#all the images for the anime are so low res sob

[bleach-smashorpass]

[maydaygirl-save-our-ships]

Home Again (Amphibia Fic)

Spoilers for True Colors.

Summary:

Anne stared at her shaking and confused frog family and couldn’t help but think back to the first day she landed in Amphibia. She had been terrified, especially after she learned of the blood thirsty, giant creatures that inhabited the world. Nothing about the urban city in which she grew up was familiar to the Plantar family. She recognized their overwhelmed and distraught faces and her resolve hardened. “Don’t worry, guys,” Anne said. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You took care of me when I was lost in your world, and now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: Welcome to Los Angeles

“What the...”

Loud honking blared all around her. The shapes of this world were too straight, too unnatural. Gone were the handcrafted marble buildings, beautiful in their imperfections. Instead, shooting up from the horizon were buildings of glass and metal reaching towards the clouds. The dirty black asphalt stretched out before her where the green plants and moss should’ve been.The sky was muted in color as a brown fog hung over them.

“Oh my frog…” Sprig said as he gawked at the world.

Anne’s breath caught in her throat. Even the air tasted stale and unclean.

“What is this place?” Hop Pop asked from beside her.

Her first instinct was that this strange, foreign place was wrong and they needed to get back home as soon as possible. Then, with a sudden rush of familiarity, the rest of her mind re-centered herself back into the world she used to know.

“Home,” she said simply. She was home.

She felt three pairs of eyes on her as the frogs looked at her in complete bewilderment.

“You mean…” Sprig began before a loud horn sounded, causing the frog family to jump and then cling to her arms fearfully.

Staring down at her frog family, some sense of calmness began to fill her. As overwhelming as this world was to her after living in Amphibia for months, it must have been absolutely terrifying to Polly, Sprig and Hop Pop.

“Come on guys,” Anne said, her voice sounded more assured than she felt. “Let’s get somewhere safe first.”

She climbed off the front of the car, motioning for them to follow. She tried to ignore the stares, honks and pictures she knew were being taken from the other humans inside the vehicles.

Other humans… she was really back on earth with other humans. It was strangely relieving to not be an “other” in the world. Instead, people were staring at the strange frog creatures in slack-jawed confusion instead of at her gangly form. Anne did her best to quickly usher her family between the cars and down the nearest off ramp of the 110.

Anne knew exactly where they were. They weren’t that far from her school, Saint James Middle School, where she, Sasha and… and Marcy…

“Anne?” Hop pop asked, but Anne barely heard him.

Marcy’s wide, terrified eyes… Her last few precious seconds she had as her eyes begged for forgiveness... The sword that had gone straight through her back and out the front of her chest...

Anne saw it all again in her mind’s eye. She closed her eyes, tears pooling as she did so, but the darkness only made the image stronger. In the confusion of being back home, she had pushed the truth away, wishing desperately that it had been a nightmare. There is no way Marcy could…

“Anne!” She heard the voices of her family shouting her name. She felt them hovering around her shoulders.

The image of Marcy in her mind changed as she watched her friend fall to the ground helplessly. It was only then that Anne realized she had also fallen to her knees as her frog family called her name in concern. They sounded so far away as they attempted to coax her back up again.

She belatedly realized that she was still in the middle of the off ramp.

She knew she had to get off. She was in danger. Her family needed safety.

The rest was a blur as she felt her family help her up and she found herself stumbling into vegetation at the end of the off-ramp, just off the side of the road.

She collapsed onto her knees again and felt Hop Pop’s comforting, cool arms around her and she leaned into him. She could feel the arms of Polly and Sprig hugging her, and the gesture only made her cry harder.

“We got you, Anne,” Sprig whispered.

“She’s… she’s gone…” Anne croaked out. “She’s really…” Her whole body shook with sobs.

Hop Pop rubbed comforting circles on her back, which she could barely feel through her armor. She could feel Sprig and Polly shaking with tiny sobs as they hugged her. Even though it was for a shorter time, they had been Marcy’s friends as well.

Marcy had lost everything just to help them escape. If she hadn't grabbed the box, if she hadn’t opened the portal, she might still be…

It hurt too much to even think about.

It felt like hours before Anne ran out of tears. The stale air stung her throat and she desperately wished for a glass of water. As her mind began to clear further, her thoughts started to race. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late for Marcy? Maybe Sasha had done something to save her? It seemed like a stretch, but Amphibia was full of magic. Maybe there was a spell that could have healed her? She didn’t dare voice these thoughts for fear that Hop Pop would tell her that such a spell didn’t exist. For now, she needed the hope, as slim as it might be.

She wouldn’t know for sure until she got back to Amphibia. Amphibia, the same place she left Sasha fighting for her life. The same place where King Andrias was still hellbent on using the music box to conquer worlds. And so, there was only one course of action left.

She broke her family’s embrace and wiped at her eyes.

“We have to go back,” Anne said, her voice raspy from crying.

“How?” Hop Pop asked. “We don’t even have the music box.”

Anne shook her head. “We’ll figure it out. For now, we have to get someplace safe before it gets dark.”

“Where do we go?” Polly asked. She peered out of the foliage hesitantly.

“My home is not far from here,” Anne reassured them.

A car rushed down the street, and the frogs flinched at the roar of the engine; their eyes grew wide as they watched the speed of the car in transfixed horror.

“How are we going to get there with all of those metal monsters out there?” Sprig asked and Anne was surprised to hear a quiver in his voice.

“If only Frobo was here to protect us…” Polly said forlornly as she rested a flipper on the broken robot’s head on the ground, which was peeking out from Anne’s backpack.

Anne felt fresh tears sprig to her eyes and she thought of the metal member of the family. She hasn’t known the robot long, but he had sacrificed everything for them, just like Marcy…

Anne shook her head to push away the thoughts.

“Those aren’t monsters, those are cars,” Anne explained rationally.

Her family stared at her blankly.

“They're like the carts or busses we used back in your world, but instead of being pulled by a snail or other animals, it runs by itself with a motor.”

Somehow explaining her world to the frog family was helping her to collect herself.

“It runs by itself?” Hop Pop asked.

Suddenly, there was a giant shadow cast overhead and the entire family ducked, including Anne. Months of knowing that at any second you could get plucked up by a giant bird or bat was enough to engrain that instinct into her. However, the loud roar of the plane engine brought her back to her reality. Of course, there was an airport nearby. They used to get low flying planes all the time.

The frog family huddled together as they looked up in the sky in fear.

“Is that those flying metal machines you told us about, Anne?” Sprig asked.

“Is it going to fall on us?” Polly asked in hysterics.

Anne stared at her shaking and confused frog family and couldn’t help but think back to the first day she landed in Amphibia. She had been terrified, especially after she learned of the blood thirsty, giant creatures that inhabited the world. Nothing about the urban city in which she grew up was familiar to the Plantar family. She recognized their overwhelmed and distraught faces and her resolve hardened.

“Don’t worry, guys,” Anne said. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You took care of me when I was lost in your world, and now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Next>

Let me know what you think! I'll put out another chapter soon!

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter XVII.5: Inevitabilis, Inevitable

HOSTIS PLAYLIST: WONHO - LOSING YOU

Previous Chapter (XVII: Et Universum Parallel)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz) 

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

Dana’s A/N: this is a special piece written by @vxstarlightxv​ who has been feeding me ideas to fuel this story. i did not write this chapter, i only merely proof-read it/gave her tips etc, but otherwise the beauty of this chapter will never be able to be my own original work.

P.S: if you’re emotional, please keep a box of tissues with you 

“there is no escape from you, not now, not ever. you are inevitable.”

The day the kids at school start calling you Ares is the day Hyunjae loses faith in humanity. You are a spineless, low-life coward, who hardly deserves to be bestowed with the same title as himself. Yet here you are, acting as though you were worth being on the same plane as him.

He hates you. Oh god, he truly does.

He remembers the way you fucked him over so well and thoroughly, and in front of the whole school that too. Granted, he may have screwed with your equipment, but maybe if you didn’t suck so bad you wouldn’t have failed.

Blaming him for your shortcomings. How typical.

But showing Minhee ​that picture of the accidental kiss (that meant ​nothing​) for the sole purpose of destroying his relationship? That was a bitch move right there. So he has no regrets when he posts a cleverly edited picture of your lab teacher with his girlfriend. None at all. In fact, the sight of your tears when that himbo Younghoon dumps you is something that brings him delight.

His heart definitely did not twist when he saw you cry, because he definitely does not care. You hurt him, and it’s only fair that you’re hurting too.

Nonetheless, he is pleasantly surprised at how fast you bounce back. His breakup with Minhee was a huge watery mess, and he cannot help his grudging admiration for your strength when you power through your own with Younghoon.

It is only admiration, for he definitely still hates you.

When the time comes to choose a medical school, he chooses the one that seems the furthest away from you. But fate hates him, so after 4 years of respite, he is dumped back on your doorstep as your fellow intern in the neurology department.

Of all the fucky coincidences.

~~~

Ares is a brutal god. He is the fire of war, wild and relentless.

Hyunjae is furious when he finds out you’ve stolen his report, but he’s not surprised. Not when he would’ve done the same thing. Then again, he was kind of hoping you would leave him alone. Naturally, you’ve done the opposite. He wonders if his emotional response is a little… disproportionate, given the situation, but he’s not going to let you fuck him over like this and escape unscathed. He isn’t a fucking pussy, your thoughts on the matter be damned.

Silly little kitten. Put your paws in the fire, and watch the heat bubble your skin.

He is simmering as he bangs on your door. He hears you screaming some nonsense about your mother, but he’s too pissed to process anything. You open the door, face falling as you see him. He cannot help but reach out a hand and grab you by your pretty throat.

He shoves you into the house, fuelled by the magnitude of his anger. You’ve hurt his pride, made a fool out of him in front of Dr Kim. He wants to shred you to pieces, get you on your knees and rip the apologies from your mouth.

Tonight you will understand why the other gods fear the wrath of Ares.

 ~~~

Hyunjae replays the encounter in his head as he drives home. He has never once considered you as anything but an enemy. But today, something of seismic proportion has shifted in your dynamic.

The flutter of your lips against his, like butterfly wings on a flower. The warmth of your chest against his in a tight alcove, hiding from Dr Shin. The way you felt when you took him in, the way you cried when he hit every single spot that made your toes curl. The way you purred when he called you kitten and mewled as you fell apart on his cock.

In retrospect, he hopes that he didn’t hurt you. He usually likes to stick around for aftercare, but he didn’t want to ruin your pride even more. You’d already been dealt with a devastating blow, and he didn’t want to make it worse, regardless of how big of a dick you think he is.

(Ring, ring)

The sharp blare of his ringtone shatters the silence of his ride home. He glances at the screen, smiling when he sees the caller id.

“What’s up, Juyeonie? Are you finally back?” Hyunjae is thrilled to hear his best friend’s voice. Juyeon is very busy these days, being a commercial pilot and all, so these rare moments they have with each other are more precious than gold.

“Hey, hyung! Yes I am! On that note, are you free next Friday? Let’s get drinks and catch up!” Juyeon sounds so eager and hopeful that Hyunjae can’t help but say yes, no matter how packed his schedule might be. The rest of the conversation proceeds pleasantly, and he is happy to forget the day’s drama.

It is only when he reaches home that he realises that the thought of you has never quite left his head.

~~~

“So what happened? The last I heard, she left you high and dry in JFK.” 

He watches as feline eyes crinkle with delight at his question. His friend launches into a happy tirade about his mystery girl, going on and on about fate and chance encounters and love lost and found. Hyunjae listens carefully, admiring the way Juyeon has changed. He wonders for a moment if he'll ever experience something as profound as Juyeon has, will ever wake up one day knowing that his heart sits in the palms of another person, and will not fear the idea.

The image of your eyes dancing with wicked laughter arises unbidden, and it punches the breath out of him.

He is jostled out of his thoughts when a hand lands on his thigh. It is so abrupt, so sudden that he all but jumps out of his skin.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Choi Minhee is standing in front of him, batting her mascara-painted eyelashes at him seductively. She is as pretty as ever, with her delicate collarbones and anime-girl eyes.

But she is not you.

The thought is so dreadful and unsettling that he cannot help but flirt with her the whole night in order to get it out of his head.

When have you become anything but an annoyance, anything but a pest that’s been shoved down his throat?

It is pleasant, talking to someone who he hasn’t met in a long time. He remembers her fondly, despite how miserable their parting was. Minhee is soft and kind, a gentle cherry-blossom compared to your ever-burning inferno. She complements him well (not perfectly, because only ​one​person does), and for a second he feels white-hot annoyance at you for fucking him over in this regard. Hyunjae cannot help but wonder if they would have been married by now had you not intervened with that photo. Would they be living the white-picket fence dream? What would their kids have looked like?

All he can see are children with your ash-brown hair and his almond eyes. The image causes his gut to clench so tightly that he wonders if something inside him might have cracked open.

“Have you and Y/N gotten together yet? I figured that after we broke up the two of you would end up going out. You were always kinda obsessed with each other.” The question jolts him out of his reverie. Juyeon, who has been listening politely so far, decides to insert himself into the conversation.

“Yeah, hyung. The two of you have always had something special, right? What was that stupid nickname we gave you? Paris and Helen?”

The irony is not lost to him. Enemies, being compared to the two greatest lovers of all time. A face that launched a thousand ships, a blaze of love that destroyed a nation. Only fools succumb to Aphrodite, the cruelest of the divine hosts.

“Ares and Ares. And for fuck’s sake, I will never be attracted to that hag. You won’t believe what she did at work last week-”

Hyunjae misses the knowing look Minhee and Juyeon exchange. He’s only seeing you.

~~~

If there is one thing that Hyunjae hates, it is surprises. So he really, really hates it when he sees you flirting with the intern as though ​he ​doesn’t exist.

The day had actually started off pretty well. He came into work feeling all pleased with himself. Not only did he break you down, but he also figured out a solid way to keep you in line. You were reacting beautifully to his taunts, and seeing you unable to walk made something vicious inside him preen.

And then, before he can breathe, you are making stupid cow-eyes at the snot-faced little intern as though he created entire galaxies in your honour.

How dare you, honestly? You’re wearing ​his ​hickeys on your neck, limping and ​sore because ​he​ripped you apart last night. How can you even ​think​of flirting with another man? Are you doing this on purpose, to get some semblance of power back?

This is not jealousy. It definitely is NOT jealousy because that would mean he would have to be attracted to your hideous hag face. No, it was an issue of pride. And no, he definitely was not deluding himself right now.

Nonetheless, watching Eric help you into his car after work makes him want to vomit.

~~~

It is the party incident that truly knocks it into his head. He spends the entire night seething over your flirtations with Eric, with even ​Sangyeon. He glares at you, but you pretend to not see, and it shoves him off the edge.

Why won’t you look at him? A room full of people, but you are the only one he sees. So why aren’t you seeing him too?

He reminds you that night, who is the only one who knows how to pick you apart, snap you in half. He reminds you who is the only one who can make your body thrum and vibrate, who is the only one who can coax tears from your eyes and pleasured sobs from your throat. But he is also tender with you after, because under that diamond-hard exterior is a heart wrapped in silks and satin. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do.

It is only when he wakes up alone in the morning that he realises that maybe, just maybe, he wishes he could see you in his bed again, hair spilled across the sheets as your breathing slowly evens out into slumber. He wants to coo over your keening wails, drink the moans from your mouth.

A thought, fleeting and profound, surfaces.

He wants you to be his.

~~~

He goes to work on Sunday with iron resolve. He has spent the entirety of Saturday thinking hard about you, and the relationship you shared with him. The line between obsession and infatuation is a thin one, one that the two of you have been dancing on for 10 whole years. When did his foot slip? When did the late nights plotting revenge mutate into candied dreams of your lips, of your body, singing for him?

