). The most tangled, complicated, and autobiographical is the first, VALIS (1981). It is the least successful of the three, but worth reading because of its seriousness and its painful closeness to Dick’s own life. The plot of VALIS contains not only autobiographical fragments, but a movie with a secret meaning and a rock-star couple whose daughter, Sophia, is thought by some to be the returned Savior. The novel wrestles with the first question that haunted Dick—“What is reality?”—and it suggests one good answer, based on a real incident in Dick’s life. When a student asked him during a lecture for a simple definition of reality, he answered, “Reality is that which when you stop believing in it, it doesn’t go away.” Toward the end of the book Dick writes, “I lack Kevin’s faith and Fat’s madness…. I don’t know what to think. Maybe I am not required to think anything, or to have faith, or to have madness; maybe all that I need to do—all that is asked of me—is to wait. To wait and to stay awake.”

The second book of the trilogy, The Divine Invasion (1981), tells of an exiled or absent God—another Gnostic theme—trying to return to earth, which has been held captive by Belial, a fallen angel, since the fall of Masada. The novel involves a virgin birth, which perplexes the Catholic woman who is pregnant with a divine child. She says remotely, “Catholic doctrine, I never thought it would apply to me personally.” The child must struggle to awaken to his own identity. As in classic Gnostic teaching, a perverse power holds the world in its grasp, and it is represented by both the established church (the Christian-Islamic Church) and the imperial political establishment, whose members are uncomfortably but profitably allied. The Divine Invasion is an amazing story of parallel realities, redemption, and the war between good and evil, with a wonderful ending.

The final novel in the trilogy, the last Dick completed, is The Transmigration of Timothy Archer (1982). The author based Bishop Timothy Archer on Episcopalian Bishop James Pike, who went on an odd pilgrimage into the Judean desert with too little preparation and died of exposure. So does Timothy Archer, in search of the truth about Gnostic scroll fragments. Archer is a complicated character: brilliant and selfish, genuinely insightful and clueless. The novel is narrated by Archer’s daughter-in-law, Angel Archer. In Dick’s novels, the point of view frequently shifts from person to person; but here Angel is the sole narrator, and her voice carries the novel, which contains serious arguments about Gnosticism and a few genuinely funny and politically incorrect jokes.

In these and his other stories, Dick creates characters who struggle not only for salvation, for ultimate truths, but sometimes merely to be decent human beings—and the two struggles are really one. What reality is and what it means to be authentically human are intrinsically linked. Dick’s answers, such as they are, range randomly from new-age nonsense, through his own episodes of delusion and paranoia, to a Gnostic Christianity that contains more of the pain and compassion of real Christianity than most Gnostic visions. Many Gnostic writings advance an elitism that delights in being among the chosen in whom the divine light resides. Dick saw glimmers of the shattered divine light in many confused and struggling people, and he found something of cosmic significance there, both in the light and in the struggle. His finest novel, The Divine Invasion, for example, ends with the fall of Belial, the angelic dark force that held the good God at bay. Belial “lay broken everywhere, vast and lovely and destroyed. In pieces, like damaged light.”

“This is how he was once,” Linda said. “Originally. Before he fell. This was his original shape. We called him the Moth. The Moth that fell slowly, over thousands of years, intersecting the earth, like a geometrical shape descending stage by stage until nothing remained of its shape.”

Herb Asher said, “He was very beautiful.”

“He was the morning star,” Linda said. “The brightest star in the heavens. And now nothing remains of him but this….”

“Will he ever be as he once was?” Herb Asher said.

“Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps we all may be.” And then she sang for Herb Asher one of the Dowland songs…. The most tender, the most haunting song that she had adapted from John Dowland’s lute books:

When the poor cripple by the pool did lie Full many years in misery and pain, No sooner he on Christ had set his eye, But he was well, and comfort came again.

Philip K. Dick’s fiction—perhaps because most of it was written in a genre known for conceptual risk-taking—dealt in an unembarrassed way with questions involving the ultimate meaning of our lives in a tone that was compassionate, often funny, and at some unexpected moments very moving.

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