But of course, who else could it be? You have always been, will always be, his forever other half.

Ares and Ares, locked in their death dance. But when did Ares become Aphrodite? War has become Love, and Love has become War.

Somewhere along the way, something has gone wrong. At some point or the other, he has forgotten the hatred that sizzled through him like blazing poison. He has forgotten that you are annoying, that you are competitive, and that you get revenge in the sleaziest ways possible. He has forgotten everything, because all that remains is the way your smile looks like a flashing ray of sunlight, like a tendril of shimmering starlight. All that remains is the sound of your wind chime laughter, the softness of your small hands on his heated skin. All that remains is the memory of how good you are for him, how addictive the juxtaposition between your submissive sweetness in bed and your fiery heat outside of it is.

So he decides that he is going to make you his. Granted, the order of things was completely wrong, but he would fix it. He would cook you dinner, press kisses onto your cherry mouth, and then love you till morning comes. And then he would repeat it every day, till the day the two of you are cradled in the eternal embrace of death.

Surely, surely you reciprocate his feelings? How can you not, when your body weeps for him the way it does?

He likes to think you do, when he admires the way your eyes flutter closed when he steals kisses in the pantry. He likes to think you do, when you stay four hours past your shift and order takeaway for him. He likes to think you do, when you dangle Eric in front of him in order to get him to fuck you ​hard,​just the way you like it.

You are his, now.

~~~

Hyunjae’s love for you grows like tender flowers. It starts off small, but grows into something lovely and heartbreaking. You have carved your way into him, nestling against the walls of his heart and beseeching him to let you in with your stupid almond eyes.

He loves your stupid almond eyes.

He is on a cloud these days, brimming with affection that lights up his every step. He never considered himself to be one of those annoying, lovey-dovey honeymooners, but he can definitely see where they get their joy from.

Lovers alone wear sunlight.

You become his greatest delight. When you are around, even dust seems to sparkle like a thousand tiny diamonds. He loves waking up with you, your eyes half lidded and neck covered in his marks. He loves to see you in his clothes, smelling of his body wash, smelling of ​him.

(He has an extra special fondness for the days in which you are soft and pliant, allowing him to dress you like a doll. It makes his internal organs feel like they are tumbling over each other, and it makes him a little giddy. He loves taking care of you.)

But if he really had to pick a moment, he supposes he loves you most when you are with your patients, hands calm and steady and strong. It reminds him of everything beautiful there is about his profession, and he cannot get enough.

You are beautiful, in all the ways there are to be beautiful. You race through him like lightning, and he is sucked further into your orbit everyday. You carry his heart with you (inside yours), and you are never without it.

So he is overflowing with love when he picks you up and tastes your peach-covered mouth. He is overflowing with love when you smile at him with a sort of lightness that he's never quite seen directed at him before. He is overflowing with love as he goes to your favourite cafe one day to pick up the chowder you never stop talking about. Tonight, he will ask you to be his girlfriend, make this tentative little dance official.

Perhaps that is why the pain is so exquisite when he sees you with Younghoon, and hears you talking about Eric with such tenderness in your eyes.

“​He’s super enthusiastic and there’s just something about him that’s so... comforting. I see him and I think about nothing but sunshine and warmth and laughter. He’s just... so cheerful, compared to whatever i’ve been used to.​​” Something inside him shatters into a million jagged pieces when he hears the words, and every breath becomes as a blood-drenched ordeal.

Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. The words ring like alarm bells.

Fool. Naive, hopeless fool. You were never really his, were you? You might be the light by which his spirit is born, you might be his sun, moon and stars, but he? He is your nothing. He is the shadow that is birthed of your radiance, forever connected and forever forgotten.

Is this is why storms are named after people? You have destroyed him in the sweetest of ways. Is this taste of heartbreak? Rust coats his tastebuds. Is this how tears are born? The agony is magnificent and all-encompassing. There is nothing left for him here. He has never been enough, never will be.

He leaves quietly, chowder forgotten.

~~~

It is truly repulsive, the fact that he can see what you adore about Eric. The intern is strong and sweet, kind in all the ways Hyunjae is not. He is soft and mellow, and will cool your scalding tantrums with gentle words. He will not stir up the embers of your fury the way Hyunjae does, hoping for a reaction. He will be tender with you, gently laying you out and coaxing your body to sing. He will not be harsh and hard and possessive like Hyunjae, claiming you with bites and bruises and writing his possession into your blood.

He has been measured, and he has been found lacking. Eric is the perfect Hephaesthus, a sweet spring dandelion, and it is no surprise that Zeus will give you to him.

Aphrodite never belonged to Ares, after all.

“Hey, Eric! Do you have a moment?” By some miracle, his voice doesn’t crack.

“Hey, hyung! What can I do for you?” Eric is as mirthful as ever, and Hyunjae wishes they weren’t fighting over the same girl because he might actually ​like the​ intern otherwise.

“Have you gotten Y/N’s number yet?” He pauses to watch the bashful amusement dance across the intern’s face, and waits for the head shake he knows is coming. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s very into you. So here’s her number, and make sure you call her, alright?” The teasing lilt he’s going for comes off more as a hoarse croak, and he realises belatedly that he really needs to be less of a shit actor.

“Thank you so much, hyung! But hey, don’t you hate Y/N? Why are you helping her out?” The intern offers him a cheeky grin, and all Hyunjae wants to do is knock his teeth out. But he’s a ​professional,​so he offers Eric a tight smile (read: grimace) and says “Well, maybe I’m hoping you’ll distract her from work so that I’ll get the promotion first.” He tosses a wink in for good measure, before reaching out to ruffle Eric’s hair with a certain sadistic pleasure.

That’s thirty minutes in the bathroom gone down the drain. But that’s what he gets for stealing Hyunjae’s girl.

Of course, because Eric is quite literally an angel who can apparently do no wrong, he gives Hyunjae a sweet smile and rolls away happily in his chair, high off his excitement at finally getting the girl he’s been after for ​ages.

And then Hyunjae is left alone to drown in self-loathing.

Hyunjae is clearly a masochist who likes to hurt himself, so that’s why he decides to tell you to meet him at the carpark after work. One last time, he’ll be the one to drive you home, the one who kisses you goodnight.

He promises he’ll let you go after this.

~~~

The car ride is as quiet as ever. You enjoy being left alone with your thoughts, and Hyunjae isn’t about to interrupt you when he’s being pummeled by his own.

The Japanese once made up a fictional disease to describe the horrors of unrequited love. They call it ​Hanahaki​, in which flowers grow in the lungs of the victims, causing them to cough up petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

He supposes that it is the exact feeling that he feels now. His love for you coils in his chest, choking leaves and thorns that crush his internal organs. It is rooted so deep that it might never leave, killing him softly but surely. The petals tickle his throat in an insidious kiss as he chokes on his desire for you, their softness a poisonous taunt of your lips against his, a feeling he might never know again.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a balm to his wounded heart.

Of course he’s not okay. He’s in love with you, but you’re not in love with him. He knows that he is nothing without you, and that knowledge is somehow everything.

All this time he wanted to make you his, but you have made him yours.

He cannot form words, so he looks at you, really, really looks at you. He memorises the contours of your face, the slender bone of your nose, the tilt of your eyes, the exact shade of red your lips are. He'll hold every little detail close, remember the last night you're his and his alone, because tomorrow Eric will ask you out and his Aphrodite will never be his again.

He wants to pretend like the sudden moisture in his eyes is surprising, but he can't lie to himself anymore.

Liar, liar. Ares is a liar.

Is this how Lucifer felt when he fell from heaven? You are life, you are life and light and everything bright. And he is cold, dark and alone. He has fallen from grace, and all that is left are the coiling tendrils of hubris keeping his spine straight and gluing the shattered pieces of his heart together. He is heartbroken, but he will clench his teeth and grit through it. Your joy is worth it. His ego won't let him fall apart. He's stronger than this. Isn't he?

Break my heart. Break it into a thousand pieces and then some. It was only ever yours to break anyways.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Anyways, we’re here now. Get out already.” Your scoff is musical. He is aching and he is broken, so he does not have the strength to resist the screaming in his head to steal one last kiss from you. He luxuriates in the feeling of your petal-soft lips against his, before pulling away reluctantly.

Everything is more beautiful because the two of you are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. You will never share this moment again.

“Goodbye, kitten.”

The words are far more permanent than he likes. You don’t hear them.

His tears run as he pulls out of your driveway. He allows himself one last look at you, confusion blossoming on the face he once swore was hideous but now haunts his every moment.

Love is fire. It burns as much as it warms, and he is the poor fool who allowed himself to get scarred.

~~~

Crossing the line from enemies to lovers was a wheeling drop of ecstasy and biting kisses. Crossing the line from lovers back to co-workers is a study in heartbreak, and Hyunjae doesn't know how much longer he can handle it.

How do I forget you? I've tasted your secrets on my lips and drank the whispers of your body. You are the weakness in my bones and the hollowness in my lungs. How do I cleave my soul from yours, when you are the drum that my heart beats to?

It is an awful sort of pain, feeling his chest cave in when he watches Eric roll over to you from his cubicle. You find him cute, it's obvious from the way your eyes crinkle like little stars when you regard him.

Look at me. Look only at me.

You look up, searching for his eyes like you’ve heard his prayer. You're expecting jealousy, disdain, fury. You're expecting him to drag you to the pantry, to call you ​kitten ​and kiss you till you bleed. But Hyunjae has no more poison to offer you. He is empty, and all he can do is give you a blank look. He hopes you will be happy, silently wishing you the best.

Hephaestus gets Aphrodite, and all Ares can do is watch. Bloody, brutal Ares is never the winner.

His lack of response throws you off. By now, you are used to his hissy fits, his seething rages. But who is he? What right does he have? You are not his to rage over, or his to claim. You might wear his marks on your neck, but you are definitely not ​his.

How he wishes you were. But wishes are like pixie dust, and this is no fairytale.

The rest of the day is agonising. His body is so keenly attuned to yours now, and he doesn’t know how to rewire himself. He keeps a cool distance from you, but every molecule in his being roars in fury at the forced detachment.

He misses you already.

You continue to press him, trying to push his buttons and rile him up. Hyunjae studiously ignores you, hoping his coldness will further fray the ropes holding up the fragile bridge of a relationship that the two of you have developed. You are looking at him with a strange mix of anger, disdain and annoyance. For a second, he thinks he might even see-

Is that? Could it be? Longing? Do you miss him like he misses you?

Wishful thinking. That’s what it is. But it hurts so bad that he decides that he’s just going to avoid you from now on, until he finds a more appropriate coping mechanism than simply crying like a toddler when he can’t get his way.

Maybe he should call Minhee, and try to rekindle-

He cuts the thought off before it dredges up more painful memories. All he can see when he thinks of Minhee are the one-thousand-and-one different ways you exceed her.

You’re fiercer, with more spine. You don’t give in as easily. You’re not afraid to fight with him. You have a kinder heart. You are so much smarter. Your lips are softer. Your hand fits into his so much more perfectly. You are lovely in all the ways she never was, never will be.

It is a numbing, novocaine relief when Dr Choi summons him for rounds. If Hyunjae is left for even a second longer with his thoughts, he might just spiral into a pit of depressed longing and self pity that he might never emerge from.

Mighty Ares, on his knees. Aphrodite’s laughter perfumes the air, irresistible and menacing.

~~~

He is on his final round when he meets Mrs Kang. The kind, old lady takes one look at him, eyes lighting up with knowledge that he wishes she wasn’t able to glean so easily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Well he doesn’t, but the words explode out of his bleeding heart like ink spilling on ivory pages.

“I... I thought that it would be okay, that I could forget and let go and that it would all be fine and good but then… I saw her--” his voice cracks miserably as a lump etches itself into his throat. His heart is racing, and every inhale feels like swallowing glass shards.

“I saw her and something went terribly wrong because I couldn’t forget and my heart was remembering and I felt like I was dying but I couldn’t do anything because all I want is for her to be happy and I know that happiness isn’t with me and I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT.”

Mrs Kang is silent, regarding him with a look he can’t quite decipher. He takes it as an invitation to continue.

“I wish I was him. I wish I was the one who could make her smile, make her laugh. But I’m angry, I’m jealous and I’m immature. I’m overly competitive, and I don’t know how to lose graciously. When I’m pissed, I do stupid, radical things.”

Silence. Inside, outside. It is deafening.

“Why would she want me? I don’t deserve her, and knowing that I’ll have to live my life watching her in another man’s arms is ripping me apart.”

He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon. It’s a terrifying prospect, facing his feelings head on. Until now, they were swirling around his head in an ugly tangle of emotion. Verbalising them, hearing them out loud, is painful and cathartic at once. But he’s already feeling like a pathetic little sap. He wonders if you would sneer at him if you heard. Is this what it feels like to lose? Is this how you felt, lifetimes ago, on your sofa? The two of you have always been push and pull, a forever impasse. But today, you’ve finally shoved him off balance.

Who is the stronger Ares now? Your kisses are his kryptonite.

A hand comes to rest over his.

“Love always finds a way. I know you’re feeling hopeless now, but know that if you are meant for each other, you will always find your way back,” Mrs Kang finishes with a gentle smile. The pretty words do not reassure him.

If only love was as perfect as love seems to be, if only his flaws and broken edges could be hidden away. But this is a dream that will never come to life, a flower that will never grow to bloom.

She does not know who it is that he is fighting with, who it is that is slipping away from him with every passing second. She thinks that it will be okay, but she does not know that Ares has no mercy. He expects none from you. Nonetheless, he gives her a watery grin in return before standing up to complete his rounds. He may have lost, but he has enough composure to know better than to break in public.

It is a monumental effort, holding it together.

Hyunjae makes it to the lift in peace, stepping in through the shiny doors and slamming the button for the fifth floor. When they slide open, the sight before him makes his heart drop like a wineglass.

You and Eric are standing across him, hand in hand. Eric’s foot is tapping impatiently, eager to drag you off to wherever he was taking you for dinner.

For a second, he loses control over his emotions. Agony crumples his face, and you, because you’re just that smart and just that perceptive, register it. He doesn’t have the heart to pretend anymore.

Hyunjae brushes past the two of you, ignoring your questioning look, ignoring Eric’s cheerful greeting, and most importantly ignoring the writhing in his chest. He goes straight for his briefcase and shoves his belongings in, flicking the lights off and rushing to the carpark. He does not want to see anyone. He does not want to process anything.

He is empty. So, so empty, and hollow. The void inside him threatens to consume him whole.

The moment he reaches home, he goes straight to his spirits. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting in the top most shelf of his kitchen, a birthday gift from his father. He pulls it down, slamming the glass decanter onto the kitchen counter, and the pressure nearly cracks it open.

He remembers the sight of you pressed up against this very counter, squirming under his ministrations. He remembers your lips fall open in a sigh, and then to beg. He remembers standing between your thighs, feeding you and then licking cream off your lips. Memories swirl through his head, cutting through his ribcage and slicing his heart open.

He doesn’t bother to grab a glass, pouring the scorching liquid down his throat. It claws at him, and he welcomes the pain.

Love is cruel, love is cold. When it kills, it does it slow.

He knows the tears are coming. The pressure has been building in his head for the last twenty-four hours. They fall as he walks over to the living room, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror you clutched when you moaned wretchedly, promising him that HE was the only one who could ever ruin you this way.

He lifts the bottle, forcing himself to look his reflection in the eye as he drinks a toast to Eric. ​Here’s to you, buddy.

His reflection sneers back, bloodshot and desolate. A half of a whole, incomplete. This is what he is without you.

Hyunjae sinks to the ground, bottle thumping down on the carpet. It rolls once, twice, and rivulets of alcohol splash across the floor. Another memory lunges up.

There is nothing more striking than red on white. Blood on snow. Wine on cream skin, tracing paths his eager tongue follows. A hiss of anger that softens into a sigh.

The sofa smells like you. The study smells like you. You are everywhere, and it breaks him, tearing a wail of grief out of his chest.

One day, the smell of you will fade. You will slip between his fingers like the wisp of a dream, and all he will be left with is the recollection of the fleeting seconds you were his and his alone.

Too much. This is too much. He cannot think, he cannot see, he cannot ​breathe,​without being haunted by you. You are in every orifice, in every nook and cranny and cell. You are in the water of his blood and in the porous hollows of his bones. You are in the fibre between his atoms, you are in the electricity racing across his neurons. 

There is no escape from you, not now, not ever.

You are inevitable.

(Knock, knock)

It takes him a moment to realise that the pounding is not from the blood rushing in his head, but from someone impatiently banging on his door. He picks himself off the floor, not bothering to fix his appearance.

By now, you must be in Eric’s arms. He would kiss you softly, like summer rain. You would sigh into his lips, and he would look at you like you hung the moon. He would take you home, and press more kisses into your silk skin as he whispers his love. One day, he would get on one knee and present you with a diamond. You would say yes, because Eric is sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine. Warmth. Laughter.

This, this is what you deserve. Not him, not his twisted mess of anger and jealousy. He is a stinging scorpion, and you deserve more than his petty poisons. But his heart still lurches at the thought of you, nestled into Eric.

The gods have always feared Aphrodite more than Ares. He thinks he can finally understand why.

He swings the door open, and once again forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think, forgets that he kinda hates you but now kinda loves you because there you are, raindrops glistening in your eyelashes, and you eclipse every star in the sky. There is nothing but you and you alone, and his withered little heart is shooting to life because ​that’s just what you do to him. There’s so much he wants to say, so many thoughts tumbling through his head. But he’s a frightful, useless coward, so all that flies out of his mouth is:

“Why the fuck are you--”

And then your lips are cushioned against his, kissing the venom out of him. He cannot help the sigh he breathes into your mouth at the way your body slots so perfectly against his.

Home, home is in your arms. He has been running all his life, and you have always been his only destination.

Tears slip out, hot and fast, washing the festering wound inside him clean. The cracked pieces of his soul begin to lift up and fuse together.

The light of a thousand suns slices through the void in him, and the darkness melts like ice on a hot summer day.

He is shuddering, wrecked by the sheer ​force​ of the emotions in him. But you are holding him tight, so very tight. He hopes you will never let him go. ​Never ever, ever let him go.

He is yours, and you are his. Where he ends, you begin and where you end, he begins. There is nothing else, no one else, because there was never anyone for him but you. Love not at first sight, or even the second, but at last sight and at ever and ever sight.

When you finally pull away to murmur the words he would have never even dreamed of hearing from you, it’s like starlight is filling the dusty hollows of his chest, sewing the pieces that have fallen apart back into the tapestry that is you. He is surprised, he really is, but something inside him has always known, has always clung to the hope that you would choose him, despite everything.

All that matters, is that you’ve come back to him. You are the only truth he’s ever known.

~~~ 

Later in the evening, when the two of you are spent from your love-making and coiled so tightly that your breaths have become one, Hyunjae takes a moment to contemplate the situation. You have won this competition between the two of you. You have planted yourself as first in his life, and for once (​and of course, the only time ever, because he is still going to get that damn promotion before you)​, he is happy to cede to you. This is what love is, to break and to be broken, to be full and to be empty, to win and to lose. He would have it no other way. All that he is, and all that he will be, center around the axis that is you.

Do you feel like this too? Like your heart is bursting from the seams?

You sigh in your sleep, seemingly agreeing. He loves you so much, it hurts. But there is one final thing to do.

He lifts his head to the stars, who have been waiting for this collision of souls for a long, long time.

Thank you, he whispers.

And for once, Zeus smiles down on his Ares.

ENDING THOUGHTS:

First of all, a very big thank you to everyone who made it to the end!! This piece has been a wild, emotional ride from start to finish and I understand that the sudden change in style can be jarring for some. As such, I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read it :)

Hyunjae has always been a very complicated character. We’ve seen him through Y/N’s eyes for the last 17 or so chapters, and she is definitely not the most reliable of narrators. Many of her thoughts regarding his actions and motivations are shadowed by her own negative emotions, and he has come off as a rather poisonous character, except for the rare moments of tenderness he seems to show. Hopefully this will help you get a glimpse into Hyunjae’s psyche, in a way that is untainted by Y/N. I’ve seen many of your asks about Hyunjae and his behaviour, and perhaps you will see this as a sort of redemption for him, in the sense that he is so much deeper and complex than the seething neanderthal Y/N sees him as.

Writing this was a challenge nonetheless, and I think we should all be very grateful to Dana for powering through Y/N and Hyunjae’s story, given how much of a hot mess this couple is! It’s very hard to write an enemies-to-lovers fic without it coming off as corny and shallow, and she had the double struggle of writing that dynamic in a medical setting. The fact that we’re all whipped for these two is testament to her brilliant writing, so let’s all say a big thank you for that :))

Before I end, I’d like to pay homage to some of the writers that have inspired this fic. Reading through, you will see quotes inspired by the likes of Nabokov, Cummings and Homer. If I’m not wrong, there’s a little bit of Sarah J Maas and Caitlyn Siehl in there as well. And of course, who can forget the little bits of mythology peeking out here and there? If you happened to notice these references, feel free to scream in Dana’s ask box! It’ll be fun to read your thoughts :)

Once again, a very big thank you for following Hostis so devotedly, and showering Dana with your love. I hope you’ll continue to give her all your love and support the rest of her works.

(P.S Did anyone notice Pilot! Juyeon? If you didn’t, you should 1000% check out his story too, here.)

Love Always,

V

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter XVIII: Renuntiatio

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

A Singular Cog in the Machine Chapter 3

Chapter Title: Soul and Emotion

Summary: "It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine fell apart.“

Logan adheres to the belief that needs of the many far outweigh the needs of the one, the latter being himself. Or in other words, Logan tries to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others. Fortunately for Logan, they won’t let him get away with that.

Chapter Word-Count: 2k

Pairings: platonic lamp

Warnings: Injuries, Referenced Torture, Crying, Misunderstandings, Angst With a Happy Ending

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | End       AO3 LINK

As promised, here comes the comfort! I want to give a quick shout-out to both @delimeful and @today-only-happens-once as their own sci-fi aus helped inspire me to finish what I started with this one heh <3

-

Logan woke up alone for the first time in a long while. Approximately sixty-six cycles, five hours, thirty-two minutes, four, five, six seconds ago. 

‘Internal Clock program is running functionally,’ Logan thought as he closed his eyes, running a quick diagnosis scan. It was not...completely optimal. Parts of his code had been ravaged, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. His biological body still suffered grievous breaches. His artificial eyes were damaged, only working at 70% efficiency. 

This made viewing things from a distance rather difficult. However, it was clear enough to recognize he was not in his own quarters. Rather, he was still in the ship’s common recreation area. The “living room” as Virgil referred to it. 

He laid on the couch, swaddled in soft blankets and cushioned with a plethora of pillows. Both he expected came from Patton’s hoard in his quarters. He was almost surprised not to see a stuffed animal in the crook of his arm. The television was on, the volume lowered to only a pleasant murmur could be heard. Images of animals flashed onto the screen. A nature documentary, one that Logan had previously found to be captivatingly informative.

 “--we’ll take care of you, we’ll watch all your favorite nature documentaries, how does that sound?”

Patton had said that, he recalled. But when? He tried locating the source of the memory file. Except--

ERROR MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

He dug a bit deeper, finding more and more memory files in a similar disarray. He’d known this problem was occurring. But that didn’t explain the chill that swept through his body just then. A fever perhaps? No, his body temperatures remained at their normal regulated levels.

Before he could contemplate this further, his ears picked up on noises in the distance. Too far away to make it out from his position. There was a simple solution to his quandary. The ship computer. Or Odysseus as Roman insisted on calling it. He could request an audio transcript. 

Pinging...pinging...pinging…

He couldn’t reach the ship computer. That was not optimal. His only option was to investigate the noises himself.

Logic dictated he was wounded. He should remain on the couch unless absolutely necessary. He remained put, concentrating on the television. The urge to find the source of the noises would not go away. It festered, growing rapidly like a disease until he could not withstand it any longer. 

Standing up from the couch proved far more difficult than he anticipated. His torso flared in pain, his legs shaky and unstable. He gripped the side of the couch, breathing in deeply. His vision spun, distorted and decorated with bright spots of light. It took a moment for it to completely clear.

He looked down the corridor, the distance stretching into oblivion. No, that was a falsehood. It was only ten meters long. However, in his current physical state it might as well be a thousand meters.

It didn’t cause his pressing curiosity to fade in the slightest. He took a step forward, his foot stinging like pins and needles to quote an idiom of Virgil’s. He didn’t collapse. Granted, he heavily leaned onto the couch for support. He took another step forward and then another.

 He held onto the corridor wall the whole way, a small grunt of pain leaving him. The dizziness returned, but he pushed through it. All that mattered was reaching the end of the corridor. If Logan’s memory was still accurate, it should lead to the ship galley. Perhaps the others were engaged in re-energizing through fuel consumption? 

As he drew close, the noises crystallized into recognizable speech. 

“Are you sure?” Virgil’s voice asked, pointed and edged. Someone responded, much too low for Logan to catch. He gritted his teeth, propelling himself onward at an accelerated rate. His vision frizzled and crackled, everything becoming a blobby mess of colors.

“Maybe we should--Logan!” 

An arm wrapped around his waist, hoisting him up. Logan opened his mouth to protest when a wave of nausea hit him. He quickly shut it in favor of keeping his stomach contents down. The person guided him to a chair, careful and steady. He sat there, grimacing as the nausea gradually subsided from his systems.

When he glanced up again, he met the furrowed brows of Roman, Patton and Virgil. They gathered around him, forming a semi-circle. He examined them, scrutinizing every detail. His drive whirred from the amount of tests he processed in the matter of nanoseconds. Each one proving the validity of his suspicions every single time.

“You’re real.” He croaked.

They all exchanged a glance.

“Yes, we’re here Logan, you’re safe now,” Patton confirmed, laying a hand on Logan’s shoulder. A gesture meant to be reassuring except it wasn’t reassuring at all. 

“No,” Logan shook his head, “You should--cannot---I don’t--it does not make sense!”

“Why does it not make sense?” Roman asked, dropping down on one knee. He acted odd,  more muted than usual. The way his head bowed indicated a sign of exhaustion. Logan shook this thought aside in an attempt to formulate a response.

“To quote Spock from the movie Star Trek II Wrath Of Khan, ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one,’” Logan said. Upon their blank stares, he elaborated, “A singular cog in the machine is more easily replaced than if the whole machine falls apart. As the ship engineer and navigator, my role is vital but replaceable, therefore--” 

Patton drove into Logan, embracing him firmly around his middle. The titekan’s whole frame shook as deep, guttural sobs fell erupted from him. Logan blinked, almost short-circuiting from this unexpected turn of events.

“I...do not understand.” Logan admitted. He glanced up at Roman and Virgil only to find them in similar states of malfunction. 

“You colossal intelligent idiot,” Roman murmured, his face dripping with ivory tears. He shoved his head against Logan’s shoulder, placing his arms around both him and Patton. “Did you really think we could function without you?”

‘‘Yes,’’ Logan wanted to say, but he couldn’t. The word wouldn’t come out of his clenched throat. Virgil was the only one left standing at this point. He was the captain, the system administrator. He was a much-appreciated source of reality.  Surely, despite his human emotions, he understood the logic. 

“Lo,” Virgil sighed, running his hand through his hair, “When you disappeared, we searched all over the galaxy looking for you. We looked for weeks. And after we found you, we’ve been taking care of you in shifts. You know why?”

Logan shook his head.

“Because you’re not a broken cog to us. You’re more than that--you’re a kraffing sentient being. You’re--” Virgil’s voice wobbled. He inhaled harshly, pushing on, “Dammit, you’re family, Logan. And it’s cheesy but we don’t give up on one another. Never.”

“Captain Fearless is right,” Roman said, and Patton made a rumbling sound of agreement.

“Oh,” Logan managed, swallowing, “Oh.”

He’d thought so much about the others’ and their importance to the system. He analyzed and calculated it all. He saw how removing any of their variables would be detrimental. But in all his calculations, he never considered how he himself affected the equation. 

“I did not--I made a slight miscalculation--” Logan breathed in, “I am sorry.”

“No,” Virgil said, stepping closer, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should’ve told you, I assumed it was an understood thing. We could’ve rescued you sooner if I hadn’t second-guessed myself--”

“Virgil.” Logan said, the clenching feeling in his throat tightening. Wordlessly, he reached out a hand to Virgil. He wasn’t quite sure what he was attempting to convey. Fortunately Virgil seemed to understand. He leaned over and joined the entangling of limbs and bodies. 

‘A group hug,’ Logan’s dictionary program informed him, ‘an instance of three or more people embracing one another simultaneously, typically to provide support or express solidarity.’

They held onto one another for quite a while, not moving a single muscle. Great globs of tears were shed amongst them all; even Logan wasn’t immune to it. He rationalized it was his body reacting to the others’ emotional displays. It probably did not have to do with the strange, tingly warmth lit up inside his chest.

He would worry about this sensation if not for the melatonin in his system starting to take effect. He closed his eyes, a long intake of oxygen following this action. 

“Logan?” Patton sniffled.

“Yes?” 

“Th...there’s something we need to tell you about.”

Logan’s eyes fluttered open. He looked expectantly at Patton, waiting. The titekan opened his mouth to continue, but Virgil and Roman beat him to it.

“Patton, are you seriously going to tell him--”

“We should wait--”

“No,” Patton said, interrupting them both, “we can’t keep this from him. He deserves to know.”

It didn’t increase in volume, but Logan’s heart was the only thing roaring in his ears. Deserves to know? The only scenarios Logan could come up in his mind was his tests were faulty, wrong wrong wrong about this being real. It was all fake. A simulation, surely or worse; an experiment. The thousand eyes watching him behind a screen, shattering his hopes once more.

“Logan?” A soft hand touched his cheek, “you with us?”

“Yes,” Logan heard himself saying, “Yes, I’m here. Go on, Patton. What is it that you’d like to divulge?” 

“When we brought you back, I did a few medical scans, to try and see if there was any internal bleeding going on,” Patton hesitated, refusing to meet Logan’s eyes, “I found an AI chip in your brain.”

What? Impossible, his AI was supposed to be undetectable by scans--

“That disgusting buvah must’ve stuck it in you for the kriffs and giggles,” Roman growled, his scaled tail whipping with indignation. 

“As far we can tell, it doesn’t have a tracker,” Virgil said, “and removing it could be lethal.”

“Okay.” Logan said faintly. 

“Okay?” Roman repeated, squinting, “We just told you that you have a freaky AI chip in your brain and your response is, ‘okay?!’”

“Hey, lay off him, Princey,” Virgil hissed, “He’s been through a lot, you know that.”

“Well,” Logan began, “this is not how I expected to inform you all of the fact that I am an advanced artificial intelligence operating inside of a biological body.”

“What?!” Roman gaped at him. Virgil and Patton also stared at him, showing similar signs of duress. 

“I did not think it was imperative intel as it did not negatively impact my performance as neither an engineer or navigator.” Logan said. And while it was true, it was also a bit of a lie. The reality was that most people seemed to be wary of AIs. This was why he chose to clothe himself with a biological body to blend in, so to speak. All it took was working lungs and a beating heart for others to respect and listen as illogical as that may be.

“I admit, that perhaps that was another lapse of judgment on my part. I understand if knowing this...makes you uncomfortable,” Logan added, a weird twisting feeling settling in his gut. Perhaps he was ill? He could not find himself to meet their gazes. He tried not thinking about how that was a sign of nervousness. He was not nervous, after all, AIs do not get nervous.

“Freaky?” Roman let out a high-pitched laugh, “did I say freaky? I meant to say there’s a freaking fantastic AI chip in your brain.”

“I agree,” Patton chirped up, “You could almost say that he’s too cute to compute!”

Now it was Logan’s turn to gape at them. “It really does not bother any of you?”

“It’s like I said,” Virgil told him, a small smirk growing on his lips, “you’re family. We love you, AI or not.”

Logan blinked, slowly processing the others--no, his family’s words. It didn’t make sense. His systems struggled putting it in neat, quantifiable boxes. He feared trying would only result in his systems crashing. For once, however, he found it didn’t matter that didn’t need to make sense.

So his response to this was purely logical. In ways Logan refused to elaborate or share even within himself.

“I...find you all sufficient as well.”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 3 [18+]

<-Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 ->

Summary: The creature feels guilty about having sex with you before explaining that he’s... um... made of dead people. Before things get too steamy again, he needs to reveal the truth. But how will you handle the news?

After you finish re-wrapping his bandages, attending to the healing of his bullet wound, you realize your stomach is gurgling with hunger. He generously offers all the roots and nuts stored in his pockets. You take them gratefully, but wonder if he has anything more substantial, like oats or meat. He does not.

“This is hardly enough for my breakfast, much less split between us.”

“You may have all of it for yourself,” he offers. “I can subsist on less.”

You pointedly refuse. “You need energy to heal; I can’t eat all your food. Besides which, if this is all you have, then I’ll be starving again by lunchtime.”

“I would spend every waking hour gathering every edible leaf and berry from the forest so you may feast as royalty, except this blasted arm. Even with your tender nursing, it is a constant throb of pain. I am unfit for protracted exertion.”

“Then I see no other recourse,” you say, popping a stale acorn into your mouth, “than to return home, or I won’t survive out here with you.” You’re honestly amazed that he can survive on such meager rations, as big as he is.

His shoulders fall, and he takes on an expression of mourning. “Then, you shall leave me after all.”

“Not at all! Come home with me, and I shall see we are both well fed.” You explain that your parents’ farm has a barn and hayloft at the far end of a wide field of grains, at the edge of the forest. It is isolated enough for him to hide within during the day, since you are the most frequent user of the space, as you go about your chores alone. It would be easy to visit him there to continue tending his wound, and they could quickly vanish into the forest.

He is greatly relieved to hear of your plan not to abandon him, though he adds, “I am not keen on hiding in a village full of people again. The last time did not end well.”

“The last time you didn’t have me looking after you,” you smile.

Before returning home, you and your companion roast your small stockpile of vegetables on the embers. He sits close to you the entire time they cook, holding your hand, hating every instant you’re not in contact with him. But he still looks away from you whenever he catches you looking at him too long, and lets his wild black hair fall in front of his face.

You climb into his lap, straddling him, and begin combing through the snarls in his locks with your fingers. He gasps. Though he keeps shifting his face to keep you from seeing all of it, he braces his hands against your back to help you balance as you work, his chest moving up and down more and more rapidly beneath yours. Through his pants, you feel his bulge begin to harden against your thigh.

“Ah—the parsnips are burning!” he cries out, standing suddenly and dumping you off his lap.

After eating, you decide to delay your return a little longer. You strip your clothing off, undergarments and all, and hang them from a tree branch in the direct sunlight.

Your tall companion blushes a deep purple, and begins stammering. “W-what are you—um—”

“The sun is now fully risen, and casts a strong, dry heat, perfect for drying my clothes, which are still unpleasantly damp with the night’s dew. Come, you should remove yours as well: it helps them to dry faster.”

“I… um…”

You interrupt his fussing, pushing him playfully back against the trunk of an old, colossal tree. He gives in without argument, falling against the trunk as if you were the stronger, and leans down to you as you stand on tip-toe to kiss him. He growls hungrily against your lips, rough hands tracing down your body, exploring every inch of your skin.

“You are the most beautiful being in the world,” he pants, voice low and raspy. “An ethereal creature of light who has graced my lowly existence from on high—You are an angel.”

“I appreciate the flattery,” you laugh. “But I’m actually pretty average.”

“You are anything but common! Your heart is the most beautiful and generous I have ever known, to give succor to such a detestable wretch as myself. None has ever been so magnanimous in the history of your species. No human has ever seen past this horrible face.”

“There is nothing horrible in your face,” you purr, pressing your body against his. He whines softly, helplessly, leaning down to nip and kiss your neck, leaving red marks on your skin. You grind your hips against his—or his thigh, rather, as his hips are as high as your chest when he stands. He grows again, impossibly large, straining against the closure of his pants. You slip a hand under the fabric and feel the velvety, hot organ throbbing at your fingertips. You ache with desire imagining him inside you.

“Stop, please!” he cries, taking your shoulders and pushing you out to arm’s length. Sweat beads on his brow, and he pants. “I cannot allow this to continue.”

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head emphatically, “No. I want you more than anything, but it is I who am unworthy.”

“Oh, not again,” you whine. “I told you, I don’t care what you look like. Please, you don’t need to beat yourself up all the time. I want you, too.”

He shakes his head in defeat. “You only believe you do because I have withheld the full truth from you. You believe my deformity to be a natural misfortune of my birth, or sustained in a disfiguring accident, do you not? I am sorry to have deceived you, even by omission—I know you will flee in disgust when I tell you the true cause of my fatal defect, and I would do anything to keep you by my side. Yet guilt weighs heavy upon me. I must cast off this burden, and let you choose, fully illuminated, whether to remain companion to me, or to curse and despise me, as any rational being would.”

“You have to tell me… right now?” you ask, fully naked.

“It cannot wait.”

He produces papers from the pocket of his clothing. With trembling hands, he gives them to you, then hastens to the far side of the tree to hide, awaiting your reaction.

The pages are full of grotesque images: anatomical sketches of dissections, human remains taken from robbed graves stitched together with parts taken fresh from tortured animals. The illustrations were not cold and detached, as a typical medical text, but somehow lurid, as if its author were etching his twisted passions onto the page. At first, you don’t understand why your friend showed you this—the notes are all rambling and etched in a shaky hand, difficult to comprehend. When you discern the author’s intentions to build a living man, all of the pieces come together. Your stomach turns. It takes a few moments for you to gather your feelings and return to the huddled form, making himself small clutching his knees to his chest, on the other side of the tree.

“What I read… it's horrible,” you say, voice shaking with emotion.

“I know,” he whispers without looking up.

“This Victor Frankenstein was a monster! The things he did to those poor, innocent animals—not to mention defiling the dead. He has no conscience, and yet he writes as though he believes himself divine! What a pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed egomaniac!” you stomp, crumpling one of the pages in your fist. “Did you see this passage here, he writes: ‘A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs.’ Ha! And yet he abandoned you, leaving you at the mercy of an unfeeling world. How dare he?!”

The creation looks up, blinking his wet eyes in astonishment. “But, are you not alarmed? The truth of my nature is too horrid to be borne by the human mind, too fantastical to be believed—surely you are shocked to learn it?”

“To be honest, I knew all along there was something unnatural about you,” you shrug. “I wouldn’t have guessed this, but, you did go on about being an abomination so I could hardly be surprised.”

“But, does it not disgust you? You revile my creator for his profane work, yet I am the result—all of his evils he poured into me, keeping the virtues of beauty and humanity for himself. Any execration you profess against him, you must feel for me a thousand fold!”

“No.” You kneel beside him, hug him and hold him tight, letting the papers scatter to the floor. “No. You share none of the blame for his actions. It is he who darkened his soul with his misdeeds; yours is innocent. You have done nothing wrong.” You caress him, planting tender kisses along his arms, trying to revive his spirits. He unwraps his arms from his knees, unfurling them from his chest, and scoops you into the opened space, burying his face in your neck.

“These are a corpse's arms that hold you,” He sobs, breath hot and ragged. “The skin of a dead man wrapped around charnel-house bones. I am not a person, I am a macabre assemblage. You must be sickened. You must hate me.”

“I care for you; all of my feelings toward you are those of affection and love. You are a person, no matter what your limbs are composed of. A wonderful, generous, selfless person, who did not deserve to be abandoned and alone. Who did not deserve to be scorned for wearing this face. This body is not who you are. You have a soul, which this Frankenstein could not have had any part in bestowing you, for it is far brighter than his own. And besides which, is my own body any less revolting when described in such explicit detail as laid out in these papers?”

He looks you up and down, bare in his arms, your vivid flesh in sharp contrast with his ashen pallor. The corner of his thin lips slowly creeps upward. “I would spare myself no detail on the subject of your body, my dearest.”

Your cheeks flush bright red. “Damn you—I knew the moment I said it!” you playfully clap his chest.

“My apologies,” he laughs softly, trying to repress the salacious grin spreading across his tear-streaked face. “If I spoke too familiarly, I—”

You press your lips to his, silencing him. Timidly at first, his fingers run through your hair, then, encouraged by your moan, he pulls you harder into a deepening kiss, parting your mouth with his tongue, twining with yours. His hands find your waist, guiding you as you slide down into his lap, wrapping your legs around him.

“Do… do you want to…?” he breathes. You nod, grinding your hips against him for emphasis. He smiles, and shifts his weight as if to get up, but then slumps back down against the tree, cringing painfully. “Yet I may not have the strength. My injury fatigues me, and I have exerted myself too much already.”

“Is it alright with me being in your lap like this? I don’t want to hurt your recovery, of course, but you look so crestfallen—if you want, we can do it just like this.”

“Oh?” his eyes brighten.

“Mm,” you purr affirmatively, trailing your fingertips down his chest. “Let me do all the work.”

You undo his pants and free his eager length. Lowering yourself onto him, you ease down slowly, feeling him stretch you as you work, little by little, to take in his massive size. A flurry of shallow gasps issue from his lips with each inch of progress you take, and his eyes flutter closed in rapture. With a deep moan, you sit on his lap, fully sheathing him. He arches and goes rigid beneath you. You lean forward to kiss his eyelids, then begin riding him, arms twined around his neck for leverage, rocking together in a steady rhythm.

Helpless, desperate noises escape his lips with each thrust, and each noise makes you wetter. You love hearing how much he loves it. You take it as a challenge to get him to cry out louder.

“May I touch you?” he asks.

“Please.”

His hands explore your body, seeking out areas that get a reaction from you, teasing your nipples, between your thighs, caressing your lips—quickly finding which buttons to press that will make you moan. He loves that you can find pleasure in him.

As he gets close to the edge, he begins thrusting up into you more vigorously, bucking and writhing, forgetting his need to take it easy. He grabs your hips and moves you at a faster and faster tempo, but he still wants more.

"I want to... To be on top again. Is that OK?"

"God yes."

He flips you back onto the ground, lifts your leg up over his shoulder, and begins thrusting hard, deeper, until he screams out, shuddering as he spills his seed inside you. Then he collapses to the ground, limp, luckily having the presence of mind to roll to the side to avoid crushing you.

“I should not have done that,” he groans, damp with sweat, clutching his bandaged shoulder. “Owwww.”

You caress his chest, smiling contentedly. “Do you need me to re-do your wound dressing?”

“No, no. Thank you, my angel. I just need… to rest…”

And with that last, weary remark, he drops promptly to sleep and begins snoring. By the time he wakes up, your clothes are dry.

[ashleysonchu]

Mob Psycho Ⅱ OP Production Tales ① (English Translation)

***Please Note: This is a translation of a post uploaded by Yuzuru Tachikawa, the Director of Mob Psycho 100 II. All content and writing belong to him. All I did was merely translate his words. 

***Link to the original post: https://note.mu/memine_/n/n9b7713ff11c9?creator_urlname=memine_

***Hello! I actually had to take down the artworks, for Bones requires one to not re-post its art. However, you can go into the above link and look at the actual artworks as you read my translation. Sorry about that. Otherwise, enjoy!

This is Yuzuru Tachikawa, the Director.

This is a secret story behind the opening production, but it is something like a production memo. Since I was forgetful, I decided to publish it to note in a recording-my-work meaning. I’d like to write ② soon.

Concept

This time around, there was no time, and I thought “it would be really bad if I got power-down,” so I worried a lot about that. It was really a useless time, I’m sorry lol As a result, I decided to back off the previous concepts of “surprising pictures full of supernatural ability” and “surprise box,” and additionally include “visual illusion” to the concept.

By the way, the key visual theme is also “visual illusion,” but I’d like to put that together and address it at another opportunity.

--

Zoetrope

I thought that Zoetrope, which is also the origin of animation, would be good for decorating the beginning, and soon this cut came floating in my head.

This is also the cut that I finished writing for the first time.

At first, I was going to handwrite this scene, but no one wanted to do it (maybe it’s natural), so we abandoned it and changed to CG.

But I think that was good as a result. We ordered CG with a cheap, LEGO-like image, but actually it was the initial vitual fighter that came up lol

I adopted it because I was laughing at that Low poly CG after coming back from a long break, and so it became the present form. It was the CG’s ad-lib that made even the buildings dance in the background. Thankfully.

By the way, I really wanted to make it appear to move with illusion, but it was difficult with animation frame rate (24k), so I reflect on that I should have worked with 30 frames. Well, still I do not know if it can be realized because I think that we need a rather sophisticated calculation. I wonder if someone will make it three-dimensional at the Ghibli Art Museum ~ ~

--

Rubik’s Cube

I wanted to make even a normal character introduction mob-psycho-like, so I used a classical toy motif. In this cut, I thought I would contribute to the illusory feeling by depicting an aspect of this cube as a 3D solid, and handling the next cut as a 2-dimensional piece, but in the first place, the animation itself is on a flat surface, and so the effect in that sense was not there lol

I thought about how many times the cube had to be turned in order for the face to change, but to fulfill that condition, the movements became pretty simple, so I just preferred the fun of the picture rather than the reasoning behind it. Thank you, GAUGE-san!

In addition to Mob and Reigen, Mr. Kameda also drew for me Ritsu, Teru, and Dimple. The details have changed variously from the original storyboard.

--

Slide Animation

There are various names to it, also called optical animation, but this is a technology that has been there from quite a long time ago. It is also used for children’s picture books, so I got my inspiration from there.

This cut is actually made visible by motion illusion. Since the animation did not work unless the specific conditions were satisfied, when we did the test, we found that the animation was only established in 9 k cycles. So, we timed the drawings and matched them with the passing speed of the bar.

The actual processing displays all of the movements in motion and makes them silhouette-like. And then we put the bars as a mask on the movements—we’re doing something like that. (This may be meaningless…)

--

Domino

This cut became the most tiring cut to draw in this OP. We divided 40 domino characters into 3 animators, and we also divided the passing objects and the speaker-like emotion explosion to multiple animators.

Domino alone—since one character collapses with 8 cuts, it becomes 8 × 40 = 320 cuts. Well, that’s calorie high.

When I said that I wanted characters to collapse in drawing, I got an angry phone call saying “Are you insane?,” but I pushed forward with my guts lol I wrote “If we divide it in two rows, we can pass-fall the stopping picture” or something on my storyboard, but that was a lie lol

I think that this Domino scene became a lively and luxurious-feeling scene, thanks to the drawing style. When the characters fall, I put a specific reaction to each character. If you do not mind, please look closely.

It is regrettable that a part of the drawing cannot be seen due to the previous character collapsing, but as we delayed the Domino, the matching with music became weird, so we reluctantly (we were sobbing) made it this timing.

--

Because the city gathered in the back, it was necessary to divide the drawing of the city. I think that this is a cut that became a burden for various sections, such as drawing, art, and shooting.

This will continue in ②

[orokinarchives]

Solaris Civilian Dialogue

(Fortuna hype banner)

The message that greets outworlders who arrive in Fortuna is as follows:

Howzit, Outworlder! Welcome to Fortuna, nerve centre of Nef Anyo's attempts to terraform Venus, and home to the Solaris rig jockeys who make it all happen. Talk to the local reprobates for all your quasi-legal needs! If you're looking to hit the Orb Vallis, talk to Eudico. Fortuna: it ain't much, but it's home… provided you can handle all the noise comin' from the vents.

We All Lift Together

The Solaris anthem is "We All Lift Together", a song that encourages them to keep working even in adverse conditions. Its rhythmic beat helps them keep time while working, and its message is a core part of the Solaris identity. Various Solaris can be heard humming it as they go about their work, and when the Tenno arrives in Fortuna for the first time, they are able to hear the entire song being sung by the Solaris community.

Cold, the air and water flowing Hard, the land we call our home Push to keep the dark from coming Feel the weight of what we owe

This, the song of sons and daughters Hide the heart of who we are Making peace to build our future Strong, united, working til we fall

[first two stanzas repeat]

And we all lift And we're all adrift together, together Through the cold mist Til we're lifeless, together, together

Solaris Female 1

"What do you reckon it's like being… being brain-shelved? Just… dark, I reckon."

"Seals failed around his chest-plate. Off-gassed coolant got into his eyes. Down three days, he was. He's blind. Gonna be a long, hard road coming back from the interest on that eye."

"I pay me seed each and every five cycles, straight outta me account. I make me good intentions, and know the Order of Profit safeguards me prosperity!"

"The firestorms, the freezing temperatures, the toxic coolant, the wildlife… what do the Taxmen get outta this? Why are we doing this? Everything here wants us dead!"

"Word is we're shipping in some animals now. Some kinda safari park for Nef Anyo. I guess the resurrected native specimens weren't cutting it."

"That visitor, wot talks in riddles, she stopped me the other day. Thanked me, she did, for that which I am yet to do. I asked her wot? She said, rewritin' future history, by pausing a stranger! I suppose that's what I'm doing this moment, innit? [laughs] Oh. Oh, I don't like this. I best get back to work."

"If you want me to work faster… it'd help me if I knew what I was looking for."

"Got done bundling a fatboy bound for some pleasure dome. Mainly fabrics, lots of sealed containers. A few of them, well… a few of them were sobbing."

Solaris Female 2

"I don't give a fig they're Corpus-endorsed, one more witness for the Order of Profit comes around my hab early in the cycle, they're gonna find me waiting with a shotgun, ready to void some muckin' warranties!"

"I'd scrub me wetware before they shelve me and no mistake. Scrub a few of them, too, right out."

"Solaris United, uppity sorts who think they know how things should be. That's why they can't see things how they are. Things are as they should be!"

"Look, you can breathe coolant for twenty years, or, come with me! Merc-mercs need backup! Six-month run popping zits near Mercury. Come back flush! Easy money, old mate, easy!"

"Me boyfriend broke up with me yesterday. [chuckling] He's smart, he's handsome, his optical receptors have been malfunctioning for months. He told me: 'I'm seeing someone else.' I said: '[scoffs] I'm over HERE!' [laughing]"

"Look, he's really there for you on a good day, sure. But he's always there for you on a bad one."

"You wanna wish for heaven? Go right ahead. But any history book will tell ya, what waits at the end of that dream… every time… is straight-up genocide."

"Wanna know how you die, kid? One day at a time, that's how."

Solaris Female 3

"Timbrake failed. Canal 4 near went gaseous. Imagine that windin' through the alleyways. Not everyone's a full conversion. What airborne Orokin coolant does to meat-lungs? Oof."

"Me and an old mate traded shifts. I did his, he piked on mine. Repo? Hah! That dip-faced mucker won't have any parts left to repo, I find him."

"The Order said I could consolidate me debt by refinancin' me rig, use it as… equity? I think? But now they say I owe more 'n ever, so I got myself extra shifts. Gonna dig meself out the old-fashioned way, like me Ma almost did."

"Some legless repo mucker comes crawling up to me. 'Credits, miss? Credits to me debt?'. Told him, 'Take a shift like the rest of us. I work for meself, not the likes of you.'"

"Me old man got brain-shelved when I were a lad. Didn't make the payments. His brain-case is still there, locked up by the Taxmen, waiting for us to pay off his old rig. Never happenin' in me lifetime of course, but me sprogs might get to meet their granddad someday. When they's grandfolk themselves."

"Want work, gonna need a rebuild. Rebuild costs credits, go into debt, debt means they own ya. So you wanna be free, gotta earn that now, means you gotta work more, more work needs more upgrades, more rebuilds. Means more debt, always more debt. Working me whole life to buy freedom from the debt I bought to buy the freedom to work, to buy me freedom! And we're so proud to be working for it. So stupid proud."

"Solaris United? I don't know what that is. I'm gonna head back to work. Don't talk to me. Leave me alone."

"The only difference between a friend and an ambidexter is opportunity. There's not a person alive wouldn't sell you out for the right price."

"Quills, you see 'em everywhere these days, you know where to look. Corner of your eye, pullin' strings."

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Slight the brakes there, champ. You telling me there's something under Venus?"

Solaris Female 4 "Pumps will need some parts low on go-go juice. Tractor's inbound, need a snappy refill. Come back."

"You know him? He's an overly-polite man with a gun tattooed on his neck. Someone that cluey may be able to integrate. We can't afford to pass on able hands. Not at the rate we breed."

"Me father went missing in the Grineer invasion of Mars! P'raps you were there, Tenno? P'raps you saw him?"

"Duviri? Holier than thou. And enough scratch to treat barons like concubines. That's who we're really working for, mark me words."

"Little Duck says she found something! A Void gate! That mean anything to you?"

"Hah, keep telling yourself you're free, and you'll never escape. Workin' as intended, am I right? [scoffs]"

Solaris Female 5

"Welcome to the habs, kid. Nothing works, but anything can be arranged."

"There's an agent down by the Spillway 19, get ya what ya want. Gib-faced mucker is a side-mouth ambidexter though ever there was one. Don't tell her nothing you don't mind getting back to the Taxmen."

"This cove's wooing me, he is. Unexpected visits, gifts of sealant, parts for that extra manipulator I wants installed. A romantic he is, a real fancy-monger."

"Hey, he's not too smart, but he can lift things."

"What role this site played in Orokin history is uncertain, but the ties are clear."

"Oh, my family don't worry 'bout me. I was never gonna make it."

Solaris Female 6

"I've been a rig jockey, tractor jockey, Rail agent, worked Abigail for a slum executive more than once. Worked all kinds of jobs in all kinds of places. Never met a good person, or a bad one. It's just folks, friend, everyone's just folks."

"Hey! Smoke the brakes. I've avoided being picked up for repo for a fortnight now. I've learned the rules."

"Transported this Duviri once, got talkin'. Told me about the… this�� what-whatsit? 'Nominative determinism'. What you get named steers how you turn out. Maybe that's why the Corpus name some of us, not our kin. Is that loopy?"

"Piece of advice? Don't make no waves, don't beg no losers, and get off this backwater planet as soon as you can!"

"Hey! Friend! Spare a few credits?"

"There is another way! What they don't know is the only thing keeping me alive! Something's gonna fall like rain, and it won't be flowers."

"Dictators, profiteers, sadists. These are souls that do not survive death."

Solaris Male 1

"I'm Solaris n' proud, as are all me clan. The repos, the wasters, those adrift in the byways – digustin'. No pride to any of 'em. I work 'ard. Me old man worked 'ard, an' his old man afore 'im. No time for those'd rather muck in the streets. Me? None."

"Checked into the machine shop to get me mic serviced. Can't bloody sleep, cause I can't turn the bloody things off."

"Ach, we work hard now, and for sure we suffer, but all will be forgotten in the coming prosperity. Nef Anyo watches over us. The Order of the Prophet, too. Life is profit, ain't it what they say?"

"Self-employed, me rear end. Only thing I own is second-stage toxic shock, the water I'm treadin', and a head full of bad dreams."

"Bunch of kids makin' a clubhouse in the ducts. Gotta call security. That racket they call music is a needle in my receptors."

"Gonna find me a recess and close me shutters for five. I'd mainline caff to get through this shift, but they upgraded the canisters and me gastro-compatibility upgrade ain't due til next week."

"So, the Corpus get here, right? Place is a firestorm. They turn the old Orokin terraforming back on, and presto. Within a week we got plants and animals ain't nobody ever seen. I'm tellin' ya, either the tech is hiding something, or the planet is."

Solaris Male 2

"I could join the Order of Profit, sure. Donate half of what I earn and trust it'd come back to me ten-fold. Or, I could just grab a gun. Right?"

"I got hazmat upgrades to take the risky work, sleep upgrades so I can work more to pay off the upgrades – I make a payment, they say I ain't even covered the principal!"

"Oh, we've got plans, see? Our youngest – we're not gettin' him modded. No rig, see? Gonna use the money to get him educated, get him placed in the establishment. Twenty, maybe thirty years from now, we'll have family on the inside, doin' us favours! That's how we're gettin' debt-clear!"

"Yeah, Rail agents. They're tractor jockeys. Solo contractors specialising in speed runs, rapid deliveries, smuggling, stiletto jobs. They've cut more deals with more bureaucrats than you've had hot dinners. You'll know a Rail agent tractor when you see it: overclocked reactors, wide-bore engines, zero acceleration governors – every design choice screams 'death wish'."

"Oh, I know the Rails, better than any of these muckers! Routes only I know, contacts only I have. I'm outta here. I've got me old man's tractor. I'll make me own way, as a Rail agent!"

"Warframes? We saw one once. Cost me a leg and me friends their lives. Fear… it is a sad life that is lived with its invisible curriculum."

"Me optics are gone, but I can't let on. I needs the work, can't take the time off and I sure as hell can't afford replacements. I'll just muddle through. Traffic control's easy enough work."

"Worked seventy years to get this far, and proud to say my body debt's half paid. Praise the Order! Life is profit."

Solaris Male 3

"Granddad's been dead for years. But we're still working to pay off his rebreathers, the kind with three-stage hexo-filtration. Pricey, but not much on resale. Some day we'll get clear. Not in me lifetime, but maybe me kids'. That's why I got me parts cheap, keep the overhead low, give 'em a shot at getting clear."

"For sure I upgraded me new toxin seals. Only got paid off the old ones, mind. As me old man used to say, 'In a good cause, there are no failures, only todays.' Me lucky day's just around the corner."

"Guts! Ain't ever gonna pay off me refit like this. The rates just keep going up!"

"That there rig jockey's abigail for Fastboy, runs Hab 12. Fastboy gives the say-so, the abigail… he might not kill you, but you'll spend a cycle or two wishin' he had. Know how to use those upgrades in ways the manufacturer never intended."

"Some of them Ostrons around? Why they'd leave a place like Cetus to come to the System's armpit I gots no idea. Must like the smell of coolant. Nice enough folk though."

"I don't care about about a badge. It's not right and they're not getting away with it. Listen to your enemies, for the Void is beckonin'."

"You don't mess with that group. It'd be like going up against your nightmares, and their lawyer. Can't wait to meet 'em. Check the guns."

"Tenno? They here because of that oxium scam we pulled on Eris?"

"Here's how you land where I'm at: get to two bad days, drop off all your hope, and keep on driving."

"Ah no, she rejected him like a bad kidney! Ahh, there's nothing I wouldn't do for that woman."

Solaris Male 4

"No, I'm not muckin' local. Tractor jockey, mate. Silver-plated Corpus contract. I'm up there. Hear this: I've got stars mate, I've got stars."

"Chek-chek. I've got a long-haul tractor. Bundled out, needs a gimbal for a rotating gunnery hatch. Anyone got their ears on?"

"Ran a load of organics out to Cetus. They got a heavyweight Grineer problem. Copycats got the city pinned, and you don't even want to know what comes out of the lakes at night."

"You live as a Rail agent long enough, you see things that change you. I know a place. A hidden place. Home to creatures that never were. Species prevented from evolving by the rise of our own."

"Made a delivery to a Duviri pleasure lake, once upon a time. Airships positioned to blow spore from fragrant forests towards the Magnate's dining barge at suppertime. Me? I got a boot in the left quarter actuator for staring at his wife too long."

"Affirmative. Triple-digit Rail agent needs action dock on a backstroke. Inbound with acceleration trauma. Come back."

"Tool cart to Bay 12. Jockey blew out posterior hydraulics. Yeah… hero tried lifting above his grade."

Solaris Male 5

"Repos. Work hard, or that's how you'll wind up. Arms repossessed, legs repossessed, eyes… repossessed. Work hard, earn your rig, and… you'll be fine."

"You hail from Acheron? I have a brother there! Here, a gift for you! [pause] I'm not selling it, it is a gift! Thank you friend. You are most welcome. Say, might you loan me a couple of hundred credits? [pause] But, I have given you a gift! You would take that from me, and offer nothing in return? Criminal! Brigand! Thief!"

"I'm adrift, outta work, washed up. They can't take me coin, so they coming for me parts."

"Hahaha! Not to worry, plenty more vertebrae where that came from!"

"Help a cove out, guv'ner. Buy bonds? I was a thrower, best in the biz. And I've been adrift for cycles. Buy bonds? 0.13% goes toward paying off what little is left of me decrepit rig. Buy bonds? I don't clear the interest, I don't buy back me organs, it's brain-shelving for me for sure. Buy bonds, eh? Buy bonds?"

"Seen that character floating around, talking in riddles, or not at all? They say she's one of them Quills. Where they go, things change, so they say. And when the things change, me mucker, it's folk like you and I get caught in the cogs."

"Me contact says they found a stash of Orokin-era nav charts. He tells me they mark sites that do not exist on current maps. Most intriguing. I'll pay you well, but you must submit to a memory wipe."

Solaris Male 6

"Signed me tractor to a triple-digit convoy gone wide-bore for one of the Mercury asteroids. Emergency resupply. Got there way too late. Whole installation had gone crater-faced, zits everywhere. Never seen so many heat sigs. Flagged it as a no-go and left it to the mercs. Infested. Damn, give you nightmares."

"I piloted a fatboy outta Mars bundled up with some off-planet fauna. Something about a safari park."

"I made quite a mistake with that captain. Not the kinda thing you can easily undo. When you've made peace with the world, then everything becomes a game, friend. Cetus taught me that."

"Deadheaded me tractor two hours ago, empty. Sold the full manifest. Now it's just me and a bottle for the next cycle and a half. Cheers!"

"Get on the winning team! This place? It's isolated. The other Corpus? They want Nef Anyo to fail. That means ain't nobody gonna stop Solaris United takin' this whole place from him. Savvy?

"Rail agent? Ha! Jockeying meat wagons is where the money's at. Drop in, grab the breathers, and leg it. Easy."

"Merc-mercs. Mercantile mercenaries. Corpus! Slick and shiny and a pain in me rear."

"I can get ya half price on a full tank of go-go juice. Interested?"

Ostron Female

"If you want to change, accept who you are. Now will you reconsider what you are about to do?"

"I hear your words, but I see you in your silences."

"The quieter I am, the more I hear. The more I hear, the wiser I become. The wiser I become, the quieter I am."

"Offworlders commonly think of themselves as one person. This is an error in thinking, surah. You are many people! This is why it is important to remain simple – so as not to confuse the many people you consist of."

"Social pressure drives modification, modification drives profit, profit drives debt, debt drives control! These Solaris, they are all working to pay off their bodies, which they sold to the Corpus, to work for the Corpus, to pay off their bodies, which they have never owned! Oh, I weep for them."

Female Corpus Broadcaster

"Charity encourages laziness. Do not donate to charity. Direct your financial compassion to the Order of Profit."

"It's cold outside. Warm yourself with the teaching of the Order of Profit. Rates apply."

"A few days off? Interest accrued? Now you're in a fight you cannot win. Who can you turn to? The Corpus Solaris Order of Profit. Plant a seed today! Life is profit, profit is life."

"Each cycle, ask yourself: 'Can I work just one percent harder?' The answer is always: yes!"

"Success: it's not for losers."

"Life is profit, profit is life."

"Corpus: looking out for you, as we have always done."

"Use downtime effectively. Rest, and put in a solid shift's work tomorrow."

"Had some bad luck? Need a financial boost to cover the interest? With over 300 repayment models, we're sure to assign one that's right for you."

"The street corner wretch, lacking sensors, limbs, dignity. Weeks away from brain-shelving. The wages of indolence. Fight proudly for your body, Solaris, and work."

"Be on the lookout for non-conformists. Accurate reports earn substantial rewards!"

"Increase your usual donation to Corpus Solaris Order of Profit. A larger seed makes for a larger harvest. It just makes sense!"

"You work hard, and deserve better. Our instalment plan options provide peace of mind while keeping you happy and housed in the rig of your dreams."

Male Corpus Broadcaster

"A friendly reminder that consorting with anti-Temple dissidents carries a non-negotiable penalty of full-body repossession and mandatory brain-shelving. Report any suspicious personnel for a 0.63% remuneration bonus! Keep Fortuna clean."

"You may qualify for pay-cycle advances at newly reduced rates. Inquire today!"

"Good news! You still have jobs. Carry on."

"Tired hands are honest hands."

"There is no failure, only indolence. There is no futility, only parasitism. There is no defeat, only sloth."

"Fortuna, a message from the teachings of the Temple of Profit. With an open heart: give. With a tranquil mind: give. With conscience clear and unburdened: give. Give, that Nef Anyo might smile upon you, and all the work you put your manipulators to. Give. Give. Give."

"Nef Anyo would like to congratulate those who accepted mandatory cleanup duty in the toxin zones. Enjoy your 2% rebate on lung replacement."

"Need to down-cycle and feel good? Reward yourself with a donation to the Temple of Profit. Feel the prosperity."

"What is interest, if not a measure of Nef's trust in you? What is bodily repossession, if not the mark of one who cannot be trusted? What is it to betray the trust of he who has made a place for you by his side? It is to be unworthy of the name 'Solaris'. Heads high, workers of Fortuna, and be worthy."

"Nef's table is set, and your chair awaits high above. How long will you keep him waiting?"

"Limb and organ repossession happens. Safeguard your most valuable asset: you! Purchase repo insurance today."

[Navigation: Hub → Dialogue → Solaris Civilians]

[themattress]

Evangelion: the manga > the anime

Reason 13: The Ending

This is it. The big one. The reason above all else why I think the manga is a better-told version of the NGE story than the anime in spite of all the anime’s many strengths. 

Only the manga has a fully satisfying ending.

The anime TV show ending is a preposterous puzzle, filled with increasingly low-budget animation and long-winded philosophical musings as Anno finally makes good on what he had been building to: using the show and characters for his own personal therapy session, which we are a captive audience to. The main details is that Instrumentality has happened...somehow, and that Shinji is in control over whether or not it will go through to completion...somehow. In his depressed state of mind, Shinji is tempted to just let the process run its course so that all life will merge into a single immortal being who will never feel emotional pain again. But with realizations such as there is no real sense of self without the presence of others, truth and reality is what an individual make of it, and that he’s projected his own fears, anxieties and self-loathing onto others in order to shape his negative self-image and that this can fixed, Shinji realizes there is value in living as himself and destroys Instrumentality.

I love the message in this ending and I especially love the conclusion - yeah, everyone clapping and telling Shinji “Congratulations!” is cheesy, but seeing them all smiling and then Shinji himself smiling as a beautiful instrumental version of “Cruel Angel’s Thesis” plays in the background is a great, uplifting note to end what has been such a dark, depressing story on. BUT the lack of details, plot development, or conclusive character development for anyone who isn’t Shinji in favor of all this sermonizing is really annoying. From what can be surmised, a lot of things in the outside world seem to have played similarly to EoE, but it is strongly implied that it’s Gendo’s version of Instrumentality that succeeded here: Gendo, with Adam inside him, merges with Rei who returns to Lilith, creating the Adam/Lilith hybrid being but with Gendo’s mind in control of it. However, his plan to merge with Unit 01 and reunite with Yui goes awry thanks to the mentality of its pilot, Shinji (no thanks to Gendo himself, so it’s pretty karmic), who inadvertently causes the interfusion of souls to happen. The two-part series finale transpires within the minds of all who are caught up in this, particularly Shinji. But by then, viewers were fed up with this kind of mind-screw, so this ending was panned.

Then we have EoE, where we finally get actual details and plot development in the outside world. The big difference is that Rei abruptly turns on Gendo, taking Adam for herself and entering Lilith without him. The Adam/Lilith hybrid being merges with Unit 01 and puts Instrumentality in Shinji’s hands, and this time Shinji consciously and deliberately enacts the interfusion of souls, saying “everyone can just die” (boy, doesn’t that make him likable, huh?)

This is part of EoE’s biggest problem: it is made when Anno is no longer in a state of therapeutic pondering, but a state of anger and hatred. This anger and hatred permeates throughout the entire movie, informing every choice made in it. Shinji jerks off over Asuka’s comatose body. Misato is cold and abusive toward Shinji, and then dies for nothing. Shinji doesn’t honor her final wishes and just mopes. Asuka receives an uplifting emotional closure that brings her badassness back, only to be defeated in battle and utterly brutalized. Ritsuko fails because one of her mother’s AI computers betrays her in favor of Gendo, who shoots her dead. Gendo is killed in a mind-screwy way that plays to his worst fears and offers no redemption whatsoever. Shinji strangles Asuka within his own mind, then proceeds to willfully destroy humanity. And during the equivalent to the TV show’s therapeutic sequence where Shinji changes his mind about Instrumentality, the Adam/Lilith hybrid being has its throat sliced open right after actual written death threats to Anno from fans disgruntled over the TV show’s ending flashes on screen. And through all of this, Shinji just keeps SCREAMING!!!

This cinematic ending is wonderfully directed, beautifully animated, and contains a lot of great ideas, but it is just so unpleasant to watch. Even when coming to the same uplifting message, it falls flat when the last scene is Shinji washed up on the shore of a barren hellscape along with “Asuka”, who he truly does strangle this time, only to stop when she touches his face which leads to him breaking down into heavy sobbing. Asuka quietly says “How disgusting”, and suddenly “The End” comes on screen. That’s it, that’s how it ends: not with Shinji being congratulated and smiling, but Shinji crying while being insulted yet again. What. The. Fuck!?  If the TV show’s ending was the equivalent of Anno guiding the viewer through a slow, tranquil therapy session in order to lead them to the story’s moral, this ending is the equivalent of Anno mercilessly beating the shit out of the viewer until they grasp the story’s moral. And the problem with that is that most viewers aren’t going to remember the moral, they’re just going to remember the beating! Anno failed to stick the landing twice, and unfortunately I’m hedging my bets that he’s going to strike out with his third attempt next year in the ending to the Rebuild film series, especially with how that series has gone thusfar.

With the manga’s ending, Sadamoto combines the tranquil therapeutic sensibilities and clearly uplifting message of the TV ending with the plot and detail of EoE. It’s essentially EoE as it should have been, since it’s being made by someone who isn’t in such a negative state of mind as Anno was. Each alteration made here is an improvement, and these include:

- Shinji doesn’t jerk off to Asuka’s comatose body, and instead tries to shake her awake while yelling about how much she means to him. She wakes up in a fit of indiscriminate madness and (hilariously enough) strangles Shinji before being restrained by the infirmary staff.

- That scene with Gendo and Shinji is added, doing wonders for both characters.

- Misato, while maintaining a hardened edge, isn’t abusive to Shinji. After slapping him when it’s necessary, she pulls him into a hug, saying that she isn’t like Gendo - she wants him to pilot Eva, but not just for others: for himself, too, and that she won’t allow him to lose hope.

- Misato is given a more triumphant send-off, blowing herself and several enemy troops up with a grenade rather than just being shot down. We also get a chapter cover where she is reunited with Kaji in the afterlife. I still hate that she died, but this is better than EoE’s version.

- Rather than moping and wasting Misato’s last request when he sees Unit 01 stuck, Shinji rediscovers his backbone and wills it free by appealing to Yui’s soul within it. (“MOVE!”) Because of this, Shinji is able to rescue Asuka before she can be brutalized by the MP-Evas. 

- After Rei turns on Gendo, it is revealed that Ritsuko isn’t quite dead after Gendo had shot her after all, and she is able to fatally shoot him through the neck before finally expiring. 

- Shinji’s mind-fucking when the Adam/Lilith hybrid being merges with Unit 01 is portrayed completely different, centering around a flashback between him and Yui. The decision he comes to deliberately initiate the interfusion of souls has a completely different motivation: he wants to save everyone rather than destroy them, Lilith messing with his mind has skewed his noble intentions and made him believe that Instrumentality is the only way to stop everyone from suffering ever again. This, along with what ends up happening later, maintains sympathy for Shinji, as he is trying to do the right thing and is being misled on how to do it.

- Asuka gets “tanged” during Instrumentality, with the Rei spirit who does so to her appearing to her as Kaji, whom Asuka is happy to realize did love her even if in a fatherly way and not in the romantic/sexual sense, which provides some closure to that relationship. Given that Asuka spoke of Kaji after her mind rape in both the anime and manga, this is appreciated.

- Gendo’s death isn’t a cruel WTF moment, but his only measure of atonement as Yui’s spirit guides him to remember that he did love Shinji from the start and denied that to himself because he was afraid of loving his child and being loved by his child given the issues he developed with his own father. Gendo’s dying wish is for Shinji to survive...and to live.

- The climax within the merged Adam/Lilith hybrid and Unit 01 is between Shinji and Rei (no needless Kaworu cameo here). Instead of Rei, then Kaworu, and finally Yui convincing Shinji to reverse course, Shinji decides it all by himself: his head is now clear of Lilith’s meddling and he realizes that this horrific result isn’t what he wanted after all...yes, everyone will no longer suffer, but only because there no longer is an “everyone” to suffer. Even if it comes with pain, people can only be people when they are allowed to be their own individuals and co-exist with each other. Rei had re-joined Lilith hoping for this exact outcome, and together she and Shinji re-awakens Yui’s soul and they destroy the Adam/Lilith hybrid being together, reversing Instrumentality and returning all souls to where they belong in a truly spectacular sequence. Thus, as “Cruel Angel’s Thesis” says, does a young boy become a legend.

- Rei has an emotional death scene where, without Adam/Liltih to sustain her, her soul breaks apart and is fragmented across the new Earth, becoming snow. Her final words to Shinji are thanking him for helping her develop her own individual self, and her final thoughts are that she, merged with the new world, will be waiting for Shinji to be reborn there. It’s beautiful.

- Before Shinji fully becomes LCL in preparation for his rebirth, he actually sees the souls of Yui and Gendo, projected from Unit 01 which remains in space. This brings closure to the main theme of the story: the relationship between Shinji and his parents, combining a visual from the TV ending (Shinji smiling as he is congratulated by his parents) and Yui’s inspiring words from EoE (”As long as the sun and the moon and the Earth exists, it will be all right.”) 

- The perfect epilogue to the story, where we actually get to see the new world and humanity reborn into it rather than just Yui’s claims that it could happen. It is snowing, which means a proper weather cycle is back rather than endless summer. The MP-Evas are frozen like statues, and are considered mysterious artifacts by humans, who no longer remember anything involving Evas and the Angels. The new, well-adjusted Shinji meets the new, well-adjusted Asuka for the first time (oh, and Kensuke too). And the sequence of Shinji walking down the street mirrors the beginning of the manga, except this time his inner monologue is different: uplifting and optimistic rather than depressed and cynical. As we see that he still bears the crucifix that Misato gave him before she died, we hear that he is keeping his promise to her: “I will do my best. I will find my own path. It may be rough and winding, with driving wind and rain, and some days may be freezing cold. But...I know the sun will light the way. My future...holds infinite possibilities”.  Damn it! It brings tears to my eyes every time!

Sadamoto is the only one to end the story of NGE in a truly ideal way. And this factor alone is justification for my unshakable belief that the manga is the definitive version of that story.

[marlettwrites]

What’s this, you ask? An excerpt? Marlett actually writes things?

The answer to all those questions is: yes!

I’ve been debating sharing some of my writing on here for awhile now, and decided to just bite the bullet and go for it. This is the beginning of chapter 1, and, fair warning, it is pretty long.

TW: child abuse, mild descriptions of gore.

Any and all constructive criticism is welcome!

Jude focused on the image in his mind as layers of skin stretched over and over each other until a patch of unmarred flesh lay where the wound once sat. Ignoring the new pain in his shoulder, Jude pulled his hands away as the last of the blood vanished from his latest patient's arm. A relieved sigh rose from the woman’s throat. Jude looked up and nodded at his assistant, Braheem. The man stood and guided the blindfolded woman from the room.

Just before Braheem opened the door to let her out, the woman turned, a grateful smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she said.

Jude's heart swelled happily and he resisted the urge to tell her that she was very welcome.

Braheem closed the door and turned.

“Are there more outside?” Jude asked once she’d left the room, rubbing his arm just below the hole that had opened on his shoulder.

It looked startlingly similar to the one he just closed on his last patient. Fitting, considering it was her injury. A viscous red liquid seeped out of the small opening and the wound stung where Jude's fingers pressed against it. Braheem pulled his hand away and dabbed at the blood with a towel.

“Stop. You're only making it worse.”

“It itches,” Jude complained.

“That doesn't mean it's a good idea to touch it.” Braheem heaved out a frustrated sigh. “Just leave it alone for a minute so I can bandage it, alright?”

Braheem ran a hand through his unruly black hair, staring at the hole on Jude’s arm a moment. He nodded to himself and produced a roll of gauze from his pocket. Jude waited patiently while Braheem dressed the wound, flinching every time his fingers ventured near the opening in his shoulder.

Finally, the man stood and left the little room, leaving the misshapen wood door to smack against the rock walls behind him. The second Braheem left the room to check on the line outside, Jude resumed scratching at the bandages.

The door creaked open and Braheem re-emerged from what Jude assumed was a hallway. Jude forced his hand away from the bandages.

“Okay, it looks like Shadya was the last one in line. I think it's safe to say you can relax until tomorrow.”

Jude raised an eyebrow.

“You know her name?”

“I know a lot of people.” Braheem said. “I could introduce you sometime if you ever took a day off.” the man folded his arms across his chest and looked pointedly at the reddened bandages that nearly covered Jude from head to toe. Jude avoided his gaze.

“You know I can't do that. Besides, I healed a broken leg yesterday. It'll be at least another twelve hours before I can walk again.” Jude said, gesturing to the splint Braheem had made for him the previous day. This injury belonged to a little kid, about ten years of age if he remembered correctly.

A lot of people came and left through the frail wooden door that had been built into his cavern. His memory only held on to those that stood out against the crowd. Mostly, it was their injuries that made them stick. Sometimes, not often, a patient would talk about the world outside. Jude wasn’t allowed to answer them, of course, but he always listened intently to the tales of risky heists and daring escapes while he tried to imagine what a ‘city’ looked like.

Braheem stared down at him, his dark eyes boring holes in Jude's flesh.

“This is going to kill you one day. You know that, right?”

Jude looked down and dragged his good foot across the floor, back and forth, back and forth, before answering.

“Kasaika says I can't be selfish with my gift.”

Braheem scowled.

“Yes, well he also says that anyone foolish enough to leave their belongings unattended deserves to have them stolen. I wouldn’t put too much stock into that man’s words.”

Jude looked up sharply.

“So what, I should listen to you and leave my home to find some magical fairytale land?” he said.

A low blow, Jude knew. The island was something Braheem talked about a lot. When Jude was younger, Braheem used to tell him stories about the wonders of the island. How people there performed extraordinary feats, such as breathing underwater, speaking to animals, or even flying. Tales of people like him.

Braheem also told him that one day they would leave the kingdom and go home together. So far, none of Braheem’s tales had come true.

Braheem’s eyes narrowed.

“Punt is real. I’ve been there,” he said, pronouncing the word ‘Pwenet’.

When Jude was just learning how to read, he tried to say it as ‘Puhnt’ until Braheem informed him that was wrong. Jude turned away.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m just sick of hearing about impossible futures.”

“It’s not impossible. Just incredibly difficult.”

Jude looked at the ground and nodded.

“Did you bring any new scrolls with you?”

Braheem’s eyes widened in realization. He snapped his fingers.

“That’s what I forgot!” the man spun on his heel and dashed toward the small wooden table that leaned against the opposite wall.

Braheem plucked his shoulder bag off the table and began rifling through it. The sound of paper crinkling caught Jude’s attention, and he craned his neck to see what Braheem was doing. Unfortunately, the man’s back blocked his gaze. Triumphantly, Braheem lifted a roll of paper from the dirty sack.

“Aha! Here it is.” he held the scroll out to Jude. “Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor,” Braheem informed him. “It’s about-”

“Punt?” Jude asked knowingly.

Braheem seemed to deflate a little.

“Well, yes, but- look, there’s a giant talking snake in it, and most of the stories don’t include Apep.” Braheem said quickly. “It’s a shame, really. The sea monsters aren’t at all interesting to talk to.” looking down at the scroll, Braheem barked out a short laugh. “And this ‘Ahmose’ person didn’t even get them right! Apep isn’t some wise prophet,” he scoffed, “just incredibly overdramatic. But, I digress.”

Jude looked up at him quizzically.

“What’s a snake?”

Braheem stared blankly at him for a moment, as if he hadn’t registered Jude’s words. His face fell.

“Right,” he said to himself slowly. “You’ve never seen one.” shaking himself out of his stupor, Braheem said, “Well, imagine a lizard without- no, wait, you don’t know what that is either. Um, well, it’s like a rope. Yes! A living rope! A living rope that hisses!”

Jude reached up and accepted the scroll, looking down at it curiously. Although he was loathe to entertain the idea of visiting Punt, reading about it still brought him happiness. Besides, the talking snake sounded interesting. Jude began to hastily unroll the scroll.

“Hey, kid.”

Jude looked up.

“Bed first,” Braheem said sternly. “You can read when I know you’re not in danger of killing yourself by trying to walk two feet with a broken leg.”

Jude gazed longingly down at the roll of papyrus.

“It’s almost healed,” he protested.

Folding his arms across his chest, the man raised an eyebrow at Jude. Braheem held his hand out in an expectant gesture. Frowning, Jude handed the scroll back to Braheem and grabbed his crutch. Jude limped over to the pile of assorted cloth sitting in the corner of the room. After lowering himself down, Jude reached again for the scroll.

“And here I thought you were done with Punt,” Braheem joked, but Jude could see the sadness behind his gaze.

Braheem never liked to talk about it, but Jude knew that once he’d lost someone important to him. He also knew that loss was somehow connected to Punt. Jude asked him about it once, but Braheem never said much on the subject. Several questions made their way to the tip of Jude’s tongue, but he bit them back.

Braheem seated himself beside Jude’s cloth nest and nodded at him. Turning his attention to the scroll, Jude began to read aloud. Occasionally, Braheem corrected his pronunciation, or interrupted to ask Jude if he knew what a certain word meant. Other than that, the only sounds were Jude’s voice and the crackling of the torches that lined the walls.

When Jude felt his eyelids drooping, Braheem gently pulled the scroll from his grip.

“Great job. Your reading comprehension is really improving,” Braheem told him. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

Jude nodded slowly and curled into the soft bedding. In the back of his mind, he registered the sound of slowly fading footsteps followed by the soft pshh pshh as Braheem doused the torches hanging on the wall with sand. Behind closed eyelids, Jude saw the light slowly dim and then fade away altogether. A familiar creak echoed over the stone walls as Braheem left the healing room.

Jude wished he had left the scroll. Mere seconds after the man left, his leg twinged painfully, and Jude yearned for the distraction. He grit his teeth. He couldn’t complain. He wouldn’t.

He deserved this.

Jude woke the next morning to the sound of muffled sobs and angry shouts. The rust-iron scent of blood weighed heavy in the air. Sitting up abruptly, Jude stared at the door with a sense of dread.

The raid Kasaika organized must not have gone well.

Taglist: @aly-writes-stuff @imaghostwriter @runningonrain @marvel-and-writing @writingnosefreak @planets-and-prose

[afternoonteawithme]

There was something…strange about his new receptionist.

Standing in his darkroom, Levi leaned against the side of the deep butler’s sink, rinsing the prints he’d just finished developing. His hands knew what they were doing, luckily, as his mind was firmly occupied in thinking about the young man, badly in need of a haircut, currently sitting in his waiting room.

As it had been for most of the last two weeks.

For the first few nights, Levi had been sure the kid would just stop turning up. Each day, he’d unlock the front door a couple minutes before midnight, expecting to find an empty street. And each day, he’d find Eren.

Waiting for him.

Levi figured he knew himself well enough, by now. He didn’t get along with people. He liked being alone, he was used to it. People were irritating, and he never really knew how to deal with the things they said and expected from him.

And yet, he liked being around Eren.

He even cleaned decently well. Not at first, of course, and Levi hadn’t held back in letting him know his technique sucked. Eren might have known how to clean, if you had no standards, but if he planned on cleaning anyplace Levi had to occupy he’d have to do it right.

After one of the assistants Erwin and Hanji had pressed on him had literally run away, sobbing, Levi had decided he’d just do it all himself. But when Hanji had told him to have Eren clean, he’d figured he had nothing to lose since hiring Eren was a favor to her, anyway. If the kid quit it wasn’t going to be his fault.

And then not only had Eren had improved quickly, he also, somehow, seemed to have no problem with Levi teaching him the correct methods to do things. He never even bristled when Levi corrected him, the way he did when any of Levi’s clients or models tried anything with him.

On that front, Levi had to admit he could see why someone would think Eren wasn’t good with people.  

And yet, he was.

It was the strangest thing. Even the ones who started out hating Eren’s guts warmed up to him, if they were around him long enough. For the last week, Alan had stopped by almost every night, bringing Eren samples of his homemade cookies and cupcakes.  Levi hadn’t even known he liked to bake.

And then there was Eren’s effect on Maria Fritz, one of Levi’s models. She had the most remarkable eyes, but it usually took him several hours before he could get her comfortable enough to even look in his direction. She had a hard time relaxing, and he rarely got more than a couple shots he could use, every time he worked with her.

She’d walked into the studio for her first shoot after Eren was hired, laughing. She’d been so relaxed Levi had cancelled his next client and kept her going until past four in the morning – and then he’d walked out into the lobby a half hour later and found her sitting at the counter beside Eren, showing him photos of her dogs.

It wasn’t like the kid was overtly friendly, but people just seemed to slowly gravitate towards him.

And his effect on animals was even more bizarre. Levi had a few he invited in as models, and since the majority of his paying clients were pet owners he’d gotten relatively skilled at dealing with dogs, cats, turtles, birds, lizards, fish, porcupines, pigs, goats, chickens, snakes, spiders, and whatever else people could think of inviting into their homes.

But when Eren was around, they seemed far more interested in him than any other human in the room.  Some seemed a little afraid of him, others acted as if he was their version of catnip. None ever ignored him, and most did whatever he told them to do. It was uncanny.  

Even Gix seemed extraordinarily fascinated by Eren, though he, of course, did not follow his directions. At all.  

As Levi clipped the last of the photos onto the cords he’d had strung over the sink, he wondered if he should have Eren start helping in the studio with the more difficult animals.

The thought made his hands go still. He frowned at the wall, thinking. He hadn’t had an assistant in years, and he wasn’t sure he wanted one, let alone someone that he was already having a hard time not thinking about when he should be working.  

But even with the lighting completely controlled, and most of the backgrounds he used set up so he could operate them alone, he did sometimes feel the lack of hands. Especially when he had a pack of pet mice running around.

He shook his head, and firmly pushed away thoughts of Eren as he turned to put the chemicals away.

The kid was useful, and that was all that he should care about. Levi hadn’t had to answer the phone in two weeks, and his schedule had been running smoothly. There was nothing else to it.

Pressing the cabinet doors shut with a firm click, Levi turned on his heel and headed out to the shower.

 --

Eren was sitting at the front counter, laptop and all his books laid out in front of him, trying to write a paper on neo-classical influences in modern advertising campaigns, when he heard the rumble of pipes in the walls that meant someone was getting into the shower.

His fingers froze over the keys.

And then, with a low groan, he let his head drop down to the keyboard.

He liked this job. A lot. He did not want to screw it up just because he was lusting after his new boss.  

Working for Levi was almost entirely perfect. He dealt well with most of the people that came through, both clients and models, and Levi hadn’t yet fired him for the ones he’d gotten into arguments with. Admittedly, Eren hadn’t actually gotten into any actual physical fights just yet, but that was mostly because he found he liked most of the people Levi dealt with. Levi seemed to have good taste. Or maybe it was something to do with Levi’s bizarre schedule.

And best of all, for Eren’s needs, most of them came through one at a time.

Every now and then, Eren would remember the one and only day he’d lasted after he got transferred from the stock room to customer service at the big department store downtown. He figured he’d been lucky to get fired within the first hour. Any longer and the place would have turned into a literal bloodbath.

It was yet another reason he really needed to keep this job. Head still on his keyboard, Eren mashed his face into the keys, wishing the pain would distract his mind.

Even the cleaning up part wasn’t all that bad, though to call Levi ‘exacting’ would be a drastic understatement. But after the first few nights, when Eren had had to re-clean the bathroom four times over before Levi had been satisfied, he thought he’d started to get the hang of it.

In fact, he’d started to enjoy it. It was a game now - cleaning so well that Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. He’d felt like he’d won the lottery the first time Levi had walked into the bathroom after Eren had finished, and just nodded, that faint, approving smile warming his face.

The pipes in the walls behind him gurgled noisily, and Eren found himself wondering if Levi cleaned his body as thoroughly as he cleaned rooms.

His mind provided a helpful image, to go with the thought.

With another groan, Eren sat up and flopped back in his seat. He stared at the computer screen in front of him. Why hadn’t he picked something more engrossing? He’d only picked this elective because Mikasa and Armin took the same class, in the daytime, and he’d figured they’d help. He should have picked… he didn’t know what would have been interesting enough to keep him from imagining Levi in the shower.

He’d have to do something. Not only was this the best job he’d ever had, it was also his last chance at making a normal life work. Or, at least as close to normal as something like him could manage. And he knew there was nothing like finding out your new receptionist was lusting after you to make things really, really messy.

Besides, he knew nothing about Levi’s personal life. Hell, the man could be married, for all Eren knew.

Maybe he had a wife sleeping upstairs or something. And he only worked at night because he wanted to spend his days with her.

When the phone rang, breaking into his thoughts, he was so relieved that he forgot to check the display before he answered. He froze, phone halfway up to his ear, eyes shooting to the screen, and then blew out a sigh of relief at the unfamiliar phone number, and not Erwin Smith’s name.

He didn’t know how to handle Erwin. The first time he’d called, he’d sounded so certain that Levi would talk to him that Eren had actually knocked on Levi’s darkroom door before he realized what he was doing. Luckily, Levi had been just finishing up, and he’d seemed to understand when Eren had stammered out an explanation.

He’d just shrugged when he handed the phone back to Eren afterwards, and told him to treat Erwin the same as he did Hanji – as in, say no and hang up.

Which Eren had tried, and failed, to do. Both Hanji and Erwin were too good. So now he just dodged their calls entirely.

But this wasn’t either of them, so he was safe. He cleared his throat. “Levi Ackerman’s phone.”

“Hello?”

The voice was uncertain, hesitant. Probably a new client. Eren stretched a hand out to grab paper and a pen. “Yes, this is Ackerman’s studio?”

“Um. I was told to call this number. To tell someone, I think- Levi? - that he should take photos of my dog? ” The woman blew out a breath. “This strang- uh, unusual person stopped me the other night when I was walking her. They just really seemed to like my dog. She’s pretty old, but she’s a great dog. Drools a lot, but, um.”

“Did the person have really thick eyeglasses, brown hair, pretty tall?”

“Yeah.” The woman sounded relieved, maybe just because of the assurance that they hadn’t imagined Hanji. “They showed me some photos. Really good ones, said Levi took them, and that he’d probably want to take photos of Ymir- my dog. But I don’t have a lot of money, so I wasn’t sure… she really is a great dog though.”

Eren bit his lip. Not only was this probably not a paying client, but it was also someone new. He hadn’t actually scheduled anyone new yet. Levi had told him to use his judgement, but... he really wanted to see this dog, if nothing else.

He could probably cover the fees if Levi wanted to get paid for the shoot. Maybe. He’d risk it.

“Can you come in tomorrow night?”

[mghtynana]

Dirk Gently and the search for the holy sleep.

(So, yeah, the worst scenario possible has arrived and I’m writing again. This is my first brotzly-ish fic bc i’m a sucker for whump!dirk and soft bf!todd (bf as best friend or boyfriend, who knows). It takes places just right after 2x03. Be aware: english isn’t my first language, so… yeah, sorry about any possible mistakes, i’ve tried my best. (Pd: i have a very unhealthy relationship with brackets, sorry about that too)).

[You can also read it on AO3]

 Ah, sleep, what a wayward thing. Wayward and fanciful, because Dirk is starting to think it doesn’t exist such a thing called “sleeping”, and it’s only a tale people tell other people, a mythical entity such as unicorns, witches and pretty pink-haired princes. 

 Or maybe sleep doesn’t like him anymore. Maybe it is avoiding him because, somehow, he’s ruined its life too.

Be as it is, Dirk can’t sleep. Again. He’s left wide awake in what it must already be the middle of the night, the pale and weak light from outside the police station being the only thing breaking the almost suffocating darkness that reigns the cell. 

Opening his eyes (because doesn’t matter how hard he tries to trick the sleep by closing them hard), Dirk sighs and lays on his back. He stares at the rusty screws and springs of the top bunk, where Todd is sleeping (see, sleep is very clever, it likes Todd more, and well, here they have something in common: he also likes Todd (a lot)), and then he has a somewhat feel of deja vu, his new clothes being only thing different from his previous sleepless night. 

 Tonight is the second night since he’s escaped Blackwing and the second one he’s incapable of doing something as easy as sleep. 

 Truth to be told, the quality of his nappings at Blackwing HQ wasn’t ideal, all his nights plagued with false hopeful dreams and ugly nightmares inside the own nightmare his real life had become; or more accurately, re-become. But at least he could snooze for a bunch of hours, most of the days succumbing into the land of dreams due to pure tiredness (being wrong all the time on the awful experiments and test they put him through was exhausting).

 It seems like that is not enough now, though. This night he’s exhausted too. All of him is exhausted, in more than one sense. His back hurts there where he went through that bloody doghouse, and every single one of his muscles seems to fight him, rancorous, uncooperative on the task of relaxing. His head hurt too, not so much for being used as a rag doll by a zombie caveman, but for his even more painful thoughts.  

 Dirk can feel them, almost as physical as a bruise, bouncing and hitting the walls of his skull, mixing and spinning without any pause, chaotically, creeping and scratching at every inch of his mind. Last night, they were infested by the words “medication” and “paralibulitis”, by the image of a spidery web, a web that represented the universe in its purest, cruelest state, the same web he’s always been trapped into (and where he’ll always be); but, now, the people he loves the most were tangled too, suffering and awaiting slowly, agonically, until it devours them all. And, on top of all that, there was a stain, a burning wave that tainted everything, that made him felt like drowning:  guilt (because of course, of course, it was all his fault). 

 Those thoughts haven’t disappeared, following him like a shadow even at daylight, but tonight, on top on them, more thoughts share his mind, thoughts about the pink haired Prince and that awful prophecy. Yeah, sure, apparently a whole kingdom depended on him and his ability to find a mysterious boy. Great. 

 He turns around again on his bunk, frustrated, closing his eyes and opening them just a few seconds later. He stares at the grey wall and his frown deepens. At least Sheriff Hobbs was considered enough to let them sleep in the farthest cell from that bloody murderous woman and the proclaimed prince. If Dirk had to sleep (fake sleep? try to sleep) near them, he’d end having a nervous breakdown.  

 Little noise can be heard, some crickets on the outside and the deep breathings of his incarcerated companions. Dirk is the only awake one and, suddenly, that makes him feel so alone. He hugs the thin pillow and closes his eyes, hard, this time not in search of sleep, but in an attempt of containing the stinging tears that threaten to fall from them.  He feels again like the little child, scared and lost, and for fuck sakes, he hated being that little child. He even sniffles quietly like one, a trembling shaking his whole body. He can’t cope anymore, everything should be alright, he almost had everything he wanted (a detective agency, a family) at the tips of his fingers and then the universe slapped him right on the face… he’s so tired of all this… ok, so he’s having a breakdown anyway, awesome.

 Unexpectedly, in the middle of the sad mess he’s turned into, something touches his shoulder, and Dirk flinches and bolts into a sitting position so fast he almost knocks his head with the top bunk.

“Hey, hey, it’s me”, a soft whisper comes from a cut-out silhouette crouched over his bed. Dirk tries to convince himself that the reason why he takes almost ten seconds to recognize Todd relies on the darkened room and not because of the  tears that cover his eyes.

“Todd!”, Dirk exclaims, and then modulates his voice volume, lowing it, his arms crushing the poor pillow in a terrified grip, “Todd, what… mmm, what are you…? You shouldn’t be awake, tomorrow we have a lot of things to do and you’ll need to rest because…”

“Yes, I…” Todd stops him, then keeps silence for a moment, his hand (the one which almost gives Dirk a heart attack) half way extended in an awkward position, “I was asleep, but I’ve heard you, you know…” he makes a vague movement, “ and you were trembling so hard the bunk was shaking a little… so…”

“So I have woken you up” finishes Dirk, and yep, that’s it, the last string. Hello, tears, now you are free! He curls into himself, his knees against his chest and his face against the pillow, because now he’s not just sniffling but sobbing for real and he doesn’t want Todd to see how much a crybaby he is. “I’m sorry. Oh, god, I’m so so sorry.”

He keeps muttering shaky, dull sorrys, until he doesn’t know for sure what he’s apologizing for anymore. At one point, Todd sits by his side, the mattress creaking and sinking. The hand returns to his shoulder, careful, like it’s approaching a frightened wild animal, and it’s warm, and steady, and Todd’s and then it rubs small, soothing circles in his back, with such care Dirk feels like crying even harder.

“Hey, it’s okay”, Todd keeps his voice low, but his tone is firm, and Dirk knows Todd knows he’s not apologizing for waking him. “It’s okay, Dirk". 

“No, it’s not.” he manages to say, his quivering words muffled by the pillow. “Everything is not okay. D-definitely not okay. And it is going to get worse, not better, and I don’t know how… all of this…” It is too much. 

“Okay, lay down.”

The hand disappears from his back abruptly, the lost making him whimper, and he feels Todd moving until he’s the one laying down. Dirk is so surprised and confused that he lows the pillow, resurfacing just a bit, his redded, wet eyes darkening beneath a crumpled frown.  

"W-what?" 

Todd taps the white-ish sheets next to him, a little space between his body and the wall.

“Lay down. Here. C’mon, I don’t bite.”

Dirk hesitates, his cheeks colouring a bit at the idea of laying beside Todd on the same bed. Todd sighs and rises a little on his elbows. Dirk couldn’t be sure, but he swears Todd seems a little nervous. 

"When Amanda was little and get scared by nightmares, she came to my room. She’d scooped into my bed and we laid next to each other and I helped her calm down.”

 Todd face goes all soft while speaking and Dirk can’t help but be amazed by him: the way he loves Amanda, so deep, so loyal and strongly, was always something he admired a lot. And, well, yeah, ok, he also wished someone loved him that fiercely. However, he’s not sure anymore it’s wise for someone to love him, seeing what the universe makes to them…

"I-I’m not little. And I’m not scared.” says Dirk, though, in a very childish voice.

 And then Todd smiles again, the Dirk’s smile, that one between amusement and annoyance, all soft at the corners, the one that makes the detective melt and his stomach ache with butterflies. 

“Of course you’re not. Now, lay down”. 

 Dirk hesitates but finally complied, adjusting his long frame at the narrow space. He holds his breath when Todd turns to look at him (they are so close, so close!), his hands carefully extracting the poor strangled pillow from his arms just before returning to his shoulder. “Now focus on my breathing. C’mon, in and… out.” Dirk tries, his eyes wandering nervously, and his hand still shaking.

“I-I can’t.”

“Shh, try”, and that it is, that word, “try”, the same word used by Friedkin at Blackwing, but this time it sounds different: not harsh, not demanding, but reassuring. So he tries, closing his eyes at the same time Todd starts humming a tune Dirk doesn’t recognize, but that he feels thrumming through his bones, lulling him.  And then, slowly, his still shaky breaths become calmer, his eyes still sore but no longer tearful.  Seconds turn into minutes, and bit by bit Dirk quietens down, the agonizing oppression on his chest, the fear and the hopeless feeling  dissolving  a little.

“See, better?” Dirk nods a little, opening his eyes just to be meet by Todd smile and by his blue eyes shining proudly (of himself but also of him) in the dark, and, lord, Dirk is so, so in love. “If it helped Amanda overcome her fear with the fairy tooth, it can help anyone.” he jokes, but then frowns a little, the corner of his mouth lowering when he realizes he’s just revealed one of those embarrassing secrets only siblings know, “Although… please, don’t tell her I told you about that fear or she’ll kick my ass.” 

Dirk promise, a grin in his voice. 

 They lay like this, in silence, for quite long time: Dirk breathing slowly, his hands wrapped beneath his chin and his eyelids open enough to carefully mapping Todd face between the eyelashes; Todd’s hand still touching him, although it has fall a little from the shoulder and now his thumb is petting unwittingly Dirk’s neck (and that definitely isn’t making Dirk insides go all warm and flutter-y); the humming lower than before, now that he seems to be dozing off.

“I…” Dirk whispers with a such a small voice it’s almost inaudible, not sure if Todd is already asleep. But now he feels safe, safer than he remembers, and vulnerable but in the right way, and he really needs to say it out loud. “I don’t know if I can do it. You know…the prophecy, the case, find the boy. Find… find Amanda”.

Todd’s eyes don’t open, but he moves closer, his arm now circling Dirk in a loose, protective hug.

“We’ll figure it. Together.” his voice is almost a mumble, but it sounds so sincere and determined that Dirk’s fears and intrusive thoughts about guilt, and failure, and loneliness and prophecies and the universe’s web recoil, at least for tonight. “Now, sleep.”

Dirk smiles and, finally, sleeps.

[bcoolfolks]

Handyong and Oryol, a tale of love and redemption

LONG, LONG AGO, SOMEWHERE IN THE Bicol Region, existed a prosperous and beautiful kingdom called Ibalon. It was renowned for its lush forest, happy inhabitants and mighty ruler, Handyong. All nature adored Handyong. The Mayas chirped about their handsome and wise ruler; while Maribok, the king-frog, croaked day and night of Handyong’s bravery. Tuktok, the mother Kalaw, as she taught her baby horn bills how to peck faster, described to them how Handyong’s muscles glistened under the sun. Even Poringot, the bald rooster, would wiggle his tail to honor Handyong. Bolinao, the chief of small fishes, would lead the school of fish to the farthest nook of the sea telling all the creatures they met how good a fisherman Handyong was.

The people of Ibalon were very grateful that Handyong was not only handsome, but also brave.

But the much-adored Handyong was terribly unhappy, for deep in the forest lived monsters. Punong-the one-eyed, three throated creature, the wild carabaos, the gigantic crocodiles and the snakes that lived in Mount Hantik were his enemies. These beasts were led by the wily serpent, Oryol, who was difficult to destroy, for she was more cunning than Handyong.

Oryol was once the most beautiful maiden of lbalon. Envious of her beauty, Hilang, the evil witch, lured Oryol to the forest and converted her into a serpent by day and a lovely woman by midnight. Hilang vowed on a pitogo seed that only love could free Oryol from the curse. The promise was sealed in the enchanted pitogo, and only its destruction held the key to Oryol ‘s freedom.

One night, when the moon showed its round face, the monsters attacked the village, destroyed the crops and preyed on the people. Handyong single-handedly fought the monsters from midnight to dawn. It was only when the sun kissed the earth that the monsters retreated to the woods. They left Handyong alone, sore and bone-weary. Although his people applauded his brave deeds, he was still not quite happy because he knew the monsters would return the next full moon and he was afraid he might not be always as strong to fight them everytime they attack his kingdom.

Handyong decided to go deep into the forest and wrestle once and for all with the monsters.

Meanwhile, in the forest where the monsters gathered anew to make their evil plans, the other animals shook like leaves in fright as they listened to the harsh words as each one blamed the other for their defeat in the previous encounter with Handyong.

“You and your noisy throat! How could you move fast? You should have asked your grandmother for three eyes and one throat instead,” one snake addressed Punong.

The monstrous frog’s throats expanded in anger and his eye winked malevolently, as he croaked. “How dare you drag my grandmother’s name into the fight! If not for Handyong’s attempt to strangle one of my throats, you wouldn’t have escaped!”

So the dispute continued. The wild carabaos could only blame their thick hide for their limited body movement. The gigantic crocodiles accused one another for stupidly getting snarled in each other’s jaws. They fought fiercely only to discover that the scaly bodies they bit were as tough as their own.

But Oryol, the wily serpent, after listening to the arguments, smiled and hissed.

“I will destroy Handyong, not by might but by wit. Leave me alone to think,” she said, her two-pronged tongue flashing in anger. Like a queen, Oryol slid down the tree, coiled and poised her regal head, ready to strike anyone who disobeyed.

When the monsters had gone to their respective hotbeds of wickedness, Oryol felt very lonely. Many volcanic eruptions and countless typhoons had passed, and she had gotten tired of the wasted time spent on schemes to kill Handyong. She was disgusted at the ranting and the swearing among the monsters. She had shed off her silvery skin as many times as the ancient balete trees in the forest since the evil witch Hilang turned her into a snake. Having forgotten who her real enemy is, her serpent heart vowed to kill Handyong or be killed by him.

Days flew fast and the night lantern once more was beginning to be as round as a pomelo when Oryol restlessly awakened. The light which poured in between hollows in the forest imbued in her heart the desire to be free from darkness. With her low seductive voice, she hissed her serpent song, paralyzing and terrifying all creatures who heard it. Even the night owls ceased hooting while their eyes grew wider in wonder.

As Oryol finished her song, she slowly opened her eyes to discover a transformation. She now had hands, with fingers that tapered beautifully like candles. She smoothed her silken black hair down her small, round waist. She noticed a pair of firm young legs, both eager to explore the dark forest. Unaware of her ravishing looks, Oryol approached one of the owls. When she looked into its wide eyes she saw her startled reflection. Hesitantly, afraid that the image might vanish, she brushed lightly her moonwashed face.

While she talked to the owls, the dangling monkeys whooped resounding cries. They smelt someone coming. Silently, like a cat stalking its prey, Handyong came into view. He had come with his followers to track down the monsters of Mt. Hantik. Handyong himself stood in awe at the beautiful apparition before him. Oryol ‘s heart quivered with excitement as she encountered Handyong’s penetrating eyes. She thought she had forgotten how to love!

But she quickly recovered and remembered her vow to kill Handyong. “I will lure him into forgetting his purpose for coming. I will sing to him until he ceases to remember, and then . . . ” she muttered to herself. She fingered the enchanted pitogo seed in her hand.

“Young woman, you’re alone in the forest, are you not afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark?” Handyong asked her.

“Monsters?” she replied. “They have been lulled to sleep by my song. Come, I’ll show you where they are.”

She led him to where the monsters were sound asleep. Handyong could have easily attacked them but did not think it honorable to kill a defenseless enemy. He instead decided to let his men rest until the monsters awakened from their slumber.

Oryol resumed her humming, then burst into an enchanting song. The men’s lids dropped as though mesmerized. Soon they were fast asleep. Only Handyong fought the urge to drift into dreamland. His eyes were on the lovely Oryol.

After a while, Oryol thought she had tricked everyone and once more became a serpent. She crept noiselessly to where Handyong lay. But Handyong, who had seen everything, was · ready to defend himself. Before Oryol could -strike him, swift as the wink of an eye, he grabbed the serpent’s neck so tight that Oryol thought it would break. Just as she was about to pass out, she again changed into a beautiful lady. Handyong, who had never hurt a woman in his life, released his grip and with powerful arms carried Oryol to a bed of leaves and tenderly laid her down. Oryol is human, he thought, -not a monster. No monster could be lovely and defenseless as she is now. And love came to Handyong unexpectedly, quiet like the morning ball of fire, warm and overpowering. He bent and kissed Oryol.

As he did so, the pitogo seed fell from her hand. The seed that could spell the monters’ defeat and Oryol ‘s release from witchcraft. Accidentally, Handyong stepped on the pitogo seed which promptly broke to pieces. Then the monsters awakened and attacked Handyong and his followers. The fierce fighting reverberated in the forest as brave men with bare hands and sharpened spears were pitted against the monsters.

The destruction of the pitogo seed instantly weakened the monsters and deprived Oryol the power to convert herself into a serpent. Moreover, Oryol ‘s heart was now torn between loyalties: to her former friends, the monsters, and to the mortals with whom she was now identified. Pain was etched in her tear-stained face. She closed her eyes to the image of a slain Handyong.

Illustrations By: Benjamin A. Dia & Ben Lopez

“No, I cannot see him hurt or dead,” she cried softly. “These monsters should die for bringing untold evils to the villagers.”

It was almost dawn and the men as well as the monsters had gotten tired, but the battle was far from ended.

Oryol, out of concern for Handyong, also divulged the secret strategy to hasten the defeat of the cursed monsters. “Aim at the heart,” she cautioned Handyong and his men.

Upon sensing this betrayal, the monsters turned to Oryol with hate in their eyes and distaste in their frothing mouths. The crocodiles bared razor-sharp teeth, the wild carabaos formed a battalion of poised horns and the three-throated Punong rotated its one eye swiftly. In the meantime, the shifted attention to Oryol gave the heroic men time to drive their spears forcefully into the hearts of the deceived monsters.

The violent battle having ended, Handyong went to Oryol who stood immobile like a hypnotized lady. He whispered to her, “Are you sorry, we had to kill your friends?”

“They ‘re really not my friends,” she sobbed. “When Hilang the evil witch cast her spell on me, I lost all my real friends and home.”

“Please come home with me and be my wife,” Handyong said with tenderness.

His men seeing that their ruler will no longer be lonely, left him to celebrate his newly found happiness with Oryol.

And so, on the great wedding day, Maribok, Kalaw and Bolinao came dressed in colorful attire. Even Poringot attended with a tiny feathered hat perched on its tail.

[carmenferrari00-blog]

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